Page 69 of Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
“Why would you have done such a thing?” Frederick asked flabbergasted and confused. He rose to his feet and stood facing the man he had trusted and admired for nearly his entire life.
“He was pointing a gun through the library window at your mother,” Josephine stated softly, removing her hand from Mr. Tatham’s grasp.
“What!? Why!?” By now Frederick was becoming quite perturbed. He wasn’t sure whether to arm himself in defense or pinch himself to ensure that it was not all just a terrible dream.
“Because he is your father,” the Duke’s voice answered from the doorway. Behind him stood the Duchess, her eyes red and swollen, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“My father? That is not possible. You are my father.” Frederick’s world felt as if it were turning on end. He sat back down on the bed hard, his legs suddenly incapable of holding his weight.
“Yes, I am, and forever will be, but you are not of my blood,” the Duke answered, his eyes full of empathy for him and his son’s shared plight. The woman they both loved and trusted had betrayed them most intimately. Frederick could not believe his ears.
This cannot be happening!
He looked from person to person as if somehow one of them might deny it and make the world right again. Buckworth stepped outside to give the family their privacy, giving Frederick a nod of encouragement as he did so. Frederick found himself wishing his friend had stayed.
“Am I the illegitimate product of an affair between Mr. Tatham and my mother?” Frederick felt as if he might be sick.Calling him Mr. Tatham under such circumstances seems foolish, but what else am I to do. I most certainly will not be calling him Father.Josephine reached out and took his hand in hers.
“No!” Tatham adamantly replied as if he was insulted by the idea of such a thing.
“I do not understand.” Had Frederick not been sitting down he feared he would have fallen down as his body registered the shock.
The Duchess stepped forward and came to kneel on the floor before her son taking his remaining free hand in between her one. Her eyes begged him to listen to what she was about to say. “You are not of my blood either,” she whispered.
“It is my fault,” the Duke stepped forward placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I was not a good husband to your mother when we were young. I had many affairs, many mistresses. Your mother felt she had no recourse.”
“Speak plainly,” Frederick demanded, hurt and anger rising with every moment that passed in further confusion.
“You are my son,” Tatham replied. “Mine and my wife’s, God rest her sweet soul.”
“Your wife?” Frederick asked, not remembering him ever having mentioned her name before.
“My lady’s maid, Sarah Evans,” the Duchess explained.
“Sarah Evans’ died with her babe in childbirth,” Frederick argued as if he could make what they were saying not so by reiterating what he knew to be fact. “The babe was buried with her.”
“No, he did not die with Sarah. ‘Twas my wee babe that died and was buried with her at Dun Dubh. When she died in giving birth to you, I took you as my own. No one knew but the midwife for all these years,” the Duchess informed him. “I had lost so many children before, and it had become clear to me that I would never bear a living child, that I would never provide your father with an heir. Everything depended on me being able to produce an heir.” She sobbed as Frederick withdrew his hand from hers.
“I am William Evans?” Frederick asked incredulously.
“William Evans Tatham,” Tatham answered, the sorrow in his eyes was palpable.
“I never knew her married name until now,” the Duchess admitted. “No one did.”
“The midwife did. She wrote me about the death of my wife and child. We were newly married. We had known each other but a short time. We wed the day before I left for naval service. It was a turbulent time, a time when life seemed so very precious and so very short,” Tatham replied. “When I was released from naval service I came to work here at Chescrown simply to be closer to her memory. I was not aware that the child had survived until I was summoned to the death bed of the midwife, whereupon she confessed all to me.”
“It was you who sent the threatening letters!” Frederick accused angrily.
“Yes, I did.”
“How could you do such a thing? Why did you not say something to me?” Frederick asked.
“I knew that no one would believe me. It had to come from the Duchess. The only way you would have believed me is if she confessed to what she had done.”
“We have known each other nearly my entire life, and you did not think to give me the benefit of the doubt after all our years of friendship?”
“No, I did not. Would you have believed me if I had told you the truth?”
No, I would not have believed you.
