Page 70 of Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
Frederick sat there glaring at the man before him, ignoring the question. He was not about to give the man an excuse to justify his abhorrent behavior. “How could you hold a gun on my family? Such is not the actions of an honorable man who simply seeks to make the truth known as you so claim.”
“Your mother refused to confess her sins. My Sarah deserved justice, she deserved to have our son know the truth.”
“Would you have truly shot the Duchess had Josephine not interrupted you or had Her Grace refused to tell me the truth?”
“Yes. I would have done so without remorse or hesitation. She is a criminal and as such deserves a criminal’s demise.”
“You are mad, sir.”
“Grief and injustice have a way of doing that to a person.” Tatham did not look the least bit sorry for his behavior towards the Duchess, but when he looked at Frederick, there was an empathetic sorrow in his eyes that was hard to ignore.
He means what he says and yet looks at with such love and compassion it is impossible to reconcile the character of the man I see with the man I knew.
Frederick sat looking back and forth between the people he had known as his parents his entire life and the man whom they claimed with which he shared his blood. “I am not a nobleman…” the idea suddenly hit him like a punch to the gut.
“Not by blood, but you are a nobleman in every way that matters. No one must ever know otherwise, my son,” the Duke chastened, “for if word were to get out about this, both Pentford and Chescrown would fall, and with them centuries of our family’s well-earned legacy.”
“How can you be so calm about this? How long have you known?” Frederick demanded to know of the Duke.
“Your mother just informed me. I had a few moments to process the information, be angry, hurt, sorrowful, and then realized that none of it matters. You are my son, no matter whose blood flows through your veins. You are my heir, and that is that. You, Mr. Tatham, must content yourself with the knowledge that Frederick knows about you, but no one else ever can. I demand your word on the matter, as one father to another. Anything else would only mean ruin to the son we both love.”
Tatham sat quietly for a moment looking at Frederick. “That is up to William.”
William…It was at that moment that Frederick lost all sense of control. “Out!” he roared. “All of you depart this room immediately!” They all stood up staring at him in concern.
“Frederick, I…” his mother began reaching her hand out to touch him.
He jerked it away from her grasp. “Fine. If you will not leave, then I shall.” Frederick barreled through the door, down the stairs, and out into the sunshine. He walked to the stables, mounted his horse, and rode away with such speed that the world around him appeared as nothing but a green blur.
Had it not been for Josephine, he would have ridden away from Chescrown and never returned. Everything he had known, everything he had believed about himself and his family was a lie. He was not of noble birth but instead had been born of a lady’s maid and a naval seaman.
I am not the rightful Marquess of Pentford or the ducal heir to Chescrown. I am not even Frederick Hadley…, but I am also not William Evans Tatham either. I do not know who I am.
The thought of not knowing who he was or where he had come from made him think of Lt. Buckworth’s life, and for a brief moment, he felt less alone. He slowed his pace eventually coming to a stop at a stream. He dismounted and allowed the horse to drink, then lowered himself to the ground beneath the trunk of a tree. Picking up a rock he chucked it into the stream and watched it skim across the top then sink to the bottom.
Josephine… I could have been with her all of this time. We could have married and had children.His heart ached for the time that had been wasted by lies and hubris. When he thought of the life that he could have had, it occurred to him that had those lies not occurred he might have never met Josephine. As the orphaned babe of a maid and an absent naval man, he would have had a very different life indeed.I could have been one of those hungry children playing in the streets of the village.
His anger abated as he remembered all of the blessings the Duchess’ lies had given him. He had never known hunger for even a day. He did not live in a run-down croft, but had several family estates. The list went on and on. His anger was replaced by guilt for the way he had treated Josephine and for the authority that he had falsely wielded in the name of nobility. He had not abused it, but it had not rightfully been his to wield.
Emotions ranging from fury to gratitude coursed through him like a river during a spring flood. He was entirely overwhelmed by his mother’s revelations and did not know what to do about it. The Duke’s declaration of love and acceptance echoed through his mind.
‘You are my son, no matter whose blood flows through your veins. You are my heir, and that is that.’
The sound of a horse’s hooves echoed through the trees. He looked behind him to find that Buckworth had decided to follow him. The lieutenant dismounted, allowing his horse to drink beside Frederick’s at the stream. The soldier moved to sit beside him under the tree, leaning back against the bark, shoulder to shoulder. He sat in silence for a moment as if allowing Frederick time to adjust to his presence, and then spoke in a calm, soothing voice as he would have to a startled colt. It almost made Frederick chuckle.
“How are you?”
“I have been better, truth be told.”
“I am sure.”
“I do not know who I am.”
“Sure you do.”
Frederick looked at Buckworth out of the corner of his eye, torn between punching him and hugging him for his blunt candor. Deciding on neither, he leaned back against the tree once more and continued to stare out across the water. He explained to Buckworth everything that had transpired since the soldier had left the room and how it had made him feel.
“Your father is right, you know. You are a nobleman regardless of the blood that flows through your veins. In fact, a more noble man I have yet to meet.”
