Page 31 of Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
He had been born into privilege, but there was a part of him, like his Aunt Rebecca, that wished to let it all go and lead a much simpler life. He thought of how she had managed to find happiness in spite of the limitations her deformity placed upon her. She, in her quiet existence, lived a much happier life than either he or his parents currently enjoyed in all their gilded glory.
What would I do with such freedom? I have known nothing else but the privileges and responsibilities of my class since birth.
He had seen the poverty-riddled streets of London and its surrounding villages. He had seen the way the Evans family lived in spite of all their labors. Freedom from social responsibility came with a cost, a cost he was not willing to pay. No matter how romantic the notion might feel while lying out under the stars, it was naught but fantastical folly.
It would be the only way I could be with Josephine.
Frederick shook the errant thought from his head. Josephine had always felt his devotion to his class strictures regarding hierarchy to be misguided. As children, she had never seen his wealth and station as a barrier. In her mind, all people were born equal whether the rest of society viewed them as such or not. They had argued fiercely on the subject as adolescents until they had each given up in changing the other’s mind.
Now, as he lay in the forest listening to the ebb and flow of the night around him, he began to wonder if she had been right all along. Here he did not have any more authority than the man beside him. Here there was no one to judge him for the dirt on his hands as he traced lines in the dirt. Here there was naught but the sky above, the earth below, and the fire’s warm glow competing with the cool night air upon his skin.
Had I been born a common man, would I have wished to be treated the way I have treated her? Is Mr. Tatham or Mr. Hanson any less wise or responsible than I for their lowly origins?
The answer was no. When he returned to Chescrown, he vowed to apologize to Josephine for his treatment of her. If the footman Greeves was the one who made her happy, then he would have to accept that. He had pushed her to it, and he would have to suffer the consequences.
Chapter 16
When Frederick arrived at his family’s Scottish country estate, he was greeted by the elderly caretaker and his wife. “‘Tis a braw day for a wee trot about the bens and braes, is it nae, Yer Lairdship?” The Scotsman stepped forward and took Frederick and the lieutenant’s reins as they dismounted.
“That it is, Mr. MacDonald, that it is.” Frederick grinned, clapping the caretaker on the shoulder. “Allow me to introduce Lt. Buckworth. Lt Buckworth this is Mr. Angus MacDonald and his lovely wife, Claire.”
“A pleasure to meet you both.” The lieutenant nodded his head in acknowledgement of the couple.
“Lieutenant,” the caretaker bowed.
“How have you been, Mr. MacDonald?”
“Well and fit, My Laird. It has been some time since ye have graced us with yer presence.”
“That it has. Too long, Mr. MacDonald.”
“Come and we will get ye and the lieutenant settled after yer long journey.”
“Thank you, Mr. MacDonald. I am looking forward to one of Mrs. MacDonald’s scones. You will find them to be an utter delight, Lieutenant.”
“I look forward to the experience, Mrs. MacDonald,” Lt. Buckworth smiled and bowed over the diminutive woman’s wrinkled hand.
Mr. MacDonald led them in through the front doors of the grey stone castle. Frederick breathed in the smell of antiquity and heather, releasing a nostalgic sigh of longing. He had loved running up and down the halls with his grandfather when he was a child. Each corner had held a new treasure to be discovered, medieval armor, paintings of long-dead ancestors, deer antlers and swords on every wall. It had been a young boy’s dream. From the tower windows, one could see for long distances in every direction.
Mr. MacDonald escorted the lieutenant to one of the castle’s many guest rooms. “Will the Duke and Duchess be joinin’ ye, My Laird?”
“No, regrettably they will not, Mr. MacDonald.”
“The laird’s room it is then.” The caretaker moved down the hallway and pushed open the intricately carved wooden doors at the end of the corridor.
Frederick smiled at the elderly figure as he bustled around the room opening windows and uncovering furniture. He moved forward, setting his travel bag down upon the bed. The red damask covering glowed crimson in the sunlight streaming through the windowpanes. The elegantly carved ebony bedposts boasted images of thistles, stags, foxes, hares…replicating a wild Highland hunt. As he looked at the bed, he could not help but wonder if it had been the very one upon which he had made his entrance into the world.
“Mr. MacDonald, do you remember the day I was born?”
“Aye, that I do. Ye were a braw lad from the start. Mrs. MacDonald and I had gone for the midwife for one o’ the servant lassies and found yer dear sainted Maither in labor with ye upon our return. ‘Twas a stroke o’ good fortune that we had gone for the midwife when we did. Ye were in such a hurry tae see the world.” A sad expression crossed his face. “The poor wee servant lass and her bairn were nae so fortunate.”
“What happened to them?”
“They died in childbirth. They are buried in a wee kirkyard through the trees there,” the caretaker gestured out of the window in the direction of the kirk.
“What was the maidservant’s name?”
“Evans, Sarah Evans. The wee bairn was named William.”
