Page 40 of Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
“My apologies, Mrs. Merton. I did not intend to upset you.” His heart was racing from fear at the thought of losing Josephine.
“Please.” Mrs. Merton glanced at the door as she spoke.
“Yes, of course. I will go and allow you to tend to her needs. Please inform me if her condition changes.”
Mrs. Merton nodded, her eyes filling with tears. Frederick did not wish to leave and could have denied her request, but he did not want to upset her further. It was clear that she had been through quite enough already. The poor woman had lost her husband while pregnant with his child, and now she stood over that child’s bed watching her fade away. No matter how terrible Frederick felt as he looked upon the girl he loved, he knew Mrs. Merton had to feel much worse.
As he left the room, Frederick felt as though he was leaving a piece of his soul behind. He passed Greeves in the hall carrying a cup of herbal smelling tea. Frederick watched through the open door as Mrs. Merton greeted the footman with gratitude and affection he had never received from her in all the years she had worked for his family.
She had always been respectful but had never approved of the close friendship between himself and her daughter, believing it would bring Josephine nothing but pain in the future.
She was correct to think so. I have done the very thing she feared by rejecting her daughter’s love, and now it may be too late.
Frederick looked on in envy as Greeves held the cup to Josephine’s lips and urged her to drink. Josephine’s hand came up to clasp Greeves’ as she attempted to do as the footman asked of her.
Greeves leaned forward and kissed Josephine’s forehead. “Tell me about the farm again,” Josephine whispered, sending her into a round of body-wrenching coughs.
“When this is all over, I will take you to see the family farm with your own eyes,” Greeves promised. “You will run the fields and catch butterflies with my sisters, go riding with my brothers, and we will stroll the nearby forest hand in hand. I will pick you flowers for your hair, and we will picnic on all of the delicious foods you love most.”
The picture Greeves painted was beautiful, and every word broke Frederick’s heart. Lt. Buckworth had been wrong. It was too late.
Frederick moved down the hallway and knocked on his mother’s bedroom door. “Enter,” her voice summoned through the wooden panel.
Frederick did as bidden and opened the door. He found his mother sitting propped up against her pillows. She, too, had dark circles under her eyes but looked much healthier than poor sweet Josephine. Her face was lined with worry, and she was as pale as the pillows upon which she rested. “Mother,” he greeted nodding his head in respect as he approached the bed.
“Frederick, you have returned.”
He was not sure from the look on her face whether she was pleased, disappointed, or a mixture of both. He hated the way things had been left between them upon his departure and wished that he could make amends, but the information he had gained in Scotland was too important to ignore. He handed her the note that had been left for him at Pentford and waited for her to respond.
“I see.”
“Am I the ‘him’ in the letters that have been sent to you demanding that you tell ‘him’ the truth?”
His mother refused to answer.
“I have been to Dun Dubh, Mother. I have spoken with the MacDonalds. I know about Sarah Evans and her baby’s deaths.” The muscles in his mother’s jaw spasmed. “Why could you not tell me that her family blamed you for her death? Do you feel guilty?”
Once again, his mother refused to say anything. She balled her fists digging her nails into the palms of her hands turning her knuckles snow white. Tiny droplets of blood spattered down upon the bed linens.
Frederick took her hands in his, alarmed that she had hurt herself. “It is not your fault, Mother. It is likely that she would have died no matter where she had had the baby. These things happen all too frequently. I understand why you feel the way you do, but it is not your fault. I need you to be honest with me about what happened so that I can protect you. Who is threatening you and why? Is it about Sarah Evans?”
His mother wrenched her hands away from his. “You should not have gone to Scotland and should not have returned to Chescrown. Leave me now.”
“Mother…”
“I am the Duchess of Chescrown, and as such, I demand you leave my presence.”
Frederick shook his head in anger. “Mother do not do this. Do not push me away.”
“Go now.”
“I will not leave you.”
“Now!” The Duchess shrieked.
“Son,” his father’s voice warned from the doorway.
Frederick rose and walked out. His father closed the door behind them, and they walked together down the hall. In his frustration and anger, Frederick punched the wall. He had never done anything of the kind before, and his actions caught the Duke off guard.
