To my happiness, she complied and looked deep into my eyes. My sweet Rebecca looked at me like she loved me again. "Rebecca, you are much too kind for this world. You befriend people, men like Simon, who do not deserve it. You defend them. You care for them, and that, my dear, is honorable. It is sweet. It is kind, but it is also dangerous." I let one of her arms go and gently touched her cheek. "Someday, you will give a man like Simon Hartwell the wrong idea. He will think you love him when you don't. You can't… because you love me…"
She tried to speak, but I placed my finger over her lip to quiet her. She needed to listen to me. "You love me, Rebecca. I know it. I knew it the moment you saw me outside. I knew it in the garden. What Simon thought you felt for him, it wasn't your fault. Believe me when I tell you that. It was his for reading the wrong ideas from your kindness. He is a fool for thinking you had feelings for him when you have obviously given your love to me."
Her breathing increased and a tear fell from her cheek. I had heard stories of women swooning over a man and I had to believe this was what Rebecca did at that moment. See, I wasn't wrong. She loved me and she wanted to be with me as much as I wanted her. "I love you, Rebecca Eaton. I love you with my whole heart and I would love nothing more than for you to be my wife."
She whimpered against my finger and dropped her gaze away from mine, clearly overwhelmed by my sudden proposal, but I had to do it that quickly so other men would know she was a taken woman and not get the same wrong idea as stupid Simon did.
I became keenly aware that Rebecca and I weren't alone in the room when a hand, Anthony's presumably, clamped down on my shoulder. "You need to leave her alone. You have made fool enough of yourself."
Can you imagine? Anthony thinking I had made a fool of myself when clearly it was Simon. I chose not to speak to him and focus only on Rebecca. "Rebecca, please look at me." She didn't. "Please." I tilted her chin so her eyes met mine, her eyes swimming with tears. Women cry at marriage proposals, you know. "I love you, Rebecca. I love you with my whole heart."
"You only just met me." Her voice quivered.
I smiled. "True, but look at Romeo and Juliet. They only knew each other mere hours before they declared their love."
"And you know how that ended, do you not?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Are you afraid we will become the same?" I ran my finger over her cheek and wiped away the stream of tears. I never wanted to be the cause of her sadness. I never wanted to hurt her.
"No, Mr. Dodsworth. I'm simply afraid."
The use of my formal name felt like a knife in my heart. I felt my own tears stinging my eyes, but I refused to let them drop. I would not cry in front of a lady and I most certainly wouldn't cry in front of my former friends. "Why be afraid of me? I would never hurt you. I love you too much for that."
"You need to let her go now," Anthony said, but I didn't want to listen.
And then it hit me. Clarity. "Did he talk to you before I could?" I grabbed her arms and shook her so she would answer. "Anthony? Did he talk to you before I could?"
"Stop." Anthony demanded, but I refused. I needed to know because my mind had finally figured out what was going on. It was there all along and I was too slow to see it.
"Did Anthony tell you about me?" I gripped her arm tighter because I couldn't stop myself. I needed answers. I needed her to speak. I needed her to say something!
Instead of saying anything, she simply nodded and looked down on the floor, looked past me and at Simon coughing on the floor.
My entire world stopped as the weight of what had transpired finally hit me. Anthony had seen how much Rebecca loved me outside in the gardens. He had run to meet her before I could and told her of my lineage.
"How could you?" I looked away from Rebecca for the first time and glared at Anthony. "How could you do this to me?"
"I did nothing to you. You did it yourself," he said, making no sense.
"I brought my birth on myself? Is that what you are saying?" I let Rebecca go, for I needed both hands to throttle Anthony. The betrayer.
"I chose to be born to a commoner, not a titled man like yourself? I wanted all of this? I wanted my father to die before my birth? I wanted my mother to have to raise me, a boy, herself?" As I said these words, I pushed his chest and forced him back until he hit the wall of the study with such force that books toppled to the floor. Neither of us looked. "Do you truly believe that I wanted the life I have now? That I wanted the birth I had? Because if you believe that then you are even more simple than I first thought." I grabbed his jacket with both hands and slammed him back against the bookshelf. "How dare you do this to me? How dare you betray me? You were my friend!"
"I still am your friend," he had the nerve to say. I would have laughed if it wasn't so sad.
"My friend? You're still my friend after everything you've done to me tonight?"
"I've done nothing but protect my cousin."
"You betrayed me!" I yelled, hurting my own ears. Someone would most assuredly hear us and come in the door at any moment and I most certainly did not care. I wasn't thinking of anyone but myself and I needed to know why.
"I didn't betray you. I simply told Rebecca the truth. She deserved to know the truth, did she not?"
"The truth you could not wait for me to give?" I sneered, feeling my fingers itch to encircle Anthony's neck just as they had Simon's
"The truth you do not know." Anthony said, taking me aback.
"I know the truth about myself, thank you. My father was a good man. A wealthy man, but he wasn't titled. When he died before my birth, a benefactor of my father's choosing took care of my mother and me. What more is there to know? How is that something Rebecca should walk away from?"
Anthony straightened and forced me to let him go, though I did not want to. I felt my strength wane as I tried to figure out the complicated puzzle everyone else in the room seemed to know, except me, which vexed me since it was my life they knew about. "The man you believe is your father, isn't your real father," he said simply.
I scoffed and stepped back. "And how would you know that? Were you there?"
"It is a well-known fact, Frederick. To everyone, it seems, but you. I learned of it. I told Simon…."
"And Rebecca."
"Because she needed to know." He had a new determination in his eyes as if he truly thought he'd done the right thing. There aren't bad enough words invented in this world to describe his treachery.
"Then who is my real father? And why would my mother not tell me?" I did not believe him, no, I take that back. Some part of me believed him because, even as a young child, I had questions about my father that my mother never answered. Why did she have no letters? Why did I have no grandparents on my father's side? Why did we have to move from Everdale before I was born? So many things did not add up, but I chose to believe my mother's word above all else. After all, why would she lie to me?
"This isn't the time or the place for this conversation." Anthony whispered and I laughed.
"Not the time? Obviously you found time to tell Simon and Rebecca. Why not tell me? The person who needs to know the truth above all else, or at the very least, your version of the truth." My voice shook and I was powerless to stop it. I hated that feeling.
"Very well. Sit." Anthony motioned at a chair behind me, but I refused to budge. "Very well," he said again with an exasperated sigh. "Your true father is Joseph Crothwaite, Duke of Monroe."
I laughed even harder and staggered back. "A duke? I'm the son of a duke? Have you gone mad?"
"It is true."
"And how do you know?"
"You do not have to believe me, but ask your mother when you get home. I'm sure she will tell you the tale," Anthony replied.
"According to you, she hasn't told me the truth in all these years. Why would she start now?"
Anthony shrugged as if he was bored with our conversation. As if I meant nothing to him. "I suppose that is up to you to figure out."
/> "If I am who you say I am and the duke I'm assuming is the benefactor who has paid for everything my entire life, why keep me hidden? I am titled, just as you are, if what you are saying is the truth. So, Rebecca has no reason not to want to marry me." I felt the slightest tension in my shoulders decrease. You might think I'd be ill at my mother for lying to me, but I was not. If what Anthony said was true — and I found out later it was — then I was gentry. I could give Rebecca everything she wanted. We had no issues between us, or so I thought.
I have mentioned how naive I was in my younger days. I should have put it all together, but I still reeled from the excitement of the night to fully understand what was going on.
"You are the bastard son of a duke, Frederick. The bastard son of a married duke who already has two sons ahead of you in birth order. His wife would not allow him to claim you, and your mother blackmailed him into paying everything for you — or she would tell."
"Then how does everyone know?"
"It's a rumor. Nothing more. But it is a rumor my father believes for he is the friend of Duke Monroe. I overheard a conversation between our fathers a month ago. I heard Duke Monroe tell my father you were his son — his greatest sin."
I didn't know what to say to that, if you can imagine. Not only had I learned my true father had never wanted me, but I learned he thought of me as a sin. I was sure my birth had been quite scandalous and my true father had done everything to keep it quiet. It made sense if I wanted to think about it, which I didn't.
All my life, I had wanted, dreamed of, prayed to be in the gentry. It would have made my life so much easier, I reasoned. But when I learned it was actually true, all of my problems — none of them went away. None disappeared. In fact, it gave me more problems.
"I can't claim a title." I said matter-of-factly. I knew how the world worked. Yes, if it was true, and I believed it was, I was the son of a duke. However, a bastard son, third in line, was little more than a servant. If I confronted my father, not only would he stop being my benefactor, he could only allow me to live in his home as little more than a servant. I was no man's servant.
Letting all of this swim in my mind, I remembered Rebecca, my sweet, sweet Rebecca, behind me. I turned slowly, still not certain what to say exactly. When I saw her, she had bent down to Simon and rubbed his back to help him breathe better. She was nice like that. Always helping people she didn't love. "Rebecca," I said as my voice shook. I hated how it sounded, but I couldn't leave to compose myself. It was now or never. "Rebecca, this means nothing. Do you understand? Even if what Anthony told you is true, it matters not. I am still the same Frederick Dodsworth who professed my love to you. I'm the same man who wants to marry you. No, I don't have a title and yes, I'm a bastard child, but… it doesn't change how I feel about you. My future does not have to depend on my past, on circumstances I had no control over."
I took a few steps forward and bent down so our eyes were level. "Please, Rebecca. Please look into your heart and know what I am saying is true. Please know that I would never hurt you. I will always look out for you. I have a future. A good future. Please don't let this one thing that happened in my past keep you from me." I gently took her hand in mine, careful not to squeeze as I had her shoulders. As I looked down, I saw black and blue marks on her wrist and felt sick to my stomach. I would kill Simon for hurting her in that way. Yes, I grabbed her wrists outside, but there was no way I could have bruised her. I wouldn't have done that…
So it had to have been Simon.
I barely rubbed my thumb over her wrists, careful not to apply pressure and hurt her. I never wanted to hurt her and I never would — not like Simon Hartwell. He hurt her until the day she died and I will never forgive him for that.
"Please… Understand that I do not beg often, in fact, I don't recall any other time in my life when I begged so much, but I need you to know how much you mean to me. If you do not know it by now, I have no idea how to tell you. I love you with my whole heart, mind, and soul. I will love you until the day I die." I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles, willing her to believe me. Willing her to not care about my heritage. "Forget it all. Forget what Anthony told you. Forget what you know or think you know about me. Just feel… with your heart. Know what you know to be true. Marry me."
I waited with her hand in mine for what seemed like an eternity. The flicker of hope I had in my stomach kept burning despite the fear I had coursing through my mind.
Finally, my Rebecca brought my hand to her lips and kissed it gently, just as I had hers. I thought for a moment that she had listened to reason and she was declaring to be mine. Heavens, I wanted her to tell the world what we both knew. "Frederick," she said as she placed my hand on my lap. "What you have said means the world to me. It truly does and I am very flattered. However…"
I can't tell you how much I didn't want her to continue her sentence. I wanted to live in the happy bliss of not knowing. I felt as though my heart would shatter in a million pieces and I would never recover. She hesitated before she spoke again. "However, I must marry for the right reasons."
I stuttered a bit, trying to find the right words. "The right reasons? What more right reason is there to marry someone besides love?"
I felt a tear run down my cheek and I wiped it away hastily. I would not cry in front of them. I would not! Do you know what she did instead of answer me? She had the nerve to look down at Simon. Simon! Who was sniveling on the floor like a kicked puppy, who had yet to even get up after I'd nearly strangled him to death — my one regret in life is that I didn't squeeze harder and end it all.
"Is the right reason to marry someone just for his title?" I asked, jealously and anger filled my voice. I heard footsteps coming up the hallway behind me and I knew someone would enter soon, see the scene, and accuse me of being the instigator. No one would care about the truth. No one would ask me my side of events. It was Anthony's house. What he said would go no matter if it was the right course of events or not.
Her eyes met mine and fire burned within them. "How could you think so little of me?"
It was obvious. If she had married for love, she would have married me. It was as simple as that. But Simon would be Baron Enhurst someday and, with that, laid security. Security I assume she didn't believe I could give her.
The door burst open, and a gruff man asked us what in the world was happening. I'm sure it was a rather strange scene. A disheveled Anthony standing next to the untidy book case. Me kneeling next to Miss Rebecca who sat on the floor next to a fallen Simon Hartwell. I can imagine now how our little drama must have appeared. At the time, I could have cared less.
"Frederick, you need to go," Anthony said. It appeared he had much more courage now that he had back-up. That back-up, I soon learned was his father — the friend of my father. If I cared, I could have asked him if Anthony's accusations were true, but in all honesty, I didn't want to know. I wanted to go through life pretending I wasn't the bastard son of a duke. I didn't want him believing that I believed Anthony because then he would go and tell — then how could my mother blackmail him? I'd lose everything and gain nothing. Some sins are best kept to yourself.
"Not without Rebecca," I answered stubbornly. "I'm not leaving her with you two."
"She's my cousin," Anthony replied. "I would never harm her."
I stood then, unable to be still any longer. "And yet, look what you've done."
"Young man." Of course Anthony's father had to have a turn at me. "You have disrupted this party enough. I wish you to leave. You are no longer welcome in my home."
I looked down at Rebecca again who made no attempts to get up and keep me from going. Instead, she held on to Simon's hand and with the other wiped the hair from his forehead. She'd made her choice. She chose entitlement over love and I knew there was nothing I could do to change her mind.
I walked to the door then turned and faced the people who had meant the most to me in my life up until that point. My friend, Anthony — t
he betrayer. My love, Rebecca — who loved me, but did not choose me. "Know this. This isn't the end. I will have justice — justice from you, Anthony Wexley and you, Simon Hartwell. I am a patient man and I can wait for years if I must, but know this, what you have done tonight — what you have done to Rebecca — I can never forgive you for. You took the thing, the person, who meant the most to me — and I will do the same to you."
Anthony spoke next. "Drop this, Frederick. It isn't as it appeared. Rebecca loves—"
"Me." I replied more certain than I'd ever been in my life. "Rebecca loves me, and you took her from me. You and that coward on the floor, and I will have my justice."
With that, I left. I walked past Anthony's father and out through the crowd that had gathered outside the study. Obviously, they had heard us arguing and came to check what all the commotion was about. I didn't look at any of them. I didn't want to see their faces and I most assuredly didn't want them to see mine. It took everything I had to hold back the tears until I walked out of the front door and into the cold. Thankfully, I suppose if you can think of any of this as a good thing, I still had my top coat on. I didn't know what I'd do if I had to go back inside.
I walked for what seemed like an eternity, not sure where to go. I knew where I needed to go, but I didn't want to. Finally, after becoming so chilled I could barely feel my toes, I made my way back home where I confronted my mother.
She lied to me at first. She said Anthony didn't know what he was talking about. But then, with a little bit of coaxing, the truth came out. It was even more truth than I imagined possible.
You see, my mother confessed to being a prostitute in Everdale. Her family had died leaving her an orphan at a very young age and the only way to make money was to sell herself. It was either that or starve: what would you have done?
One day, a man came to pay her a visit. She recognized him immediately as the Duke of Monroe, but said nothing to him about it. She became with child and contacted him after my birth. He didn't believe that I was his, seeing as she was a prostitute and all, but somehow she convinced him. My mother had a special way about her. Maybe that's where I got it? I like to think I carry some of her traits in me. She was a remarkable woman.
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