Chapter Ten #3
Instead, he surprised her by sitting up a little taller, giving her a curt nod, and she took that to mean yes.
She rushed up to the nursery. She knew she had to take Thomas back down. There might never be another chance like this again.
She reached for him, gathering her to him and tried to soothe him as she carried him to the Duke’s chamber.
She helped the man get into a comfortable position, propping up his pillows, before she lowered Thomas into his arms. She breathed a sigh of relief when her son settled into the man’s embrace. He even started blowing bubbles.
The man let out a bark of a laugh and Bea stared at him in disbelief. She hadn’t known he was capable of making such a sound. ‘He looks so much like Edward when he was a baby.’
Bea’s chest squeezed. ‘I shall tell him that,’ she said.
‘He would like to hear it. Do you mind?’ she said, gesturing to the sketchpad, picking up her charcoal again.
She wanted to freeze the moment. She thought Edward might never believe her that this had taken place.
She hoped he wouldn’t be angry with her for allowing it to happen.
She worked quickly, unsure how long she had.
She wanted something to show her husband and son in the years to come.
‘Edward shows far more interest in the boy than I ever did when my sons were this age. I was never very good with babies. Or children of any age come to think of it.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Bea said, her heart aching for Edward and how his father had kept his love from him.
‘Has he not told you?’ he said, raising his faded gaze to her.
She stilled and shook her head.
‘What a terrible father I was.’
She swallowed. ‘I am certain you weren’t that bad, else he wouldn’t have turned into the wonderful man he has become.’
‘I was,’ he said with force. ‘He is that man in spite of me. I cared far too much about my reputation. What people thought. It is only now, as I lie here dying, knowing I might only have hours, or minutes left on this earth, I realise just how foolish that was. How little people’s opinions matter at all.
Edward has always known that far greater than me.
Even more than William. He knew it when he followed his heart not my guidance and bought that mill.
He knew it when he followed his heart and married you. ’
The charcoal stilled in Bea’s hand.
‘He has always suffered Society, while I tried to live up to it. Just days ago, when Edward told me about you, and this child, I still believed the scandal could do some damage. I still cared… I behaved badly,’ he said, his voice cracking.
‘Old ways die hard. I have let my obsession with protecting our good name overshadow our entire lives. I see now, it blinded me to what truly matters.’
‘The things you said that day, to Edward…’ Bea attempted, her mouth dry.
He shook his head, his scowl deepened. ‘I spoke out in anger. I have always been hard on him, but he knows I did not mean it.’
She frowned. ‘I’m not sure that is true. I fear he took it to heart.’
‘Surely he does not take notice of the ramblings of an old man?’
‘He cares far more than you think.’
‘He makes fifty thousand pounds a year from that mill, you know?’ he said, shaking his head in wonder. ‘He really made something of it, despite me telling him it would never come to any good.’
‘You’re proud of him?’ she asked. He must be, if he took a secret interest in the mill. ‘Have you told him this?’
‘He does not care for my opinion. He never did. Not since his mother left. Since I sent her away to the asylum.’
Shock winded her. Bile rose in her throat, and she folded her arms over her stomach. Asylum?
‘He did the right thing, marrying a woman he had feelings for, whereas I married for status. It was my biggest regret.’
Bea wasn’t sure the Duke should be telling her this. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. It almost felt like a betrayal to continue listening, because Edward obviously hadn’t wanted her to know. He had decided not to share the details of his past with her.
Had his mother actually been unstable? Had she been genuinely ill?
Or had the Duke just wanted to be rid of her?
She had heard horrific stories of wealthy men placing their inconvenient wives in asylums so they could continue affairs.
Either way, her heart went out to Edward, for he had lost his mother amongst it all.
‘Elizabeth changed after she had Edward,’ the Duke continued.
‘She was prone to long bouts of melancholy and hysteria. She drank to console herself. I could not cope with it. I was selfish, constantly worried she would humiliate me in public. Eventually, after ten long years, I had had enough, so I sent her away.’
She felt the hum of anxiety rooting her to the spot.
The danger that had been lurking beneath the surface suddenly rose up, knowing that the same thing could happen to her.
Shock at what the Duke was telling her made her unable to speak.
His poor wife. To think that Edward might abandon her, as his father had done to his wife, as her father had done to her and her mother.
It was her deepest dread that Edward would one day send her away from him, away from her child.
Images of what could befall her flashed through her mind.
‘I had to think of the boys’ futures,’ the man continued. ‘If people found out their mother was unstable, what would that mean for them? I did not want people to think they were tainted stock.
‘We went to great lengths to conceal the truth from the ton. We carried the secret for months. It was a terrible burden for the boys. They had lost their mother and I forbade them to speak of her whereabouts. Then the rumours started, word got out, and I suffered anyway. So did they. There were constant looks and whispers. People questioned if the boys were sane. They mocked Edward about his mother at school. He hated that time, but I think he hated me more. I don’t think he has ever been able to forgive me—for the controversy I caused or for taking his mother away from him.
For favouring his older brother, as my heir. William was always the easier child.’
Bea swallowed. It felt strange hearing all this from Edward’s father. She didn’t want to be a traitor to Edward. She cleared her throat. ‘Have you ever tried to talk to Edward about it?’
He shook his head. ‘It is too late now.’
‘It is never too late.’
Now she understood the man she had married so much more.
Why he hated scandal. Because he’d suffered from it so painfully before.
How odd, that they should have that in common—that they had both been shaped by the disgraceful actions of their mothers and despicable behaviour of their fathers. This was all a lot to take in.
No wonder Edward hated secrets. And yet, he had kept this truth hidden from her.
He had not trusted her with it. But she knew why.
He obviously felt deep shame about his past. And how could she judge him, when she was doing exactly the same—when she was withholding something just as shocking from him?
Guilt simmered through her blood. Perhaps she should tell him. Maybe, given his own harboured secrets, he would understand. But what if he didn’t?
‘You must forgive me for the things I said the other day. I am an old, foolish man and sometimes my temper gets the better of me. I see now, you are good for him.’ He began to cough again, quite violently. ‘Take the boy now,’ he said. ‘Thank you, for allowing me a moment with my grandson.’
Edward returned home to find Mrs Potter had plated up his dinner for him in the dining room.
He was starving, but even more hungry to see his wife.
He had missed her in the few short hours they had been apart.
He hadn’t liked the fact he’d had to leave her so abruptly, when they had been having such a good day.
Thankfully, he’d managed to fix the machine at the mill and he’d raced home, intending to make it up to her this evening.
But where was she? He was just about to go in search of her before he sat down to eat, when she came through the door. She immediately produced her picture of his father holding Thomas and he was momentarily speechless.
He took the pad from her hands and studied it, lowering himself down into a chair.
The likeness was incredible, but he was more shocked that his father had let Bea into his chamber.
That the old man had wanted to hold Thomas.
How had that come about? He was sorry he had not been there to witness it.
‘I trust he was civil?’ he said, looking up at her.
‘Yes. He was most agreeable. In fact, he went so far as to apologise for the things he said the other day.’
‘He apologised?’ He could not believe it. ‘I do not think I have ever heard him do such a thing.’
‘He said that—he said he didn’t think you could ever forgive him for the things he has done.’
He tensed. What had his father told her?
He knew what was coming, he could sense it brewing, just like the tea in the pot Mrs Potter had brought him.
‘Edward, why don’t you ever talk about your mother?’
Because he wanted to bury the past, somewhere deep down, where no one could access it, but with every word Bea spoke, every curious question she asked, she was digging deeper, getting closer to finding out the worst of him.
Shame invaded his heart, swiftly followed by fear. Fear of how Bea might react when she found out.
He placed the sketchpad on the table. He got out of his seat and walked over to the window.
He stared out across the parkland even though it was barely visible now the sun had set and dark had descended.
He couldn’t tell her this while he looked into her eyes, because he was afraid of what he might see there when he revealed it. He was afraid she already knew.
Old fears burst out from their hiding places and sickness swirled in his stomach. She wouldn’t want him now.