Page 78 of The Dreaming Beauty
“I want my papa!” His tears turned into sobs.
“Lord Melbourne is dead. You know that. You must stop asking for him. Do you know how it pains me every time you do?” She shuddered, retreating away from him, disappearing from the room and shutting the door behind her.
Darkness enveloped him and the stark white walls were no more. It was a cage now, growing smaller by the moment.
Marcus sat up, gasping for air. He leaped from the bed, his hands digging through his hair. He glared at the small mattress as if it had personally been responsible for every nightmare of his past.
Hispast.
He backed away until he was in the outer chamber with the books and toys. He whirled around and escaped the little prison, not stopping until he was down the opposite wing at the door to the attic. Ripping it open, he took the short stairs at a run.
Where was it?
He ripped covers off crates and old furniture, searching desperately. And then he saw it. At the end of the room, it lay uncovered as if not prized enough to even attempt to preserve it. There was no doubt as he studied the portrait. The resemblance was as strong as Tansy’s was to her mother.
Lord Melbourne was Marcus’s father.
He stood in front of it, staring at every detail of the man. Pieces of his memory fell into place. His father’s final ride. His...stepmother’sdeception. Marcus crashed to his knees. It was done. The truth, hidden for so many years, had finally come forth to light.
And his nightmares? The ones that hung like a weight about his neck? They had been the gift that led him to this discovery. If not for his suffering, he would not have come. He put his head in his hands, allowing himself to feel the pain of a young boy without a mother or father, manipulated instead of comforted. Then he wept.
Minutes or hours passed; he knew not time. His back found the attic wall, and he slumped to the ground. He let his mind open to every childhood memory he had suppressed. Large gaps remained, but key pieces shifted into place. The question was what to do with all the information. Whether or not he had started out as Simon, he was Marcus now. He couldn’t answer differently.
However, the unfairness he had been served threatened to overwhelm him. The lies were like daggers, piercing him and creating wounds that might never recover. He was an orphan. Alone and forsaken. Fisting his hand, he hit the crate next to him.
He uttered an angry prayer, demanding to know how God could take away everything from him and then give it back in a twisted, tainted manner. And then an image of Tansy came to his mind like a sweet, silent answer.
She too had been lied to and denied her true parentage. And God had led them to each other. He had not forsaken them but revealed the truth to both of them. Whatever injustice Marcus had been served, he could not overlook the gift he been offered to make up for it.
Tansy.
She was the gift.
And he had denied himself of her.
He groaned and pulled at his hair.
He needed to do something. He could not sit here and wallow. He would not stay bitter and resentful either. How to respond was his choice, and if truth had been his talent, then truth would be the way he lived his life. He must reconcile with his past, and justice must be served.
Whether he liked it or not, he was the heir.
He glanced sideways at his father. “Don’t worry. Now that I know, there is nothing that will stop me from fulfilling my duty.”
A duty that now included three properties and seeing to Lady Tansy’s welfare too.
Tansy. His brow furrowed again. He would see that she had a large dowry. Perhaps she and Simon could even live here at Melbourne Meadows until Simon decided how best to support himself. His art would sell well, and she would have her inheritance to help them.
Once he began thinking of her, he could not stop. She would be safe at Melbourne Meadows too. No more threatening notes.
Threatening notes...
A chill ran down his spine as a fearful thought overtook the others. He had been convinced a townsperson had been trying to scare Tansy and her family, using the house’s history as a way to taunt her. But what if his mother—stepmother—had sent the notes?
How far would she go to maintain her secrets? All of the woman’s headaches to avoid seeing Tansy, all the pressure to keep Tansy from Ashbury Court. Had she known about Tansy’s true parentage and not wanted to share any money or connections with her? Would she hurt Tansy just to protect the status she had carefully molded with years of secrets?
A sickening sensation tore through him. He sat up straight, making his head hit the wall. Groaning, he stood. He had to get back. He loved his mother, but he could not trust her or predict her actions any longer. A last glance at the portrait solidified his decisions. He would return to Melbourne Meadows for the portrait, but for now, he had to finish unwinding a web of deceit.
Chapter 33
