Page 27 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“Yes. See you then.”
Yet neither one of them moved away from each other. They both just stood there, their hands interlocked. Becca could feel a tingling sensation spreading through her hand, so intense that pulling away was foolish.
“Until tomorrow then,” he whispered, clearly having another attempt at saying goodbye, but just like her, he did not pull back or release her.
When she didn’t move, he inched forward.
What is he…? Oh…
She realized abruptly that he was leaning toward her. That certainty was back, the same one she had felt in the study, that he was about to kiss her. She closed her eyes and leaned toward him, too.
She threw caution to the wind, not caring that he was a baron, and she was poor in comparison. She thought only of the man she now knew, the man who pleaded for her to call himWilliam.
Their lips were about to brush, she could feel it in the air, when there was a sound across the entrance hall.
Their eyes shot open, and they both pulled back from each other, their hands dropping.
“Until tomorrow?” she said hastily, picking up her reticule from the hall table behind them.
“Yes, tomorrow,” he said distractedly, his voice a little unlevel as he straightened his tailcoat and tried to look perfectly at ease.
Mr. Fitzwilliam entered the hallway from an adjoining room and stopped suddenly, looking between the two of them as if he noticed they were now fidgeting restlessly.
“Goodbye,” Becca added and reached for the door.
“Goodbye.” Lord Lancaster held the door open and let her out, waving at her as they parted.
“Well?” Mr. Fitzwilliam asked his master just before the door closed, and she heard nothing more that passed between them.
As Becca walked down the track, pulling on her gloves, she raised her fingers to her lips. She had been so close to doing something scandalous, yet she hadn’t cared, and if Mr. Fitzwilliam wasn’t in that hallway now, she would have gladly gone back to Lord Lancaster and kissed him, this time, without hesitation.
William stared at the certificate in the middle of his dining table as he tried to eat. There, plain as day, was his father’s name and signature at the bottom of the paper. In contrast, his new wife, this Miss Sarah Brackley, had signed her name with a cross. She apparently had not been taught to read or write.
Unable to eat his food, William pushed away his plate, nearly knocking over the tall candles that kept him company at the empty table. Grasping the certificate, he read as much as he could on the paper, now taking in the rest of the information.
Sarah Brackley’s father was given as Mr. John Brackley. A common name, and one that would not be easy to track down. They were married in the parish of Stockbridge, not far out of Winchester.
His father’s occupation was listed as stable boy, and the occupation of Mr. Brackley was a carpenter.
“If this is true,” William said aloud, somehow hoping by doing so, he could make more sense of what he read, “then he married this woman before he married my mother.” He stared at Sarah’s name and the cross she had made on the paper. Had poor Sarah died at an early age? Was it possible not long after this tragedy had struck?
Frustration curled in William’s gut. It made him so angry that he drove his fist down onto the table. All the crockery clinked, and the candles flickered, but there was no other sound in response. He was completely alone.
Angling his head around, William looked at the empty chair beside him. Henry hadn’t joined him for dinner tonight. Since William had inherited the land and tenants, Henry seemed to think he should stay below the stairs much more, occupying his position as butler. It left William lonely once again, feeling the house was far too empty and big for just him.
He stared at the chair, imagining another was sitting there, but it wasn’t Henry.
It was Becca. She gently rested her palm on the table between them, leaning toward him so far that he could imagine leaning out of his chair to get closer to her, too. Her blonde hairwould shine in the candlelight, and this time, there would be no hesitation, no barrier to him kissing her. He would close his lips on hers, bask in the warmth of her lips on his.
She had wanted him to do it. He saw that this afternoon when they had said goodbye, both standing there, close together, leaning ever nearer, nearly kissing. Had Henry not arrived when he had done, it would have happened.
“My lord?”
Glad to be disturbed from the emptiness of the room, William looked around in his seat. Henry walked in, nodding down at the plate of food William had not eaten.
“Are you not hungry?”
“No, I regret I am not. I don’t want the food to go to waste, though. Anyone can have it. Make sure of that.”
