Page 4 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“There is another problem!” Charlotte suddenly said loudly, making Becca jump in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re daft!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Don’t you think this gentleman will be surprised when you turn up? You’re not quite the Mr. Reginald Baxter he’ll be expecting, are you?”
Becca fidgeted and glanced down her body. She looked at the gown cinched at the waist on her tall figure, the bonnet that she had flung over her wrist with tattered ribbons, and her boots that were dirtied from running through the streets. She thought she saw a bit of oyster shell stuck to the toe of her boot and grimaced.
“Perhaps I’m not,” Becca murmured. “He’ll be expecting something finer.”
“Becca…he’ll be expecting a man,” Charlotte pointed out, jumping off the desk.
“I know.” Becca sighed heavily. Even if she went to meet this man, once he realized that she was not Mr. Baxter, but Miss Thornton, he might retract his offer at once. Worse yet, he could reveal her secret. He could tell others in thetonthat the now famous Mr. Baxter was a woman, after all.
“So, are you going to do it?” Charlotte asked, nudging her for an answer. “Are you going to meet him?”
Everything in Becca’s gut told her not to go. It was ominous indeed, a well-dressed gentleman searching for a writer from the backstreets of London. Surely, any commission he had to offer her could be for nothing good, or he would have chosen one of the well-reputed gentlemen writers of theton.
It bodes ill.
“Well?” Charlotte asked, nudging her again when she didn’t get an answer.
Yet Becca felt like that child pressed against the window once again, her nose flattened to the glass. Even if it could spell misfortune, the chance to see the world of theton,to go to a ball and pretend to be one of them, just for a night, piqued her curiosity too much. She raised the invitation, reading it once again, her mind made up even before the smile grew on her face.
“You’ll need something to wear then,” Charlotte murmured, clearly reading the answer on her face before she needed to say it.
Chapter 2
“What do you think?” William asked. He tried to flatten his hair again, but it stood up on end as it was wont to do, the dark brown strands curling crazily.
My father would have hated that.
He tried frantically to flatten it again as his butler approached from behind him, carrying his tailcoat.
“It is a fine suit, my friend,” Henry said warmly.
William met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Henry was only about five years his senior. He first came to the house as his valet, when William was just fifteen years old. Fifteen years later, and things had changed between them. Henry was now his skilled butler, and the dearest friend that William had ever had.
“Now, my lord, it’s time to put your jacket on.”
“Henry…” William turned around, leaving the sight of the curling hair behind to meet the sharp features of his butler. At first glance, some people found Henry a bit frightening, for his jawline and nose were so sharp and aquiline, but not William. He saw the kindness in Henry’s light grey eyes, and he knew theman’s soft manner. “How many times have I told you not to call me that? Call me William.”
“You are the baron now,” Henry reminded him with a gentle smile. “It’s what must be done. Now—” He held up the tailcoat again.
Sensing he was fighting a losing battle, William nodded his thanks and put on the black tailcoat, turning to face his reflection once more. In the glass, he saw the tired lines on his face. They seemed to be ingrained into his skin this last month, ever since his father died, born there from the things he heard said in the street when people thought his hearing to be poor.
They think I am a monster, just like him.
“Now, you’re ready, my lord.”
“Am I?” William didn’t move. He just continued to stare at the glass. He half wished he could swap places with Henry. His butler always seemed calm and collected, at ease in any room, whereas William was not.
He’d grown accustomed to the prisoner his father had made him into. Scarcely going beyond the walls of their estate, he’d mixed with few people in his life. Now, he had to go to an assembly and pretend to be perfectly comfortable, even though he knew there would be many there tonight who would be pointing and whispering at him.
“I could put it off for another month?” William suggested, catching Henry’s eye once more. “I could claim I’m still in mourning.” Henry quirked an eyebrow, and William laughed. “I know, hardly convincing, is it?”
“No one mourns him,” Henry said in a low tone. “I should not say such things—”
“Good God, Henry, you’re much more tongue-tied since I became a baron. Please, just be as we have always been.”
