Page 49 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
Nothing more was said as they danced, circling the room. They just exchanged stolen touches, and longing looks at one another. As they finished the dance, he wondered if she had understood what he truly meant with those words.
He had meant they never had to stop, that perhaps in the future, they could be married and together constantly, but he realized, too, that she might have heard those words as further invitation as his mistress.
“A drink?” William asked as he escorted Becca from the dance floor.
“Yes, please.” She forced her tongue to work and took his arm, following him from the floor. She was a dithering mess following their dance, trembling with the excitement of what he had meant with those words,We do not have to stop.Could she have all that she longed for from him?
When they reached the drinks table, he had just poured her a glass of punch and passed it to her when a shadow passed over them.
“My lord! There you are.” The familiar voice made Becca’s stomach tighten into a knot. She didn’t need to turn her head to know she would be looking into the sharp eyes of Lady Heather. “People had feared you had given up the town already and returned to the country, but I knew that could not be true. I am so glad you have returned to our events here.”
She took William’s arm, as if he had offered it to her. Becca watched as William’s politeness stifled him. He stared at her but said nothing.
“How good it is to see you again,” Lady Heather continued to gush. “Now that you have returned to our parties, I pray you will do me the honor of speaking with me more. Oh, listen, my lord. It is my favorite song, and I am afraid I am in much need of a dance partner.”
Becca nearly dropped her punch glass in surprise at the audacity of the lady. Yet Lady Heather seemed to have no qualms at all about basically dangling her dance card in front of William. Becca wished he would throw Lady Heather off his arm and refuse her.
“Well, I…” Yet that same politeness and kindness she had seen so often in him took over now. “Well, if you are in need of a partner, and Miss Thornton can spare me for a little while, I suppose I could be your dance partner.”
“Oh, Miss Thornbury will not mind.” She waved a hand dismissively at Becca, though she hadn’t yet looked at her once.
“Miss Thornton,” Becca corrected.
“Come.” Lady Heather took William away. William offered an apologetic glance over his shoulder but was swept away with ease.
Becca stared after him, her heart aching in her chest. She wasn’t sure whether to admire him for refusing to have a confrontation or whether to be disappointed that he had refused to turn the lady down. Becca took a rather large gulp of her punch, then turned and deposited it back on the table behind her, having lost interest in the glass entirely.
She stepped forward, walking between the groups of gentlemen and ladies in the room unnoticed, as if she was nothing more than a fleeting shadow. She moved close to the dance floor and watched the dancers moving across the floor. It was a lively number, one she presumed they called a cotillion. As ladies pranced like ponies around the floor, gentlemen followed after them.
She was not sure she had ever seen William look more uncomfortable. He shifted back and forth as he stood, struggling to follow Lady Heather around the room. He blushed a deep shade of red when he nearly went the wrong way, and Becca had a dream of saving him from the dance, of somehow sweeping him up in her arms and taking him to safety.
When the dance came to an end, William said goodbye to his partner and left the dance floor fast, returning to where he had left Becca in the room. Unable to catch his eye to show she had moved, she struggled with how to reach him.
The ballroom seemed busier than before, and there was a line of gossiping ladies between her and William, then the now familiar shadow passed over her, and she heard the squeaky voice of Lady Heather behind her.
“Who are you, exactly?”
Becca turned around, meeting Lady Heather’s gaze and trying to force a smile.
“Good evening, Lady Heather.” She curtsied, remembering her manners even if this lady of thetonclearly thought such niceties were beneath her. “My name is Miss Thornton.”
“That hardly answers who you are, does it?” she said snidely. “Who is your family? Who is your escort here tonight?”
“Baron Lancaster is my escort.” Becca’s answer made Lady Heather’s eyes widen, and her lips fall apart. The pink tinge which spread across Lady Heather’s cheeks clearly had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with outrage.
“Who are you?” she asked again. “Some lowly lady of theton? A merchant’s daughter, perhaps?”
“Who I am is no matter of consequence. If the manner of my birth does not matter to Lord Lancaster, why should it matter to a stranger such as yourself.”
“Ah, sharp-tongued indeed.” Lady Heather’s red cheeks were only getting worse as she stepped forward. “Perhaps Lord Lancaster does not think of position when he escorts a lady to a ball, or takes a…a…mistress—”
“I beg your pardon!?” Becca spluttered. There was no possible way Lady Heather could know what they had shared together. It simply had to be a wild accusation.
“Yet trust me, Miss Thornton. Lord Lancaster was born too high for a woman such as you. He will consider position when he someday decides to wed.” With these final words, Lady Heather turned on her heel. “He will not marry a lady of no consequence. He is part of theton.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowds. Becca wobbled on her feet, feeling uncertain and at a loss of what to do next. There was a sudden prickling in her eyes as she looked around the room and felt at once how out of place she was. Like a barnacle on land or a horse in the ocean, she did not belong in this ballroom.
Tears threatened to fall, and as she looked around the room, she could not see William. Instead, she saw gentlemen holdingcrystal glasses, looking at the ladies who passed them by with examining gazes. She saw ladies adjusting their fine lace gowns, much richer in material than the one she had borrowed from the modiste shop.
