Page 63 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“Henry?” William called out to him, striding forward across the entrance hall.
With some plain reluctance, Horace stepped aside, allowing William to see his butler in the doorway.
Henry had changed much since the last William had seen him. It was clear he had been wearing the same set of clothes for a number of days, dirtied from riding. His skin had a pallor to it, and he looked hungry. The skin under his eyes sagged, and he appeared to have barely slept at all.
“Henry? What is it?”
“Staff should call at the staff entrance, my lord,” Horace said sharply, stepping forward once again. “Not the main entrance.”
Disgusted, William glowered at Horace.
“In my house, I do not mind where the staff call. The spheres are not so separate there.” He reached forward and took Henry’s arm, pulling him into the house.
“I do not mind where people call either,” Lord Longfellow’s voice called from up the stairs. William paused, looking up the staircase to see his father walking down toward them. “Horace, do us all a favor and forget your lessons for a minute or two? We do not all have to be so formal all the time.”
Horace seemed offended by this idea and drifted away. As he walked off, he hesitated a second by Becca, who appeared in the nearest doorway. Whatever look he bestowed upon her must have shaken her, for she leaned against the doorframe and looked small indeed.
William was reminded of the night Lady Heather had said something to her. He was tempted to go to her then, to embrace her, to watch away the hurt, but then Henry nearly fell over beside him.
“God’s wounds!” William caught Henry and pulled him back up to stand. “Is this exhaustion? Or some sickness?”
“Exhaustion only. I have been riding through the night.”
“Quick, bring him in here.” Lord Longfellow hurried down the stairs and pointed to the nearest drawing room. “I’ll fetch some brandy to rouse his spirits. Megan,” he called to the maid who stood beside Becca. “Would you have some food brought up at once for Mr. Fitzwilliam?”
“Of course, my lord.” She hurried off.
Becca hastened to help William, and together, they escorted Henry into the drawing room. They sat him down in a vast armchair by the fire, with Becca pulling off his frock coat, which was damp from the light, misty rain. Lord Longfellow produced a brandy within seconds and held it up for Henry to take.
“Trust me, my good man. It works well to rouse one. We’ll get some food in you soon.” As Lord Longfellow stepped back, Henry thanked him and took the glass, taking just the smallest of sips.
“Where have you been, Henry?” William sat down beside him on a footstool, leaning forward. “I have not heard from you in a week.”
“There were things to do, things I had to be sure of.” Rather than look at William, he looked at Lord Longfellow.
“Did you find them?” Lord Longfellow asked.
“I did. No easy feat, but I found them. I rode through the night to come here and tell you.”
“Good man indeed.” Lord Longfellow clapped him on the shoulder once again. “Let me top up that brandy for you.”
“Found who?” William looked around in his seat. “What is going on?” He felt a hand upon his shoulder, but it wasn’t his father, it was Becca’s small and gentle hand. She was trying to calm him down a little. He raised his own palm and placed it over hers. Their fingers slotted together with ease.
Henry, apparently so accustomed to their closeness now, didn’t look twice, but William felt his father look at him closely as he returned with the topped-up brandy.
“What is happening?” William asked. “You sent Henry to look for someone?”
“Not in so many words. When he came to my door, he asked if I knew anything about a Sarah Brackley.”
William exchanged a look with Becca. It was a name they knew very well after re-reading that marriage certificate that many times.
“I told him I had heard the name just once.” Lord Longfellow sat down in another chair, his eyes turning back to Henry. “You found them?”
“Them?” William repeated, noting that his father did not say ‘her.’
“I found them. They were not easy to track down, but I found them in the end.” Henry shifted in his seat to look at William. “The marriage was valid, my lord. George Dorset did indeed marry Sarah Brackley in Stockbridge near Winchester, as was described in that certificate. I have seen the parish records to prove it.”
Chapter 23
