Page 70 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“I’m ready.” William tried to sound more convincing than he felt. He stood looking through the window of the house, well aware that some distance behind him were Henry and Becca. Henry had scarcely said a word all morning and looked deep in thought. Becca wore a look of pure misery constantly, and this broke William’s heart more than anything else.
He could still practically feel the pleasure of what they had shared the night before, remembering the feeling of entering Becca, of watching her close her eyes and moan his name, of feeling her final release when he got her there.
I wish we could marry.
He glanced over his shoulder at her again, but she was busy helping to prepare a table ready for tea.
“Here they come,” Lord Longfellow said, drawing William’s attention back to the matter at hand.
Out of the window, he saw the cart had halted. Two people climbed down, and as they turned to face the house, William felt his gut tighten.
“Not who you were expecting?” Lord Longfellow must have read his reaction.
“I am not sure what I was expecting.”
The lady, Sarah Brackley, or Mrs. Sarah Dorset as she truly was, lifted the lip of her bonnet to reveal her face as she stared at the house. She was covered in freckles and had a sweet face that was currently contorted in worry. The dark brown hair that framed her face curled madly. She pulled at the rather modest pelisse she wore on her shoulders and talked to the young man beside her.
It was this man that interested William the most, for he was very like George. His hair was quite fair, and his face had some of the sharp lines that William had known in George’s face, yet there was also a softness to the face and the same freckles that belonged to his mother.
Slowly, the pair of them walked toward the door.
“Right, this will not be easy,” Lord Longfellow said, steering William now to face the door of the drawing room in anticipation of their entrance. “But I’m here if you need me.”
“Thank you.” William nodded.
Before anymore could be said between them, the butler showed the pair of them in.
“Miss Sarah Brackley and her son, Mr. Alexander Brackley.”
She uses her maiden name.
This startled William the most as the pair entered. He was so shocked he forgot to incline his head as the pair curtsied and bowed to him.
“Ahem,” Lord Longfellow cleared his throat, and it was enough to rouse William.
“Welcome,” William said and bowed his head to the pair of them.
“Thank you,” Miss Brackley said with some unease. “Forgive me, but…I do not really know why we are here. An expressmessenger arrived in the night. My son said the note spoke of an emergency and an urgency to speak with the two of us.”
William nodded, seeing that their hope was right—Alexander Brackley could indeed read and had managed to read the message.
“I have invited you here,” Lord Longfellow said, stepping forward. “Please, you are most welcome to my house. I have arranged for tea. You must be thirsty after your journey.”
“We are. Thank you.” Miss Brackley crossed the room most readily to where Becca was offering up a cup of tea. Yet Alexander did not follow. He stayed perfectly still by the door, fidgeting with the humble hat in his hand. His eyes shot between Lord Longfellow and William warily.
“Will you not take a drink?” Lord Longfellow asked the young man.
“Which of you is Lord Longfellow?” The voice was so like George’s that William actually took a step back. He felt as if a shadow had entered the room, and it was certainly an unwelcome one. “Which of you?” he asked with sudden sharpness.
“Alex, please,” Miss Brackley begged from the other side of the room.
“I need answers, Mother. I cannot go on like this.” He shook his head frantically. “I beg of you all, tell me who Lord Longfellow is.”
“I am.” Lord Longfellow stepped toward Alexander. “It is I who sent you the message in the night. I apologize for calling you here so quickly, but it was necessary.”
Slowly, Alexander stepped toward Lord Longfellow. For one horrid moment, William thought Alexander was like his father—demanding, insistent, and entitled. There was the same suspicion he’d seen in George’s face before now on Alexander’s, then something strange happened.
Rather than lashing out in anger, speaking sharply, or anything of the kind, Alexander bowed deeply to Lord Longfellow.
