Page 10 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
Then she looked at Lord Lancaster beside her, still feeling that strange hunger and yearning in her chest that had been there ever since she had collided with him. He had not seemed to care about money, but then again, he was a baron. Perhaps he was just more hidden in his true motivations.
“My family is of no consequence,” Becca said hurriedly. Fearing discovery, she curtsied hastily for a second time. “If you would excuse me, there…there is another I need to talk to tonight.” She shared one last look with Lord Lancaster, seeing the frown at her departure, and then she turned and left, walking quickly across the room.
He is not for me. No good can come from dwelling on a single dance with such a gentleman. He is a baron!
She reached the side of the room where the drinks tables stood and helped herself to another glass of champagne, taking a rather large gulp before she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that some of the ladies looked at her with suspicion for this. Fearing she was not behaving in a ladylike manner, she lowered the glass back down to the table.
“I do not belong here,” she whispered, fiddling with the brooch on her gown. She turned, ready to leave the assembly roomsand abandon her endeavor altogether, when someone stepped in front of her.
Almost as tall as Baron Lancaster, he was a striking presence with sharp features and a rather aquiline nose. The grey eyes looked straight at her, harshly, then he bowed his head, his eyes never leaving hers. She hastened to curtsy once more, growing tired of how many times she had to bob up and down in this room.
“Mr. Reginald Baxter, I presume?” he asked in a humorous tone.
Chapter 4
“I…” Words failed Becca as she stared at the man before her. The sharp clean suit was plain, as was the swagger stick in his clasp. The sight of it conjured the image Charlotte had described. “Yes, I am,” she whispered.
The gentleman’s eyebrows shot up then his smile grew, and it transformed his face. The knot of fear that had developed in her stomach began to soften as she stared at him.
“Lord knows why I am so surprised.” He shook his head. “I know there are some great writers out there who do not write in their own name. Why should Mr. Baxter be any different?”
“You do not mind, sir?” Becca asked, stepping forward in surprise. She felt eyes upon her and glanced across the room. She met Lord Lancaster’s gaze and that excitement shot through her once more, as if she had taken an arrow to the center of her chest, then he looked away, his attention caught by Lady Heather, and she returned her focus to the gentleman before her.
“No, indeed.” The man shook his head once more. “If anything, you have become more of an interesting writer to me now.” He crooked his finger, beckoning for her to follow him. With some wariness, she passed around the drinks table, moving to the corner of the room where they stood together. “I see you have already met my master, Baron Lancaster.”
Becca stopped her jaw from dropping another time that evening.
“Your master? Then you are his—”
“Butler, yes.” He nodded and inclined his head toward her in acknowledgement. “My name is Henry Fitzwilliam,” he said calmly. “I wished to speak to the writer Mr. Reginal Baxter as I have a commission for him concerning my master, a commission I hope you will be interested in, Miss…?” He waited for her to introduce herself.
“Thornton,” she said slowly. He smiled and nodded.
“What do you know of my master, Miss Thornton?”
“I…Well…” She struggled for words. Asked such a thing by Charlotte, she could have gone on at length about the handsomeness of the man, the ease with which she had spoken, the flirtation, anything! Yet these were hardly things to discuss with Mr. Fitzwilliam. “I have heard rumors about his father tonight.”
“Ah, and that is what I wish you to set right.” He held his finger up in the air, capturing her attention. “All around this room, and in every other room thetonoccupies, you’ll hear my master’s name and title lambasted. He shares his father’s blood, and that is his condemnation, to be tainted by association with the devil.”
“Then his father…he was not a good man?”
“Far from it.” Mr. Fitzwilliam sighed deeply. “There is more to the story that concerns Baron Lancaster, much, much more. I wish to create the opportunity for my master to tell his own story, the truth of what really happened with his father and how different the two of them are.
Only then will the baron have his opportunity to live his life freely, to its fullest. Maybe then he can have true friends who look at him with trust, not wariness, and perhaps he can marry someday, too.”
Marry?
Becca looked toward Lord Lancaster who stared without speaking at Lady Heather as she babbled relentlessly about something. A kernel of jealousy bloomed in Becca’s stomach before she clamped down upon it.
“I understand.” Becca nodded slowly, trying to maintain a business manner. “Writing the truth of the tale could offer him a new future, a better one, but there is something more I need to ask. Why choose me?”
“I’m sorry?”
“There are any number of writers who could perform such a task. Thetonhas its own scandal sheet writers, trusted names that people go to for what they believe to be the truth behind the gossip. You have great memoir writers and essayists, too, who could do a fine job. Why choose Mr. Reginald Baxter, a writer from a cheap periodical who portrays a world far beyond theton?” she whispered in a rush.
“Many reasons.” Mr. Fitzwilliam sighed. “A scandal writer would no doubt embellish the story, as they always do, and you can never really trust what they say even if someone is foolish enough to believe them. As for great memoir writers, they publish thick volumes which are left growing dusty onthe shelves of bookshops and libraries. No, we need someone different.”
He gestured to her with the swagger stick. “Your writing captures the hearts of those who read. I’ve seen people from all classes pick up theSanders’ Periodical. They turn to your pieces, laughing warmly at your depiction of human nature, and even sometimes shedding a tear, too.Thatis the sort of writing my master needs, even if he does not know it yet.”
