Page 18 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
I could tell him about the commission.
Yet her stomach knotted at the mere thought, and she fought against the idea. This wasn’t like writing an article in a small paper about everyday things observed on the street, a caricature and humorous portrayal of the world. Far from it! She was to step into the world of thetonand offer a reveal on two gentlemen’s most inner secrets of their lives.
He would not approve.
His general dislike of the way thetonworked made it all the worse. She chewed her lip as she took the paper, imagining the furor that would overtake him, shocking him out of his generally quiet manner.
“Is all well, love?” he said warmly, resting his other paper on his lap and peering at her over his spectacles. His face was more lined these days, marking the fact that he was getting older.
“Yes, Father,” she said, trying to keep all concern out of her voice. “Just a little tired after the walk, that is all.”
“I’m not surprised. This wind is enough to make anyone tremble and want to hide inside.” He put upon a shudder. “Go warm yourself up. I’ll arrange for some luncheon for us with Franny.”
“Thank you.” She left the room, leaving the periodical behind her. She hesitated in the doorway, glancing back at her father, though he didn’t appear to notice it, his mind elsewhere.
She could still remember the last time he had worked with a gentleman of theton,how he had marched up and down this room with anger in his every step.
“They cannot be trusted. Not one of them!”
She turned her back and hurried out of the room, not wanting to run into their cook, Franny, for the lady had a habit of reading Becca’s emotions on her face.
She took refuge in her chamber instead and hurriedly found some paper, setting up her ink bottle and a fresh quill. Far from writing out her notes, she wrote a letter instead, addressing it to Charlotte.
My dearest Charlotte,
Such a thing has happened this morning, I scarcely know how to begin! Suffice it to say the commission I have been offered by this gentleman could change much indeed, but before I go any further, I need your advice.
She went on to describe Lord Lancaster’s situation and what both she and Mr. Fitzwilliam hoped for from her writing. Then, she turned the matter of the letter to another.
I long to accept this commission. I’d be a fool to deny the fact I hope for the fame such a piece could give me. It could open the door for further opportunities for my writing. Such things as dreams are made on! Yet there are complications.
You know how my father feels about thetonafter his own incidents with gentlemen of titles. If he were to ever discover it, do you think he would be pleased? Or fearful?
There is another matter as well in which I am concerned. Oh, my dearest Charlotte, I met Lord Lancaster that night at the assembly. To my shame, I danced with him. I talked to him, and I allowed myself to be charmed by him, not knowing he was a titled man, and he certainly had no knowledge I was but the poor daughter of a town lawyer.
I cannot deny the fact that after seeing him again, I know what I felt for him that night was no rush of excitement from the wine or being at an assembly. It was a depth of feeling, an attraction to a man who is completely beyond my reach.
Is It wise for me to agree to this commission when spending more time with him could be so dangerous for my heart? God forbid, if I was to form an attachment to the gentleman, what then?
I pray to have your advice soon. Write back to me when you can.
Your friend,
Becca
She finished the letter with a flourish and sealed it hurriedly, melting the short and cheap stick of red wax she had onto the envelope, then leaving it to dry. With the letter done, she pushed it away and sighed, sitting back in her chair and closing her eyes. In that darkness, she saw Lord Lancaster smiling at her and then saw wonder in his eyes.
“Oh no, what am I getting myself into?”
Chapter 7
“Miss Becca? A letter has arrived for you.”
“Ah, thank you.” Becca tried not to look too excited at the breakfast table as she turned in her seat to Fanny, who had just walked in. She was the one member of staff they had at the small house with them, though her daughter occasionally came to help with cleaning the house when needed.
As Fanny set down a plate of mutton for breakfast, she passed the letter to Becca, her brow furrowing when she clearly saw Becca reaching for the letter eagerly.
“Is all well, Miss Becca?”
