Page 54 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“I do not know.” William cursed under his breath. “By God, I wish Henry had been plainer with me in that note.”
He could hear footsteps approaching on the other side of the door now, getting increasingly close.
“Guests? No one ever comes to see me,” a deep voice said to the butler.
“They arrived only minutes ago, Lord Longfellow.”
“Longfellow?” Becca repeated the name at William’s side. He looked at her questioningly. “Could it be…the Earl of Longfellow?”
“The recluse?” William said with a wrinkled brow. Clearly, they had both read the same scandal sheets, for she nodded. The last time William had read of the man, it was said the Earl of Longfellow kept to this side of town and no other. He was rarely seen at events of theton,and only frequently spied at places such as Somerset House, the art gallery.
Unable to say anymore now, William held his breath as the door opened, and two men stepped inside. The first was the severe butler, and the other was a much older man.
“The Earl of Longfellow,” the butler presented him as the man walked inside with something of a spring in his step.
The man may have been older, fifty-five at least, but he appeared to have the energy of a younger man, and his hair had not completely grayed yet. There were streaks of dark brown in that hair, and the strong jawline for a minute looked familiar to William, before he dismissed it, his thoughts taken by the surprise in the gentleman’s face. William heard Becca gasp beside him.
“Lord Longfellow.” William cleared his throat and remembered his manners, bowing to the earl. “Forgive our arrival. I know this is unexpected, but…” He didn’t know how to explain his presence.
For a minute, there was only silence as the gentleman continued to stare at him. The eyes were a rich brown, but there was something in them that was also familiar.
Why do I feel as if I have seen him somewhere before?
Then, there was an image in William’s mind. He recalled being but a child, holding his mother’s hand and walking through the grounds of her house. He was so young; he was no taller than her waist. He pulled at her skirt as he saw something between the trees—no, someone. It was a gentleman.
For a mad minute, William believed the Earl of Longfellow before him was the same man he had spied on that day, thoughhe quickly dismissed the idea as a mad one. Surely, such a thing was not possible.
“Well, it is good to have guests.” Lord Longfellow appeared to recover himself from his surprise. He clapped his hands together good-naturedly and looked at his butler. “Tea, if you please, and cakes, too. My butler said you are a baron, my lord?”
He looked keenly at William as he gestured to a circular table at the far end of the room, encouraging William and Becca to take a seat.
“Yes. Baron Lancaster.” At the words, the gentleman tripped on the side of his rug. Becca reached for his arm, catching him before he could fall.
“Ah, thank you, my dear. And your name is Miss Thornton?”
“Yes, my lord.” She curtsied to him.
“You’ll have to forgive an old man. In my younger days, I was quite the athlete, yet these days, I hardly know where I am putting my own two feet.” He laughed at himself and pulled out a chair for Miss Thornton, still clearly eager to make her feel welcome, before he took his own seat. He then seated himself beside her and gestured for William to take the final chair.
What does he mean by such a keen gaze?
Those brown eyes were relentless. The earl looked at him as if he was the most important thing in the room.
“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked, pulling a little at his collar to loosen it. “As you can imagine, I do not get many visitors. You must have come for a reason?”
“We have.” William nodded. “Though I confess, I do not really know why I am here. My lord, have you had a visit from my butler over the last few days? His name is Mr. Henry Fitzwilliam.”
“I have.” The man nodded and sat back in his chair. “It was a most peculiar visit indeed. He asked many questions. My butler, Horace, is quite a proud fellow. He insisted I throw out Mr. Fitzwilliam. He feared Mr. Fitzwilliam was a writer for one of those scandal sheets. He wanted to be rid of him, you see, but to me, Mr. Fitzwilliam did not seem the type. Far from it.”
He smiled rather sadly. “He came to know some particular things, and he seemed to care very much about what answers he received.”
He looked at William sharply once more.
“Forgive me, Lord Lancaster, but may I ask how old you are?”
William blinked in surprise and looked at Becca. She lifted a shoulder in the smallest of shrugging movements, showing she had no idea what this meant either.
“I am thirty, my lord,” William answered quickly.
