Page 56 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
Collectively, William, Becca, and Lord Longfellow each leaned back from the table, giving space for Horace to place the tea tray down between them. There was a towering stack of cake, two teapots, and such ornate teacups that the handles swirled like flowers. William’s eyes shot toward one of the teacups; it was the exact same style that his mother had used in their own house.
“Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“No, thank you,” Lord Longfellow said woodenly.
They waited in silence for Horace to leave, but after the door closed, William still couldn’t find which question to ask first. He continued to stare at the earl as Becca reached for the teapot and poured the tea for them.
“I…I suppose I should explain,” Lord Longfellow said eventually.
“Please do,” William encouraged sharply.
Lord Longfellow blinked. Once more, there was something very familiar about the man before him, and William didn’t think it was just because he may have seen the man in the woods once. Those eyes…there was something more than that to them.
“I met your mother long ago.” Lord Longfellow reached forward. He had no interest in the tea that Becca passed to him, though he thanked her all the same. Instead, he stood and rounded the table, moving to sit down beside William. Startled, William leaned back, uncertain of what to think or feel.
His chest was numb, and he had an ache somewhere in his gut, though he didn’t know what either sensation meant.
“We met before she was wed,” Lord Longfellow said, his tone so deep that Becca nearly dropped her cup across the table. William looked at her, wondering what had happened, but she was staring back at the earl with a look of wonder on her face.
What does that look mean?
“Anne and I courted,” Lord Longfellow went on, his words coming faster now. It was as if a cork had been let out of a bottle of sparkling wine, and now, like bubbles, the words came thick and fast. “It was all such a long time ago, so fast it happened. We courted for a year, and never have I loved another as I loved your mother.”
Love? So, he loved her after all.
William thought of the letters now discarded on the table beside the tea tray, with the ribbon undone, glistening red in the light through the window. There were certainly words of love spoken in those letters.
“My father did not wish us to marry right away. He didn’t object to her position or the match, but to my wish to marry young,” Lord Longfellow continued. “He insisted that I go to university, that I see through my studies, and that I go on a grand tour of Europe as he did. Unfortunately, I am a man who is not fond of confrontation. I did as he asked of me and promised Anne I would return for her.”
He shifted back in his chair, clearly recognizing that William had put distance between them, too. “Unfortunately, her father was not so keen to wait for a match for her. By the time I returned from my grand tour, she was betrothed to your father.”
“How?” William found his voice at last. “If you knew my mother as well as I think you did…” he faltered, gesturing to the letters though he could not pick them up, not now he had met the man who had written to them. “You must have seen that the man she was marrying was a fraudster.”
“I saw it.” Lord Longfellow nodded sharply. Tears were in his eyes again, though he did not let them fall and blinked them away.
“Your mother did not have much control over her own life. She respected your father well enough. So when her own father arranged the match, and I was not around, what choice did she have? It wasn’t so much accepting it as making her peace with it. It was not until some years later she discovered the truth of George’s background and all his lies.”
He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “We decided that fate dealt us a cruel hand, and…and we tried to keep our distance from one another. To respect the marriage.”
William narrowed his eyes at the letters on the table. That confusion was whirring in his gut once again. He should behappy that his mother had a love after all, especially after how George had treated her, but he had to know the truth. For once and for all, he had to know exactly what happened.
“But you didn’t keep your distance, did you?” William asked, nodding at the letters.
“We tried,” Lord Longfellow said, also staring at those letters. “We kept meeting again, at parties and assemblies. Staying away from her was like staying out of the sun on a good day, William. It was impossible.”
William. He keeps calling me by my name.
He inhaled sharply, wondering what it meant.
“She came here one day,” Lord Longfellow went on. “She had discovered much about what your father had done. The deceptions, the lies, who he really was, the fact that he was hardly ever faithful in their own marriage. She felt cheated and angry, and I guess she came here because she knew she could trust me. She knew that I would never lie to her.”
Becca took one of the letters and slowly nudged it toward William across the table. He took it from her, reading it to see what was so important that she had to push it toward him now.
“Songbird?” William asked.
“My name for her. She had the finest voice. Greatest singer I ever knew. She sang with feeling, not just skill,” Lord Longfellow said with a soft smile.
Then William’s eyes trailed down the latter part of the letter.
