Page 61 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
“Yes?” William looked up from where he and his father were cutting up more of the fruitcake. He placed a slice onto a plate and stood, walking across the room to hand her the cake. “You do not have to work for so long, you know,” he said softly, sitting down beside her on the seat. He sat so close that she jumped in surprise. With Lord Longfellow watching them, she thought he might have kept his distance a little.
“I know,” she whispered, “but I have had a thought. What if this book does not have to be solely about your father?”
“That is the point of it, is it not?” he asked, frowning a little.
“Yes, indeed, and it will all still be in there, every word you want told. It just strikes me that there is another whose story deserves to be told.” Silently, she pressed his mother’s letters into his lap.He froze, looking down at the letters, realization dawning on his face.
“My mother,” he whispered. “Believe me, Becca, telling her tale would be a grand thing.”
“We could make the book about all of you. Tell the tale of the family rather than just one man,” she said, sitting up excitedly.
“We could not do it.” He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Because the whole truth would have to come out.” He gestured to Lord Longfellow across the room, who was now pouring out tea for all of them. “It would affect the earl, too.”
“Call me Father, please,” Lord Longfellow said with a smile. “I find I cannot stand to hear you call me an earl.” William smiled and nodded in agreement. “As for things staying secret…” He paused, clearly considering the matter with great thought. “Let everything be told.”
“Everything?” William stumbled to his feet. “The affair, the fact you’re my father—”
“All of it.” Lord Longfellow turned to take his shoulder in a way that Becca now recognized was a loving action indeed, and quite his habit. “William, I do not intend to disown you now that I know you are my son. I am not ashamed of what Anne and I shared. We shared love. Let the world know the truth of it. Besides, they’ll learn of it someday when I die. You will be my heir.”
“Your heir!?” William spluttered and nearly dropped the plate he was holding. Lord Longfellow barely caught it in time. “But…you do not need to do such a thing.”
“Titles are passed from father to son, regardless,” Lord Longfellow chuckled. “It is the law, William. You will be the next earl anyway. It is as I would wish it to be, and as the law will have it, too. So,” he said with a shrug, “what is the harm in the world knowing it now anyway? I do not mind if you do not mind.”
“Of course, I do not mind. I’d rather the world knew I was your son and not George Dorset’s.”
“Then it is settled.” Lord Longfellow looked at Becca and smiled triumphantly. “I do not doubt your skills for one minute, Miss Thornton, for William spent half an hour this morning singing your praises.”
“He did?” She nearly choked on her cake in surprise.
“He did. Do you think you can write a family saga, rather than the tale of just one man?”
Becca smiled warmly. Now, the project was becoming something truly special indeed.
***
William walked through the rooms of the house once again. Already over this last week, he had toured this house more than once, sometimes with his father beside him, other times alone, but this was the first time Becca had accompanied him. He had longed to do this with her, to talk freely with her, but unfortunately, there was another with them.
The earl had sent a maid as their chaperone, and though she followed the pair of them at some distance, she still followed, nevertheless.
William raised his eyebrows wordlessly at Becca, and she stifled a giggle as they walked into the long gallery at the back of the house.
“Have you noticed how like your own home it is?” she asked, turning her eyes up to the paintings. “Like you, he prefers paintings of landscapes to portraits.”
“He also decorates with light.” William nodded at the white plaster moldings and the light wood floor that stretched out from beneath them. It was a beautiful room, with sunshine reflecting everywhere he looked.
“George kept the house dark. His study always bore dark mahogany furniture, and his chamber was much the same. He insisted on a dark bedchamber for me when I was a boy. I remember he and my mother arguing about that one. She kept bringing white flowers into the room, saying there should be some light in there.”
He walked alongside Becca, their arms brushing with a teasing touch. Becca’s cheeks warmed as he looked down at her.
“Why do I feel as if you are pulling away from me?” he whispered. She halted and glanced purposefully back at the maid chaperoning them.
It wasn’t just the maid. Over the last few days, each time they had come to Lord Longfellow’s house, he had seen she was not as open with him as she had been before. They had only managed to kiss once since coming here, and that kiss was stolen in the carriage when they were certain there were no prying eyes.
“It is not just the chaperone, Becca,” he whispered.
