Page 62 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
She smiled, though there was a sadness to the expression. She looped her arm through his, and they walked on to the far end of the long gallery. Here, there were not only landscapes but two portraits, too.
There was one of William’s mother, Anne, very similar to the one he had in his own house. She smiled sweetly out from the portrait. Beside it, there was a painting of Lord Longfellow.
Yet he was young in the picture, and the likeness William bore to him was all the more noticeable. Behind him stood his parents, and William could see how his father was a mixture of his own parents, too. The lady had the chestnut eyes but also bore golden hair. The gentleman had blue eyes, but the dark brown hair William had so often seen in the mirror.
“I am so glad you have found him,” Becca whispered as they stared at the two portraits. “He loves you. For knowing you for such little time, it is remarkable, but he does. You can see his eagerness to protect you, just in the way he fusses around you.”
“Fusses?” William laughed at the idea. “Does he fuss?”
“The way he pours your tea for you and takes your coat humors me. You bring a lightness into his life he has been missing, and he does the same for you. Does he not?”
William was disappointed she had changed the topic of their conversation. He glanced over their shoulders, but the maid was still there. Had she not been there, he would have taken Becca in his arms, kissed her hand, her neck, her lips, and reminded her of what it was they had already shared together, and what they could share all over again, if she still wanted him.
“He does,” he said softly, giving in to the fact that they could not talk freely now as he wished to. “It brings me more happiness than I can tell you to find him again.”
“Good. It warms my heart to see you love your father as I do mine.”
“You talk so little of your father, Becca,” William said quietly. “I have asked you much, but you say so little.”
“I told you he is a lawyer.”
“Yes, but that is nearly all you have told me.”
“He is protective.” She wrinkled her nose a little and then smiled. “Loving and protective. You will know what that is like now.”
“Hopefully, I will.” He sighed and looked at the painting of his father, with his grandparents standing on either side of him. “I realized something this morning when I walked into this house. For so long, my father kept me prisoner in our own house. I thought it was his attempt to protect me, but what if it wasn’t?”
“How do you mean?” Becca asked, her hand tightening through the crook of his arm comfortingly.
“I mean that he was controlling me. If he knew I was not really his son, perhaps he feared if he let me be part of society completely, others would recognize how similar I was to Lord Longfellow. They might try to take the money, the land, all of it from my father if they did not think he had a right to it. If they didn’t think we were a true family.”
There’s so much still to answer.
William thought of the marriage certificate between George and Sarah, and then wondered if the marriage between his father and mother was valid at all. He had never even seen a certificate for their marriage.
“This journey of discovery is not yet over, is it?” he asked Becca with a sigh. “There is still much to know before this book can be completed.”
“That is true.” She ran her hand up and down the inside of his arm. She made him tremble with desire for her. He inclined his head in her direction, just an inch, out of fear as to how closely the maid watched them.
“Do not pull back from me, please,” he begged in a quiet whisper. “You meant too much to me for that.”
“I’m not pulling back,” Becca assured him. “I’m just giving you the space to discover your true past. I’ll be here, William, always, if you want me.” Then she rested her head on his shoulder.
If I want her? What does she mean by ‘if?’
“Becca, let me set something straight between us now.”
“What is?” She raised her head, looking up into his eyes.
There was a commotion in the house. A door opened and closed, then there was someone talking firmly.
“Something’s happening,” William said, loosening his arm from Becca’s and crossing the long gallery as quickly as he could. When the voices raised further, he ran, sprinting from the room with Becca and the maid hurrying behind him.
As he appeared back in the corridor, he found Horace trying to bar the way to someone who was attempting to get into the house.
“I must speak with him. It is imperative, I must speak to him at once.”
I know that voice.
