Page 18 of The Secret Identity of the Lord's Aide
“I don’t know what level of professionalism you assumed I would bring to this arrangement, Lord Linfield, but I can assure you that your speech has been written, edited, and then edited once again. It’s absolutely perfect,” Bess said shortly.
Lord Linfield scoffed slightly. Something behind his eyes burned bright when he looked at Bess, making her remember the words Irene had spoken that morning in the kitchen. As if he could ever regard her as anything but a foolish ex-debutante! He’d surely learned of her reputation, by now, and her ex-fiancé’s conviction, along with her father’s escape.
Perhaps that was why he was pressing her, just now. Perhaps he’d learned of her reputation and was considering taking away his offer.
“All right. Let’s see it, Lady Elizabeth,” Lord Linfield said.
Bess walked the full path to her desk, drawing the several pieces of paper up and splaying them across the desk. When Lord Linfield stood beside her, she felt awash with a strange fear. She placed her hands behind her back, linking the fingers. Her nostrils filled with the smell of him: the woods, his musk, something entirely masculine that she couldn’t quite name.
She wouldn’t tell Irene about this bizarre feeling in her gut. Wouldn’t tell her that she almost couldn’t speak around Lord Linfield. That her tongue felt heavy and strange. It was like giving herself away.
Lord Linfield studied the speech for a long time. The room was tense with silence. Bess remained with her eyes towards the wall, not wanting to look at her own words while he did. Perhaps she would catch some mistake. Perhaps she would realise what she might have done better.
But finally, after what felt like a small eternity, Lord Linfield nodded his head—just once. He cut his chin back towards Richard, and then raised his eyebrows. He let out a small laugh, then a cackle, one that made Bess’s heart stop for a moment.
“It really is something,” he said, both to Richard and to Bess.
“Something?” Bess demanded, surprised that she could even articulate this one word.
“Something,” Lord Linfield said, a smile broadening between his cheeks. “I really can’t believe I ever tried to articulate my own thoughts on paper, Lady Elizabeth. For this, this is masterful, in comparison. Mine were words formed from the mind of a child, perhaps. And you’ve allowed my opinions to really breathe.”
The compliment was enormous. Bess pressed her lips together, feeling tears spring into her eyes. She blinked up at him, at the incredible handsomeness of his face—his swept-back blond curls, his mighty, firm shoulders, his large hands that seemed so powerful and sure. She imagined, for the first time, falling into him. She would place her cheek atop his chest and listen to the firm beating of his chest. She hadn’t imagined herself touching another man since Conner’s death, and yet …
No. She pushed the thought away, telling herself she could be content with this praise of her intellect. Nothing more.
“That is very kind, Sir,” she said, bowing her head. “Terribly kind. I look forward to tomorrow afternoon when I see you deliver the words. Know that they’re all from your mind, just created in a more …”
“Artful way,” Lord Linfield said, returning the heaviness of her gaze. “I won’t forget it.”
Lord Linfield folded the pages of the script and slotted them into an envelope before heading back towards the door. Outside, night had fallen fully, draping its black blanket atop London. Carriages scuttled past and candles flickered from the restaurant across the way—looking cosy, yet foreign. It was always someone else’s cosiness, Bess reminded herself. She was always on the outside, looking in.
“I suppose I’ll see you in the crowd tomorrow,” Lord Linfield said. “Good evening, Lady Elizabeth.”
Bess remained standing as the door clicked closed behind Lord Linfield and Richard, as they began their trek towards their yonder carriage. Bess watched the horses as they lifted their hooves, impatient. Richard and Lord Linfield disappeared in the belly of the carriage. Perhaps they were discussing her, as the rain began to patter across the top of the carriage. Or, perhaps they weren’t. Perhaps she’d already been forgotten.
That was more likely, Bess told herself. It had to be so.
Chapter 10
Lord Linfield awoke the following morning to find that Lady Bess's speech had swept across the room of his office, caught up in wind from the storm. The pages had swirled left and right, tossing against the far brick wall and coiling up along the crack beneath the door. Nathaniel groaned, beginning the horrific task of collecting them. Had he left the window open the previous night? It must have been him. He cursed himself, inwardly, and flipped through the pages. He’d been up until far past midnight, trying to practice Lady Elizabeth’s words. But he’d felt inarticulate and stupid, unable to translate what he so dearly wanted to say.
Why was this so difficult for him?
There was a knock on the door. Nathaniel didn’t speak for a moment, unsure if he wanted to face anyone. But the rap came again, and Nathaniel called out.
“All right? What is it?”
Richard appeared in the doorway. Nathaniel felt a moment’s embarrassment at his previous rage. He turned his eyes to the ground, remembering that his father—Richard’s previous employer—had hardly ever grown angry with anyone. He’d been committed to being level-headed and sure, always quick with a kind word. Perhaps Nathaniel didn’t have that in him.
“Sir, I’m sorry to trouble you,” Richard said. “Your mother’s told me she expects you downstairs for breakfast this morning. She says you’ve been avoiding her.”
“I haven’t been avoiding her,” Nathaniel said, another wave of anger rising up in his chest. “What is she even—” He paused, stabbing the first of the speech pages over the top of the others. He wasn’t entirely sure if they were in order quite yet.
“Sir, what happened?” Richard asked. He blinked down at the damp pages, incredulous.
“It’s nothing, Richard,” Nathaniel said. “It’s only the problems of a pure idiot, I’m sure.”
“Sir, you know I wouldn’t be fighting so hard for you, working so hard for you, if I didn’t truly believe in the kind of work you could do for this world,” Richard said, his voice low. “And I don’t say that lightly. Your father knew me to be a diligent worker for him. In every way, it was a privilege to work for him during his time at Parliament.”
