The Lawrence Browne Affair

by Cat Sebastian

  “How did you—or Sir Edward, rather—enter into your arrangement with his lordship?” Georgie asked in between sips of tea.

  “I was friends with poor Lady Radnor.”

  Simon’s mother? Lawrence’s mother? The Mad Earl’s beleaguered wife?

  Medlock plonked his cup into the saucer with a clatter. “The heavens positively overflow with poor Lady Radnors,” he said, echoing Georgie’s thoughts. “She means the most recent one. The current earl’s sister-in-law.”

  “Poor lady,” Lady Standish murmured. “She told me of her husband’s brother, locked away in an attic. We were very young and thought it quite romantic.”

  Medlock looked like he might be sick.

  “Of course he wasn’t locked away at all. I gather he had locked himself in to avoid his relations, and who can blame him. In any event, she told me that he invented a system of pipes that brought hot water up from the kitchens so she could more easily wash her hair.”

  Georgie froze, remembering how Lawrence had hauled up bucket after bucket for his bath, and wondered what had happened to this hot-water contraption. In which of Penkellis’s dust-shrouded bedchambers would Georgie find evidence of Lawrence’s kindness for his brother’s mistreated wife?

  “And there were other inventions too,” Lady Standish continued. “I was fascinated. I thought, here is a man who has been very kind to my friend, a man who has no fortune whatsoever of his own, a man who is a virtual prisoner in the house of his ill-tempered father and depraved brother. I thought that with a little effort I could help him turn his inventions to a small profit. I knew a little about business, because my father was in trade and he wasn’t above letting me help. Don’t look at me like that, Julian.”

  “Our father being in trade is the least appalling part of that narrative, dear sister.”

  Georgie raised an eyebrow. “You began this endeavor out of the kindness of your own heart, then.” He knew perfectly well that Sir Edward Standish—which was to say, Lady Standish—took a fee for her labors. Kindness had little or nothing to do with it. Georgie felt once again on quite solid and familiar ground.

  “Oh, goodness no.” She actually laughed, a ladylike trill that had no place in this conversation. “I needed money too. Quite badly, in fact.”

  “Do strive for some conduct, Eleanor,” Medlock said wearily. “Not all your private matters need to be aired this morning. Save some for supper.”

  She ignored her brother and continued addressing Georgie. “Well, it seemed a partnership would help both of us, but I wasn’t such a fool as to think he’d do business with a woman. Besides—”

  She broke off, her attention evidently arrested by a sight over Georgie’s shoulder. Medlock was frozen, his teacup halfway to his mouth.

  Georgie turned to see Lawrence standing in the doorway, his expression as dark as a thundercloud.

  Rising to his feet with all the self-possession he could muster, Georgie greeted Lawrence and performed the necessary introductions. He wanted to know how long Lawrence had been standing there, but that was never a clever thing to ask. It was best to be the first one to speak unpleasant truths, to put just the right level of distracting shine on the ugly facts.

  “Lady Standish and her brother, Mr. Medlock, have paid a call on us, my lord. Lady Standish is responsible for her husband’s letters and business interests, so I don’t doubt that the two of you will have many shared interests.”

  That wasn’t so bad. Lawrence’s expression even softened, his eyebrows less violently V-shaped.

  “Welcome to Penkellis,” Lawrence said, and he almost sounded like he meant it. He didn’t come further into the room, but he didn’t need to. He was dressed to go outdoors, in a topcoat Georgie had purchased last week. Simon was in the hall behind him, similarly attired; Barnabus had lumbered into the parlor and was drooling on the new carpet. Georgie gathered that Lawrence and Simon meant to take the dog for some exercise.

  “I’m glad to see you in good health, Lord Radnor,” Lady Standish said. “The contents of your last two letters left me a good deal concerned. So when I found myself somewhat near your home”—here, Georgie thought he heard Julian Medlock snort with derision—“I knew I had to pay a call.”

  “My last two letters?” Radnor repeated, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows.

  “In which you detailed the functioning of the trough battery and the scheme for burying the device underground. None of it made the least bit of sense.”

  Oh, damn. Those were the letters Georgie had written, hoping to mislead Standish sufficiently to prevent him profiting off Lawrence’s invention while Georgie figured out how to steal it himself. He coughed apologetically. “I believe I wrote those letters. Perhaps I misunderstood the mechanism for the battery. How stupid of me.”

  Lawrence’s eyebrows had reverted to ominous slashes across his brow. And rightly so, since he knew that Georgie was perfectly capable of explaining the telegraph and the battery.

  Lady Standish did not seem to notice. “Ah, that explains it. It was an unfamiliar hand.”

  Lawrence narrowed his eyes, and now he looked very threatening indeed. He knew Georgie was up to something. Georgie instinctively moved closer, drawn by some half-formed and misguided intent to reassure his lover. But as he stepped out of the shadows, a beam of light struck him full in the face.

  “Oh!” It was Medlock, damn him. Georgie stepped out of the shaft of light but it was too late. “I knew you looked familiar.” He bit his lip and held his finger in midair for a long moment, during which Georgie thought he might expire from suspense. “Gerald Turnbull!” he finally announced with an air of satisfaction, as if he had calculated a particularly difficult sum without pencil and paper.

  “He’s already said his name is George Turner, my dear,” Lady Standish said. “He can’t be your Gerald Turnbull. Although those names are terribly similar. Perhaps you were introduced to Mr. Turner and misheard it as Turnbull.”

  “That must be it.” Medlock did not sound convinced. “You had something to do with those canals Reggie was so keen on.” He stopped abruptly, no doubt remembering that his friend had lost a frightful amount of money in the scheme. Medlock was too much the gentleman to discuss money, or crime, in mixed company, but he turned a sharply appraising eye on Georgie.

  He knew.

  Medlock was not the only one regarding Georgie carefully. Lady Standish looked like she was about to start asking questions about canals. No doubt she knew more about that topic than Georgie ever would.

  But it was the look on Lawrence’s face that stopped Georgie cold. He looked like a man who finally understood something he wished he hadn’t ever known.

  I as good as told you, Georgie wanted to cry. You knew I wasn’t honest. He had begged Lawrence to lock up his valuables, for God’s sake.

  “I’m taking the dog for some air before the snow gets too deep,” Lawrence said. “It’s nearly noon,” he added, with a sweeping glance around the room that somehow seemed to condemn them all for their layabout ways. “Nobody leave.” Those last words he said with a pointed look at Georgie, as if he were afraid that Georgie might flee the premises. That assumption wasn’t far off the mark. In the ordinary course of things, Georgie would have disappeared as soon as his swindle was exposed. He would have grabbed his satchel and run.

  He still wanted to. But he wouldn’t. He would give Lawrence an explanation. It would be humiliating, probably for both of them.

  And then Lawrence would be done with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The sky grew menacingly gray as the snow fell with greater urgency.

  “We’ll have to put them in those two rooms at the end of the corridor,” Janet said, coming up behind Georgie in the hall. “I’ll send up some clean linens.”

  Lady Standish and Mr. Medlock would spend the night, possibly two nights if this snow lasted. Yesterday’s light snow had dwindled into mud, but today’s storm might make travel impossible, not only for the visitors
but for Georgie if Lawrence asked him to leave.

  Like a jolt from careless handling of Lawrence’s battery, Georgie realized that he’d have to leave no matter what. Medlock was a notorious gossip, and now that he was in possession of a particularly delectable bit of news there would be no shutting him up. The Earl of Radnor, who supposedly had madness in his blood, had a confidence artist under his roof. It would be a matter of days before news got back to Mattie Brewster about where to find his prodigal swindler. And then he’d come looking for him here, at Penkellis. Georgie wouldn’t expose Lawrence to that risk. It was bad enough that Lawrence’s name would be linked with his own.

  But where to go? Certainly not London. For all Georgie knew, he’d step off the stagecoach and find himself tossed directly in the Thames by one of Mattie’s men. Perhaps the Continent, then. Another time that prospect might have sounded appealing, but now Paris and Milan were only places that didn’t have Lawrence. He rested his head against the cold windowpane and sighed.

  “Come, now,” Janet said, laying a hand on Georgie’s forearm. “Nothing to get fussed about. Those rooms are right as rain. The chimneys don’t smoke, at least not too badly, and we’ve gotten rid of nearly all the mice.”

  She had mistaken the cause of his grim mood. “Quite right,” he said absently. “Please have Mrs. Ferris send up a tray of sandwiches for the guests.”

  He went upstairs to pack his things. Everything he owned fit into a valise and a satchel with room to spare. There would be no last-minute pilfering of candlesticks or teaspoons. There would be no soap tin filled with jewels either. Lawrence had given those gifts when he had underestimated Georgie’s secrets. Taking them would be as good as theft, and Georgie couldn’t bring himself to steal from the man he loved.

  The look of suspicion and betrayal on Lawrence’s face when Medlock had recognized him had told Georgie all he needed to know. Up until that moment, Lawrence had probably thought Georgie a housebreaker, a common thief, not someone who lived and dined with his victims and stole their money along with their peace of mind.

  When Lawrence had found out that Georgie had interfered with Lawrence’s correspondence, he must have guessed that Georgie wasn’t after the family silver. He was after Lawrence’s inventions.

  It hardly signified that Georgie wasn’t, at least not anymore. Lawrence wouldn’t believe him. Why should he? Georgie himself could hardly believe that he had passed up this opportunity. And for what? Love? What rot.

  But it wasn’t rot at all. Georgie knew that what he felt for Lawrence, and what he was prepared to give up for him, was the closest he had ever come to being honest, to being good.

  There was a tapping on the door, and Georgie’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t ready to talk to Lawrence, because talking to him meant parting from him.

  “Come in,” he called.

  It was Janet who entered. “Brought you gin.” She handed him a bottle. “You look like you need it.”

  He took a swig directly from the bottle. There was no sense in observing the niceties where gin was concerned.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She took the bottle back and drank.

  “No.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m a fool.”

  “You and every other bloke I’ve met.”

  “Law—Lord Radnor isn’t.”

  “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” She looked over her shoulder to confirm that the door was shut.

  Georgie shook his head. “It isn’t like a damned thing I’ve ever known about.”

  “You’ll be wanting another drink, then.” She held out the bottle, and he took it. “Are you leaving?” She looked at the valise that sat open on his bed.

  “I’ll be sacked as soon as his lordship gets back.”

  “And why would he be so daft as to sack you, after you made this place livable? He may have kicked up a fuss about you bringing the lad here, but he didn’t seem too put out about it this morning when the two of them set off on their walk, did he? Thick as thieves, they were.”

  Georgie pinched the bridge of his nose to hold back tears. He would not cry; he would not face Lawrence with red eyes. It was stupid to be so proud and happy that Lawrence had found a way to be a father to Simon.

  “It wasn’t all me. You and Mrs. Ferris worked tirelessly.” It was true. Despite Mrs. Ferris’s initial hesitancy, she was ruling over the kitchens with a natural authority. Georgie hoped Lawrence wouldn’t dismiss all the servants after Simon went back to school. Simon deserved a decent home to return to. Lawrence deserved it too.

  But that was all out of Georgie’s control. He’d be far gone by the time Simon went back to school. He’d never hear again from anyone at Penkellis. These weeks would dwindle to a vague dream, a time when he had worked to build and create, not simply to scheme and take; a time when he let himself care and be cared for.

  Georgie didn’t realize he was crying until Janet used the corner of her apron to wipe his cheeks. “Now, that’ll never do,” she chided. “Take a deep breath, and go say whatever needs to be said. His lordship isn’t going to sack you, and you’ll see that you worked yourself into a state for nothing.”

  With an effort, Georgie attempted a smile. “Thank you.” She was trying to be kind, and for no reason at all. Georgie couldn’t take much more of it.

  Lawrence stomped the snow from his boots and sent Simon and the dog off to warm up in the kitchens.

  He found Georgie in the study, looking out the window, his back to the door. When he turned to face Lawrence, something dark and dismal flickered briefly across his face, but just as soon disappeared. He was once again his usual cool, collected self.

  Lawrence spoke first. “Tell me your real name.”

  “Georgie Turner.” His posture was stiff and his expression betrayed nothing. “I didn’t use a false name when I came here.”

  Lawrence nodded. He felt vaguely, senselessly relieved that he hadn’t been addressing the man he loved by a false name for so many weeks.

  Georgie cleared his throat. “I’ll leave, but—”

  “Like hell you will.” If Lawrence had his way, he’d never let the man out of his sight. He latched onto the first relevant piece of information he could think of. “It’s snowing.” Fragile flakes still clung to the dark wool of Lawrence’s coat.

  “I didn’t plan to hurt you,” Georgie said.

  “Who said you did? For God’s sake, sit down.” Lawrence peeled off his topcoat and tossed it over the back of a chair before sitting. “I’ve known for some time that you’re no ordinary secretary. And you’ve known that I know. It didn’t matter yesterday, it doesn’t matter today, and it’s not going to matter at any point in the future.” Lawrence had never been so certain of anything, but as he looked at Georgie’s shuttered expression, he knew he would have to work to convince the man. “Start from the beginning and tell me what was going on with Lady Standish’s brother.”

  “I sold one of Medlock’s friend’s shares in a company that doesn’t exist,” Georgie said, sitting at the end of the sofa farthest from Lawrence’s chair. “I would have done something similar to you.”

  Lawrence raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You planned to sell me shares in a fictitious company?” He would have thought he made a poor target for that sort of scheme—he had plenty of money and cared little about making more.

  Instead of looking at Lawrence, Georgie busied himself in brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “I would have taken your plans for the telegraph and used them to, ah, endear myself to a business associate with whom I’ve had a falling out.”

  “I see.” Stealing a man’s work seemed rather worse than preying on a man’s greed. Lawrence ought to be shocked, no doubt. But he found he didn’t care what Georgie had done to earn his bread before. There was a good deal of bitterness in Georgie’s voice when he spoke of this friend, and Lawrence wanted to know why, but that would have to wait until later. “But you didn’t.”

  “Not yet.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t think you would have.” He moved to the sofa and cupped Georgie’s face in his hand, tilting it up towards him. “I don’t think you went to bed with me last night planning to steal from me.” He remembered how very sad Georgie had sounded when asking Lawrence to lock up his ring.

  Georgie turned his head away. “That’s true. Irrelevant, but true.”

  Lawrence took in a long breath. “When did you change your mind? Was it before . . . before we . . . ” Before they fell in love, he meant. But those words seemed ill suited to a conversation about swindles and theft.

  “Weeks ago,” Georgie said tightly, still looking at his hands, Lawrence’s ring glinting in the scant sunlight. “You might not hate me now, but you will. If I had taken your plans, and you had ever sought redress, your sanity would have been called into question. I would have seen to it that you had no proof of your invention.”

  “This doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I knew you were some kind of thief, but I thought you were after the silver. Every morning I woke up and wondered whether you’d still be here.”

  “And whether your silver and paintings would be here,” Georgie said dryly, not meeting Lawrence’s eyes.

  “I didn’t give a damn about the silver or the paintings. I thought I’ve made that clear. Why do you think I made such a point of giving you the jewels last night? Those are worth more than all the paintings and silver put together.” You’re worth more, he wanted to say. “Now, let’s get rid of Lady Standish and her miserable brother and enjoy the rest of the day. I told Simon we’d play snapdragon.”

  Georgie closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “I can’t. I told you. Medlock recognized me from when I swindled his cousin.”

  “Bugger Medlock. What do I care what he thinks?”

  “He’ll start talking when he gets back to London. It’s excellent gossip, so I can hardly blame him. The Earl of Radnor is being swindled. And he knows absolutely everybody, so it’ll be no time before all of London knows.”