Chapter Thirty-Six

L awrence steered the horse along the tree-lined drive, until the manor came into view.

His wife drew in a sharp breath.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked. “I’m afraid it was rather a long ride.”

“I’m quite comfortable,” she said. “I wonder if I’ve ridden before—it feels familiar.”

“Does something else trouble you?”

She gestured ahead. “That house—it’s huge! Is Mr. Trelawney very rich?”

“He’s earned his fortune, rather than inherited it.”

“Then he’s the same as you.”

“No, love—he’s far above me.”

“Don’t say such things, Lawrence. You’re the best man that ever lived. Nobody is above you.”

He gave her waist an affectionate squeeze, then urged their mount on, drawing to a halt at the main entrance. He dismounted, then helped his wife down, and she offered her lips for a kiss.

Could he be any luckier? Since their first time, they’d spent almost every moment alone loving each other, their bodies coming to pleasure together every time—and she gave him more pleasure than he could ever have imagined.

And with her drawings tucked into the satchel over his shoulders, she was about to transform his future.

No— their future.

“Ahem.”

Mr. Trelawney’s butler stood beside the entrance.

Bella let out a soft cry and lowered her gaze, blushing. Lawrence’s cock twitched at the expression in her eyes—desire tempered by a frisson of guilt at being caught.

“Forgive me,” Lawrence said. “It’s Mr. Jenkins, isn’t it? We’re here to see your master.”

“Mr. Trelawney’s expecting you, Mr. Baxter, but not…” The butler glanced at Bella.

“I’ve brought my wife to explain the designs,” Lawrence said.

The butler raised his eyebrows. “Very well. James!”

A footman appeared. “Yes, Mr. Jenkins?”

“Take Mr. Baxter’s mount to the stables.”

“Very good, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Follow me, Mr. Baxter.” The butler led them inside. Lawrence took Bella’s hand as they followed him to a study on the first floor—a wood-paneled room with books lining one wall and a desk at the far end, in front of a tall sash window.

“Wait here,” the butler said. “Mr. Trelawney will be along shortly.” He glanced at Bella. “Perhaps you’d like some refreshment?”

“Some water, please, Mr. Jenkins,” Bella said, “but don’t go to any trouble. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

He raised his eyebrows, then broke into a smile. “It’s no trouble, ma’am.” He bowed and exited the room.

Lawrence motioned to his wife to sit, then he sat beside her. Footsteps approached—a steady, confident tread, unlike the butler’s quicker, lighter pace.

Lawrence rose as the door opened to reveal Mr. Trelawney.

Dressed in a dark-blue jacket with a cream silk waistcoat and cravat bearing an embroidered pattern in matching blue, he looked every inch the titled gentleman. Only Lawrence knew him to be different.

“Baxter!” Trelawney offered his hand. “Good to see you.”

Lawrence took the hand, once again noticing the callouses—trophies of hard work—on the man’s palms, and Trelawney pumped it up and down enthusiastically.

“Bella, this is Mr. Trelawney,” Lawrence said. “Trelawney, this is my”—he swallowed his guilt—“my wife.”

“Forgive me,” Bella said, rising to her feet.

“Please don’t trouble yourself to get up, Mrs. Baxter,” Trelawney said. “You must forgive my rudeness. I was expecting only your husband.”

“My wife is here to discuss the garden designs,” Lawrence said.

“You’ve completed your proposal?” Trelawney’s face broke into a smile. “Excellent. May I see? Do sit.”

He sat behind the desk, his frame silhouetted against the window.

Lawrence pulled four drawings out of his satchel and placed them on the desk. Trelawney leaned forward and picked up one, then another, his gaze wandering over each page.

Bella glanced at Lawrence uncertainly, and he took her hand, giving her a smile of reassurance. Silence stretched, punctuated only by the ticking clock on the mantel.

“Fascinating,” Trelawney said. “However, one thing concerns me.”

The air shifted, as if a frost had descended. Trelawney had a reputation for fairness, but he was not a man to fall out of favor with.

“Are these original drawings, Baxter?”

“Of course,” Lawrence said.

Trelawney’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t take deceit lightly. These are different in every possible aspect to your other designs. Even the style of drawing is different.”

“My wife drew them.”

Lawrence caught his breath as the businessman known for his sharp insight stared at Bella with renewed interest. “ Did she, now?”

“I did, Mr. Trelawney,” Bella said, “and I’d rather you didn’t accuse my husband of deception.”

“I wasn’t accusing—”

“Not outright, perhaps.”

“Bella,” Lawrence warned.

She ignored him. “My husband is incapable of deceit, Mr. Trelawney,” she said. “He’s the most honest person I know. I’ve never heard him utter a single falsehood.”

Bloody hell —must she be so passionate in his defense? He loved her for it, but her loyalty only served to magnify the severity of his crimes against her.

“Bella, love…” he began, but Mr. Trelawney raised his hand, a smile on his lips.

“Mr. Baxter, a man with so passionate an advocate for his wife should not temper her loyalty. Very well, Mrs. Baxter, perhaps you could explain the designs. This one, for instance—the arches in the hedge. What are they supposed to represent?”

“Y-you want me to explain?” she asked.

“You drew them, yes? Did you have a particular objective in mind when you created these images?”

“I was thinking of your wife.”

“Do you know my wife?”

“N-no,” she said. “At least, I don’t think so. But my husband said you wanted a garden to make your wife happy. So I thought about what a woman might want from her garden—what she wants most in the world.”

“And what does a woman want most in the world?”

“Freedom.”

Trelawney frowned. “What are you implying, Mrs. Baxter?”

She colored. “Forgive me—I didn’t mean she wanted freedom from you . I only meant that a woman’s role is so confined. She keeps house, tends to the children, and has little opportunity to see the world.”

“Go on,” Trelawney said.

“So I thought that if a woman cannot see the world, then why not bring the world to her?”

“In a garden?”

“Why not?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question, Mrs. Baxter?” Trelawney gestured to the drawing. “What does this have to do with arches cut into a hedge?”

“It’s not a hedge. It’s the Colosseum.”

“The what ?”

“The Colosseum. It’s in Rome, and—”

“I know where it is,” Trelawney said, “but I wonder at your knowing.”

“Because I’ve seen it,” she said.

Lawrence drew in a sharp breath. She’d been to Rome?

“ Have you, Bella?” Lawrence asked. “When was this?”

“I-I can’t recall exactly. Perhaps with my mistress?”

“Your mistress?” Trelawney asked.

“I believe I was a lady’s maid.”

“You believe? Don’t you know , Mrs. Baxter?”

Bugger. The last thing Lawrence wanted was for his prospective employer to think his wife soft in the head.

“I-I had an accident,” Bella said. “I lost my memory.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Trelawney said. “Do you suffer pain?”

“Only from not being able to remember.” She took Lawrence’s hand and gave him a soft smile, her eyes filled with love. “I don’t know how I would have survived had it not been for my husband.”

“Nevertheless, it must be difficult for you, Mrs. Baxter. Have you been examined by a doctor?”

“Shortly after my accident,” she said. “He said my memory might return gradually—a small piece here and there. Or it might return all at once, if I see or hear something familiar.”

Lawrence squirmed in his seat. It was time to steer the conversation away from the restoration of Bella’s memory. “Tell Mr. Trelawney about the other drawings, love,” he said.

Before she could respond, the door opened and the butler appeared, a glass in his hand. “Your water, Mrs. Baxter.”

“Oh no,” Trelawney said, “that simply won’t do.”

Lawrence’s stomach clenched with apprehension. “Is something amiss?” he asked.

“A glass of water in my study is hardly fitting hospitality for a guest,” Trelawney said. “Is it, Jenkins?”

“But sir…”

“We’ll take tea in the parlor in the west wing.” Trelawney turned to Bella. “It overlooks the garden, Mrs. Baxter.” He resumed his attention on the butler. “Please inform Mrs. Trelawney that we have guests.”

“There’s no need to trouble yourself—” Lawrence began, but Trelawney interrupted.

“There’s every need. My wife would never forgive me if I didn’t. Come—let us take tea.”

Mrs. Trelawney— oh, shit .

How could I have been so damned foolish?

Mrs. Trelawney—only daughter of the late Lord de Grecy. And of all the people Lawrence had encountered since bringing Bella home, the most likely to recognize her.

*

Trelawney ushered them into the parlor—a bright room decorated in pastel shades with a double aspect over the gardens. Shortly after, a woman entered the room—tall and slender, with delicate features and pale gold hair.

“Ah, Alice, my love,” Trelawney said. “This is Mr. Baxter—the one I told you about. And his wife.”

The woman glided across the floor, her silk skirts rustling, and offered her hand. Lawrence stared at it for a moment, then issued a bow before taking it, making sure the callouses on his huge, rough hands did not come into contact with her delicate porcelain skin.

She was exquisite—an ethereal faerie creature who looked fragile enough to disintegrate at the slightest touch.

“My husband’s spoken much of you, Mr. Baxter,” she said. “He’s told me how knowledgeable you are about plants.” Then she turned her attention to Bella. “And you’re Mrs. Baxter?”

Bella then dipped into a curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“The pleasure is mine, my dear,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “But I prefer my guests not call me ma’am . It makes me sound like a matriarchal gorgon.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Bella said.

Their hostess stared at her for a moment. “You look familiar, my dear. Have we met before?”

“P-perhaps,” Bella said. “I was a lady’s maid before I married.”

“And now you’re taking tea in my parlor?”

Bella glanced at Lawrence. “I-I’m here because I’ve sketched some designs for your garden.”

Lawrence braced himself for Mrs. Trelawney’s disdain. Instead, she smiled, her eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“How marvelous !” she said. “I admire anyone capable of bettering themselves through their own efforts—particularly women.”

“You do?” Lawrence couldn’t help asking.

“Oh yes—a woman’s always confined by the expectations of the world, is she not?”

Trelawney let out a laugh. “Perhaps now, Baxter, you can see why I proposed we take tea with my wife. I believe our wives share the same beliefs when it comes to a woman’s role in the world. Alice, darling, you must see Mrs. Baxter’s drawings.” He led them to a round breakfast table beside the window.

“Sit beside me,” Mrs. Trelawney said to Bella. “I hope we can become better acquainted.”

Bugger —could this be any worse? Not that Lawrence minded Bella being valued for herself—but an acquaintance with an earl’s daughter could only lead to trouble.

“Mr. Baxter, if you please,” Trelawney said.

Lawrence placed the drawings on the table, and Mrs. Trelawney picked one up.

“Interesting,” she said. “This one has a Grecian feel, with these columns among the shrubs. Do you intend them to be fashioned from marble?”

“Yes,” Bella said, pointing to the page. “See the notes I’ve written there? It’s only a pencil sketch, but I’ve noted what the colors should be—or, at least, how I envisage them.”

“It reminds me of the Parthenon,” Mrs. Trelawney said.

“The what?” her husband asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“You know, Ross. The Parthenon—where Elgin found those beautiful carvings and brought them to England.”

“The ones you told me Lord Byron made such a fuss about?”

“So, you do occasionally listen to what your wife has to say.” Mrs. Trelawney gave Bella a conspiratorial wink, then resumed her attention on the drawing. “I agree with Byron,” she said. “Any treasure is best admired in a familiar environment. But something like this ”—she pointed to the drawing—“brings the spirit of another land to us without desecrating its treasures.” She nodded. “Yes, very clever indeed.”

She set the drawing aside and picked up another. “Oh, the Colosseum! And it’s to be fashioned from a box hedge?”

“I-I haven’t thought about the type of hedge,” Bella said. “I know so little about plants.”

“That’s where your husband comes in, I suppose.” Mrs. Trelawney set the drawing aside. “How utterly perfect, don’t you agree, Ross, darling?”

“I wouldn’t presume to take liberties by disagreeing with you, Alice my love.”

Rather than show offense, she gave her husband an indulgent smile.

“Mr. Baxter, I applaud your genius,” she said. “Rather than attempt to undertake every aspect of designing a garden, you’ve called upon the talents of another to fashion the design, so that you may concentrate on your knowledge of plants. An excellent way to manage a business, is it not, Ross?”

“Again, I wouldn’t presume…”

“Oh, Ross!” she said, giving him a playful slap. “Must you tease me so? You know as well as I that we can only succeed if we make use of our strengths and recognize when we must rely on the expertise of others in areas in which we lack the talent or expertise. Do you not agree?”

“If it pleases you, my love,” Trelawney replied. “Well, I think that’s settled.”

“Settled?” Lawrence asked.

“Of course,” Trelawney said. “The only question that remains is, when can you begin? And there’s the matter of your fee, but that’s not something to be discussed with ladies present.”

“You like the designs?” Lawrence asked.

“We don’t like them,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “We love them.” She glanced out of the window at the garden outside—the row of neatly clipped bushes that formed a straight, soulless line. “I can’t wait to be rid of all that formality. To think—I’ll soon have a garden that transports me to other worlds!”

“If Mr. Baxter thinks he can achieve it,” Trelawney said.

Lawrence nodded. “I’ve a young lad—Sam, his name is—who’s a hard worker.”

“And our head gardener will be on hand to help,” Trelawney said. “Jones isn’t as young as he was, but he’s at your disposal—and he has two under-gardeners for the heavy lifting. There’s a mason in the village for the stonework, unless you have one to recommend?”

Lawrence shook his head. “My acquaintance isn’t that extensive.”

Mrs. Trelawney grinned. “I think that’s about to change, Mr. Baxter. My husband and I will be the envy of our friends. You’ll be the toast of the country—more so than Capability Brown himself.”

“I hardly think so, Mrs. Trelawney.”

“Nonsense!” she replied. “One can always tell an estate that’s been subject to Mr. Brown’s particular style of remodeling. They all look the same. But this…” She gestured toward Bella’s drawings. “This will set our garden apart from the rest. You’ll be the talk of Society. And I know of several families in want of a new garden.”

“Now, Alice, don’t make promises to Mr. Baxter when he’s not even started work,” Trelawney said.

“Why not? Whitcombe was saying last week that he wants to change the garden at Rosecombe now he’s married that delightful Howard girl.”

Bella stiffened. “Whitcombe, you say?”

“Yes, the Duke of Whitcombe,” Trelawney replied.

“And…” Bella closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Howard,” she said. “Eleanor Howard.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “I quite adore her. Do you know her?”

Lawrence held his breath, but Bella shook her head. “I must have read the name somewhere, that’s all.”

“I’m sure you’ll meet her,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “She’s a regular visitor here—though she’s nearing her confinement, so I doubt Whitcombe will permit her to travel for much longer. He quite dotes on her.”

“As does every man in love with his wife,” Trelawney said. “Am I right, Baxter?”

Lawrence lifted Bella’s hand to his lips. “I’ll not disagree.”

“Then that’s settled,” Trelawney said. “Baxter, perhaps you’ll come with me to discuss disbursements.”

“But my wife…”

“Is welcome to remain here with me,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “In fact, shall we take a turn about the garden, Mrs. Baxter? We can discuss where each section of the garden should be located. There’s a delightful spot close to the lake that might do for the Grecian area. And, of course, you must visit as often as you like while your husband is working on the garden.”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Bella was bound to be recognized if this woman, Eleanor Howard, came to visit.

“Forgive me, Mrs. Trelawney,” Bella said. “But with three children to look after, I cannot stay away from home.”

“You may bring your children with you.”

“I mustn’t keep them from school.”

“Then they’re fortunate to have you for a mother, my dear,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “There’s nothing so important as a child’s education. But I insist you come to stay when the garden’s complete—as my guest of honor.”

“I couldn’t make such an imposition,” Bella said.

“Why not?”

“You’re a lady, and I’m…” Bella colored, and Lawrence’s heart ached at the way she trembled.

“You’ve as much right to be my guest as anyone,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “More so, for you have talent, and you radiate kindness—unlike some of the young women in Society. In fact…”

Her voice trailed off and she fixed her gaze on Bella. Then she shook her head.

“No matter,” she said. “Well, that’s settled, then.” She rose, and the rest of the party followed suit. Then she held out her arm. “Mrs. Baxter, shall we take a turn while our husbands discuss business?”

Bella glanced at Lawrence, and he nodded. Then she took the proffered arm, and the two women exited the parlor.

“You’ve a special woman there, Baxter,” Trelawney said. “My wife doesn’t take to just anyone. Now, shall we?”

Lawrence nodded and followed Trelawney out of the room in the wake of the women.

He had eluded discovery.

For now.