Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Y ou’ve done a damned fine job, Baxter.”

Trelawney unstoppered a decanter, filled two glasses with dark-red liquid, and pushed one across the desk.

“Regarding your disbursement, I’ve taken the liberty of speaking to Mr. Simms to open an account for you.”

“Simms?”

“The banker. He has an office in Midchester, which is your nearest town, yes?”

“It is,” Lawrence said, “but—a banker! They’re not for the likes of me.”

“Surely you didn’t expect me to hand over your fee in a bag of clinking coins,” Trelawney said. “I’ve banked with Simms for years, and he can give you a good rate of return. If your business expands, you’ll need someone to deal with your financial affairs.”

“My what ?”

“Money, Mr. Baxter. You’ll need someone to deal with your money.”

“But I’m just a gardener.”

“Not anymore,” Trelawney said. “You’re a businessman who, after our opening next week, will have a reputation for unique garden design.”

Lawrence eyed the contents of his glass.

“The finest port in my cellar,” Trelawney said.

“I wouldn’t know, seein’ as I know nothing about port.”

Trelawney chuckled. “Neither do most of Society, though they’d never admit as much. Take it from me, out of everything I’ve imported, this is the best. Sweet to the taste, without the acridity of the younger vintages, and guaranteed not to give a shocking megrim the next day. Unless you drink it a bottle at a time.” He pushed the glass toward Lawrence. “Go on—I don’t give this to just anyone.”

“Then I’m honored.” Lawrence took a sip, and a rich flavor of sweet berries burst on his tongue.

“It’s good, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give you a bottle to take home to your wife.” Trelawney leaned forward. “Assuming she is your wife.”

Lawrence’s hand shook, spilling his port.

“I don’t think I heard you properly, Mr. Trelawney.”

“Did you not?” Trelawney leaned back. “I had a meeting with my lawyer yesterday. He shared an interesting tale.”

“Your lawyer?” Lawrence asked. “What’s that to do with me—or my wife?”

“He told me about a junior partner in his firm who’d been relieved of his position. Of course, a lawyer would never break a confidence in relation to his clients, but Stockton’s an honest man, and I believe he had good reason to discuss the matter with me. The partner’s name is Crawford.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Trelawney sipped his port. “Do you know what a trusteeship is?”

Lawrence shook his head.

“It’s when assets are placed under the guardianship of others. The beneficiary of the assets has little to no control over them. Instead, the trustees are responsible for any decisions.”

“Are you saying I should place my earnings in a—a trust?”

Trelawney arched his eyebrows. “You’ve not understood my meaning.”

Which came as no surprise—the man spoke in riddles.

“Mr. Crawford was a trustee of the fortune of an orphaned girl.” Trelawney paused, as if expecting a reply, but Lawrence said nothing.

What the devil was he rattling on about?

“As an only child,” Trelawney continued, “and a female , she couldn’t inherit her father’s title, nor his estate. But her father had the foresight to establish a trust in her name, which would be released on her marriage, or when she came into her majority.”

“Majority?”

“When she reached the age of twenty-one,” Trelawney said. “The father was, by all accounts, an excellent man—educated, well traveled. He doted on his wife and daughter—took them with him when he toured the continent. He was particularly fond of Rome, so Stockton said. Quite unlike his heir who is, I gather, something of a wastrel.”

“His heir?”

“A distant cousin. On hearing about his inheritance, he couldn’t claim the estate quickly enough, and he sent the child away. Of course, with a substantial fortune in trust, most would envy, rather than pity, the girl. And envy breeds great evil, does it not?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lawrence said, swallowing the discomfort pricking at his skin. “I’ve never envied anyone in my life. I’m a believer in the rewards to be reaped from hard work.”

“Then you’re a better man than most. Better than Crawford and his client.”

“What does Crawford, or his client, have to do with me?” Lawrence asked.

“The conditions of the trust stated that one of the trustees should be a partner in Allardice, Allardice, and Stockton. When Crawford became a partner, he took over the role from the elder Mr. Allardice, but he appointed his client as a fellow trustee.”

Lawrence drained his glass. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because Crawford’s been exposed as a fraudster,” Trelawney said. “Stockton told me he nearly ruined the firm’s reputation when the full extent of his activities was revealed—trusts breached, clients overcharged, funds misappropriated. He came to reassure me that my affairs were in order.”

“And you believe him?” Lawrence asked.

“Completely. He discovered Crawford’s deception and acted swiftly. You see, when the beneficiary of the trust went missing, Crawford tried to release her fortune to his client. When Stockton discovered what he was up to, he promptly dismissed him. Crawford’s currently residing in Newgate awaiting the assizes, and Stockton’s taken over as trustee.”

“So, the criminal was brought to justice and the fortune is safe.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.”

Bloody hell —what was the man on about?

“Why are you tellin’ me this, Mr. Trelawney?” Lawrence asked.

“Because I fear the client won’t stop until he has his hands on the girl’s fortune. They were engaged, you see.”

Lawrence’s stomach clenched. Surely Trelawney wasn’t referring to…

“E-engaged?”

“She was set to marry him, at which point her fortune would transfer to him. But she disappeared. Without trace. After her disappearance, Crawford tried to seize her fortune. Now his plan’s been thwarted, his client has only one course of action left.”

“Which is?”

“To renew his efforts to find the young woman so he can marry her,” Trelawney said. “Which brings me to the purpose of this conversation. She disappeared in June of this year—the seventh, to be precise.”

Fuck.

“A coincidence, no?” Trelawney continued, his voice betraying no emotion. “The same date your… wife told mine that she’d suffered her accident in the river.”

Trelawney fixed his shrewd gaze on Lawrence.

“Permit me to divulge the name of Crawford’s client.”

Lawrence reached for his glass, overwhelmed by the urge to drain it. But it was already empty.

Trelawney’s expression hardened.

“The client’s name is Dunton. The Duke of Dunton.”

“A-and the young woman?” Lawrence asked, his breath catching.

“I believe you already suspect her identity,” Trelawney said. “But let me remove all doubt. Her name is Lady Arabella, only daughter of the late Sebastien Ponsford, Duke of Southerton.”

An invisible fist punched through the pit of Lawrence’s stomach. He drew in a sharp breath and clutched at the arm of his chair.

Trelawney shook his head and sighed. Then he reached for the decanter and refilled Lawrence’s glass. “What the devil have you done, Baxter?”

“Am I also bound for Newgate?” Lawrence asked.

“Have you committed a crime?”

“Not in the eyes of the law.”

“A sin, then?”

“Everyone’s committed a sin at some point.”

Trelawney snorted. “You sound like the vicar in our parish. If he were to be believed, we must all prostrate ourselves before him on a daily basis, begging forgiveness to render ourselves worthy of consideration for the kingdom of heaven.”

“And what do you believe?”

“That it’s what we do that determines our worthiness,” Trelawney said. “I must admit, your wife’s playing her part well—not even my Alice recognized her. Now I know who she is, I can see the resemblance, but Lady Arabella was never someone we wished to become fully acquainted with.”

“Why not?” Lawrence asked. “You dislike her because she’s of noble birth?”

Hypocrite!

He cringed as his conscience berated him—wasn’t that why he’d hated her at first? That and her behavior toward him—behavior that set him on a path of vengeance.

Now it was Trelawney’s turn to look uncomfortable. “We’re often led by first impressions,” he said. “The sharp-voiced Lady Arabella, bedecked in scarlet silk, whom I was introduced to in passing at a ball, is an entirely different creature to the gentle Bella Baxter in her plain muslin, who spoke with such animation in defense of her husband when describing her design for the Colosseum. But if she’s in hiding from Dunton, then it’s only fair she be warned…”

Lawrence felt the heat rise in his cheeks as Trelawney’s voice trailed away. “Dear God, no…”

Trelawney’s knuckles whitened as he fisted his hands together. “She’s not playing a part, is she? What she said about losing her memory is true.”

Lawrence gripped his glass, his throat catching, as he fought to overcome his shame.

“Does she know who she is?”

“No.”

“Bloody hell,” Trelawney muttered, shaking his head.

“I only meant to keep her for a month,” Lawrence said.

“Her accident was over four months ago!” Trelawney cried.

“I-I liked having her,” Lawrence said. “And she grew to like being with me.”

“She’s done a damned sight more than that,” Trelawney said. “My Alice tells me she’s never seen a woman so much in love.”

“Sweet Lord—does Mrs. Trelawney know?”

“Of course she doesn’t!”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’ve still got your balls. If Alice knew what you’d done, much as she dislikes Lady Arabella—the real Lady Arabella—she’d have sliced them off and served them to her pug.”

“What are you going to do?” Lawrence asked.

“Me? Nothing. I’ll leave that to your conscience.”

If Trelawney spoke the truth, then Dunton—the man who’d forsaken Bella, leaving her to the mercy of strangers—wanted her back. But Lawrence had no intention of giving her to a man who didn’t love her—not when he loved her more than life itself.

“She’s happy,” he said. “ We’re happy. Do you think Dunton would make her happy?”

Trelawney wrinkled his nose. “True—Dunton only wants her fortune. But that’s not your decision to make. You took her under deception, gave her no choice. In what way does that make you the better man?”

“I’m not like Dunton!”

“Aren’t you? Many would say yours is the greater sin. In the eyes of the law, it is the greater sin.”

Lawrence tightened his hold on the glass. Then, with a crack, it shattered in his grip. Shards bit into his flesh, and he winced as the liquor spilled over his hand, causing the cuts to sting.

But he relished the pain. It was the least he deserved.

Oh, Bella, what have I done?

“Take this.” Trelawney held out a handkerchief. “A waste of a good port—and a good glass. Allow me.” He grasped Lawrence’s wrist and turned his hand over. Lean, strong fingers plucked shards of glass from his palm, then placed the handkerchief against the wounds.

“A waste of a good handkerchief, also,” Trelawney muttered. “My wife embroidered the edge with my initials. Still—it’s not the done thing to let a guest bleed over my Aubusson rug.” The corner of his mouth curved into a smile. “That would be a waste of a good rug.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s Bella you should apologize to.”

“You mean Lady Arabella .”

“I like Bella considerably more,” Trelawney said. “And it’s Bella who deserves the truth, for her sake, and yours. I’ll not betray you—not when I can see how deeply you love her. But if you do love her, then you must tell her the truth. A sin kept hidden is never buried—it lies dormant, like a seed, until, when it’s ready to grow, it breaks through the surface, at which point there’s no absolution. And then…”

“Then what?” Lawrence asked.

“Then all hope for redemption is gone.”