Chapter Forty-Four

“A re you saying, Mr. Simms, that you’ll give me money each quarter?”

The banker, a neat, balding man, eyed Lawrence over the top of his spectacles. “That’s exactly right, Mr. Baxter. One half of one percent of the value of your deposit.”

Lawrence glanced at Trelawney sitting beside him. “One half of… what ?”

“I’m aware it’s not much, Mr. Baxter,” the banker said. “If you deposit regularly with us, we can increase the rate to one percent.”

“Percent?”

“It means for every hundred, Baxter,” Trelawney said. “So, for the fifty pounds you’ve just deposited, you’ll earn five shillings each quarter—one half of one per cent.”

Lawrence stared at his companion. “Five whole shillings?”

“It’s called interest, Mr. Baxter,” the banker said. “It would earn you ten shillings if you deposit regularly.”

“Which he will do,” Trelawney said. “Won’t you, Baxter? Several of my acquaintances have inquired about your services—and they’re willing to pay handsomely.”

“Y-yes, of course,” Lawrence said.

“In which case, that concludes our business,” Simms said, “unless you wished to discuss anything, Mr. Trelawney?”

Trelawney shook his head, then rose. “No—my wife’s meeting us at the Crown. I don’t want her kept waiting.”

“Of course.” The banker offered his hand, and Lawrence took it. “Welcome to Simms Bank, Mr. Baxter. Mr. Trelawney, give my regards to your charming wife.”

Simms opened the door, then Trelawney led Lawrence outside.

As they stepped out onto the street, Trelawney pulled a watch out of his waistcoat pocket. “Almost three o’ clock,” he said. “You’ll join us for tea? The Crown does a good tea. Mrs. Folds always bakes a lemon cake especially for Alice—she has a soft spot for her.”

“I’m not dressed appropriately to take tea with a lady.”

“Nonsense!” Trelawney laughed. “Alice cares little about that sort of thing, and she particularly wished to see you.”

“Me?”

Trelawney nodded. “She was most distressed—we both were—when we heard about”—he glanced around, then lowered his voice—“ Lady Arabella. ”

Lawrence drew in a sharp breath to stem the ache in his heart. “I-I take it Lady Arabella’s well?”

“I know nothing of her state of health, but she’s to marry Dunton in a matter of days,” Trelawney said. “We heard it from an acquaintance who saw Dunton at his London club. Apparently Dunton was boasting about his increased prospects now a fortune was forthcoming.”

“Who told you this?”

“Whitcombe.”

“Oh, him ,” Lawrence said. “He insulted Bella at your garden party. He may be a duke, but that didn’t give him the right to distress her.”

“Perhaps not Bella,” Trelawney said, “but Whitcombe has only ever known Lady Arabella , who’s been very cruel to his wife in the past.”

“Bella’s not cruel.”

“ Bella never existed. She was the product of an injury to the head, a lapse in senses.”

“Perhaps Bella was the true woman,” Lawrence said, “and Lady Arabella was the role she’d been taught to play by the folk around her.”

“Are you bearing the loss?”

Lawrence let out a sigh. “With my first wife, I hardly had time to know her. We liked each other, and I grieved for her passing—but the pain lessened over time. But with Bella…” He shook his head. “It frightened me how quickly she found a place in my heart, as if we were meant to be together. Now she’s gone, it’s like there’s something missing in my heart—a wound that can never heal.”

“You’ll heal in time, Baxter,” Trelawney said. “You have your children, a flourishing business, and friends—good friends who’ll stand by you no matter what.”

“What of Bella?” Lawrence said. “She has no true friends. She might have fancy gowns, carriages, and big houses, but she’s at the mercy of that vile man.”

“Dunton?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Trelawney. I know it’s not done to speak ill of them with titles, but a man like that won’t make her happy.”

“She chose him.”

“Aye,” Lawrence said. “In the end, she chose him. Not me, nor the children, but him .”

“All right, my friend,” Trelawney said brightly. “What you need is a good dose of Mrs. Folds’s cake to cheer you up. She has the lemons brought over fresh. Or perhaps a drop of Mr. Folds’s brandy? It’s not too early to enjoy a glass, and it’s the finest in Midchester.” He gave Lawrence a wink. “I should know—I supplied it to him.”

They crossed the road to the inn. The door opened to reveal a woman in a neat blue gown with a crisp apron, flame-red curls peeking out from beneath a lace cap.

“Mr. Trelawney! Such a pleasure to see you again.” She cast her gaze over Lawrence, showing no sign that she’d noticed his lack of cravat, his frayed jacket, or the scuffs on his boots. “You’ve brought a friend?”

“This is Mr. Baxter,” Trelawney said. “The finest garden designer in England.”

“Praise indeed, for a man usually so prudent in distributing compliments,” she said.

“Except when it comes to your lemon cake, Mrs. Folds.”

“You’re too charming for your own good, Mr. Trelawney,” she said. “Now, shall I take you to the parlor? Mrs. Trelawney’s already arrived—she’s been here twenty minutes.”

“Wonderful!” Trelawney said. “Less time at the shops is always good news for my pocket.”

“Mr. Trelawney, if I didn’t know you were jesting, I’d turn you over my knee!” Mrs. Folds replied. “How dear Mrs. Trelawney puts up with your teasin’, I don’t know. It’ll serve you right if she’s ordered from every shop in the street. She’s brought a basket with her, filled with all sorts of things. Jewelry, bolts of silk—more ribbons than I’ve ever seen!”

Ribbons…

Bella loved ribbons—her beautiful eyes had smiled with love as he related the story about how he’d wooed her with an array of pink ribbons.

But that story had been a lie.

Fuck—what an utter bastard I am.

Mrs. Folds chattered on while she led them to a parlor overlooking a garden with a pond that sparkled in the sunlight.

Mrs. Trelawney sat beside the window, her face in profile, a serene smile on her lips.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Trelawney—your husband’s here,” Mrs. Folds said. “And his friend. Shall I have tea brought in now?”

Mrs. Trelawney turned her head slowly, and as she met Lawrence’s gaze, her eyes narrowed for a moment before she smiled.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Folds,” she said. “My husband has spoken of nothing but your lemon cake this past week.”

“Very good, ma’am. I’ll be back directly.”

Mrs. Folds curtseyed, then exited the parlor.

Lawrence approached Mrs. Trelawney, hands outstretched. “A pleasure to see you again,” he said. “I—”

Before he could continue, she strode toward him and slapped him across the face. “You blackguard!”

Lawrence stepped back, rubbing his cheek. Bloody hell , that hurt!

“Alice!” Trelawney said. “What are you about?”

“You should be asking him that.” She jabbed a finger at Lawrence’s chest, and he flinched in anticipation of another blow.

“Alice, we spoke about this,” Trelawney said. “Lady Arabella’s back where she belongs. Why should you care? You never liked her.”

“I never liked Lady Arabella,” she replied, “but Bella was a completely different woman. I didn’t even recognize her.”

“She was the same woman,” Trelawney said.

“I can see the likeness now , Ross,” she huffed. “When a familiarity is pointed out, it becomes obvious, and you wonder why you missed it. But at the time, she was different enough not to be recognized.”

“Why didn’t you recognize her?” Lawrence asked.

She raised her eyebrows.

“I want to know, Mrs. Trelawney, if you’d oblige me.”

“She was different from within,” she said. “Someone like Whitcombe would recognize her. He’s a man, and men are incapable of looking beyond the surface. When he sees a woman, he’ll note her outward appearance—the color of her eyes, her hair, the shape of her mouth, the shape of her body. Because that’s all a man cares about.”

“What did you see when you saw Bella, Mrs. Trelawney?” Lawrence asked.

“A kind and clever soul,” she said. “A woman determined to do her best for her loved ones, unafraid to express her opinion, and eager to make use of her talent and intellect. In short, I saw a rare creature—a woman whom I wished to have as a friend. And you , Mr. Baxter, took her away from me.”

“Alice, had I known you were so angry with Mr. Baxter,” Trelawney said, “I’d never have—”

“Never have what? Brought me to Midchester today?” She shook her head. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have. Instead, you’d have laughed at your wife’s whims before reassuring Mr. Baxter here that he’s better off without the harpy of the ton in his life. As for Bella, Dunton will destroy her.”

“She willingly went with him,” Lawrence said. “There was nothing I could do to stop her—she ignored even the children’s pleas.”

“You see, Alice?” Trelawney said. “It was her choice.”

“Have you never known a woman to be mistaken?” she asked. “To be coerced into making the wrong choice because Society, or her upbringing, dictates it?”

Trelawney blanched, and his forehead creased in distress. “Alice, my love, you cannot liken that woman to the suffering you endured.”

What the devil did he mean?

“Forgive me,” Lawrence said. “I’m intruding. I should go.”

“No, Mr. Baxter, stay,” Mrs. Trelawney said. “I’m merely referring to my first husband.”

“Y-your first…?”

“I was a duchess, once,” she said. “Blinded by the expectations of my father, and of Society, I chose a duke over the man I loved. And it almost destroyed me.”

“Alice, my love, don’t distress yourself.”

“No, Ross.” She set her mouth into a firm line. “What better purpose can I put my past mistakes to than to teach others the folly of ignoring their hearts?”

She turned to Lawrence. “My first husband was a cruel man, Mr. Baxter. But the world revered him for his title. And even after surviving marriage to him, I found myself on the brink of marrying another just like him, just as cruel, to satisfy propriety. But I found salvation in another—in the man I loved, the man I had always loved.”

Her voice wavered, and Trelawney drew her into an embrace.

“Alice, don’t distress yourself.”

“A moment’s distress is a small price to pay when the liberty and happiness of another is at stake. Mr. Baxter, do you love her?”

“Lady Arabella?” Lawrence asked.

“No,” she said. “ Bella. Do you love Bella?”

“Yes.”

“Did you lie with her?”

“Alice!” Trelawney said. “That’s not a question a woman should ask.”

“And yet I do ask. Mr. Baxter, answer the question. Did you lie with her?”

Fighting the urge to deny it, Lawrence nodded.

Trelawney shook his head. “Bloody hell.”

“You unimaginable bastard…” she whispered, curling her hand into a fist.

Lawrence took a step back. His cheek still stung from her first blow, and he had no wish to discover the potency of her right hook.

“I tried not to,” he said. “Many times, I drew back—restrained myself.”

“That’s so gentlemanly of you,” she sneered. “Should we congratulate you for delaying her violation at your hands?”

“She wanted it,” Lawrence said. “She wanted me .”

“I say, Baxter, that’s far enough,” Trelawney said. “That sort of talk’s not suitable when there’s ladies present.”

His wife snorted. “Spare my sensibilities, Ross! I’m well aware what happens between a man and a woman when they’re in love. I’m merely trying to establish whether your friend ruined Lady Arabella out of gratification or lay with her out of love.”

“Of course it was out of love!” Lawrence cried. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

“Most men are that kind of man ,” she replied. “Dunton most of all. You profess to love Bella, yet you ruined her. Try to view the world from her eyes. She’s lost and alone, her body violated, and her reputation ruined. You deceived and betrayed her—made her believe that you were her husband, and your children were hers. And for what? A whim?”

“Not a whim,” Lawrence said.

“What, then? An act of hatred? Are you a decent, hardworking man eager to make a better life for himself, or a revolutionary content to persecute those who have more than you?”

“You think I don’t regret what I did?” he said. “I regret the misery I caused her, and the misery she’ll endure. But I cannot regret the joy of knowing and loving her—the light she brought to my life, and the children’s lives.” He drew in a sharp breath and lifted his gaze. “And I’ll never regret loving her, Mrs. Trelawney.”

“There’s little point in making such a grand declaration if you’re not prepared to act upon it, Mr. Baxter.”

“What can I do?”

“Fight for her,” she said.

“I cannot fight a duke,” Lawrence said. “Dunton won’t let me near her—most likely I’ll be shot on sight.”

“Then seek the help of your friends, Mr. Baxter. Ross, can’t you do something?”

“Dunton’s hardly likely to be receptive to anything I say,” Trelawney said. “Whitcombe’s more likely to succeed. But I can’t ask him—he loathes Lady Arabella.”

She shook her head. “So, you’d forsake her as well.”

“What if she doesn’t want me to fight for her?” Lawrence asked.

“I didn’t want Ross to fight for me,” she said. “I too was lost and alone, blinded by fear, believing that everyone had forsaken me. But I’m thankful every day that Ross removed the blindfold. He opened my eyes and taught me to hope again.”

“Bella hates me,” Lawrence said. “I saw it in her eyes.”

“You’re unwilling to risk a few sharp words from a woman you’ve wronged?” She shook her head. “Clearly you don’t love her enough. Perhaps you never did.”

“I did love her enough! I still do—more than life itself.”

“Then prove yourself worthy of her.”

“But what if she deems me unworthy?” Lawrence asked. “What if I do everything I can to bring her back only to find she’s forsaken me?”

She let out a sigh and took Lawrence’s hand. He flinched, anticipating another blow, but instead, she lifted it to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

“Poor Mr. Baxter,” she said. “I can never condone what you did, but I believe you love her—and I saw the love she bore you every time she looked at you. So I urge you not to surrender to defeat. You must accept responsibility for what you did. You must accept the risk that she may never forgive you. But could you live with yourself if you gave up trying when there was still hope?”

Lawrence inhaled, shuddering as he fought to suppress his despair.

“You’re right, Mrs. Trelawney,” he said. “I cannot leave her at the mercy of that man while there’s still hope.”

“Then perhaps, Mr. Baxter, you may after all succeed in your endeavor to deserve her.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Mrs. Folds entered, followed by two young girls each carrying a tray bearing a tea set and an array of cakes and sweets.

“Heavens!” Mrs. Trelawney said. “Is all that for us?”

“It is, ma’am. Seein’ as you’ve brought a friend with you, I thought he might be deservin’ of something a little special for his first visit to the Crown. We like to keep our patrons happy.”

Mrs. Trelawney glanced at Lawrence and smiled, her gaze softening.

“Yes, Mrs. Folds,” she said. “I had my doubts at first, but I believe Mr. Baxter deserves to be happy. And we’ll do what we can to ensure that he is.”