Page 52 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
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.
