Page 68 of The Lawrence Browne Affair
“A job, then?” Jack asked hopefully.
“Not that either.” Although he’d like to continue as Lawrence’s secretary.
Three pairs of eyes were fixed on him. Georgie supposed that after a lifetime spent in relentless pursuit of wealth and security, the idea of running off to Cornwall without even the prospect of common wages demanded some kind of explanation.
“I want to be with him, if he’ll let me. As far as money . . . ” That was the crux of the issue. There was no guarantee that things would work out with Lawrence, and then he’d be older and poorer and with no better prospects than he had now. “I’ll have to hope for the best.”
A silence descended on the room. Sarah and Jack exchanged a look of concern. Georgie thought he saw his sister’s mouth form the wordssend for a doctor.
In the continued silence, they were able to hear a tap at the front door and the subsequent patter of the housemaid’s boots across the vestibule. Jack and Oliver pulled apart, reverting to their usual role of cordial business partners.
“Who could that be at this hour?” Sarah murmured.
A moment later, Lawrence was standing on the threshold of the dining room.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Georgie had never hallucinated, but there was a first time for everything. If his mind were to dream up any possible vision, surely it would be that of Lawrence, with Simon and Barnabus by his side, no less. Georgie glanced around the room and saw that everyone’s gaze was riveted to the doorway where Lawrence stood, so perhaps this was actually happening.
Finally, Oliver spoke, a stream of polite meaninglessness that bridged the gap between the impossible and the real and gave Georgie a moment to acclimate himself to a world in which all the people he cared about were here, safe, crammed into one small dining parlor. Oliver and Sarah murmured and gestured until everyone was seated in the improbable space—Simon perched on Lawrence’s knee, Barnabus’s head on Georgie’s lap, and Jack leaning against the wall with his arms folded as if he might just oversee some bloodshed before the evening was through.
Simon, Oliver, and Sarah were the only ones capable of conversation, which meant that the company was treated to an enthusiastic disquisition on the topic of Astley’s Amphitheatre. The child looked exceedingly well, his cheeks rosy and his eyes bright. Whatever had happened in the past week, it seemed that carriage travel agreed with him.
The same could not be said for Lawrence, who was pale and drawn and looked very much like he had lost half a stone. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around Simon’s middle was clenched, clawlike, into the arm of his chair. He looked . . . well, Georgie supposed that he looked like a man who would much rather be anywhere else.
And yet. Here he was. He hadn’t gone back to Penkellis. He had come here, and now Georgie felt something like hope.
Georgie finally caught his eye, and Lawrence’s mouth twitched up in the ghost of a smile. Georgie smiled back and knew his own effort was equally pallid.
Somebody—Sarah?—turned the conversation so that Oliver was leading Simon to the mews to inspect the horses, and Sarah was bodily tugging Jack out of the room. When the door finally shut, closing Lawrence and Georgie into the dining room alone, Lawrence sank back into his chair and sighed.
“Are you all right?” Georgie asked.
“Not really,” Lawrence said. “But I suppose if a trip over muddy roads to London, a visit to the Admiralty, and an encounter with a den of thieves hasn’t combined to throw me into a state of irretrievable madness, then I’m quite safe from that fate. How about you?” He gestured at the fading bruise under Georgie’s eye.
Georgie nodded. “What a pair we are,” he murmured. “A few days in London and we’re quite shells of our former selves.”
“Are we?” Lawrence asked, his voice low and grainy. “A pair, that is? I thought we were. But then you left . . . ” He shook his head.
“You know I had to go.”
“I do. But I had thought we were . . . I thought you would be there, by my side. And then you weren’t.”
“For what it’s worth, I would have much preferred staying at Penkellis, despite the mice and the drafts.”
Lawrence huffed out a laugh. “Penkellis rates higher than an abduction. Good to know.”
“Yes, and”—Georgie hesitated, his heart feeling like it was exposed in all its embarrassing gore on the outside of his clothes—“I was just telling my brother and sister that I mean to go back to Penkellis, whether you’ll have me or not.” This was what it felt like to plummet off a cliff without knowing whether one would land on jagged rocks or simply in shark-infested waters. He was terrified in all directions. Even if Lawrence didn’t deny him—especially if Lawrence didn’t deny him—his life as he knew it was over.
Lawrence took hold of Georgie’s hand. “Are you certain you want to come to Penkellis, though? To be cooped up in a rotten tower? You deserve more.”
Georgie wasn’t going to stand for one more second of this nonsense. He hauled his weary body into Lawrence’s lap. “If we’re going to talk about deserts,” he said, looking down into Lawrence’s tired eyes, “I can assure you that I’ve done nothing to deserve a life with a good, brilliant man. Nothing.”
“Rubbish.” But he settled his hands proprietarily on Georgie’s hips. “I’m not certain it would be a life, Georgie.”
Georgie shook his head. “It’s a life. It’s always been a life. Even if you never left Penkellis again—but I think you will, Lawrence—it would still be a life. And I’d be so happy and proud to be with you, if you’ll let me.”
“Let you, my arse. Beg you, more like.” He let go of Georgie long enough to rummage around in his pocket. “You left this behind.” He held out the heavy emerald ring.
