Page 118 of Harpy of the Ton
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. “Didshe, 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.”
