Page 128 of Harpy of the Ton
“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…wifetold 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 beforehim on a daily basis, begging forgiveness to render ourselves worthy of consideration for the kingdom of heaven.”
“And what doyoubelieve?”
“That it’s what wedothat 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 whyhe’dhated 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’snotplaying 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.
