Chapter Thirty-Five

Lawrence’s initial response to Flora’s declaration was to laugh out loud. How absurd to say such a thing!

But her expression remained earnest, so in confusion, he asked, “Did I hear you aright?”

“You did.”

He sat down on his bed with careful deliberation and stared at her. He didn’t know what to think. It couldn’t be true, of course. But what earthly reason would she have to make such an outrageous declaration?

“If I didn’t know you better,” he said warily, “I’d think this some hideous joke, to repay me for letting you down so badly.”

“It’s no jest. Major Wilberforce made inquiries about the crest on your crucifix.”

“Which could have been stolen from anywhere by my adoptive parents,” he pointed out.

“But you remember it from your earliest days,” she countered, “so maybe they stole you and the cross at the same time. Why would they taunt you with it, but never sell it? It must be extremely valuable. Maybe they hoped to return you one day, and claim a reward—until you ruined their plan by escaping with it.”

“If they meant to do that, you think they’d have returned me before I reached the age of twelve, which was when I ran away. The older I grew, the less likely my real family would be to recognize me.”

“But don’t you want to know who the family is? Possibly your family?”

He sighed inwardly. The story was doubtless no more than a fairy tale, but Flora was aquiver with excitement. He’d far rather that than the hurt he’d seen in her eyes a few moments ago. For now, he’d indulge her. “Very well.” He nodded for her to continue.

“The family is from Suffolk. Were you ever there?”

“Perhaps. We once joined a larger group of laborers who helped out with harvesting across East Anglia before dispersing. After that, and before I ran off with the players, we mostly traveled around Gloucestershire and Somersetshire.”

“So, there could be a connection.”

“Flora.” He knelt by her feet and gazed up at her beautiful, animated face. “Even if I was once an earl’s son—which, I seriously doubt—I am no longer. I’m a criminal. You said so yourself. If anyone associates me with the wreck the other night, I’ll swing, even though I was appalled by it and harmed no one.”

“Your family would protect you. They’ll have power and influence. You could confess your sins to the Justice of the Peace and turn King’s Evidence.”

He tried to imagine an earl supporting a felonious apothecary at the assizes—and couldn’t. “If I turned King’s Evidence,” he said slowly, not wishing to crush Flora’s hopes, “I’d be forever looking over my shoulder. Even if only one of the wreckers escapes justice, they’ll come after me for revenge. It won’t be pleasant. Not even the king could protect me from such determined malice. An earl certainly couldn’t.”

He might as well consign himself to spending the rest of his life in prison. Forever doomed to live within four walls, afraid to go out for fear of murder, acting the part of a nobleman and mingling amongst a class with which he had nothing in common. It suffocated him just thinking about it.

But Flora wasn’t prepared to give up so easily. “You’d have money, Lawrence. You could travel abroad, write treatises, heal many more people. You’d have power, influence that you could use for good, to make up for your past wrongdoings.”

“You think the nobility innocent of wrongdoing? Let me tell you—they are the greatest hypocrites of all. At least with the common folk, you know where you stand.”

“Yes,” she said, her brow wrinkling in a frown. “You do know where you stand. At risk of a knife in the dark, or a garrote in an alley.”

Unfortunately, that was a problem unlikely to go away. If Nathaniel Pryce discovered he’d been hoodwinked, if the wreckers found out he’d rescued Wilberforce, Lawrence’s life was worth less than a barley husk. The only answer was to abide by his original intention.

To travel to the New World.

“I understand,” he told Flora. “It’s gracious of you to want to help a sinner like myself. But I don’t know if I can change. I don’t know if I can ever be the man you want me to be, even if I had wealth and privilege on my side.”

“But Lawrence, what about your family? You could have a brother, your twin. Parents who love you and miss you. Other siblings. You could settle down and have whatever you wanted. Not that I suggest you’re greedy, because you’re not.”

“But I am greedy. Just for other things. None of which include being an aristocrat. If I were a viscount, or due to inherit an earldom, how could I maintain a close friendship with a gentlewoman who lives in a village and trims bonnets, no matter how respectable she is?”

Her smile faded. She hadn’t thought of that, had she? If he were an earl’s son—which sounded far too romantic and fantastical to be true—he’d be expected to consort with those of his own station. Flora wouldn’t be welcomed, even if she was aunt to a countess.

“Besides which,” he continued, “I intend to sail for America, to see what I can do to reduce the number of immigrants dying from yellow fever. I lost several friends in an epidemic there, you see.”

Flora’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. He was tearing apart her dream of happiness, and he hated himself for it.

Perhaps he could offer her a crumb of consolation. “Look, will it serve if I agree to look into your story about this noble family?”

She blinked up at him. “Talk to Major Wilberforce. He’ll explain everything better than me.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“But won’t you at least consider it?”

Great Jonah, this woman was tying him up in knots! “Very well, I’ll consider it. If only to please you. But there is, however, a condition.”

Still kneeling at her feet, he grasped her hands and captured her gaze.

“What is it?” Her voice fluttered. She hadn’t expected that, had she?

Leaning forward, he pulled her head down to his, brushed his lips across hers in a searing salute and said, “That you come to my bed.”