In Sickness and in Health

by Luna Devanovna

"In Sickness and in Health" is a story based on the main characters of the m/m regency romance The Lawrence Browne Affair by Cat Sebastian. In my story Lawrence, the autistic earl of Radnor, makes peace with Courtenay, the brother of his late wife, at the behest of his lover, Georgie Turner. The story is set in Cornwall in early 1817, just after the end of Sebastian's book.

31

Thatwaistcoat.

As a declaration of love it had been pitiful. Emotionless. Cowardly.

But Georgie had known it for what it was. What's more, he had understood Lawrence and responded in the same language.

Thatbeard.

Lawrence had rarely been so moved, and he wagered he had never been more relieved in his life than when Georgie telegraphed his love. At that time neither man could have articulated his feelings to himself, much less to the other.

Their affection, at first so fragile, had strengthened over the course of a difficult period.

Lawrence could not endure uncertainty or noise or unfamiliar food or talking with most people or—God. The list was endless. But now that Lawrence had enjoyed several months secure in the affections of Georgie and Simon, he discovered that what he really could not endure was the possibility of losing them.

Just before Easter, a letter had arrived from the mother of a schoolmate of Simon's. The mate was Edward St. John, the nine-year-old future Earl of Fairfield. Edward's mother had written to invite Simon to spend two weeks at their family home during the Easter holiday.

"No," said Lawrence when Georgie read the letter aloud to him.

"Could you possibly elaborate on that so that I may draft a reply?" asked Georgie.

Lawrence thought no further elaboration on the matter was necessary and continued assembling his difference engine.

Unfazed, Georgie pretended to be drafting Lawrence's response aloud. "My Dear Countess Fairfield, I regret that Simon is unable to accept your gracious invitation at this time because . . . because . . bugger me, I have no idea why."

When that failed to elicit a response, Georgie reached out and grasped Lawrence's hand. Lawrence stilled under his touch but didn't meet his gaze. Georgie rubbed Lawrence's hand with his thumb, the thumb which bore the ring Lawrence had given him.

"Lawrence?" prompted Georgie.

"Measles," said Lawrence, with the air of a man delivering the coup de grace in an argument.

"Measles," repeated Georgie slowly and evenly.

"Yes," said Lawrence firmly. When Georgie's face failed to register comprehension, Lawrence reluctantly continued, frustrated with Georgie's obtuseness. "Simon came here at Christmas because his cousins had measles."

"Ye-e-es," agreed Georgie, still mystified.

"Yes," said Lawrence emphatically. "They had measles. Could have died. What if Simon had been exposed to that? Other people's children have all sorts of dangerous illnesses. Croup. Small pox. Pneumonia. Scarlet fever."

Inwardly Georgie smiled. Now we're getting somewhere. "It's not as if Simon has never been sick. He had a catarrh just last month."

"So he should not be traveling all over England in a cold, drafty, coach," concluded Lawrence.

Knowing that this delicate boy was currently romping in the snow with Barnabus and his tutor, and had been for over an hour, Georgie doubted that Simon would take sick from the half-day carriage ride to Fairfield Manor. Clearly the real problem was with Lawrence, not Simon-Lawrence's severe anxiety, to be precise. Within reason Georgie tried to wrap Lawrence in cotton wool to protect him from the real-world chaos that regularly threatened to overset him. Nevertheless, although it broke his heart, there were times when he had to push Lawrence beyond his limits for his lover's own good. Where Simon was concerned, Georgie realized that that had to be sooner rather than later.

Georgie reached out his other hand and stroked the back of Lawrence's head and his neck. With his left hand he tipped up Lawrence's chin so that he could look into Lawrence's eyes. "Lawrence," he murmured soothingly, "you know you can't keep him here forever."

"I don't see why not," protested Lawrence petulantly. Shaking off Georgie he continued, "When he came here from Harrow, he was nothing but skin and bones. In the three months that he's spent here, he's put on weight and grown an inch. Isn't that what you told me when you insisted that we take him to Falmouth for new clothes?"

"Yes, he's growing in leaps and bounds, and that's my point. He is going to grow up to be a gentleman and an earl."

"Like Percy? Like my father?"

"No, of course not! But not entirely like you either, Lawrence."

"I don't want him to be at all like me!"

"Well, he is like you in some ways, and that's good. If a boy has a good father, he should be like him. Simon's smart and kind and brave. And I admit that he seems somewhat interested in natural philosophy, but not to the extent that you are. He's more interested in animals. He will probably want to be a more hands-on manager of Penkellis. Although he loves Penkellis, I don't think he will want to be a hermit here. You asked Harrow to keep his seat open, didn't you?"

"It seemed a logical thing to ask, but as time goes on I am more and more reluctant to let him go back."

"As I said, Simon will be a gentleman and an earl someday. He needs to learn what gentlemen do. He needs to go to Harrow and Oxford and London. He needs to make friends as he goes along. If he doesn't like this Edward St. John, of course he needn't go. But if the future earl of Fairfield is his friend, and he wants to go, you should let him."

Georgie put his arm around Lawrence. He could see the strain on his lover's face. After a deep sigh, Lawrence growled, "I don't object to you telling Simon about the invitation. He's old enough to decide whether or not he wants to go." Georgie pressed Lawrence's face to his chest and planted a kiss on the top of his head. For the time being he decided he didn't need to mention fencing and shooting and boxing and all the other gentlemanly pursuits Oliver Rivington had assured him were absolutely necessary for Simon to master by the time he went to London to take his place in society.

When Simon was apprised of the invitation he pronounced St. John top of the trees, and declared that two weeks at Sheffield Hall would be capital. Georgie was proud of the way that Lawrence managed to hide his alarm at the prospect of Simon going away and was especially attentive to his lover as preparations were made for the journey. It was decided that Simon's tutor, Lucien Philby, would accompany Simon during the visit.

Two days later Simon and Lucien rolled away from Penkellis into a cold but sunny early spring landscape. Lawrence watched until the carriage was out of sight, Georgie at his side. He might have remained at the door indefinitely if he had not been startled by an alarming crash from the direction of the tower.

Rushing into Lawrence's study, the two men beheld a dismaying sight. The mechanical contraption which Lawrence had been assembling for the better part of a week lay in pieces all over the floor. Atop the table where it had previously stood lay an enormous tabby cat. She was growling and hissing at Barnabus, who was wagging his tail and endeavoring to lick her.

"Bugger and fuck!" exclaimed Lawrence. The tabby leapt off the table and raced out the door, Barnabus uncharacteristically in pursuit. "A week's work ruined."

"Actually . . ." murmured Georgie.

"Yeees?" asked Lawrence suspiciously.

"Didn't Lady Standish recently suggest a fundamental change to the gears?"

"What?" asked Lawrence. "All I remember is another letter pleading Courtnay's case."

"If you had read the whole letter instead of crumpling it up after reading the first few lines, you would know," answered Georgie, nonchalantly looking at his well-kept fingernails.

"Fine," grumbled Lawrence. "Where is this sodding letter?"

Without even looking, Georgie took several wrinkled sheets of paper off his desk and held them out to Lawrence.

Lawrence grabbed the sheets irritably and started skimming the letter. "Courtnay, Courtnay . . . more Courtnay . . . Oh. Finally something about my difference engine. . . Why did she have to start with bloody Courtnay? Sometimes I find even Standish's priorities incomprehensible . . ." Lawrence's words trailed off as Lady Standish's idea caught his attention. He absentmindedly sat and concentrated singlemindedly on the letter. Slowly backing away, Georgie inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Well that ought to keep him busy for a while.

As Georgie had anticipated, Lawrence quickly grasped Lady Standish's suggestion and set about rebuilding the difference engine. Preoccupation with the complicated mechanism seemed to keep his anxiety about Simon at bay. Without Simon and Lucien at Penkellis, the two men fell back into the habits of the previous autumn, stopping work only to take meals in the study and fall into bed late in the evening. At the end of the third day, Georgie sat back and said, "What makes this bizarre contraption, of all your bizarre contraptions, so important?"

"Accuracy. Lack thereof, rather," grunted Lawrence in his usual laconic fashion. Seeing Georgie's raised eyebrow, he realized that he was going to have to say more. "Do you remember the table of logarithms I use, with some printed figures crossed out and the correct ones handwritten in their place?"

"Yes," remembered Georgie. "You warned me that the handwritten figures were the correct ones."

"Well, that's happening all the time. Mathematicians and men of science make calculations. They check them. They have other people check them. And still calculation errors abound. The difference engine is supposed to prevent that because, being a machine, it will always calculate the figures in exactly the same correct way."

"Assuming that you build it correctly," pointed out Georgie.

"Of course. The idea was proposed by some Frenchman in 1812. The Admiralty is afraid that the bloody French will get one first. If their calculations are more accurate, perhaps their weapons will be more powerful than ours, their ships more reliable. Or if we use machines built by them, instead of building our own, perhaps ours will be faulty, and we won't know it."

Georgie yawned hugely and said, "Well you're going to have to carry on the war effort alone for now. I'm turning in."

Lawrence needed no more invitation. He abandoned the difference engine, saying, "The French aren't coming across the channel just yet, so you remain higher on my priority list." The two of them repaired to their large bed where Lawrence proceeded to show Georgie just where his priorities lay.

Lawrence awoke before dawn with a sudden inspiration. He couldn't get back to sleep because the bed was too hot, so he thought he might as well get up and see about his new idea. Easing out from under Georgie's outflung arm, Lawrence gently tucked the covers around his sleeping lover. He donned the new (not threadbare) dressing gown Georgie insisted he wear and allowed himself a moment to stop and gaze at the man. Even after months of seeing him almost every day, Lawrence never tired of Georgie's beauty. Smiling with satisfaction he quietly left the room and entered his study, closing the door behind himself.

As Lawrence worked, the sun steadily rose, filling the study with a warm light that held the promise of spring. After some hours' work, he sat back and surveyed the difference engine, now about thirty percent rebuilt. "That's much better! I could almost forgive you for smashing it, Georgie. But was it really—" He looked up at Georgie's desk, only then remembering that he had gotten up before dawn and left Georgie in bed. Laughing, he stood and went back to his bedroom planning to tease Georgie for being a slugabed. But Georgie was not in bed. Nor was Barnabus. Puzzled, Lawrence turned to leave and check the kitchen, but then he heard a cough. It was coming from his dressing room, the room that was nominally Georgie's. Pushing open the door, he saw Georgie lying in the narrow dressing room bed, Barnabus sitting protectively on the floor in front of him. Georgie was wrapped in the quilt but shivering uncontrollably. He coughed again. "I've got a fever," he croaked. "Stay away. Don't want you to catch it."

Lawrence reeled. The floor seemed to lurch under his feet even though he was standing still. A bleak future loomed before him, a future in which he would turn to share a smile with Georgie again and again, but Georgie wouldn't be there. His chest was constricted by an iron band which made it impossible for him to fill his lungs. At the same time he felt unmoored, rudderless. He began to see stars, but then suddenly he felt a familiar weight on his chest. He realized that he had fallen to the floor, and now Barnabus was standing on him. The weight of the dog gave him substance and familiarity. He was no longer floating away. He could breathe. He could see.

Above all, Lawrence could think again. He had no idea how to cure a fever, but he had a house full of servants who probably did. Ignoring Georgie's feeble protests, Lawrence frantically covered him with another quilt. With a racing heart, he lit a fire, and then, leaving Barnabus with Georgie, made his way to the kitchen.

When apprised of the situation, Mrs. Jensen quickly took control. She covered Georgie's forehead and abdomen with vinegar compresses and dosed him with willow bark tea and cough syrup. Over the course of an hour, the cough gradually dissipated, and Georgie fell into a restless sleep. A housemaid was posted at his bedside to change the compresses regularly and administer more medicine as needed. One footman was dispatched to fetch the doctor from Penryn, and another was sent to London on horseback to inform Sarah and Jack of Georgie's illness.

Having survived the initial crisis, Lawrence's mental and physical energy were spent. Deprived of the comfort of Barnabus and the distraction of activity, he sat in his study, immobilized. A few times, Georgie started to cough again, but the housemaid would give him more cough syrup, and he would subside. Still Lawrence sat. Against his will he relived over and over the time a few months before when Georgie had run away to London in a misguided attempt to protect Lawrence and Simon from a criminal. After revisiting those dark days again and again, Lawrence finally broke through the torpor when he at last remembered his own part in that adventure: following Georgie to London, throwing his weight around to have Georgie released from Newgate, single-handedly facing down an entire gang of vicious criminals.

Right, Lawrence told himself. No windows to put my fist through this time, but that doesn't mean the situation is hopeless. Mentally he shook himself, took a series of deep breaths, and began pacing and thinking as he waited for the doctor.

Georgie alternately shivered as if he were freezing or thrashed against the hot blankets which seemed to bind him. The willow bark tea wore off at intervals, returning his head and limbs to an oversized aching drum. Then the dry cough would return, slicing through his chest like a knife. He was too uncomfortable to sleep but also too enervated to actually do anything. Georgie thought with some asperity that he was doing a very accurate impression of Barnabus, who was now lying next to him on the bed, lifting a lazy eyelid if Georgie coughed particularly loud or long.

Dr. Trelawney arrived in due course. An elderly man, he had tended the Radnors most of his professional life but had little acquaintance with Lawrence, who considered intimate examination of his person by any doctor completely unthinkable. Dr. Trelawney was shown into the study by the footman who had fetched him, and Lawrence greeted the doctor woodenly, barely succeeding in hiding his anxiety.

Lawrence showed Dr. Trelawney into the dressing room, where the doctor's first act was to try to remove Barnabus. "Can't have a great brute like you practically smothering my patient, interfering with my examination!" he declared and made to push the dog off the bed. Barnabus merely turned his head and bared his teeth. "On second thought," the doctor hastily amended and stepped back. Lawrence came to his rescue, gesturing to Barnabus to go into the study with him. The dog lazily rose, stretched, and jumped to the floor. After turning around three times, he settled with tail to the study fire and his no longer somnolent eyes watched the door to the dressing room.

Georgie was scarcely aware as Dr. Trelawney gently lifted his wrist and checked his pulse. As the doctor was feeling Georgie's feverish face, Mrs. Jensen arrived and explained what she had done for Georgie. "Good, good," the doctor murmured and then listened to Georgie's heart and lungs. The doctor held up a very weakened Georgie in a sitting position and put his ear first to Georgie's back and then to his chest. He looked in Georgie's eyes, nose, ears and mouth. At last he felt Georgie's neck and armpits for swelling. When he had finished, he stepped back and Mrs. Jensen swiftly made Georgie comfortable again, plumping his pillow and firmly tucking the quilt around him.

Returning to the study, Dr. Trelawney pronounced his diagnosis. "Looks like influenza," he announced briskly. "He's likely to be feverish, tired and achy for several days." Turning to Mrs. Jensen, he advised, "Keep him warm and comfortable. The willow bark tea and vinegar compresses are just what he needs. A vinegar bath will do him good as well. The cough syrup seems to be handling the cough for now, but a dose of laudanum in the evening would be good so that he sleeps through the night. Most likely he's not hungry, but try to get him to drink broth and tea until his appetite returns. The only real danger is that the cough may get worse. I'll be back in two days to check his lungs again, but send for me in the mean time if he gets worse or develops new symptoms. Mr. Turner is in good hands here with Mrs. Jensen," he assured Lawrence.

"How long?" Lawrence suddenly asked. What he meant was, How long am I going to have to endure the fear of being without Georgie and the agony of watching Georgie suffer? But when he realized the doctor was looking at him expectantly, he amended his question to, "How long do you think it will take Mr. Turner to recover and return to his duties?"

"Oh, of course," answered the doctor. "Deuced inconvenient to be without your right hand man! Well, in most cases the fever lasts a couple of days, but the lassitude and ache may linger for ten days or more. With any luck, the cough will be gone in two weeks. Mr. Turner is young and appears to be in good health, so I don't expect any complications. It's his lungs we need to be concerned about. Influenza sometimes settles in the lungs. But my old ears are not the best instrument for detecting pneumonia! Even young ears could use a boost. I hear some French chap is using a device that amplifies sound, you can really listen to a patient's heart and lungs. You're an inventor, why not try your hand at something like that?"

Amplify sound? The thought struck horror in Lawrence. What a misguided idea! Hiding his true feelings, Lawrence assured Dr. Trelawney that he would look into it. Mrs. Jensen showed the doctor out. Lawrence dismissed the footman then gestured to Barnabus to resume his preferred spot next to Georgie. The house maid took up her post near the bed.

Once again Lawrence retreated to the sofa in his study. In vain he stared at his difference engine, completely unable to motivate himself to think about it, much less work on it. The excitement and satisfaction of the early morning seemed like something that had happened to someone else, someone confident and secure in a comfortable, very predictable world. Lawrence did not know how long he sat there staring numbly at nothing before a footman knocked at the study door and announced a visit from Halliday. Bloody hell, he thought. "Bring him here and have tea sent up," muttered Lawrence wretchedly.

"Hullo, Radnor," Halliday said on arrival. "I ran into Trelawney at the widow Angove's cottage. He mentioned that your secretary is laid up with influenza so I thought I'd better come and check on my parishioner."

"I doubt Mr. Turner has ever been in any church in his life, much less yours, so I think it's exaggerating a bit to call him your parishioner," grumbled Lawrence.

"I was referring to yourself, Radnor," explained Halliday. "Although to be frank, it's not only you but the entire Penkellis household and even the village that have come to depend a great deal on Mr. Turner these last months. More of a majordomo or general factotum than a secretary, as it were."

"Yes," conceded Lawrence. "Can't get a bloody thing done without him. Don't even want to read the post," he added, glaring at a pile of letters and a package on Georgie's desk which someone must have brought up some time that morning.

A housemaid knocked and brought in a tea tray. She set it on the table in front of Lawrence and left, but since Lawrence simply sat and ignored the tray, Halliday sighed and said, "I'll be mother." He poured cups for both of them and set one in front of Lawrence. "Forget the post, have you even dressed today? You're still in your dressing gown. And have you eaten anything?" It occurred to Lawrence that he had not. "No," he admitted.

Exasperated, Halliday pulled the bell to summon the housemaid back. When she returned he said, "Please send up bread, ham, and apples for his lordship. And you, Radnor," he added as she left, "pull yourself together. You have a house full of servants to do for you and no excuse to complain for two weeks just because your right hand man is laid up."

Lawrence reluctantly ate and drank his tea, hoping Halliday would be satisfied and leave. No such luck. The moment Lawrence petulantly threw his napkin onto the tray and looked expectantly at Halliday, the reverend smiled with satisfaction and said, "There, isn't that much better? Now, I understand that young Philby has been very satisfactory as Simon's tutor, so what about adding to his duties until Mr. Turner recovers? I realize that he can't be the majordomo Mr. Turner is, but he could at least handle the basic secretarial duties, couldn't he?"

"Yes, Philby would be adequate in a pinch, but unfortunately he and Simon will be a half day's ride away for another ten days since Turner talked me into letting Simon visit his friend," retorted Lawrence.

"Well, how is Simon getting on at Fairfield? I can see you not wanting to send him off alone, but if he's settled in nicely, surely he doesn't need Philby any longer?"

That was the crux of it. Not only had Simon written that he was having a capital time, but prompted by Georgie no doubt, Philby had sent a detailed report confirming that St. John was a good sort and Fairfield (not in so many words) was the kind of home that Penkellis decidedly was not: well-kept, modern, comfortable, and safe. Without even knowing of Georgie's incapacity, he had asked if perhaps he shouldn't take the mail coach back to Penkellis.

"I say, why not write to Philby now? Ask him to come back early. I'll post the letter for you. I know I refused to be your secretary last autumn, but if you at least write Philby to come back, I can fill in until he returns. We can go through the rest of your post before I go in case there are other letters that can't wait. What do you say?" Halliday looked at Lawrence expectantly in a way that would have prompted the (formerly) mad earl to throw the nearest thing to hand only six months previously. Regretfully he admitted that that he no longer had the excuse of impending madness and gestured for Halliday to take a seat at Georgie's desk.

Halliday quickly drafted a letter to Philby with minimal input from Lawrence and then proceeded to open the rest of the correspondence. It was clear that nothing in the lot was urgent, and Halliday turned to the package. "I say," he said, "Lady Standish has sent you a book. There's a note with it begging you to read it. Just the thing to keep you occupied until Philby returns and you can get back to work! I'll see myself out and post this letter to Philby. Give my best wishes to Mr. Turner, and I'll see you tomorrow."

Although Lawrence was heartily glad to be quit of Halliday's bracing presence, he was suspicious of the reverend's hurried departure. He walked over to Georgie's desk and picked up Standish's letter. My Dear Sir, I implore your patience as I write one final time to plead Courtenay's case. I enclose a copy of the book which has done so much injustice to his reputation and beg you to at least read it. Faithfully, Eleanor Standish. Lawrence picked up the book and beheld the cover of The Brigand Prince of Salerno by A Gentleman. "Bloody hell," ground Lawrence. He was about to fling both the book and the note in the fire when Barnabus barked at him from the door to the dressing room, and he became aware of a heated exchange going on between Georgie and the house maid.

"But Mr. Turner! You shouldn't even be out of bed, much less trying to get all the way to the water closet!" protested the house maid, brandishing a chamber pot at Georgie.

"I've drunk gallons of that foul tea and whatever else you've been pouring down my throat all day," Georgie rasped, "so unless you've got something quite a bit larger than that chamber pot—"

Lawrence was relieved to see Georgie awake and complaining. Here at last was a problem he could deal with. "Thank you, Karen. I'll see that Mr. Turner gets to the water closet. And please have a hot vinegar bath prepared in here." When Karen had left, Lawrence turned to Georgie. He stripped off his dressing gown and quickly wrapped it around Georgie. Without preamble he lifted Georgie into his arms and strode down the hall to the water closet. "While I appreciate the lift, I can still piss for myself!" protested Georgie when Lawrence would have gone in with him.

Minutes later Georgie reappeared, upright but pale and visibly shaking. Without asking permission, Lawrence lifted him again and had him back in bed by the time a footman appeared with the tub. Karen filled it with hot water from the system Lawrence had originally invented for his sister-in-law and then added vinegar.

When the bath was ready, Lawrence dismissed Karen and the footman. He told them that Georgie would ring when he had finished his bath and made as if to go into his study. As soon as the servants had left, however, he returned to the dressing room and whispered, "Georgie?"

"Told you to stay away," complained Georgie from the bed. "Don't want you to be sick."

"Too late. You probably gave it to me before you even felt sick yourself," pointed out Lawrence.

"For someone who's not sick, you look pretty awful," grumbled Georgie.

"Trust me, the state of my toilet is nothing compared to the disorder of my mind."

"I'm touched by your need of me, but this is not the first time we've been apart."

"Yes, but I've always known when you'd be back. Sometimes I can get through a crisis by knowing exactly how long it will last. Today is the first time since Christmas that I've faced the thought of life without you, and it's nearly done me in."

"You great idiot! I must have had influenza and worse a dozen times. So have you! And I'm pretty sure this is the first time anyone's dosed me with medicinal tea and sat by my bed. So I'm not going toes-up just yet."

"Speaking of medicine, your bath's getting cold. Let's get you into it before it's wasted."

"You can help me in, but I'll bathe myself, thank you. And while I'm bathing, for God's sake wash, shave, and dress."

Lawrence quickly removed Georgie's nightshirt and lifted him into the bath. It took all his strength not to stop with Georgie clasped to his chest, but he forced himself to set Georgie directly in the bath and then leave.

After Lawrence had deposited him in the water and disappeared into his own chamber, Georgie gratefully relaxed in the vinegar bath. Even the short conversation had exhausted him, and the bone-deep aches were returning. The bath soothed the pain, and he might even have fallen asleep if it had been possible to do so in a bathtub.

After a remarkably brief interval, Lawrence returned as Georgie had insisted: washed, shaved, and properly dressed. Testing the bath water, he pronounced it cold and lifted Georgie out onto the hearth, where he wrapped him in towels. Georgie was too tired to object as Lawrence briskly but gently dried him off. At last satisfied that Georgie was warm and dry, Lawrence gave in to the urge to fold him into his arms. Georgie relaxed in his hold, and for a moment they stood on the hearth, unmoving.

Lawrence was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry, Georgie," he said.

"Bugger that Lawrence. You didn't give me the influenza, and I probably am going to give it to you."

"I may not have given it to you, but I'm sure living in Penkellis isn't good for anyone's health except mine. We talked about building a new house, but I haven't done anything about it. I was too comfortable here, even though I know it's not the best place for you and Simon."

Lawrence swiftly slipped a clean nightshirt over Georgie's head, scooped him up again and deposited him in bed. He arranged the pillows so that Georgie could sit and tucked the blankets around him. Tired as he was, Georgie was warmed by Lawrence's care and pulled him in for a quick hug. "I realized that it would take time for you to get used to the idea, but I did start to make some plans to build a new house."

Lawrence squeezed him back and stood up. "You can tell me all about it later. Right now I'm going to have someone take away the bath water and bring us some dinner." Soon Georgie was reluctantly slurping broth, and Lawrence was eating more bread, ham, and apples. The sun had set by the time they finished, and Georgie began to cough again. Mrs. Jensen dosed him with more willow bark tea and a few drops of laudanum. She would have arranged for a house maid to sit with Georgie, but Lawrence pointed out that the laudanum was likely to keep him asleep until dawn. He promised to listen for Georgie and wake someone if help was needed.

The day's events began to take their toll on Lawrence as well, and he yawned hugely. He needed sleep, but he lingered on the threshold to his room, undecided. He couldn't face his own bed without Georgie, but even without Barnabus taking up most of the space, sleeping with Georgie in the dressing room bed was also not really an option. At last he resigned himself to sleeping on the dressing room sofa, but first he messed up his own bed and changed back into his night shirt. Barely able to keep his eyes open, Lawrence stirred up the fire and lay down on the sofa.

As expected, Georgie woke before dawn, still feverish and coughing harder. Much as he would have preferred to take care of his lover himself, Lawrence recognized that doing so would jeopardize his and Georgie's relationship. He permitted himself to do no more than add wood to the fire and administer cough syrup before erasing evidence of his night spent on the dressing room sofa and ringing for a servant. Soon Lawrence was again washed, shaven, and dressed, listening with frustration from his study while Mrs. Jensen and a house maid cajoled Georgie into taking more medicine and drinking a mug of broth. Apparently Barnabus likewise found the disruption irritating because he walked into the study and sat on Lawrence's boots with the air of someone hard done by. Taking the hint, Lawrence grabbed his coat and hat and gestured for the dog to follow him outside.

Although it was early spring, the landscape around Penkellis remained bleak, and a strong wind was gusting off the sea and up the cliffs. Far from discomfited, Lawrence welcomed the cold and wind, even removing his hat and allowing his long hair to blow freely. For some time he wandered without thought, hoping to burn off the latest flood of anxiety. When merely walking proved insufficient, he ran. A puzzled Barnabus reluctantly followed at his heels, easily keeping up in spite of his accustomed torpor. At last Lawrence thought the excess energy had gone, and he dropped to the ground beneath a tree near the road. Barnabus gratefully took up a spot nearby, circling three times before dropping to the ground with his nose pointed toward the road.

From his vantage point on the ground, Lawrence could see most of Penkellis and a good part of the grounds. It struck him that he had a love-hate relationship with his home. On the one hand, he clung to it because it was familiar and predictable. The quiet and the familiarity gave Penkellis points over just about every other place on earth. At the same time, Lawrence couldn't deny how he hated the way Penkellis reminded him of sorrow and loneliness. Even with Simon and Georgie now living there most of the house was too painful for him to set foot in. Before Georgie's arrival, things had usually changed gradually at Penkellis, and always in a predictably downward direction. Even though blowing the roof off the conservatory had been abrupt, it was still consistent with the house's accustomed air of ruin and decay. And if you knew to expect broken windows, drafty chimneys, rotting floors, and leaking roofs, well, you could avoid them.

Gazing at the front of the house, Lawrence could see the changes begun by Georgie: the tidily raked gravel drive, brush surrounding the house beaten into submission by dedicated groundskeepers, windows replaced. Unfortunately, these repairs were a tiny fraction of the work needed on the ruin. It would be the work of a lifetime to rebuild it, and if Lawrence was honest with himself, it was not how he wanted to spend most of his time or Georgie's. He would get the project started but only do as much as necessary for the house to be liveable by the time Simon left Cambridge and needed to live here part of the year.

Continuing to live at Penkellis now was out of the question. Most manor houses of this size included a dower house somewhere on the property. Lawrence inwardly snorted at the idea of a Dowager Countess of Radnor. Most of his female ancestors had died in childbirth delivering giants like himself, as his own mother had. Those who survived childbirth tended to die young anyway due to the madness of a long line of Earls of Radnor, as Percy's wife and mistress had.

That left Standish's suggestion of building something new. Although Lawrence had agreed in theory that that was the most reasonable thing to do, inertia and the comfort of his cocoon had prevented him from doing anything serious about it during the winter months. The quiet of Penkellis after the nightmare of London had been such a relief that he banished thoughts of construction almost as soon as they intruded.

Georgie, however, had not been idle. With surprise, Lawrence could see that a site for something like a dower house had been cleared and surveyed. It was far enough from the main house to provide privacy but not so far as to be a burden on servants working in both buildings. Lawrence got up and started walking toward the site. With something like resignation Barnabus rose and followed. On closer inspection Lawrence approved of all that had been done so far. The house would be the right size for one genteel widow (or two bachelors). It would have a good view but be far enough from other outbuildings, like the stables, to avoid the disturbing noises of daily life.

Still, Lawrence didn't see how even Georgie could have such a house built properly in less than a year. They couldn't continue living at Penkellis full-time for another year, especially not with all the chaos that construction would entail, so another solution would have to be found. Lawrence began walking toward the sea, while Barnabus nosed around in the brush.

They would all have to move, but where? The unwelcome thought that maybe Simon should return to Harrow in the autumn penetrated Lawrence's mind, and by habit he neatly deflected it into the spot in his mind reserved for all the horrible thoughts he should not think about. Moments later he reluctantly admitted that it was time to think about that particular unpleasantness. Yes, Simon should return to Harrow for all the reasons Georgie had enumerated. Since he was going to move, Lawrence suddenly realized, moving in the same direction as Simon might not be horrible.

Radnor House, the family's London residence, was unsuitable for any numbers of reasons, first of which was the fact that it was in London. London was closer to Harrow, but subjecting himself to the sights and sounds of the city indefinitely was inconceivable. The house had been closed up since Percy's death and would likely need a good deal of work to be habitable again. That should be done in time for Simon to live there at least part of the year when he took his place in society, but it needn't be done now. And of course, although Radnor House was big for London it didn't have nearly enough space or the right kind of space for Lawrence to continue his work.

Was it possible to let a suitable house near Harrow? Georgie would know. But that thought reminded Lawrence of Halliday's comments the previous day. "Really more of a major domo or factotum as it were." Yes, Georgie was doing much more work than that of a secretary. Most likely Lawrence was allowing him to do much more work than anyone should. Being overworked and living in the insalubrious environment of Penkellis had surely contributed to Georgie falling ill. Well, that needed to end now. Lawrence needed Georgie in his heart and in his bed far more than he needed Georgie's incredible talents for, well, everything. Georgie would continue to be invaluable to his work, but someone else, maybe even several someones, would have to start taking over the more mundane aspects of what his "secretary" had been doing. Having made up his mind, Lawrence walked back toward the house to check on Georgie.

Georgie's cough was audible as soon as Lawrence neared his tower. Alarm prickled him all over and seemed to squeeze his lungs, but he restrained himself from charging up the stairs. He tried to hide his concern as he knocked on the door to Georgie's room from the corridor. Mrs. Jensen met him with a look of calm confidence. After letting him in, she turned to Georgie and said, "Here's his lordship come to see you Mr. Turner. I'm sure he'll agree with me that he's in no dire need of you, and you've naught to do but sleep and get over this fever. Now, if you'll excuse me, your lordship, I've just changed Mr. Turner's compresses and given him his cough medicine. It won't hurt for him to talk with you for a minute or two about work, but he's in no state to be writing letters and such. I'll send up Karen to change his compresses again and sit with him in an hour."

When she had left and closed the door, Lawrence approached Georgie. "Georgie?" he whispered tentatively.

Georgie turned an irritable eye on him and coughed. After a moment, he said, "I'm sick, not demented. No need to tiptoe around me," he fretted. Lawrence drew a chair to the side of the bed and took Georgie's hand in his own. Georgie rested his head on their clasped hands. For a moment neither spoke.

"She's right, you know," said Lawrence. "Halliday played secretary yesterday, and he convinced me to call Philby back. No doubt Philby will be here some time tomorrow. I'll make due with him." Lawrence put a hand to Georgie's face. "You're still feverish," he said, "but I don't think you're as hot as yesterday. I think your cough's worse, though."

"I won't burden you with a catalog of my symptoms, but yes, the cough is worse. Still, it's not the worst cough I've ever had. Not by a long shot."

"Maybe you should take some more laudanum. It seemed to help last night."

"I've never had the luxury before. In fact, I've rarely even had cough syrup. Usually just put up with it like everyone else in St. Giles, and I don't need to be dosed into unconsciousness now. However—" here Georgie had to stop because of a long coughing spell. When he was done he said weakly, "I could use a lift to the water closet again. As a matter of fact, it's become rather urgent due to that coughing fit."

After Georgie was resettled in bed, Lawrence built up the fire and took his seat next to him again. Like before, Georgie rested his head on their clasped hands. After twenty-four hours of anxiety and scarcely any contact with Georgie, Lawrence found it soothing. He could have stayed that way indefinitely, but at last he realized their hour of privacy was nearly up and gently squeezed Georgie's hand once more before pulling away.

"You could at least bring me the post," grumbled Georgie.

"No point," replied Lawrence as he stood up. "I'm sure Halliday will be back today to torture me, so I'll leave the post to him. It will give him something to do instead of nattering on about things I don't want to talk about."

"Have you eaten?" asked Georgie.

"Of course!" lied Lawrence. "I may be absentminded, but I didn't starve even before you arrived. Here's Karen to take care of you." With that, Lawrence slipped out and let Karen in. Since he actually hadn't eaten, he went down to the kitchen and requested breakfast to be sent to his study.

Lawrence spent most of the day in his study, brooding over his plans and only occasionally starting uncomfortably when Georgie coughed long and loud. He left orders for Halliday to be shown in when he arrived and tea to be sent up soon after. Brandy would have been more the thing, he thought, but it would be bad enough putting up with Halliday's scrutiny of his appearance without him tut-tutting about Lawrence drinking.

As expected, Halliday arrived around three, bringing the post with him. "There you are Radnor," he said breezily as he came into the office door. "And how is Mr. Turner today? Better, I hope?"

Lawrence grimaced and gestured toward the dressing room door through which Georgie's prolonged cough was audible. "Oh, of course," mumbled Halliday, a bit deflated. "Well," he continued bracingly, "it's early days, only been down one day. I'll go through your post, shall I?" Lawrence merely nodded and let him get on with it, trying not to betray the disquiet Georgie's cough inspired each time. Tea appeared, and Halliday again poured out. He went through the letters as they ate and drank.

"Nothing urgent. I'm sure Philby can deal with this lot as well," he concluded.

Lawrence spoke for the first time. "There is one letter I am anxious to send as soon as possible," he said. "I've had it with Courtenay. I'm tired of his constant importunings. He's even got Standish bothering me about it. Write him a curt note directing him to contact me only through my solicitors in future."

The new status quo continued until the third day of Georgie's illness. Lawrence discreetly spent as much time as he could with Georgie, and when that was impossible, sat in his study pretending to tinker with the difference engine or read. Dr. Trelawney returned and examined Georgie again. He allowed as the cough was worse but not dangerously so and the fever considerably lower. Soon afterward Mr. Philby returned, having taken the mail coach. Like most tutors and secretaries, Lucien Philby actually was what Lawrence had initially assumed Georgie to be—the third son of a minister with no inclination for the military or the church. He was young, energetic, and well-educated, having been sent to Harrow and Oxford by a kind relative. The maids found him attractive and friendly, a welcome addition to the remote household. Up to now he had behaved completely respectfully, having been raised by a minister. His behavior disappointed some of them, but others held out hope. Philby was conversant in French, Spanish, Latin, Greek, mathematics, rhetoric, history, philosophy, and natural philosophy. Above all, he was particularly interested in natural history and had even managed to accompany a man of science whom Lawrence corresponded with on a two-year exploratory voyage to South America. Not only was he proficient in his studies, but he was able to teach energetic boys without boring them. Philby encouraged Simon's interest in horses as a way of motivating him to learn natural history and math. He was even able to find a horse-related angle to many of his history lessons. Being multilingual himself, he was also able to continue Simon's studies of Spanish and French.

Predictably, Philby arrived full of energy and plans to catch up on the work that had been neglected since Georgie fell ill. He went straight to Lawrence's darkening study and began lighting candles, chattering all the while about Simon, Fairfield Hall, and plans to sort the accumulated post. "Mr. Philby," ground out Lawrence.

"Your lordship?" replied Philby.

"You have the makings of an excellent secretary. But if you are to work closely with me, there is one quality which you must cultivate above all others."

"Yes, your lordship! What is that?" asked Philby eagerly.

"Silence."

Philby opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, bit his lips ruefully and contented himself with a vigorous nod.

"Thank you," said Lawrence. "If you would organize the post, I would appreciate it, but it's late. After you've done that, you're free for the day. We'll get started in the morning." Without further comment, Lawrence retreated to his room to await Philby's departure from the study.

The next morning Georgie's fever broke, but he remained listless and achy. The cough persisted but did not worsen. Lawrence's anxiety began to subside as evidence mounted that at some point life might return to what he considered bearable. Buoyed by that thought, he endured the morning working with Philby. Since Philby had read and organized the post, they began with that. Philby explained how he intended to answer each business letter, and Lawrence nodded or grunted in response. Philby had categorized the correspondence from other academics according to topic and arranged them on Lawrence's desk. The only personal correspondence, other than the package from Lady Standish, was a letter from Simon, which had arrived that morning. Lawrence tore it open and found an enthusiastic description of the ponies Simon and St. John had been riding. The letter closed with the words, "Your Simon," and Lawrence found himself touching the loving words as if he could reach out to his absent son.

"How is Simon getting on?" asked Philby cheerfully.

Startled, Lawrence jumped, but then collected himself. "Capitally, in his own words. His spelling is atrocious, by the way," said Lawrence pointedly.

"I'll make it a priority when he returns," Philby abashedly assured him.

"I am considering some changes, to Simon's education among other things, so perhaps we should discuss that now," said Lawrence. "I'm quite pleased with Simon's progress (spelling aside), but I may send Simon back to Harrow for the fall term, and that may result in an alteration of your duties."

"Of course, Your Lordship!" interjected Philby. "Mr. Turner explained when he interviewed me that that was probable at some point, and that other duties might be found to replace my tutoring. As a result, Mr. Turner has made me familiar with a great deal of his work, such as your business correspondence."

"Has he now?" muttered Lawrence. That was Georgie, of course, three steps ahead of everyone else. Lawrence had always hated being cajoled and managed by Halliday, but Georgie's loving care of him was different, even when it entailed facing unpleasantness. "Well then," he went on, "that's all to the good. I suppose Mr. Turner has kept you apprised of the building project behind the castle?"

"Yes, Your Lordship. If I cannot answer your questions about it, I'm sure I can lay my hands on the relevant notes and correspondence."

"That is not necessary at the moment. However, I have recently realized that continuing to live at Penkellis during construction is untenable. I should like to move somewhere closer to Harrow as soon as possible. Since Mr. Turner may not be able to return to any duties for some time, I'd like you to begin making enquiries about a house to let."

"Yes, Your Lordship. As soon as I've completed the correspondence we've already discussed, I'll just dash off a note to your London solicitors requesting their aid. If you've finished your reply to Simon by that time, I can post the lot all at once."

Inwardly Lawrence bristled at the reminder that Simon would expect a reply, but he was honest enough to admit that it was sadly necessary. "Of course," he responded, and took up his own pen as Philby began writing at a furious pace. Writing a personal letter was something Lawrence was completely unfamiliar with. His other correspondence consisted almost entirely of questions and answers. Other than her tiresome defense of Courtenay, even Standish restricted her letters to science. Since Simon hadn't actually asked any questions in his letter, Lawrence was stumped. Thoughts of Standish brought him back to the time a few months previous when he had met her for the first time and needed to learn how to talk with her. He had initially imagined to himself that he was dictating a letter to her, and gradually he had become comfortable with talking to her directly. He decided to try the process in reverse. What would he talk about with Simon if his son were here? He decided to start with the horses and then mention that he had sent the horses and carriage to London to let Georgie's brother and sister know of his illness. He ended with assurances that Georgie was on the mend, enclosed his love, sealed the letter, and gave it to Philby. At this point, Lawrence decided he had reached his limit. Without a word, he grabbed his coat and hat, gestured to Barnabus, and headed for the sea.

The quiet and dull, undemanding landscape were soothing to Lawrence's overstimulated senses. He ran briskly for a time, with a resigned Barnabus sometimes keeping pace, sometimes loping away to follow a scent. At last they reached the cliffs above the sea, and Lawrence threw himself on the ground. Again and again he went over his recent decisions. Find a new home near Harrow. Let Simon return to Harrow. Let Philby take over the bulk of Georgie's work. Treasure every moment with Simon and Georgie. For the first time in days his mind was serene, and without deliberate effort, an image of the difference engine appeared in his head. The image rotated in his mind's eye, and he imagined one way of arranging its gears after another. It was hours before he had exhausted the possibilities and came to himself on the cold ground under a darkening sky. Realizing that he was cold and stiff, Lawrence rose and started back toward the house. Soon he heard wheels crunching the gravel and could just make out his new carriage approaching the front door. He remembered sending a footman to London in the carriage to inform Jack and Sarah Turner of Georgie's fever, so he expected it would go straight to the stable. Unexpectedly it stopped at the front door and the footman jumped down to open the carriage for a passenger. Nonplussed, Lawrence stopped in his tracks. He couldn't see the passenger clearly but was sure it was a woman. Had Standish decided to visit again? No, she would have traveled in her own coach. Alarmed, he walked toward the kitchen door.

Georgie was napping, but the opening of the door to his room woke him. Still sleepy, he heard a familiar voice call, "Georgie?"

"Sarah?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Lord Radnor sent word to me and Jack that you were ill."
"Ill? For God's sake, it's only influenza! I'm not dying!"

"You don't need to be dying for us to be concerned, and I'm grateful Lord Radnor contacted us."

"I don't need you hovering over me! I've had just about as much of that as I can take already, with Mrs. Jensen and the house maids forcing all sorts of nasty concoctions down me and insisting on keeping smelly, drippy compresses on me!"

"Luckily for you I have no intention of doing any of those things."

"Then as I said, why on earth are you here?"

"To give you and Lord Radnor cover. If I'm allegedly nursing you, then Lord Radnor can spend as much time in here as he wishes without anyone being the wiser."

Georgie was touched. He had missed Lawrence, and he could see that the separation caused by his illness had been hard on Lawrence, who found it difficult to cope with changes that might not even be noticed by most people.

Georgie grasped Sarah's hand and repentantly murmurerd, "Thank you."

In the kitchen, Lawrence was met by the footman, who explained that the passenger was Sarah Turner. He had shown her up to Georgie, and Mrs. Jensen was preparing a guest room for her. Acknowledging the footman with a nod, Lawrence walked slowly toward the tower, his chest constricting more and more uncomfortably. He had met Georgie's sister once before, but he had been rather overwrought at the time and remembered little about how she had looked or what she had done or even if she had said anything. Of course Georgie had talked about her and Jack and Oliver since then, but stories were not the same as actually being in a person's presence. Lawrence's steps took him inexorably to his bedroom, but he stopped outside the door to the dressing room. For a minute he shifted silently from foot to foot trying to decide how to proceed. She was Georgie's sister and a guest, and he could not hide from her, no matter how his heart pounded. His hand reflexively clenched and unclenched as if reaching for the door handle and then stopping. Eventually, Barnabus walked over to him and butted his hand. At last he decided that conventional polite behavior would save him. He knew how a gentleman greeted an acquaintance, and that would have to get him through this. Luckily, he caught sight of himself in a mirror and realized that his appearance was not that of a gentleman. Sighing, he quickly changed into clean clothes, shaved, and confined his hair into a reasonably tidy queue. Looking at himself again, he confirmed that he was sufficiently kempt for civilized company. Taking a deep breath, he at last knocked on the door to the dressing room.

Sarah Turner opened the door and greeted him with a brief curtsy, "Lord Radnor," she intoned as she stepped aside to allow him to enter. "Miss Turner," he replied, taking in her appearance. She had Georgie's dark hair and delicate build, but she was tall for a woman. He could see that she was not young but couldn't guess at her age. She wore a genteel gray traveling dress, designed (as Georgie had explained) to provoke as little notice as possible. Anyone encountering her on the street would perceive her as a widowed gentlewoman and immediately dismiss her. Then he chanced to look her in the eyes and realized that no one meeting her gaze could miss the frank intelligence and confidence seldom associated with the class of woman she was impersonating. Belatedly, he bowed and walked in. Should he have kissed her hand? Bollocks, he couldn't remember.

"Thank you for writing to me about my brother's illness," Sarah continued. "I apologize for not asking permission to visit, but there didn't seem to be time."

"Think nothing of it," replied Lawrence with great effort.

"I'd like to stay until Georgie is feeling better if it won't inconvenience you."

"Not at all," Lawrence responded gruffly.

"I hope you won't think it presumptuous of me, but I've ordered a bath for Georgie. While my brother is bathing, I'll unpack."

There was a knock at the door, and Sarah opened it to let in footmen with a tub and pitchers of hot water. As soon as the tub was filled, Sarah turned to Georgie and said, "Please send someone to let me know when your bath is over. If you'll excuse me, Lord Radnor," she added, walking to the door.

Groping for a response, Lawrence said, "Thank you, Miss Turner." Tea! He suddenly remembered and hastened to add, "I hope you'll take tea with me in my study when you have unpacked."

"Of course," answered Sarah.

When Sarah had departed, Lawrence visibly sagged. He walked over to Georgie, who had gotten out of bed, and folded him in his arms. For a minute they simply stood there, enveloped in each other's warmth and affection. Too soon Lawrence broke away, saying, "Let's not waste the bath water," and starting to take off Georgie's night shirt. Georgie could have done it himself, but he let his lover have the satisfaction. But I can take myself to the water closet from now on, thank God.

Soon Georgie was relaxing in the tub, allowing Lawrence to wash his hair and his back, and then standing on the hearth where Lawrence quickly toweled him off. When dry, Georgie put his arms around his lover and nuzzled his cheek. "I've missed you," he murmured. Lawrence tentatively rubbed his own shaven cheek against Georgie's stubbly one. "Hmm," he intoned.

"What?" Georgie asked.

"Not soft at all," murmured Lawrence. "Still, it's got possibilities. Not sure what I think. A certain amount of friction-"

Georgie's laugh interrupted him. "I've missed you talking about friction and surface area and whatnot. But I am not growing a beard, not even for you. I wish I felt like staying up, but I'm tired again. I'm going to ring for someone to take away the water and bring up tea for you and Sarah."

"Oh God," muttered Lawrence. "Why did I invite her to take tea with me?"

"She doesn't bite. Well," Georgie reconsidered that, "she won't bite you. I wouldn't get into a fight with her."

"Does she know anything about natural philosophy?" asked Lawrence hopefully.

"Doubtful," said Georgie. "Get her to talk about London," he suggested.

Lawrence sat uncomfortably behind his desk awaiting the tea and his guest. After a short time a maid arrived and deposited the tea on Georgie's desk. She was followed soon after by Sarah. Lawrence stood when she entered and offered her a seat on the sofa. Then he was faced with the unfamiliar task of serving tea to someone else. As he was about to pick up a cup, there was a knock at the door. When Lawrence opened the door, there was a footman informing him that Halliday had come to call again. Lawrence bade the footman show Halliday up with palpable relief. Halliday talked enough for three people, so he could probably get by with a minimum of conversation. His relief was short-lived. How did one introduce people to each other? Bollocks!

Lawrence proceeded to pour Sarah a cup of tea and offer it to her with a plate of everything Mrs. Jensen had sent up. Halliday arrived as Sarah was thanking him for the tea. She stood and curtsied as Lawrence said, "This is Mr. Turner's sister, Miss Turner." Was she Miss Turner? Bollocks. He had never asked. Halliday bowed and Lawrence said, "This is Reverend Halliday, my vicar."

Sarah sat down, and Halliday said, "Don't trouble yourself, Radnor, I'll just help myself," and proceeded to pour his own tea and take several cakes. Noticing that Radnor hadn't actually served himself, Halliday handed the tea and cakes to Radnor and then did it all over again.

As Lawrence had hoped, Halliday spoke enough to make his own contribution to the conversation virtually unnecessary. The reverend seemed capable of getting Sarah to talk about every superficial topic under the sun. In this he was soon aided by Philby, who returned to the study after various clerical errands in the village. Before it was too late, Lawrence remembered his duty as host and introduced Philby to Sarah. He would have preferred to gesture toward the tea, but again realized that that would not be acceptable. "Please help yourself to tea," he said with an inward sigh.

For several moments, Lawrence felt as if he would make it through this impromptu tea party. That thought was banished a short time later, however, when he chanced to glance at the clock and realized that the dinner hour was approaching. His heart began to beat at an alarming rate when he considered the possibility of dining alone with Sarah Turner. "We keep country hours here at Penkellis," he suddenly blurted out. At his outburst, the other three looked at him politely but inquisitively. Damn, he thought. "Er, since dinner is approaching, why don't you stay, Halliday?" Without waiting for assent, Lawrence turned to Philby and said, "Please ask Mrs. Jensen to prepare dinner for four in the dining room. You'll eat with us as well, Philby. And tell Mrs. Jensen that we may dine later if she needs more time."

Philby left on his errand, and Sarah got up to check on Georgie. Lawrence wracked his brain for the next step to take, devoutly wishing he had been consuming something stronger than tea. Brandy! He realized. Gentlemen consume brandy in the parlor before dinner! "Won't you join us in the parlor when you've checked on your brother?" Lawrence asked Sarah.

"Of course," Sarah replied, smiling. Lawrence motioned a bemused Halliday to precede him out of the study. On arriving in the parlor, he wasted no time in pouring a brandy. Just in time he realized that the first one must go to Halliday. He offered it to Halliday without a word and poured another for himself.

"Lovely woman, Miss Turner," said Halliday.

"She's quiet," answered Lawrence gratefully.

"Hmm," murmured Halliday absently. "She may find Cornwall quite dull, after London."

"Perhaps she doesn't like London," objected Lawrence. "In that case, she may quite like Cornwall."

"In any case, I shall make sure she sees the best side of the neighborhood," concluded Halliday.

Sarah soon appeared, and Lawrence had enough forethought to offer her a sherry. Halliday carried on, and Sarah seemed to be enjoying his company. After a short time, dinner was announced, and Philby joined them at the table. The before-dinner brandy and the wine which accompanied the meal had a relaxing effect, and Lawrence began to feel quite mellow. At length, dinner ended. Halliday excused himself, and Lawrence dismissed Philby. Turning to Sarah, he offered to accompany her back to Georgie's room to say good night. As they were walking, he turned to Sarah and said, "How do you find your brother, Miss Turner? Does he seem to be on the mend?"

"Yes," she assured him. "He may not be completely well for some time, but now that the fever is gone, the danger is past. No doubt his cough will remain tiresome for some time yet."

Lawrence was relieved. "How long will you be able to stay?" he asked.

"I made plans to stay for a week," she answered.

"I hope you'll be comfortable here," said Lawrence. "Is your room acceptable?"

"Yes, thank you," answered Sarah.

"You must tell me if you need anything," said Lawrence. "And when we're in private, I hope you'll call me Lawrence."

"Of course!" Sarah assured him. "And you must call me Sarah."

They continued to the tower in comfortable silence. Sarah bid Georgie and Lawrence a quick good night and then departed for her own room. Lawrence immediately clasped Georgie to his chest and exhaled more fully than he had in hours. He built up the fire and then sat with Georgie on the sofa. They were able to speak freely for the first time in days, and Lawrence was relieved to be able to explain his thoughts about the difference engine from that afternoon. Georgie listened happily, as always impressed with his lover's thorough and meticulous consideration of many different solutions to the problems posed by construction of the difference engine.

At length, Lawrence paused while he considered how to tell Georgie of his other recent decisions. "I've been doing a lot of thinking," he began. He explained his intention to let Simon return to Harrow in the fall and to move closer to Harrow during construction of the house Georgie had started to plan.

"What do you think?" Lawrence asked.

"I think it's for the best. Only sorry I didn't think of it myself," replied Georgie.

"Well as to that, you've clearly been working too hard. Philby can take over the mundane stuff, like correspondence and filing and such. Maybe I'll even get him an assistant. I'm going to send him to London tomorrow to speed up finding us a house nearer Harrow to let. But I need you to help with my work, and I can't imagine anyone else supervising the construction of our new house."

Georgie was touched to hear Lawrence say, "our new house."

Suddenly Georgie was overcome by a violent coughing spell, and Lawrence insisted he take laudanum.

"I'll take it if you'll read to me," said Georgie. "I'm thoroughly bored but too tired to do anything about it."

"A bedtime story?" asked Lawrence incredulously.

"Humor me," pleaded Georgie. "I've been dying to read The Brigand Prince of Salerno, and now Philby told me Lady Standish sent you a copy, so I know you've got it. I'd rather read it myself but, -" here he was interrupted by another extended coughing fit.

"Bloody hell," muttered Lawrence. "Take the laudanum while I get the sodding Prince. I'll meet you in our bed."

A short while later the two were cozily ensconced in the large four-post bed in Lawrence's room. Lawrence had built up the fire and tucked Georgie in. Barnabus lay at their feet. After lighting a candle, Lawrence reluctantly opened the book. "I'll give it a start, but if it's as tiresome as I suspect, you're going to have to wait until you're well enough to finish reading it on your own."

"Just get on with it," mumbled Georgie.

"Chapter 1," sighed Lawrence. He began reading aloud. The novel began with the description of a ruined castle in a gothic landscape with melodramatic weather. "Utterly lacking in originality," interjected Lawrence, but continued to read aloud. After a few pages, they came at last to a description of the brigand prince. " . . . perfect aquiline nose, who cares about noses? . . . long coal-black hair . . . black hair is, admittedly, quite attractive, but tousled waves? Everyone says he and that other reprobate Lord Byron sleep in curling papers . . . I don't doubt it, they're both so damned vain, just like Prinny . . . voice as smooth and suggestive as a violincello . . . eyes as green as a stormy sea . . . what rubbish."

"He does have fine eyes," Georgie interjected sleepily.

Lawrence snorted, "You saw him for what, all of five minutes?"

"Exactly," murmured Georgie. "You simply can't miss those eyes. You get lost in them, trying to imagine what in nature might match them. Only I don't think it's the sea. Your eyes are like a wintry sea, a blue diamond . . ."

Since Georgie was dropping off to sleep, Lawrence closed the book, blew out the candle and went to sleep himself. It was early, but it had been a trying day, and nothing but a long night clasping Georgie in his arms would restore his equanimity.

Even with Sarah providing cover for them, Lawrence and Georgie did not dare sleep late and potentially arouse suspicion. Georgie's cough woke them at dawn anyway. After taking a dose of cough syrup, Georgie went back to sleep in the dressing room bed, while Lawrence went to work in his study. When the sun was completely up, he rang for a servant. He asked the housemaid who answered to have breakfast prepared for himself and Sarah in the dining room and alert him when Sarah awoke. Sighing with annoyance he decided he'd better wash, shave, and dress. He was just tying his cravat when the house maid informed him that Sarah was awake. Minutes later he met her in the dressing room, checking on Georgie. After conventional pleasantries, Lawrence realized that every bone and sinew in his body was tense; with effort, he breathed in and forced himself to relax, then invited Sarah to breakfast.

Bollocks, Lawrence thought as he and Sarah walked to the dining room. Halliday and Philby made talking seem so easy. He wracked his brains trying to remember what they had talked about. Weather? Her journey? What if he asked her about something she had already talked about? When they arrived at the dining room Lawrence was still pondering conversational gambits but nevertheless had the presence of mind to pull out the chair for Sarah. Before he could open his mouth, Sarah kindly began asking questions about his and Georgie's work, and Lawrence gratefully explained his partnership with Lady Standish and all they had accomplished. Knowing that Sarah, as a modiste, had her own work, he asked her about her shop. That got them through breakfast. Then Sarah returned to Georgie, and Lawrence met with Philby in his study.

"Good morning, Your Lordship!" Philby exclaimed brightly as soon as Lawrence entered the study. "I see that you've already been at work this morning. Do you have any notes for me to transcribe?"

"Thank you, no. What I need for you to do is go to London. Meet with my solicitors and start looking over any houses they've found. I'd like to move as soon as possible. You'll have to take a post chaise there, but Miss Turner will probably return to London in the carriage next week, and you can use it to pick up Simon and return here."

"Of course, Your Lordship! I'll leave as soon as possible," responded Philby and left the study.

Lawrence returned to the dressing room where he found Sarah sewing and Georgie sitting on the sofa. Georgie smiled wanly, and Lawrence gratefully sat down next to him, putting his arm around Georgie's shoulders.

"I've dispatched Philby to London," explained Lawrence. "I'm not sure how much more of his energy I could have endured." The three of them spent a companionable morning, Sarah sewing, while Lawrence and Georgie discussed the recent correspondence from other men of science. Nothing from Lady Standish, noted Georgie to himself. Hope she's not ill. Must have Philby check on her. They spent most of the day in the dressing room, with a break while Georgie napped and Lawrence and Sarah had lunch in the dining room. Halliday arrived well before tea and invited Sarah to walk to the village with him. She accepted, leaving Lawrence and Georgie alone. Although Lawrence was now considerably more comfortable in Sarah's company, being alone with Georgie was still a physical relief. Realizing that Georgie was much too tired to continue discussing work, he reluctantly offered to continue reading aloud The Brigand Prince.

Georgie forbore from raising his eyebrows and merely said, "Yes, please. Surely some good old- fashioned assault and torture and what have you will appear within a few pages if London is so scandalized by this book."

Lawrence fetched the book, and the two of them arranged themselves comfortably on the sofa. With Georgie snuggled next to him, Lawrence read another chapter aloud, this time without interruption. When they came to the end of the chapter, Georgie snorted, "Seriously? That's his claim to evil? Questionable dress sense, and trying to prevent someone's rightful heir from inheriting? Only our daft ton could even consider that a crime." Georgie paused and then added curiously, "You told me Courtenay actually dabbled in sedition, yet he's alive and well on English soil with no one clapping him into irons and planning to draw and quarter him. Just what did he do?"

"He sang one of those bawdy songs about Prinny. You know, one of those that calls him 'the Prince of Whales,' meaning the giant sea creature."

"What of it? Everyone in St. Giles sings them. No one's accusing us of sedition."

"Yes, well, you're not singing it at Almack's. I daresay Courtenay was totally foxed. Percy and his set spent all their time drinking or eating opium. Anyway, the orchestra is about to strike up, and Courtenay stops them and starts singing this bawdy song about Prinny at the top of his voice, complete with rude gestures. Horrified mamas drag their daughters to the exits. The orchestra just gapes at him. A few gentlemen stepped up and tried to stop him, but some of Percy's set were there and stood around him until the song was done. No doubt it was forfeit for some wager he had lost. They took away his voucher to Almack's, and he had to leave the country until the furor died down."

Georgie was nonplussed. "And that's the kind of behavior that makes him an unfit companion for Simon?"

"Well not only that," objected Lawrence. "As I said Percy and his set spent all their days foxed."

"You mentioned that Courtenay didn't drink while he was here. And Lady Standish wrote that he's not dinking at all."

"Well it's not like he's spending every moment with Standish," replied Lawrence petulantly. "How could she know what he gets up to? And whatever she says, I'll wager there's a good bit of whoring going on. Courtenay used to fuck everything that moved."

Georgie paled and pulled away from Lawrence. "So you don't want Simon to have anything to do with whores? Well then this former whore had better pack his bags!" Georgie stood up and made to leave the room, but his dramatic exit was ruined by a prolonged coughing fit. Before it was over he found himself enveloped once again in Lawrence's tight embrace.

"Georgie," babbled Lawrence. "I'm so sorry Georgie. I told you I don't care what you did before, so I never really thought about all the things,— all the things you might have done. It just never occurred to me."

"How nice for you," said Georgie bitterly. "You have the luxury of not thinking about all the sordid details of life in a rookery. If my father had lived much longer, he may very well have sold me to a molly house. It's not an uncommon fate for the boys of St. Giles."

Lawrence clutched convulsively at Georgie, trying desperately not to think of a much younger Georgie with his delicate beauty in the hands of any brute who happened to patronize a molly house. "I love you, and you love me, in spite of the fact that I am the world's biggest arse, and that's all that matters. Please forgive me!"

"But you can't have it both ways, Lawrence," Georgie said strainedly. He held Lawrence's face in his hands, and looked into Lawrence's troubled blue eyes, saying, "If you accept me, you have to accept Courtenay. And you've got to stop playing tug of war with Simon as the rope. It's not good for Simon. You've also got to ask yourself, what will happen to Simon if you die before he comes of age? Courtenay is the only constant in Simon's life. He'll be a fine guardian if it comes to that. None of the other candidates is even remotely thinkable! And keeping him away from Simon like this is cruel."

"I just can't seem to forgive him," moaned Lawrence. "He introduced Isabella to Simon's father! A married man who hung around Percy! And then he traipsed all over Europe with Isabella and Simon in tow! Why couldn't he have persuaded Isabella to return to England with Simon after her lover left her in Europe?"

"Don't be daft! You yourself didn't want Simon living in Penkellis. Why should Isabella think it a good idea for him to live here? And what kind of life would she have had anywhere in England, even assuming people believed the two of you had reconciled? I don't believe anyone would have received her. Clearly her family wanted nothing to do with her. Courtenay shouldn't have introduced a young girl to Percy's set, but he's not the only one who was responsible for Isabella, and once the damage was done, he seems to have been the only one other than yourself who tried to help her. The two of you have always been on the same side! Can't you see that?"

"Yes," sighed Lawrence, tugging Georgie back down to the sofa. "I'll do my best to make peace with bloo—with Courtenay. But right now I just need you to hold me and forgive me and believe that I don't care about anything you've done and that I'd probably like to kill your father as much as you'd like to kill mine."

It took some time for Lawrence's heart to recover from the panic he had experienced when Georgie talked of leaving. The two sat on the sofa clutched in each other's arms. Gradually their heart rates and breathing slowed, and they both drifted off to sleep. Sarah thought they made an adorable picture when she returned from her walk. Smiling, she quietly locked the doors to the dressing room, built up the fire a bit and took up her sewing again.

Over the following days, Georgie continued to feel better. Lawrence's state of mind likewise improved, so much so that by the time Sarah had to leave, he felt as if he might be able to get used to her presence. Soon afterwards, Simon and Philby returned, and Lawrence felt as if life had returned to normal. True to his word, he never missed a chance to show his love to Simon and Georgie, and he directed Philby and Georgie to continue making plans for their removal from Penkellis.

In late spring a letter arrived unexpectedly from Julian Medlock. Seeing Georgie frown over the post, Lawrence said, "What's this?"

Georgie answered in a bemused voice, "It seems Julian Medlock has taken an interest in our housing problems."

"Who?" said Lawrence, not recognizing the name.

"Lady Standish's brother, Julian Medlock," replied Georgie.

"The fellow who came here with her at Christmas? He used up half my ink in three days! Can't imagine what he was writing. What's he done?"

"Hearing of our difficulties from his sister, he's found us a house to let not far from Harrow. He points out that it has any number of outbuildings suitable for your work, which—get this—you may blow up as you please, and the rent is phenomenally low."

"Tell him we'll take it. And who is this landlord who's so generous?"
"Lord Courtenay," answered Georgie, bracing for a storm.

The storm never came. Lawrence swallowed several responses and finally said, "How kind of him. Simon will be quite happy to be in Courtenay's house, which I assume is the house where his mother grew up. Write back thanking him and tell him I've repented of my ill-considered attempt to keep him away from Simon."

"Why don't we go and check it out ourselves to be sure? We can take Simon to London again."

Lawrence's difficulty with noise and uncertainty and unfamiliar places warred with his terror of being without Georgie and Simon. He sighed. "You'd spend all your time trying to prevent me from coming unglued. You'd hardly get anything done. I need to get used to letting you and Simon go. I can't fall apart every time one of you travels or gets sick, so I'll stay home and learn to cope. Just hurry back," he whispered into the top of Georgie's head. "And I'll distract myself this time, thank you very much! There's no need to go and undo all my work just to keep me occupied while you're gone!"

"Whatever could you mean," murmured Georgie.

Within a week Lawrence was standing at the front door again, watching as the carriage disappeared into the distance. Before they left, Lawrence had made a final request of Georgie. "Here's a list of books I need," he said, handing Georgie a list.

"Acoustics?" asked Georgie, eyebrow raised.

"Yes," explained Lawrence. "Since noise has such an effect on me, I've decided to find out more about it."

Lawrence might have stood at the door indefinitely, but Barnabus butted his hand and pawed at him. Then an unfamiliar furry creature rubbed against his leg, and he looked down to see the tabby cat pawing at him from the other side. He took the hint and went back to his study, taking deep breaths, and already contemplating changes to his difference engine.