Chapter 28 #5
“Huh.” Laurie cocked his head. “All right. Explains a few things. Hmm?”
Chary flushed hotly. “Perhaps more than a few.”
“Uh-huh,” Laurie said, understanding probably better than Chary would’ve liked—and graciously ignoring it. “Jesus. Your majority—three years ago. What did... He took you in. No, no. You took him in. And then he... what? Took your name? Your place? Your money? What?”
“I let him do it. It was meant to be his. I gave him everything I could, which was all of it. And I still don’t know what it’s like to be without it, I know I don’t, but I don’t want it.”
Laurie dropped his hands from Chary’s face and touched him all over.
Shoulders, arms, trailing fingers around his waist, his back.
It was a soothing touch, a connection, and it caused too much hope.
“Nobody knew? But you’re a recluse, and working the rest of the time.
You never left the Fifth Avenue place, even then. ”
“A few times. Not socially. On one notable occasion”—Chary giggled, a little manic—“I went to my own funeral.”
“You surely did.” Laurie brought his forehead to Chary’s. “God. Then he killed August Wright.”
“Legally, yes. We both did. I helped with every bit of the lie. The fraud, really. I carried him out in a shroud myself. I paid off everybody I could think to. A rich man’s solution, like you said.
I’m just the same as Raberding paying my way out of Mulberry Street station.
I… I suppose I don’t know any other way. ”
“Hey. You love your brother, and you did what you had to. You were up against one of your own with nigh-on-unlimited resources. Helping someone out of something like that is the best use of capital there is. August is lucky to have you. And I’m sure he’s told you this, Chary, but you didn’t ask to be brought into this world. ”
“I don’t know if he is lucky. Raberding said it was I he was supposed to have met. The ‘true heir.’ And if I hadn’t let my brother take my place in society…”
Laurie sighed. “I’m gonna have to introduce you two guilt-riddled brothers to something called ‘water under the bridge.’ Your brother made some choices there too, such as introducing himself under a false name.” He jerked back. “Hang on; Raberding knows?”
“Yes. He knows about August’s past. That he was forced out, the prostitution, all of it. He was apparently extremely angry to hear it. Incandescent.” August called it the beginning of the end, the beginning of the making-best.
“I’m sure it went fantastically. I cannot see at all why you wouldn’t want to confide in me,” Laurie said dryly. “You know what this means?”
“Raberding has more ammunition against August than you thought?”
“When you were arrested at Everard’s, what name did you give?”
“Mine own. Charles Wright.”
“And date of birth?”
“Also mine own. Thirtieth August, 1880.”
“And you’ve never given August’s for anything legal or binding?”
“Goodness, no.” He laughed a little. “I’ve been running Wright Glass since before I came into my majority. August’s takeover was social. He wanted nothing to do with the rest. They wanted nothing to do with him.”
“If Raberding’s article breaks after all, then, what’s there for you to be convicted for, if you haven’t defrauded anyone? You’re alive. You’re still the legal heir.”
“I’m not scared for myself! I’m worried for August!”
Laurie harrumphed. “Of course you aren’t. Well, I was for you, then, and now I’m relieved not to be.”
“Regardless,” Chary whispered, “these are the last threads. You have them all now. I’m not who you thought I was; that’s all. There’s nothing left.”
Laurie clutched him closer, put his nose in Chary’s throat.
“I don’t want ’em anymore. I told you so. You know? I want the man, and you’re still him. This one, whatever he’s called. However rich he is or isn’t. This body, this brain, this heart.”
Perhaps Chary would weep again.
“You aren’t utterly betrayed? I l-lied about my age, and my h-history, and inheritance—”
“Yeah, you did.” Laurie kissed along his jaw. “But you told me. Betrayed? Why? You’ve always been wealthy, as long as I knew you. I knew what I was getting into here. You trusted me with this. And earlier than that, Chary, you trusted me with… ah, other things.”
“Oh, Lord.”
Laurie laughed softly. “Why would I be betrayed by any of that? When I want you to rely upon me, and you’ve done so, despite every reason not to, facing my prejudice and bias and repeated denials? My faithful brave-heart. I love you.”
“But—”
“You lied. So what? I did those things too—as a matter of compulsion, mind you, not even necessity. Do you know how old I am? Truly?”
“No,” Chary admitted. He buried his face in Laurie’s caramel-silk blond. “You’ve said twenty-six? Another time, thirty-five. You could be either. I don’t care. I love you anyway.”
Laurie squeezed him. “That’s how it works. I don’t care, either. I’m twenty-nine. Aged by the sun. Almost too jaded and biased to see what’s in front of my face. I need a good pair of eyeglasses, maybe, in my old age.”
“You and the rest of Manhattan,” Chary whispered.