Page 50 of The Austen Affair

In the early morning, we meet Aunt Fanny and George at the breakfast table. I guess rising with the sun is genetic for the Balfours.

Hugh slides a stack of paper across the polished surface to Aunt Fanny. “What’s this?” she asks, examining the fine handwriting.

“They’re the memoirs I’ve been taking down for—” Hugh glances at George and carefully chooses his words. “—our father.”

Aunt Fanny nods.

He then passes her a sealed letter. “And this is also for him. But you should only give him this when I’m gone.”

George’s head snaps up, whimpering like an injured kitten. I instinctively reach a hand onto his shoulder to settle him. He squirms beneath my touch but says nothing.

Fanny folds her arms, glaring up at Hugh in abject disapproval. “You’re set on going, then?”

Hugh nods. “When we can. The machine’s broken, and I don’t have the skill to fix it, so I suppose we’ll have to wait around until we acquire another.

But when that time comes, my father need never be disappointed.

That letter explains that Tess and I will be taking a long honeymoon on the Continent. That we will be back in about a year.”

I close my eyes, understanding Hugh’s plan. In a year, Mr. Balfour will have peacefully passed on in his sleep. He will spend that time happily expecting his son’s return, not worried about him. Not grieving. Looking toward the future.

“He told me last night that I needed to find my sense of adventure again,” Hugh explains to Fanny. “I think on some level he’ll approve.”

“Why do you have to go?” George asks, eyes as wide as saucers.

Hugh places an affectionate hand on his head, ruffling his dark curls.

“One day, Georgie, you’re going to have a really incredible life.

You’re going to have a big family, with lots of children and even grandchildren.

But to have that big family, you’ll need this house. So I’m going away to give it to you.”

Tears well in the little boy’s eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense! You’re just leaving because you’re mad at me, aren’t you? I’m sorry I smashed your machine. Will you stay now?”

I press my hand to my mouth, holding back a flood of tears to match George’s.

Hugh kneels down at George’s level, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He speaks so evenly to George, with the wonderful gravitas that made him a movie star in the first place.

“George, I am not angry with you, nor have I ever been angry with you. I love you as my brother, and I care about you very much. That will never change.”

Unfortunately, George is sniffling now, and I see that Hugh’s honest emotionality hasn’t made much of an effect on a small child with limited reasoning capacity. I catch Hugh’s eye—scene partners once again—and I jerk my chin at George.

And I see light spark behind Hugh’s eyes as he realizes what I’m driving at.

“The truth is, Georgie,” he confides, leaning toward him conspiratorially, “I’ve been asked to go on a dangerous mission for the Crown.”

George’s chin lifts as he studies Hugh for any sign of falsehood. He valiantly keeps his expression very straight. “I have to return to France, because I’ve been trusted with the task of assassinating Napoleon himself.”

George sucks in air excitedly, his mouth becoming a perfect “O.”

“But I’ll be away a long time,” Hugh continues. “Because I can’t come back till he’s dead, and he’s very heavily guarded. And I’m asking Tess to come with me, because the French underestimate women. She’s my partner, and working together, I think we’ll be able to get the job done.”

George nods emphatically, making incoherent sounds of pride and delight, not unlike a crowing rooster.

I feel my heart melt into a soft goo. I love this dumb little kid so much, and I love Hugh Balfour.

Hugh stands up, turning his attention back to Aunt Fanny, who’s been watching these proceedings with a silent, grudging approval. “There’s just one thing,” he tells her. “About the memoirs.”

“Yes?”

“Is there anywhere in this house that we could hide them, where they won’t be uncovered for two hundred years?”

“And why on earth would we do that?”

“Because,” he tells her, leaning in so only she and I can hear, and not George, who has leapt up from his chair and is now running around the dining-room table shouting gibberish about Napoleon.

“I’ve never seen them in the future. Which means they were either in the open long enough to get lost over the years, or they were hidden somewhere so well that they’re still quite safe. I’d prefer the latter.”

George rockets into me so hard he nearly knocks me off my feet and then tugs emphatically on my skirt. “What are you all whispering about now?”

“Your brother needs to hide some state secrets for the king,” Fanny lies smoothly. “Do you have anywhere safe you like to put things, Georgie?”

George nods sagely. “There’s a loose floorboard in my room. I put a dead mouse in there once, and no one found it for weeks. Not until it started to smell.”

I put a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter. Hugh pinches the bridge of his nose.

Aunt Fanny sighs. “That’ll do.”