Chapter Eighteen
My dearest Willoughby. I pray to God that you and Papa are right about the duke’s forgiving nature. Fitz can’t even form his name without tying himself in knots about the possible consequences of his impending visit.
Papa. Fitzsimmons is an ardent enthusiast of summer picnics. Especially when ants are involved. And his splendid garden is awash with hydrangeas; I could lie on a blanket for hours, under the shady beeches, admiring every single living thing in it.
Your Grace. Forgive me for speaking out of turn. But know that your brother has much to say, even when he does not say it.
ROLLO HAD EXPERIENCED various iterations of his lover since arriving at Goule.
The dour, brooding lord taking pot shots at him was a memorable highlight, absent of late.
A much friendlier fellow had since taken his place, someone still trying his hardest to be a crotchet, but his crabbiness diluted by a desire to kiss Rollo wherever and whenever they were alone.
He proved so during another picnic the following day, when his thirsty tongue licked against Rollo’s as if his life depended on it.
And again, on the settee in the drawing room, with Rollo hauled into his lap.
And also, against the encyclopaedia shelves in the library.
Even more extraordinary was his lordship’s apparent contentment with kissing.
He cherished Rollo’s face between his warm palms, stroking his thumb tenderly across a cheek, catching his chin and lifting it as if he were made of porcelain.
Pressing his lips against Rollo’s nose, his eyelids, his temples, before seeking out his mouth.
It was almost as if he had acquired and was honing a brand new skill.
Notwithstanding, this panicked, anxious version of Fitz sharing a carriage with him was a newer one still.
As his handsome pair of roans picked their way through the busy Norwich streets, he repeatedly straightened his cravat and fiddled with his gloves.
Beginning to feel on edge himself, Rollo took over after first pressing a firm, quick kiss to his lips.
“You’re meeting your beloved twin brother, not heading for the gallows.”
“At present, swinging from the gibbet is looking more attractive.”
Rollo tutted. “Now you’re being ridiculous.
” He kissed him again briskly. “You have put off making your reparations for far too long. You said so yourself.” Fitz’s silk cravat slipped around his fingers.
“Whilst avoidance is a highly commendable strategy and not without its advantages, on this occasion, you’ve allowed this rendezvous to build into something it’s not. ”
Leaning back, he admired his handiwork. His father’s son through and through, the cravat was geometrically flawless. “Most likely, His Grace will wave your apology away, tell you how much he’s missed you, and within five minutes, you’ll have moved on to other matters.”
For the first time during the journey, Fitzsimmons smiled. “If I forget later, thank you for coming with me today. You have an old soul behind those young eyes, Rollo.”
Rollo. If the carriage weren’t slowing, Rollo would have kissed him again. Rollo. Spoken fondly, with deliberate, quiet intent.
As his heart skipped several beats, the carriage drew to a halt, and Rollo peered through the window. He found his lover’s hand with his own and gave it a squeeze.
“Everything will be fine, you’ll see. Just be yourself. Say something nice.”
Fitz emitted an agonised noise. “Which? I can’t do both.”
Rollo chuckled, unnecessarily tweaking his own hat and gloves as the groom opened the carriage door. “Everything will be fine. I promise. Courage, dearest Fitz.”
“I have all the courage I’ll ever require,” he grumbled, “if I die within the next minute.”
Rollo didn’t catch the solicitor’s name. Clearly prewarned by His Grace as to his minimal role in the lunchtime proceedings, the man produced two or three obsequious bows, then, citing an urgent engagement elsewhere, left his most distinguished clients to get on with things.
Which neither of them did.
Despairingly, Rollo regarded them both. That the two men were brothers—twins even—was evident in their strong bearing and wary dark eyes.
For his part, the Duke of Ashington was as diffident as he was handsome.
His austere demeanour at complete odds to his charming nature, Rollo could only assume that a penchant for sombre clothing must run in the family.
Fitz, of course, for all he was as beautifully, darkly clothed as his twin, hulked in the doorway like a cornered bear, hiding his nervousness behind a scowl.
“Your Grace,” Rollo said smoothly, seeing as the brothers were both finding the worsted carpet of great interest. He tipped his hat. “How excellent it is to see you again.”
“And the same to you. But dispense with this ‘Your Grace’ business. Ashington, please.”
A second man, slim, elegant, and familiar, rose from a seat by the window.
“Tommeee!” squealed Rollo. In two leaps, he was across the room and hugging him tight. “Nobody told me you’d be here.”
“Can’t imagine why,” muttered Fitz from somewhere behind him.
Rollo twisted in Tommy’s embrace to see his lover glowering. “Fitz. This is Tommy Squire, one of Papa’s oldest friends.”
“We’ve met,” Fitzsimmons replied sourly.
Ignoring him for the moment, Rollo disentangled himself. “What in heavens name are you doing here, Tommy?”
“Accompanying Benedict.” Tommy cast his eyes over to the bemused duke. “I…ah…do that quite frequently.”
Tommy and His Grace exchanged an indulgent look. The sort of look Rollo and Fitz had enjoyed over recent days.
“You…oh… Oh!” For once, Rollo was lost for words as the duke dropped his eyes to the floor.
“Good heavens,” Rollo said finally, “Papa tells me nothing. Really?”
“Really.” Tommy ruffled Rollo’s hair. “We’re very good friends. And, lest I forget, your papa sends his love. We dined together only last week.” Turning to Rollo’s lover, he offered the smallest of bows. “Lord Lyndon. Good afternoon.”
Fitz inclined his head the minutest fraction.
“Of course. You are acquainted with each other through Squire’s,” said Rollo happily, referencing the most exclusive of Tommy’s gaming hells.
“Alas, only the rear steps of Squire’s,” said Fitz in icy tones. “And more specifically, the stone cobbles at the bottom.”
Rollo’s eyes widened.
“His man once threw me out.”
“Oh. My goodness.” This meeting wasn’t going according to plan at all. Rollo retreated to Fitz’s side. Where he belonged. Whatever wrongs Fitz had committed.
Tommy took up a similar stance next to his man, eyeing them both curiously. Rollo had a dreadful feeling this whole venture might turn out to be a terrible mistake.
“Fitz has been so looking forward to showing off his charitable works,” he said earnestly. “Haven’t you, Fitz?”
Rollo’s lover emitted a pained noise. Rollo elbowed him.
“Haven’t you, Fitz?” he repeated.
“I’m very much looking forward to seeing them,” offered the duke in his usual soft tone. His worried eyes reached his brother’s. “Lyndon. It’s been far too long. You appear well.”
“I…thank you. As do you.”
The moment grew in awkwardness. Fitz’s suffering was almost palpable, the duke’s not much better.
No wonder they’d let discontent simmer between them for so long.
If Rollo and Willoughby had been parted for nigh on two years, they’d have run at each other like charging bulls whatever the root of their separation.
The comparison hit Rollo with a sudden pang of longing, a craving to bask in the warm, open happiness of his own relations. This type of warring family quite flummoxed him, and for once, he’d run out of ideas.
Fortunately, the duke found his tongue.
“I have some estate matters I would like to discuss with my brother,” he said. “Alone, if I may.”
Ashington didn’t much care for wielding ducal authority, as Rollo well knew, but something in his voice made his meaning quite clear.
“Then I shall take Rollo to the public ale house on the corner,” declared Tommy. “And leave you both to it.”
*
THE ALE SAT badly in Rollo’s belly, for all it was decently brewed and supped in excellent company. And even though he’d visited very few public houses and felt decidedly out of place, that wasn’t the reason either.
“You’re one of the many people Fitz has wronged, aren’t you?” he said to Tommy sadly. “He said there was a list, but I expected it to be composed of ruffians and chaps I’d never like very much anyhow. Not…someone like you.”
“I am,” Tommy confirmed. “He nobbled several horses, including a prize thoroughbred belonging to his own twin, and then placed heavy bets against them.” He threw Rollo a wry smile. “My betting stands lost out. Not huge sums, compared to some, but sufficient to notice.”
“Is that why you kicked him out of Squire’s?”
“No.” Tommy shook his head. “Though I would have done if I’d known at the time.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I booted him down the back steps because he was on the cusp of revealing his brother’s preference for men in front of twenty distinguished members of the ton.”
Tommy drained his mug. “I daresay some men in Benedict’s lofty position wouldn’t care.
Except Benedict prefers his nature to remain private.
Thus, for as long as there is breath in my body, and likely your father’s, too, it will remain so.
” He shook his head as if remembering.” I doubt Lord Lyndon will attempt to besmirch him again. ”
“You can rest assured he won’t.”
Rollo had nothing much to say after that, so he took a few pulls of his own ale and stared at the worn tabletop. Fitz might not express his regret eloquently, but one only had to spend some time in his company, as Rollo had done, to know how much he wished he could turn back the clock.
“Fitz,” observed Tommy. “That’s…awfully familiar.”
Rollo shrugged. Willoughby was privy to all, of course, but like his ducal twin, Fitz’s private matters were his own to share as he chose.
And as much as Rollo adored Tommy, given their past, he was probably one of the last people Fitz would select.
“We have been thrown together,” he said neutrally.
“I wasn’t especially happy at Goule when I first arrived. But I have since grown fond of him.”
“He has a temper and a cruel streak,” Tommy countered. “If your father hadn’t believed you man enough to stand up to him, then I daresay he wouldn’t have sent you.” He signalled for another ale. “Have you refused to let him torment you?”
“He has not tried,” lied Rollo, remembering his first few weeks at Goule and how entering that drawing room had taken every scrap of bravery he possessed.
Just as Fitz was using all his resources now to beg his brother’s forgiveness.
“Whilst I was unhappy with Papa’s decision to send me away, I believe he chose well.
Fitz may be all that you say, but his life experiences have taught him quite a bit about making costly errors.
He has passed some of that wisdom on to me. ”
Tommy laughed. “So you shan’t be racing curricles up and down Pall Mall in the dead of night when you come up for your first season?”
Rollo laughed too. “I didn’t say that. I’ve already bet Willoughby fifty pounds that I’ll best him.
And I expect on occasion that you’ll want to throw me down the back steps of Squire’s too.
” He paused. “But, thanks to Fitz’s influence and cautionary tales, I shan’t cheat, lie, be anything but charming to the ladies, or do whatever else might tarnish the good name of Duchamps-Avery. ”
“Pritchard will be disappointed,” Tommy commented, smiling. “And when the season starts, will this pillar of wisdom be returning to London with you from his Norfolk exile?”
“Yes, that is my plan.” Rollo had yet to share it with Fitz, but he remained an eternal idealist. “So, you must all be terrifically nice to him.” He grimaced. “He’s going to need all the allies he can get. I suspect a lot of folks would be delighted to see him fail.”
“Your papa and Benedict have influence far and wide amongst important families in the ton, albeit they wield it with a quiet power. If Fitzsimmons is part of their group, then I assure you, Rollo, he will be cut by nobody.”
Rollo checked his pocket watch as Tommy finished his drink. They’d left the brothers alone for over an hour. Plenty of time to patch the holes in their relationship and visit Fitz’s poorhouse. Though an hour was also plenty long enough for Fitz to bugger it up.