They traded amused glances.
“He writes almost as often as you do,” Lyndon commented.“Between the pair of you, I could kindle every hearth in Goule village for a winter.”
Duchamps-Avery smiled.“And make better use of the foolscap.His letters contain far more intimate details regarding his courtship of a certain luscious lady than even a close twin cares to be privy.Being here at Goule, my…ah…temperinginfluence on him is woefully absent.”
Lyndon poised his brush over the canvas as he contemplated darkening the chapel ridge.“You don’t approve of his courtship?”
Duchamps-Avery shrugged.“Miss Lavinia is comely enough and blessed with a cheerful disposition.Moreover, I enjoy her company—we have known each other nearly all of our lives.”
“But?”
“But…” Duchamps-Avery sighed.“Her mother demands Willoughby’s presence up at the house all too often.Which, on the face of things, is perfectly fine.And…and I’m not denying that lounging around on a chaise politely listening to ladies tinkling on harpsichords in well-appointed drawing rooms has an important place in a young gentleman’s schooling.Of course.Absolutely.But thrice weekly?”
He raised his eyebrows in exasperation.“Willoughby is as polite and respectful as any other well-bred young gentleman.But he’s also no different; he’d much prefer to ride, or play billiards, or at least dosomethingmore interesting than watch a lady as she embroiders fluffy kittens on a cushion.Yet he’s too damned polite to say so.All in all, Lavinia’s dear mama makes many, many unnecessary demands on his time.”
Lyndon chuckled.Duchamps-Avery’s tale was all too familiar.“I’d wager she does.”
“You are acquainted with the family?”
“Almost certainly.”He glanced up at his companion.“I’m the brother of a duke and of marriageable age.Most members of thetonwith eligible daughters have endeavoured to make my acquaintance at some point.BeforeI became persona non grata, at least.What’s this chit’s name again?”
“Miss Lavinia Higgins.”
“Ah.”Higgins.It made perfect sense.“Of the Stapleton Higgins’s?”he confirmed.“Her father is Charles Higgins?Lord Stapleton?A weaselly chap, pigeon-toed, and with an unfortunate overbite?”
“The very same.”Duchamps-Avery beamed.“Stapleton is but four miles north of Rossingley.On a fast, straight road.He is a friend of yours?”
Lyndon huffed.“Higgins is a friend of any man whom he thinks might be daft enough or foxed enough to lend him a few shillings.Not only can he not hold his drink, but he’s of the unfounded belief that if he plays baccarat at White’s often enough, the tables will turn.”He threw Duchamps-Avery a wry smile.“They never do.As I, too, discovered the hard way.”
Duchamps-Avery emitted a heavy sigh.“How funny.I don’t believe Lavinia, nor her mother, has ever mentioned that.Can’t imagine why.”
“It’s quite conceivable they have no idea.Fortunately for Higgins, his sister is married to a salt merchant with exceedingly deep pockets.The depth of his patience, however, is another matter altogether.”
Duchamps-Avery’s clear blue eyes studied him thoughtfully.“Lavinia marrying Willoughby would be a weight off Lord Stapleton’s mind is what you’re implying.Poor thing.She probably has no idea she’s being used as a pawn to lighten his load.”
“And to lighten Willoughby’s pockets too.Don’t forget that.Higgins won’t be backwards in asking him to clear his debts.”
“Precisely.”Thin lipped, Duchamps-Avery nodded.“My dear brother is far too sweet-natured for his own good.He wouldn’t spot a snake in the grass if it reared up and bit him.”
Lyndon paused to regard his young companion.“Not entirely identical then, are you?”
“No.”Duchamps-Avery smirked.“The downside of being the better endowed of us both is that it comes with a healthy cynicism and a tendency to speak one’s mind.”
They were both quiet for a while after that, Duchamps-Avery no doubt wondering how to impart Lyndon’s information in a tactful manner to his infatuated twin, and Lyndon attempting to focus his attention back on his execrable painting.Damned challenging when the boy crossed and uncrossed his silly, willowy legs every couple of minutes immediately after reference to his manhood.
Chapter Thirteen
My dearest Willoughby.Lord Lyndon is a walking, talking mass of contradictions and, on occasion, I believe he struggles to keep them all afloat.He has a begrudging kindness, which he endeavours to hide, mixed with veritable self-loathing, as if, when regarding his reflection in a mirror, there is not one thing about himself of which he approves.A great pity.The man is a coppery beauty.On the outside, at least.The inside still requires attention, of course, but I do believe progress is being made.For instance, I have not been shot at for over a week.
I do hope you are widening your horizons in my absence.Fitz says there are always excellent exhibitions on at the Dulwich Picture Gallery, and Kit’s sister and her friends are delightful company.
Papa.Lord Lyndon is a man of many, many talents.He paints!Unspeakably badly!
“YOU’RE HERE AGAIN.”
“I am, my lord.Like a bad penny.”
Under beetling brows, Lord Lyndon scowled at his canvas.“Why, may I ask?”
