He glanced sidelong at Rollo.“Naturally, I’d do whatever necessary to make it seem accidental to avoid disgracing Ashington.Though there would be enough evidence suggesting a temporary lack of sound mind.”He smiled thinly.“My artistic endeavours, for instance.”
Two soldiers fell in rapid succession, one toppling the adjacent.“Shooting at these soldiers began as a substitute for shooting at myself.And then became habit.It…it soothed my mind.”He cut through the ensuing pause by adding, “That was not the answer you sought, I’d wager?”
Rollo’s sleepiness dissipated, replaced with a pang of sorrow for the complicated individual to whom he was fast becoming attached.“It was not the answer I expected, that is true.”But strangely, it did not surprise him.“May I ask why?Were you suffering from a deep melancholia?”
“No.I don’t believe I was.”Fitzsimmons made to select another arrow before apparently thinking better of it.“I simply realised I didn’t care for myself very much.And that neither did anyone else.”
“I’m sure His Grace and Lord Francis have always cared for you deeply.”
“Hmm.Perhaps.I fear I have tested that care over the years.Certainly, my existence is not an essential ingredient for their happiness.”
A yawning hush descended on the drawing room, disturbed only by a woodpigeon pottering about outside the window, cooing in a minor key.Rollo could easily have filled the void with barren platitudes, pointing out that so many at Goule were dependent on Lord Lyndon for their livelihoods, but he doubted it would have endeared him.So, he said nothing, whilst Fitzsimmons steadily worked his way through his miniature regiment.
“I am afflicted by a terrible jealous streak.”Fitzsimmons’s full lips pursed.“Along with a temper that flares like lit brandy.You witnessed the consequences when Ralph Hart placed his hands on you.”
To think now that Rollo could ever have allowed another man to touch him when this one had been so close!“Your intervention was timely,” he declared.“Though it didn’t feel so at the time.I am grateful.”
“Neither his damned hungry eyes nor mine strayed from you all evening.My jealousy would not allow it.”
You belong to me.Perhaps the sentiments Fitzsimmons moaned at the peak of his crisis held a sliver of truth after all.
His lover let out a long sigh.“Benedict has borne the brunt.I have been jealous of my twin’s birthright for as long as I can recall.It is astonishing, is it not, that two minutes, separating two babes in a bloodied maternal bed, can be of such profound consequence?”
“Amen to that,” agreed Rollo.“My own mother bled out birthing myself and Willoughby.”
“Ah.I was not aware,” Fitzsimmons replied stiffly.“I’m so awfully sorry.”
“You’ll soon get over it.”Rollo threw him a rueful smile.“But thank you for your kind sentiment.By all accounts, she was a marvellous woman, but one does not mourn that which one has never known.We have our dearest papa, and we have never lacked for love and affection.Neither have I ever been jealous of Willoughby and the weight of scrutiny he will bear in the future as Rossingley.”
“No.”Fitzsimmons regarded him thoughtfully.“As I have alluded, I have not always been terribly fond of myself.Growing up alongside Benedict, I was aware that I was stronger, possessed of greater intelligence.That my father favoured him in all ate into my soul.”His dark gaze flicked up to Rollo.“I resented that my twin would one day become Ashington, and I tormented him.I drew Father’s ire, which was never far from hand at the best of times.I was disruptive and grew to despise them both.”
Rollo would need a far better understanding of the man to parse whether “my precious” and “you belong to me” were meaningless blandishments.But there was no mistaking Fitzsimmons’s softly spoken words now as anything but brutal truths.They were all there, laid out in the crack of his voice, the white shine to his knuckles, the abrupt turn of his face towards the fireplace, away from Rollo.If they’d been seated closer, he’d have taken the other’s hand in his own.
“Are you still envious?”Rollo asked.“As your brother learns to live with all the weight that being Ashington entails?I, for one, would not walk in Willoughby’s shoes for every leaf of tea in China.”Rollo pulled a face.“I’d have to force myself to marry and beget children, for one thing.”
Fitzsimmons nodded acknowledgment.“History will remember Benedict as an excellent, dutiful duke in every aspect except that one.”
Rollo’s discreet papa had never alluded to the Duke of Ashington’s preferences.Though Rollo had always suspected as much, and now Fitzsimmons had all but confirmed it.
“So it is down to you, my lord,” Rollo replied lightly, “to keep the Fitzsimmons in heirs.After all, you are next in line.”
Fitzsimmons gave a half-hearted shrug.“Yes, it is true that I am next.But who knows which of us will perish first?Francis, however, is far younger and already married.And has begat a son.I daresay more will follow.”
He hesitated.“But in answer to your question, yes, I do still envy Benedict.It is a failure of my character.Though I no longer possess sufficient arrogance to believe I would perform the role better than he.”Fitzsimmons sorrowful eyes shone with unspent tears.“He is kinder, generous, and…and a finer man in all respects.I know that now.”
“Whatever you perceive to be your failings, your honesty is above reproach, my lord.”
Fitzsimmons huffed a miserable laugh and picked up his bow.“It is hard won.At the cost of losing my dear twin brother’s trust.”
Rollo had heard enough.He rose to his feet.“Put down your bow and stand up,” he ordered.“Lift your arms away from your sides, like so.”
Demonstrating, he raised his own arms to shoulder height and walked over to the befuddled lord.Amid much grumbling, he hauled Fitzsimmons up.
“What the devil for?”Fitzsimmons demanded, though he complied, much to Rollo’s astonishment.
“So that I may provide comfort.”He encircled the lord’s torso with his own arms.“Like this.For both of us.”
Fitzsimmons froze.“I…what in God’s…”
