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“You were practically rolling on the ground with her when we were playing cricket,” Peter said with a laugh.
“Peter!” Marcus’ warning tone just received more chuckles. “Right, all of you, out. I need some peace, and none of you are helping.”
“You’re going to have to come and greet Father. He’ll know something’s up if you don’t,” Walter said.
“Then stall him for five minutes whilst I at least make myself presentable.” He gestured down to his clothes.
“Very well,” Walter said. “You heard him you two, out!” he started cajoling their younger brothers toward the door until he hovered in the doorway. “Best come soon, or Lady Helen will be asking for you too.”
“You can stall her for as long as possible,” Marcus said, snatching the drawing of Lady Violette out of his brother’s hands before he disappeared through the door.
Once all was quiet beyond his brother’s retreating footsteps down the corridor, he looked down at the sketch. It was a little crumpled from all their manhandling, but the eyes were still easy to see. Amazed he hadn’t realised it before, he lifted the sketch and held it beside the painting of Lady Violette and himself fleeing the fight at the boxing ring. Holding the two sketches side by side, it was unmistakable.
His closest friend for the last couple of months had been Lady Violette, and now she was gone from his life.
