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Indeed, it was his little brother handing over his hat and gloves to a manservant when Lucas arrived in the entrance hall. More precisely, it was hisyoungerbrother in the entrance hall—there was nothinglittleabout Simon Jennings anymore. He was at least at tall as Lucas, slender, and had a darker shade of hair than any of the other brothers. There was only three years between them in age, which was nothing at all, especially when compared to Thomas, who was nine years Lucas’s senior. But Simon had always been the baby brother, a lad of but sixteen years when Lucas had enlisted.
Lucas himself had been not quite nineteen at the time, but had felt ages older than Simon back then—he’d had a term at university and had been dealing with a broken heart. They were adult things, to Lucas’s way of thinking, that had made the gulf in age between Simon and himself seem even wider.
Amazing what a few years could do to a man’s perspective.
Lucas came down the stairs quickly and crossed the hall to him. Why hadn’t he felt an urgency to meet up with his brother in London? He felt the urgency now, now that he was here. “Simon!” he said, his hand outstretched.
Simon turned away from the manservant, and Lucas came to a halt. Simon hadn’t simply grown up—he’d aged. Lucas had seen his expression on countless soldiers and officers. It was the world-weary look of someone who’d seen too much and considered himself hardened to it. His eyes were bloodshot, his welcoming smile more of a smirk. “Well, if it isn’t my soldier brother, home alive and well,” he said, shaking Lucas’s offered hand.
“As you see, and I thank God daily for that small kindness,” Lucas said.
“Kindness.” He chuckled. “Indeed. God’s kindness.”
“Mama and Father will want to know you’ve arrived.” Lucas signaled to the footman, but Simon forestalled him.
“There’s plenty of time for that, don’t you think? Come.” He gestured toward a small anteroom next to the main drawing room. “Let’s get reacquainted first, shall we?”
Once inside, Simon shut the door and leaned against it, shutting his eyes. “Excuse me,” he said. “I left Stamford rather early this morning, and I need a moment to get my bearings.”
What Simon meant, without saying it, was that he’d been reluctant to return home, not unlike Lucas had been, and had stayed in Stamford—barely twelve miles away—rather than continue the journey last evening. And judging by the redness of his eyes and his unsteadiness, he’d whiled away his time there drinking and who knew what else until the wee hours of the morning.
He’d at least found the wherewithal to wash and dress properly. There was no tavern stink about him. But he didn’t fool Lucas, and he wouldn’t fool the rest of the family either.
Lucas locked the door and placed a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Come and sit, before you slide to the floor. I’ll ring for some breakfast to be brought here. I haven’t eaten, so no one will be the wiser. You need food in you.”
Simon shook off Lucas’s hand. “I’m not in that bad of shape,” he said. He crossed to the nearest chair and sank into it with a groan. “And I don’t want any food.”
“Well, I do.” He stepped out into the corridor. “You—I don’t know your name, sorry,” he said to the same manservant who’d taken Simon’s things. “If you’d please fill two breakfast plates and bring them here. And keep this between us, if you will.”
“John, sir, and yes, sir.”
“Good man.” He went back into the anteroom, leaving it open the barest crack so he’d hear the man’s return. It wouldn’t do to have him juggling two plates on a tray while trying to get into a locked room.
“Heard you were back on English soil, y’know,” Simon said, his eyes still closed. “Word got round that you’d kept the Earl of Halford alive when he should have died. Very commendable.”
“He’d done the same for me before. It’s what soldiers do when they aren’t actually killing people.”
Simon croaked out a laugh at that, although Lucas hadn’t really intended it to be funny. “I suppose that’s true enough.”
“I should have called on you while I was in Town, Simon. I have noexcuse, except to say I was looking after my friend, who was still rather unwell, and I—”
Simon waved his hand. “Enough, Lucas. I wasn’t in a mood to be called on by family, even by my soldier brother, or I’d have called on you myself.”
A subtle clearing of a throat at the door let Lucas know the manservant had arrived with the food. Lucas opened the door for him, and the man set the tray on the table in front of Simon before excusing himself.
“It smells awful,” Simon muttered, grimacing, his head falling back against the chair again.
“Nevertheless, it will help you get over what ails you.”
“It’ll only help me cast up my accounts on Mama’s carpet,” Simon said.
Lucas was hungry and not inclined to wait, so he picked up a knife and fork and began cutting into the generous slice of ham on his plate. “Here, start with some toast.” He handed a square of buttered toast to Simon, who nibbled on it gingerly. After Simon had eaten a few bites, his color began to look less gray, which boded well for the carpet. “Mama’s letter said you arrived here betrothed. I must say, I’m anxious to meet the young lady.”
Lucas stopped chewing.
“Not once did I hear any rumors of you being betrothed while you were in Town,” Simon added, taking another small bite of toast.
“I doubt I’m the sort of person London society spends much time gossiping about,” he said. He reminded himself he needed to act normal and not make assumptions about what Simon did or did not know. He sliced off more ham.
