Page 73 of Charming Artemis

Mr. Layton laughed. “Consider whatever needs acquiring to be a wedding present from the Gents. In the meantime, Wilson and I intend to steal unabashedly from your brother.”

“Which one?” Charlie asked.

“The only one with taste,” Wilson replied, then spun about with something of a flourish, and glided from view to where Philip’s fashionable clothing was kept, Mr. Layton on his heels.

Charlie pushed out a breath. “This might have been a bad idea.”

Philip rose and moved to sit on the bench next to him. “Anything that will bring your wife joy is never a bad idea.”

“Is that your latest bit of advice for me?”

“That is advice I obtained from a much wiser source than me.”

Charlie relaxed a little, growing more confident that he was not about to be bombarded with brotherly instruction. “From whom? Sorrel?”

“She is inarguably my intellectual superior. But the advice was Father’s.” Philip offered him an encouraging smile. “He had fetched me from Cambridge to bring me home for term break—and we were returning by way of Derby, no matter that it was terribly out of the way, because a merchant there had in his shop a shawl that had caught Mater’s eye. I told Father I thought it an overly long diversion from our path for something that felt rather insignificant. He told me, ‘It will bring your mother joy. No effort a husband makes in contribution to his wife’s happiness is ever a waste.’ I have reminded myself of that any number of times in the years since Sorrel agreed to take her chances on such a sop-head as I. His words have saved my neck more times than I can count.”

Bring your wife joy. “Artemis likes the flowers I gather for her. I mean to continue doing that.”

Philip nodded. “Wise. She also seems to enjoy moments of nonsense and amusement. I would suggest continuing to find opportunities to laugh with her.”

“That may very well be the best advice I have received from any of my brothers.”

With a quick and knowing smile, Philip said, “That is because the advice is actuallyFather’s.”

“I hardly remember him.” The admission emerged quiet and a bit broken. He dropped his gaze to his hands. “Sometimes it feels like everyone knows him better than I did, or ever will.”

“I remember him well,” Philip said. “I can tell you so much about him, Charlie. The Gents knew him almost his entire life. And anything we don’t know, Mater does. Between all of us, you could come to know anything and everything about him.”

“Mr. Barrington said he liked mountains.”

Philip nodded. “He did. Do you remember walking up the mountain near Brier Hill with him?”

“I don’t. I do remember spending time with him in the flower garden.”

A nostalgic smile spread over Philip’s face. “He was very particular about that garden, wasn’t he?”

“Very.”

“Green.” Wilson suddenly returned to the room with that single word as if he were making a prophetic pronouncement.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” Charlie asked.

“It’s a color,” Philip said in overly serious tones, his dandified mien making a very abrupt reappearance. “A bit more cheery than blue but less jaundiced than yellow.”

Wilson, it seemed, had little patience for jesting just then. “Henri wore a waistcoat of green paisley yesterday, which was quite fashionable, shockingly so when one considers how seldom he is in London.”

“The man is regularly in Paris,” Philip returned. “They’ve at least a basic knowledge of clothing and fashions in France.”

Again, Wilson did not take the teasing bait. “Henri’s green waistcoat with your navy jacket and buff trousers.”

“Charlie’s hair will appear more ginger if you dress him in green,” Philip said, rising and crossing to his valet.

“His hair has anappealinghint of red, one that warrants accentuating, not diminishing.” Heavens, Wilson couldn’t have sounded more imperious if he were the Prince Regent himself. “That he regularly dresses in the drabbest of browns and robs his coiffeur of its depth of color is a crime.”

“I have reclaimed the role of squire for this neighborhood,” Philip said. “Shall I arrest Charlie?”

“I would have you arrest his manservant, but he does not keep one.” Wilson tossed Charlie yet another scolding look.

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