“Your brotherAugustus?” Nico demanded at breakfast the next day. He had gone out with Eve the previous night, since the situation had called for heavy drinking, and got back after Titus was asleep. “But did you tell me he was coming?”
“No, and nor did he tell me,” Titus said sourly. “Well, he did, but in a letter I didn’t read, still less reply to. I sent him to the Star and Garter last night, which he was furious about, but I couldn’t possibly get the art room cleared in time. We’ll have to do it today. I have no idea where all my things will go.”
“You mean to put him in there?” Titus had his painting lessons in the room where he kept his poisonous ingredients. He had never got a lock for the door, and Nico had made peace with that, but he didn’t want the ghastly substances moving around the house. “But where will you paint? Is there a bed to put in the room? Where will your arsenic and extract of beetles go?”
“I’m hoping Mr. Thorpe will help with the last two, andI won’t leave any poisons lying around. It is horribly inconvenient, but I have to put himsomewhere.”
Nico knew where he would consign Augustus, but it appeared Titus had decided to accommodate the man, so he bit back his opinion. He’d interfered quite enough in Titus’s family. “Then put him in your guest room. My things can be more easily moved, and there is already the furniture.”
“Really? Nico, would you mind? The inconvenience—”
“Is much the least to all parties this way, so it is the sensible course of action. I will stay at the Star and Garter if you prefer. Or there is space in your room for a truckle bed.” He raised a brow, and saw Titus’s eyes widen.
“Oh. Now you say that, and if you really don’t mind… that would be the perfect solution, wouldn’t it?”
“Much the easiest.” Nico winked at him. He loved the way Titus blushed when he winked. He didn’t want to lose that.
“Well, then, I’ll tell Mr. Thorpe. I don’t think he took to Augustus,” Titus added. “Which is fair, since he is being rather overbearing. I expect he is unnerved by my change in circumstances, and he is very used to ruling the roost, but he did come all this way to see me, and I would like it if we could get on. If you could try to put up with it—”
Nico waved a hand. “I have doubtless been polite to far worse people. Tell me about your dinner.”
“Oh, it was marvellous! Elizabeth, Vespasian’s wife, is delightful.” He launched into an encomium of his sister-in-law, and how happy his brother seemed to be. Nico listened with one ear, taking pleasure in Titus’s happiness while his own fear bubbled under.
He had a powerful urge to stop clinging to the last floating spark of hope, give up on Baynes, and admit everything right now. It would be a relief to stop waiting for the axe to fall. But that would be grossly unfair to spring on Titus with his ghastlybrother just arrived, so he pulled himself together, put a smile on his face, and did his best to be a support while he still could.
By luncheon, he was fast reaching the conclusion that the best way to support Titus would be to load Augustus into the next coach back to Sussex, by force if need be.
The eldest Pilcrow was a ponderous, proud, self-important man, deeply offended by his youngest brother’s good fortune. He was not mollified by the vacated guest room: Titus should have given up his own room as apology. Titus’s superb waistcoat met with disapproving mutters about dandyism and macaronis. He looked at Nico with disdain as soon as he heard the accent and didn’t trouble to remember his name, addressing him as “sir” throughout luncheon when he addressed him at all. He had nothing courteous to say about the house (a mean place, poorly situated) or the Star and Garter (most unsatisfactory) or the luncheon (Titus should have a male French cook, not an Englishwoman), and when Titus informed him that he was not attending fashionable parties, Nico thought the man might have an aneurysm.
“Not attending—? Good God. Why not?”
“I don’t have any ambition to claim a place in Society,” Titus said. “I went to a few events, but I was being invited for my money alone, and it wasn’t pleasant or entertaining.”
“Of course you were invited for your money. What else is there to recommend you?”
“To Society? Nothing,” Titus said, more calmly than Nico could have. “So it’s best I don’t trouble it, and vice versa. I have made some very interesting acquaintances in the artistic world—”
Augustus waved his hand to cut that off. “I daresay you have mixed in any amount of peculiar company.” His gesturing hand pointed in Nico’s direction. “But you must see the need to claim a more elevated position. It is past time I cameto direct you, and fortunately you will have Mrs. Pilcrow to advise you too.”
“There is no Mrs. Pilcrow, monsieur,” Nico put in. “There was once, bien sûr, but alas. We regret her passing.”
Augustus stared at him. “Mrs. Pilcrow, sir, is my wife.”
“Ah, you speak of Mrs. Augustus Pilcrow. Forgive my misunderstanding.”
“Mrs. Pilcrow,” Augustus said furiously. “As the daughter of a baronet, she will be able to make some appropriate introductions.”
“There is no shortage of people willing to make your brother introductions for their own profit,” Nico remarked, and waited for Augustus to open his mouth before adding, “Though naturally, Mrs. Augustus would be acting in a manner the most disinterested and beneficent.”
Titus shot him a look that said, very clearly,Stop it. Nico sat back and concentrated on the excellent food.
“It is—would be—very kind of your wife, but I don’t require introductions,” Titus said. “I am very happy forming my own acquaintance.”
“And what about your marriage?”
“My what?”
Augustus tutted. “It is time you were married, since you are now in a position to make a superior connexion. We must consider this opportunity carefully.”