“How proceeds your courtship of your wife?” Mr. Layton asked.
“Slowly.”
He saw empathy in their expressions rather than the pity he’d feared.
“I recently received the advice that I ought to learn more about Artemis’s interests,” Charlie said.
Philip nodded too somberly to be sincere. “Sound advice from one of your very wise brothers, no doubt.”
“The suggestion was made by Mr. Layton and Mr. Barrington.”
“Ah,” Philip said. “Intelligent gentlemen, both.”
“We speak not from intelligence,” Mr. Layton said, “but from having mangled our own courtships years ago.”
“It is not merely a Jonquil tendency, then?” Charlie asked lightly.
“No one manages it quite to the extent of Lucas or his boys,” Mr. Layton acknowledged. “But no.”
Philip indicated Charlie ought to take a seat among them. As the bench at the foot of Philip’s bed was the only available place to sit, he did so there, the three of them watching him with unabashed curiosity.
“Spill your budget,” Philip instructed.
“Artemis has a very significant interest in fashion.” He felt foolish the moment he said it. “You all, of course, know that. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with her knows that.”
“You are not going to be scolded for moments of inarticulacy,” Mr. Layton said.
“Perhaps not byyou,” Charlie said. “Older brothers have no such qualms.”
Philip held up a hand as if taking a solemn oath. “I will behave.”
Charlie had ample reason to doubt that. In the meantime, he would count on the steady characters of Wilson and Mr. Layton. “Fashion is a deeply held interest of Artemis’s. She knows far more about it than I do, obviously.” He motioned to his lackluster attire and appearance. “Being so careless with my appearance when I know that she takes such pleasure and delight in the intricacies of fashion feels... unkind, I guess. Dismissive of her interests, at the very least.”
Philip looked to Mr. Layton. “That was far too insightful for a Jonquil. I think we should check the tadpole for a fever.”
“Even Jonquils can have moments of enlightenment,” Mr. Layton said. “Rare and fleeting but not unheard of.”
“I’m taking advantage of this one while it lasts.” Charlie looked to them all. “I’ve come in the hope that the three of you would help me address the shortcomings of my wardrobe, within the constraints of my income.”
At this declaration, the ever stoic, ever regal, often silent Wilson spoke, emotion a bit thick in his words but not so much as to render him difficult to understand. “Every one of your brothers—other than his lordship—dresses like vagabonds. You haven’t the first idea how to dress to advantage, and it is an absolute waste. Lest I make my opinions known on their dereliction of duty, I have had to refrain myself from so much as speaking to any of your valets—those of you who actually employ one.” He added the last bit with a look of scolding flung at Charlie.
Behind his hand, Charlie asked the other two, “Am I in trouble?”
“Get thee a valet,” Mr. Layton replied.
He didn’t know that he could afford one, but that was a discussion for another time. At the moment, he simply needed to adjust his appearance so that—what was that phrase Artemis had used?—she needn’t expend the “enormity of her endurance” looking at him. “I would appreciate whatever advice you can give me,” he said to them all, but with extra emphasis when he looked at Wilson.
His emotions in check and his baring regal once more, Wilson turned to Mr. Layton with an air of alliance. “Digby, we have work to do.”
“Yes, indeed.” Mr. Layton rose and followed Wilson toward Philip’s dressing room.
Charlie attempted to stop them. “My clothes are in the clothes press in my—”
Wilson stopped on the spot and turned slowly back to look at Charlie, an ebony brow raised imperiously.
“Allow me to translate,” Philip said. “Your clothes are likely to be burned before this is said and done, so retrieving them from where they are currently being stored is a waste of Wilson’s time and talents.”
“I cannot afford to replace them,” Charlie said, panic beginning to surge.
