Charlie held his hands up. “I know. Get me a valet.”
“I am off to obtain a green waistcoat.” Wilson moved with singular purpose out of the room.
“Did he call both Mr. Layton and Mr. Fortier by their Christian names?” Such familiarity with distinguished gentlemen, especially ones by whom he was not employed, was unheard of for a valet.
Philip nodded. “Wilson has known them for thirty years, since not long after he arrived in England from India.”
Thirty years. Father had only been gone for thirteen. That bit of quick mathematics revealed something unexpected: Wilson had almost certainly known Father and known him for twice as long as Charlie had. That list was growing.
Mr. Layton emerged from the dressing room with a few bits and baubles in his hands. “Accoutrements can change one’s appearance entirely.”
How he hoped Artemis would appreciate all of this; he was having second thoughts. “I would feel ridiculous donning dozens of fobs and rings and bells on my waistcoat.”
“My dear boy,” Mr. Layton said, “Wilson can be a bit much, but I assure you he is exceptionally good at what he does. And I have played a not insignificant role in his training on these matters. We do know the difference between choices that highlight a person’s true self and those meant to hide him. We’ve no intention of fashioning you a disguise.”
“Artemis might prefer if you did,” Charlie said.
Mr. Layton pushed out a breath, the sound one of lighthearted annoyance. “Lud, all you boys are as thickheaded as your father was.” He held up a few watch chains, eyeing them and Charlie in turn before, for reasons unknown, selecting one.
“I do have a leather strap for my watch,” Charlie told him.
“I know,” was the dry response.
Philip laughed. “We have our father’s featherbrainedness but our mother’s implacable stubbornness.”
Mr. Layton chose a cravat pin and set it beside the watch chain on the chairside table. “Charlie is far more agreeable in these matters than you were when Wilson and I undertook your transformation not many years past.”
“I had my own ideas about fashion,” Philip said. “Charlie’s opinions are reserved for mathematics.”
“Mathematics is not subject to opinions. Mathematics deals in facts.” Charlie made the observation almost without thinking.
Mr. Layton grinned at him. “Your mother’s child, for sure and certain.”
“I still cannot believe no one told me of her mathematical interests and aptitude,” Charlie said.
Philip’s laughing expression turned to surprise. “Herwhat?”
“Your mother is a lady of remarkable depth.” Mr. Layton set a pair of cufflinks beside his other selections. “Now that you boys are grown, I suggest you come to know her as something other than your mother.”
Wilson returned, a green paisley waistcoat draped with care over his arm. “Divest the boy of his current monstrosity. We will have him well togged in a moment.”
Charlie met his brother’s eye. “He is a dictator.”
“I have never claimed otherwise.”
Wilson motioned to the adornments on the table. “Excellent choices, Digby.” To Charlie he said, “Henri’s valet is an expert in matters of hair. He will be here shortly to cut yours.”
Heavens, this was more extensive than he’d been expecting.
“I’ll quickly take in the side seams of this waistcoat; Henri is not as beanpole-like as a Jonquil.”
“No one is,” Philip tossed back.
Wilson ignored the jest. “The rest of the items are your brother’s, and you two are very near in height and build.”
Charlie looked to Mr. Layton. “Will Artemis actually appreciate this?” The man had undertaken enough conversations with Artemis to reliably answer the question that lingered in his mind.
All three men nodded emphatically.
