Page 51 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish

“Is he? Maybe he’s just realised how annoying I am. Everyone does, eventually.”

“Oh, well, thank you very bloody much!” Adam blurted, his tone aggrieved. “Everyone includes me, I assume, and Lysander, who’s never been anything but kind to you?”

“I wasn’t counting you two,” Jonny muttered.

“And what about Jasper and Sam and Miranda and Leon? I presume none of their opinions matter either? Or those of your artist friends who beg you to visit them all the time?”

“I wasn’t thinking about any of them…” Jonny trailed off, his face very hot.

“So, really, the only people your grand theory is based on are the—what, three? Four?—worthless fellows who’ve let you down over the years because they were too self-centred to think about anyone other than themselves and minded when you asked for a little consideration? Do I have that right?”

Jonny stared at Adam without speaking for a long time. Eventually, he said, “I’ve barely known him a fortnight, Adam. How is that long enough to fall in love?”

Adam shook his head. “It took meless than a day. I knew before I even kissed Lysander.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “Of course, it took me almost two years to admit as much to Lysander, but I never said I was perfect. The point is, there is no acceptable period of time within which two people fall in love. It could take a lifetime, or it could happen in an afternoon. But I will tell you this, Jonny: love can be easily lost if you’re careless with it—or worse, cowardly. You have a chance at something wonderful with Perry. Don’t waste it.”

“A chance?” Jonny said. “I’m not sure I’m willing to risk my heart for achance.”

Adam’s smile was rueful. “Well, it’s all chance, my dear. I can't guarantee you it will last forever—no one can. But Icanguarantee you something: if you don’t even try, you’ll never have anything.”

* * *

Perry’s bedchamber door was closed, and no light showed below it when Jonny went back upstairs, holding a chamberstick to light his way.

He stared at the closed door for several long minutes, stomach churning as he considered whether to knock. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, only that he wanted to saysomething. Wanted to grasp at whatever slim chance he had with Perry, however terrifying that might be.

At length, he turned away to open his own bedchamber door. He’d give the matter more thought before he went charging in.

Once inside his bedchamber, he paced the room, back and forth, his mind teeming with too many thoughts—he felt elated and tormented and frightened to death all at once. He longed to share his feelings with Perry even as part of him shrank from the very idea.

Perhaps if he tried to write it down?

He sat at the desk by the window and pulled paper and ink out of the drawer.

He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say, but after a number of misconceived attempts, each of which was consigned to the fireplace, he found himself staring at a short and rather unremarkable letter, carefully scribed, so as to be easily read.

It was a start at least. All he needed was a start.

Folding the letter up, he left his room, chamberstick in hand again, and ventured out into the corridor to knock softly at Perry’s door.

He knocked once, twice.

Three times.

When there was no answer after the third knock, he dropped his hand.

Was this a sign?

He was debating whether to retreat to his own room again when the handle suddenly turned and the door was yanked open to reveal Perry in naught but his drawers, his hair disordered and his expression sleepily confused.

“Jonny?” he said. He blinked, seeming taken aback.

“I’m sorry,” Jonny said breathlessly. “I thought you’d be awake.” He blushed at the lie, but Perry didn’t seem to notice. He just stared at Jonny, waiting.

Christ, but he looked good, all sleep-rumpled and warm.

Heart pounding, Jonny held out the unsealed letter.

Perry stared at it. “What’s this?”