Page 52 of The Labours of Lord Perry Cavendish

“I know you hate writing letters. So I thought I’d help you with your reply to your mother.”

Perry’s gaze shot back up to meet Jonny’s. “Why would I need to reply to her?” he said, his expression bewildered. “I’m going to Hampshire tomorrow to meet her.”

God, this had been a stupid idea! Jonny had had some vague idea that it might be romantic, but plainly, it was just downright confusing.

Wearily, he said, “Can I come in, Perry?”

Perry eyed him for a few long moments. Then he stood aside. “I suppose.”

Jonny walked inside. He heard the snick of the door closing behind him. The only light in the room was from the chamberstick he held—Perry really had been asleep.

“I’ll need your candle, if you want me to read this letter,” Perry said behind him.

Jonny turned, a desperate huff of laughter escaping him. “The letter was a terrible idea.”

“But now I’m curious,” Perry said in a quiet voice. “So let’s have a look at it. Bring your candle over to the desk.”

The writing desk in this bedchamber was near enough identical to the one in Jonny’s room. Jonny set the chamberstick down on the polished surface while Perry settled himself down in the chair and unfolded the letter, smoothing it flat, then angling the candle so the light fell on the words Jonny had written.

“Dear Mama,” Perry read aloud. “Regretfully, I must advise that I will be unable to attend Sir Peter Kirchin’s house party.” Perry broke off and glanced up at Jonny, frowning.

“Go on,” Jonny urged.

Perry returned his gaze to the page.

“I have agreed to allow one of England’s most beloved artists to paint me—” Perry looked up again, this time, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“If I am not beloved,” Jonny said loftily, “I most certainly ought to be.” He was being deliberately pert, but his heart was hammering so hard he felt sure Perry must hear it.

“Hmm.” Perry eyed Jonny uncertainly, then began to read again. “Conse—consequently, I cannot spare the time to come to Hampshire. In particular, I cannot spare the time to make cow eyes at Miss Penelope Kirchin, who sounds like a perfectly horrible young lady.”

Perry blinked at that. “I really don’t think—” he began, but Jonny didn’t want to get into any debate over the character of Miss Kirchin. He stepped closer to Perry and pointed a little further down the page. “Forget that. This is the important bit. Read this part.”

Perry obediently returned his attention to the letter and continued. “In fact,Mama, you should not count upon my presence at any family or social events for some time since—” Abruptly, he stopped speaking, raising his head slowly to gaze at Jonny.

Jonny swallowed and continued reading the words aloud himself. “—since my artist friend and I are planning to take a long trip together.”

For a long, silent moment, neither of them said anything. Jonny could only stare at Perry, petrified about the part that was coming next.

Perry bent his head and read, “We are going to the Italian penin—peninsula and expect to be gone for just as long as I can bear my friend’s company.”

Perry stopped reading, but didn’t immediately raise his head, and Jonny’s heart, which was already hammering, began to feel as though it was being squeezed by a giant fist. Finally, though, Perry lifted his head and rose from his chair, stepping towards Jonny and forcing him look up to meet Perry’s gaze.

“Are you quite sure about this, Jonny?” Perry asked, his expression concerned. “I’d rather know if you’ve got doubts.”

Jonny groaned. “I’m full of doubts, Peregrine. But not one of them is about you. They’re all about me, and the world, and other people, and what might happen in the future. I’m afraid I’m a dreadful coward.”

“Coward? You? I don’t think so. Besides, what were you afraid of?” Perry’s large hand came up to cup Jonny’s chin, and the warmth and gentleness of that touch gave Jonny a tiny surge of strength.

“Lots of things, but mostly you growing tired of me one day,” he admitted.

“I wouldn’t,” Perry said firmly.

Jonny sighed. “It’s happened to me before. I am not an easy man.” When Perry went to protest, Jonny held up a hand. “No, Peregrine, I’m not! You’ve seen a little of that already, but if we become the sort of companions that I would like us to be, well… you will only discover more of my flaws.”

“Flaws? Like what?” Perry challenged him.

“I’m selfish and self-absorbed. Sometimes, when my work is going well, I’m horribly uncommunicative.”