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Lord Wylington.”
    The boy on the left turned to his brother. “I thought you were Andrew, and I was Anthony.” His look of puzzlement was every bit as false as it was meant to be appealing.
    “You’re right. I do believe I am Andrew.”
    “No, wait. I think you had it correct the first time.”
    “Oh, dear.”
    They looked at her expectantly. She let them wait. After a long pause they shot each other a quick look, then the one on the right asked, “Aren’t you going to tell us we are little men now, old enough to know which of us is which?”
    “It does not really matter, does it?” Anne looked down at them calmly.
    “Of course it matters,” the one on the left said. “One of us is Lord Wylington ...”
    “And the other one isn’t,” his brother finished for him.
    “But since I have no way of telling the two of you apart, at least this early in our acquaintance, I shall simply call you both Anthony on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays I shall call you both Andrew.”
    “And what about on Sunday?” the one on the right asked, receiving an elbow in his ribs from his brother, apparently for allowing his curiosity to get the best of him.
    “Oh, by this Sunday or the next I shall doubtless know which one of you is which.”
    They exchanged speaking looks, then the one on the left asked hopefully, “Would you like to go for a walk on the moors with us? It is such a beautiful day and we are so tired of being cooped up in the house.”
    They both smiled angelically up at her.
     

Chapter Two
     
    Demetrius Baineton, Viscount Thorverton, stood in the window of his club gazing disconsolately down at the passers-by. Behind him the room was singularly devoid of anyone under the age of seventy. It was hardly surprising, since there was a prize fight scheduled for the morrow some fifty miles distant from London.
    Now that he had one precious day of freedom, Demetrius was finding it decidedly unrewarding to be at loose ends. If only he were home in Devon, taking care of his stud. With forty mares and an equal number of colts and fillies either already born or due to drop any day, there would be no possibility of time hanging heavy on his hands.
    Catching sight of a man striding along through the crowds, his boredom vanished. Could it possibly be Leatham? The last Demetrius had heard, his neighbor was halfway around the world. But who else in London towered so tall above the crowds? No other gentleman whom Demetrius had ever encountered.
    * * * *
    Bronson Roebuck felt a hand touch his arm and a familiar voice sounded behind him.
    “Leatham, well met!”
    “Thorverton, what the devil are you doing in London? Do not tell me you have entrusted the care of your precious horses to your cousin Mallory?”
    “Lawrence is a good man and capable of managing the stud without me.”
    Bronson smiled. “I know that, and Mallory knows that, but you have never before been willing to admit you were not totally indispensable.”
    A shadow crossed his young friend’s face. “I am spending the Season here in London with my fiancée and her mother. The wedding is scheduled for a week from tomorrow. I hope you will be able to attend.”
    For a man about to take the plunge into matrimony, Thorverton did not appear to be looking forward to his upcoming nuptials with anything approaching the eagerness one might expect from a young bridegroom who has won the hand of his chosen lady. “It is Diana Fairgrove, I presume.”
    “Of course. It has been an understood thing since we were in leading strings. We have been sweethearts forever.”
    With difficulty, Bronson was able to control his curiosity. “I am on my way to Manton’s for a little target practice. Would you care to accompany me?”
    “Manton’s,” his friend sighed. “Of course, I would be happy to go with you. It seems an age since I have been there.” They walked in silence for a while, then Demetrius abruptly asked, “Why have