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brother. Robbie's straight hair was a light brown and his eyes were the liquid brown of a young puppy. While Drew had the sleek look of a Corinthian, Robbie's shorter and stockier frame had the solid look of the landed gentry. All in all the lad looked well, Drew thought, indicating a chair.
    "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to town? I should have been here to greet you."
    "I didn't know, that is, it was sort of a spur of the moment decision," Robbie stammered. "I hope you don't mind."
    "Mind?" Drew raised one eyebrow as he crossed to the sideboard. "It's about time you left the wilds of the country for a more civilized milieu. Brandy?"
    "I've already made inroads on your supply." Robbie raised the snifter on the table beside him. "French?"
    "Naturally. And before you lecture me about patriotism, be it known that before one had to revert to smuggled goods I had laid in a particularly heavy supply." Drew lifted his glass and inhaled the full bouquet before continuing. "I will be most grateful when that upstart Corsican is finally confined. The free flow of spirits is essential to the good nature of all citizens."
    Drew brought the decanter with him and set it near at hand as he sat down across from his brother. He asked a question or two and listened as Robbie talked enthusiastically about the running of his estate. He took in the nervous gestures and the too-quick speech and wondered what was bothering the boy. He grimaced, realizing Robbie was no longer a young lad to be worried over. At twenty-five, he was a man and well able to manage his life without his older brother's interference.
    Habit was hard to break. Drew's mother had died giving birth to Robbie, an unfortunate occurrence for which Drew's father Henry had never forgiven him. From the moment of his birth, Henry Farrington had ignored the boy. Robert was a sickly child, prone to frequent congestion of the lungs which for the most part kept him confined to the nursery. Drew had done his best to make up to his brother for his father's neglect and spent many hours entertaining him. In the instances he was able to lure Robbie out of doors, he had watched over him carefully, anxious that no injury or illness should befall him.
    Despite his father's rejection, Robbie had developed a sunny disposition and, having seen little cruelty or abuse thanks to his brother's protection, had a thoroughly trusting nature. Drew was the cynical one, made so through bitter experience, while Robbie saw the world through a haze of goodness that endowed everyone with the finest motives and purest intentions.
    It was amusing to see how the pale, weakling Robbie had grown up to be such a sturdy fellow. He was several inches shorter than Drew but built with the solidity and endurance of a thick oak tree. While Drew chose to travel extensively, Robbie had a real love of the land and preferred to remain at home. At an early age, the lad had shown a preference for Fairhaven, the estate willed to him by his grandmother.
    Although periodically Drew had coaxed him up to London. He’d taken him around to his club, the storied Sweet’s, Almack’s and several seamier venues with the hope that a little town bronze would toughen him. Robbie, however, remained untouched by the seamier side of life. Noticing the harried look that clung to his brother, Drew wondered what bumblebath the boy had tumbled into. He sipped his brandy, knowing the news would eventually be forthcoming.
    Under the steady gaze of his brother, Robbie ground to a halt. "I suppose the idea of crop rotation isn't of much interest."
    "Faith, lad, you're well out there," Drew said, his voice a slow drawl. "When next I am asked to a social function, I am sure I shall dazzle my audience to have such gripping details to pass on. Did you come all this distance just to keep me epris of the newest agricultural advances?"
    "Well, no," Robbie said, laughing nervously. "Not that it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to take a greater interest