As John turned to leave, Lord Cedric, the brother John had known at Eton, was strolling up the walk. He had the same fair hair as Lancelot, but his complexion was much browner. “Montagu, is that you?”

“In the flesh.” He held out his hand. “You’re looking well. How have you been keeping yourself?”

“Well.” The man smiled. “Very well indeed. I’m home on leave. I’ve been with the East India Company for a few years.” He squinted. “Who are you here to see?”

“Lord Lancelot.”

Cedric’s head snapped back. “Why in the devil would you want to see him? Does he owe you money?”

“No.” John was glad he wasn’t much of a gambler. “Is he in the habit of owing money?”

“I’ll walk with you.” Cedric had taken his hat off and donned it again. It wasn’t until they reached the pavement that he spoke. “Why do you want to see him?”

“I’m making an inquiry about his character. He attempted to be made known to a young lady.”

“Is she wealthy?” Cedric’s tone was as dry as dust.

“Does he need a wealthy wife?” That was something John had not considered, but Worthington probably had. John had been more concerned about the man’s character.

“I will tell you this: My father arranged a position for him at the Home Office. He lasted less than two weeks. Lance has an allowance that allows him to reside in his own rooms, but not enough to gamble or live extravagantly. Unfortunately, he is known for his excess. I know m’mother has covered some of his debts. Our father has refused to assist him further or help him publish his book of poems. As far as he is concerned, Lance needs to stop living in a fantasy land.” Cedric slid John a look. “If he wants to continue being a poet, he must marry a female with money.”

John wondered if the duke was merely aggravated by a son who wanted to write poetry or if Lancelot was not any good at it. “Have you read his poetry?”

“Even our mother thinks it’s rubbish, and she reads a lot of poetry. But Lance was born after several babes died and she has always spoiled him.” Cedric had a wry look on his face. “I can tell you, she never cosseted the rest of us.”

John could understand how a woman who had lost several children would cling to the next one who was born. He supposed she was never able to have any more. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I won’t say it was a pleasure. It’s not a good thing when one must speak badly of a family member. But I wouldn’t want him to wed anyone I know.”

“I understand.” The only thing to do now was to warn Lord Lancelot off the Worthington ladies. “Thank you again.”