Page 10 of Snapdragons
The butler returned and announced, “Mr. and Miss Seymour.”
Niles spared only a glance for Mr. Seymour, all his attention falling on the man’s sister.
She was tiny, no more than an inch above five feet tall, if that. There was a wispiness to her that made her seem almost otherworldly. And she was shockingly beautiful.Shockingly.
“Welcome to Pledwick Manor, Mr. and Miss Seymour.” Digby’s manners were, as always, flawless. “How kind of you to make so significant a journey out of concern for Mr. Greenberry.”
“Concern?” Mr. Seymour sounded genuinely confused.
“Surely,” Digby continued, “his family told you he had been delayed due to having fallen unwell.”
“They did not,” Miss Seymour said. “All they could tell us was that Mr. Niles Greenberry hadn’t returned home and they’d notthe first idea when he intended to do so.” She had that unique mixture of an Irish and English accent so often heard among those in Ireland who were either educated in England or had English governesses.
“I did send a letter.” Niles sounded like a child standing in front of his parents, having been scolded for some misbehavior or another.
Miss Seymour’s gaze shifted from Digby to Niles. She studied him silently. He was so seldom the focus of anyone’s pointed attention that he hadn’t the first idea what to do. When one drew about as much attention as the furniture, one didn’t need to worry about scrutiny.
“It seems you ought to send another letter, Niles,” Digby said. “Your first one appears to have gone astray.”
“That would explain why they didn’t write back.” Niles could feel Miss Seymour’s gaze still on him, though he’d turned to Digby. Embarrassment kept him from looking back at her. Instead, he addressed her brother. “Was my family terribly worried?”
“I would say they were more confused than worried.” He wasn’t scrutinizing Niles the way Miss Seymour was. And he didn’t really sound Irish at all. “They were very apologetic.”
Niles had put his family in an untenable situation. “You didn’t have to journey all this way.”
“I think we did,” Miss Seymour answered.
He made the mistake of looking at her again.Shockingly beautifulwas an inadequate description. She was gorgeous. Breathtaking. Bewitching. And clearly disappointed in him.
Her brother spoke to Digby once more. “We are hopeful that you will not begrudge us your temporary hospitality, Mr. Layton.”
“Of course,” Digby offered with perfect and, no doubt feigned, equanimity. “You are welcome to remain at Pledwick Manor foras long as you wish.”
For as long as you wish.
This scheme was, without question, turning into a disaster.
Chapter Four
Niles had sat through hisshare of awkward meals, but supper that night topped them all. Miss Seymour hardly said anything. Her brother said far too much.
Between the first remove and Digby’s declaration that the gentlemen would forgo their after-supper port, Mr. Seymour spoke of his family estate and his education at Shrewsbury, which accounted for his lack of an Irish accent. He further spoke of Dublin, any number of people only he and his sister knew, their unpleasant voyage across the Irish Sea, their equally unpleasant journey from Cornwall to Yorkshire, and a great many stories about their family’s interactions in Dublin society. Through it all, Digby did an excellent job of appearing unwaveringly interested. Miss Seymour didn’t entirely hide her embarrassment at her brother’s lack of awareness. Niles mostly wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
But no obliging holes appeared, and he found himself seated among the Seymour siblings and Digby in the drawing room, where the same dynamic repeated itself.
In the midst of one of her brother’s long recountings of a social gathering in Dublin, Miss Seymour spoke in quieter tones to Niles, he being seated nearest her. “My brother didn’t talk nearly this much in Cornwall. He doesn’t, generally, unless he’s trying to impress someone.”
As Digby was the one to whom most of Mr. Seymour’s comments were directed, it wasn’t difficult to determine who it was the man wished to impress.
Miss Seymour turned a bit in her chair, enough to face him more directly. She had the brownest eyes, deep and rich and... filled with suspicion.
Still speaking quietly, she asked, “Have youactuallybeen ill?”Her tone and expression told him she sincerely doubted it.
“I—There has—” He’d realized there was a great likelihood he would eventually have to confess to the exaggeration, but he’d not expected it to happen so soon or so directly.
“You needn’t fear you’ll offend me if your answer is no.” A smile lurked in those umber eyes. A smile? That was certainly unexpected. “You’d not be the first gentleman to invent creative ways of avoiding me.”
“I doubt that,” he muttered. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her; he suspected the men in Ireland couldn’t either.
