Page 15 of Snapdragons
Niles wasn’t ready to give up, but he wasn’t sure how to move ahead. “And I wouldn’t mind having something of my own, even a very humble estate that I wasn’t beholden to my family for.” Realizing that didn’t sound entirely the way he wanted, Niles amended, “I love them, I really do. And I wouldn’t want to be cut off from them. I only... I just...”
“Families are complicated things,” Lucas said, crossing to the ball lying in the grass next to the king pin. “You can love them and still need room to breathe.” He hit the ball far in the opposite direction. They all hustled over to it to begin another round of Gents Ground Billiards.
“How much more money do you need to get breathing room?” Kes asked.
Though Niles hated to speak the total aloud, he didn’t imagine it would do any good not to be forthright. “One hundred fifty pounds.”
They all looked appropriately awed. It was not an impossibleamount, but it was not insignificant either.
He’d done the calculations countless times. He was fortunate to have a relatively generous and guaranteed income from his family, though it was not quite sufficient to meet the income requirement for serving in the House of Commons. But if he had an estate that generated an income, he could qualify. Lud, there were a lot of “ifs.”
Kes sent the ball flying once more. As they watched its path through the air, he asked, “Have you considered grave robbery? You could make a few extra coins that way.”
Most who knew Kester Barrington would never guess that he had the sense of humor he did. Most who knew Niles wouldn’t guess he was a dab hand at any kind of athletic endeavor. People were often surprising.
Lucas had trotted over to the ball, mallet swinging in anticipation. “Or you could polish up your dancing,” he called back. “The theater is always hiring.”
The ball cracked against his mallet and flew yet again. They were nearing the king pin. Niles started off, hoping to reach the ball first after the next hit, as that would allow him to knock it into the pin and win double points for the round. No one was truly keeping score, but he enjoyed knowing he had hit the mark.
As he walked toward a waiting spot, he spied Miss Seymour approaching. Anxiety clutched at his heart and throat. It was more than the hint of nervousness that he would expect when in company with a beautiful woman who had shown herself to be observant and intelligent and not easily distracted from her purpose. Miss Seymour had been unfairly treated and lied to. By him. He half expected her to soundly renounce him. He would deserve it, but he would also hate it.
She was within a few yards when the crack of a mallet against a ball echoed. Niles spun enough to search the sky for the hard and heavy orb. It was careening right toward them. The Gents wereyelling out warnings. Miss Seymour wouldn’t know to be looking for it.
Niles dropped his mallet and rushed back a few steps, watching the ball’s trajectory. “Guard your head, Miss Seymour,” he shouted just in case.
But he caught the ball before it could do any damage to the lady, who had endured quite enough already. The smack of it against his hand stung. He switched the ball to the other hand, then shook the pain from the one he’d used, all as he turned toward Miss Seymour.
“Our apologies, Miss Seymour.” He looked for some indication that she was overset by the encounter. She didn’t appear to be. “If we’d known you were so nearby, we wouldn’t have hit the ball.”
She motioned toward his hand. “Do you throw as expertly as you catch?”
“I—I do.”
“So do I.”
There was a riddle in that. “Yes, but does that... ?” He was so unaccustomed to being the one who did the talking that he sometimes tripped over the simplest of things. He wasn’t shy or inarticulate; he was simply out of practice. “Does that mean you are equallyadept orinept?”
Penelope Seymour really ought to issue some kind of warning before she smiled so a fellow could formulate his thoughts while he was still able.
“Would you like to hazard a guess as to my athleticism or lack thereof?” She asked the question with enough mischief in her eyes to tell him she suspected the answer would surprise him.
He knew from his own experiences that people who were small—and Miss Seymour wastiny—were usually assumed to be lacking in physical prowess and athleticism. Ladies were met with that assumption more or less by default.
“Would you like to... ? Would you like to join us in this one?”
She glanced behind him. He could hear the Gents approaching.
“I hadn’t intended to disrupt your game,” she insisted. “I came in the hope of discovering the source of the odd cracking sounds I kept hearing.”
From very nearly beside Niles, Digby said, “You are quite welcome to join us if you’d like. It’s not a sophisticated game, but it’s diverting.”
She looked at Niles once more. “I am not overly familiar with ground billiards, but I’m a quick study.”
He was surprised at how pleased he was that she wanted to join in and also at how nervous he was that she had directed her acceptance to him rather than Digby. “The game is relatively simple. It begins with the ball far afield from the king pin.” He motioned to it. “Every hit that brings the ball closer earns the one who hit it a point. The person who hits the king pin with the ball earns two points.”
“When we are playing competitively,” Lucas added, “there is a great deal of running, as each person hopes to reach the ball first and earn a point for hitting it.”
She nodded. “Unless the ball is at barely too far a distance to reach the goal and the one striking it will simply be offering the next player double points.”
