Page 23 of Snapdragons
“He is a stablehand,” the most talkative member of the other group said. “Tending to boats during excursions falls under his responsibilities.”
“If you make a habit of requiring your stablehands to risk falling into water,” Penelope said, “you might do better to make Wilson a footman.”
A lady in the group gave Penelope a wrinkled-nose look of distaste. “I assure you, we have two footmen already, and they are nearly perfectly matched.”
Penelope turned a bit away. In a quiet voice, she asked Niles, “What does she mean, ‘perfectly matched’?”
He seemed a little surprised that she’d turned to him, but he answered just the same, keeping his voice quiet as well. “There are some in English Society who consider it the height of sophistication to have footmen who are as close to indistinguishable from each other as they can be.”
“And they are chosen solely because they’ll ‘match,’ as she put it?”
Niles nodded.
’Twas a difficult thing for her to imagine. “That is something one does with furniture, not people.”
“Unfortunately,” he said, “for some people, servants and furniture warrant the same level of consideration.”
Penelope shook her head. “I’ve known that to be true for some in Dublin society as well, I’m grieved to say.” She eyed the lady who’d spoken. “Seems there are unfeeling people everywhere.”
She’d apparently not spoken as quietly as she’d intended to.
The lady’s nose scrunched up once more. “Seems there areIrishpeople everywhere.”
Niles took a single step away from the fireplace, putting himself the tiniest bit closer to the sour-faced lady than Penelope. “I beg your pardon. You spoke too quietly for me to clearly hear your comment to Miss Seymour.” Though Niles spoke softly, there was a sharpness underlying his words that wasn’t lost on the recipient. “I would hate for anyone here tonotknow what you said to a lady who claims such a close and personal connection to the titled and influential people you see all around you.”
The lady sputtered a little.
“What was it you said?” Niles’s expression absolutely dared the lady to repeat her unkind words.
Penelope’s sudden and unexpected nemesis made no further attempt. She returned to the rest of her group.
Penelope turned to Niles, so touched by his defense of her that she couldn’t seem to find the words to express her gratitude.
“She ought not to have said what she did,” was the extent of his explanation before he returned to his spot hovering near the fireplace.
You really are heroic, Niles Greenberry. And I suspect you have no idea that you are.
In the next moment, Lord Jonquil stepped into the room, dressed in dry clothing, his cravat quite expertly tied and his hair, though still looking a bit damp, fashionably coiffed. Young Wilson followed behind, looking uncertain and keeping close to Lord Jonquil.
Those not attached to Pledwick Manor eyed Wilson’s return with obvious displeasure, though they did show Lord Jonquil more deference than they had at the lake, no doubt owing to their having learned that he was titled.
After a quick nod from Lord Jonquil, Wilson stepped up to his employer—the sour-faced gentleman—and, chin held high, said, “I no longer wish to be in your employ, sir.”
That sent eyebrows upward all around the room.
“Think carefully, boy,” the gentleman said. “You’ll have no references, and you’ll find yourself unable to secure a new position.”
“I’ll take that risk, sir.”
The scrunched-nose lady eyed Wilson with her familiar expression. “How dare you speak to him so flippantly.”
Niles moved to the door and opened it. “As Mr. Layton is paying for the privilege of his houseguests using this room and you are no longer connected to the concerns of this young man,I believe you can return to your picnic.”
Penelope would wager no one in the room was forgetting Niles’s presence now. He was proving a complicated person, more difficult to predict than she would have guessed. He was also proving inarguably remarkable.
Their temporary companions vacated the room, though not without a few lingering looks of mingled confusion and disapproval.
“Good to see you two looking a little less like drowned rats,” Mr. Layton said to Lord Jonquil and Wilson. “Your cravat is exceptionally well tied, Lucas.”
