Page 29 of Snapdragons
There was an almost desperate note ringing through his words of determination. Clearly, having a home to call his own was important to him. She understood that. Heavens, she understood.
He would have been told during the marriage negotiation that once they were married, they would have Fairfield. It would be his home as well as hers. He could ride horses whenever he wished, and she suspected he would enjoy being part of the equine venture she meant to tackle there. The Gents could come visit. His family could visit.
He would have a home. But it seemed he didn’t want it.
Or he just really didn’t wanther.
Chapter Eleven
Niles considered himself a reasonableperson. He didn’t generally think ill of people unless they’d shown themselves to inarguably deserve it. And, thus, it frustrated him that despite not having concrete proof, he felt entirely certain Penelope Seymour was toying with him.
Asking to join him on his morning ride had been unexpected but also unexceptional. He knew of her family’s connection to horses, and it stood to reason she would go riding in the mornings just as he did. And to ask to join him on a future morning ride would have been just as commonplace if not for the flirtatious smile that had accompanied the request.
He couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Ladies regularly flirted with the other Gents but not with him. And Miss Seymour had not been the least flirtatious before that morning.
She’d also commented on their teamwork during ground billiards, no matter that they had been competitors, and she’d asked if he’d drive her around the estate. Those bits of conversation had involved smiles and slight flutters of her eyelashes as well, and absolutely none of it made any sense whatsoever. Unless she was laughing at him or attempting to manipulate him for some reason.
That rested heavy on his mind as he sat in the guest bedchamber he’d been using the past weeks. He’d changed out of his damp clothes but still looked a scraggly mess. Such was his distraction that he’d not even sent for his valet to help him put himself to rights, and it was in that state that Digby and Lucas found him.
“We heard you’d been out in the rain.” Lucas looked him over, shaking his head and smiling. “You look it.”
“I was riding Morwenna and was caught in a downpour.”
“That is unfortunate for you,” Digby said. “But a decidedly fortunate thing for Wilson.”
Niles hadn’t been expecting that declaration, neither could he make sense of it.
“What the King is attempting to convey,” Lucas said, “is that we’re hoping Wilson can address the current state of you as a means of practicing his valeting.”
“We already spoke with your man,” Digby said. “He thinks the young man would benefit from the practice, seeing as Lucas here looks inexcusably unkempt with unacceptable regularity.”
Lucas pressed a hand dramatically to his heart. “Digby, you traitorous coward! How dare you malign me this way. The man said nothing of the sort.”
From the time Niles had joined the Gents, and likely predating that blessed day, Lucas, Stanley, and Digby had routinely declared each other traitorous cowards in the exact theatrical tone of offended disappointment Lucas had just employed. It made Niles miss Stanley all the more. There was no one in the world like Stanley Cummings.
“I don’t mind if Wilson gets some practice.” Niles pushed a tuft of damp hair off his forehead. At least he wouldlooklike everything wasn’t in shambles.
Digby gave a quick nod to Lucas, who stepped out of the room.
It was only Niles and Digby again, as it had been when Niles had first confessed that he was planning to do whatever he needed to avoid the match waiting for him in Cornwall. He’d not made so personal a confession to any of the Gents since Stanley.
“What’s the matter?” Digby asked.
“Merely cold and a little wet.” Niles tried to look convinced by his own explanation.
“I realize I look exquisite.” Digby pressed his hand lightly to his indigo silk waistcoat with a confident and somewhat lavish bow. Just as quickly, his posture straightened and his expressiontransformed into one of annoyance. “But do I also look stupid?” he asked dryly.
“Never.”
Digby gave a crisp nod. “Then, I will ask again: What’s the matter?”
There was no point denying it any longer. “Miss Seymour is acting odd.”
“Do you think she’s ill?” Digby guessed.
“No. I think she’s lying.” Realizing he had just cast aspersions on a lady’s integrity, Niles attempted to clarify. “Lying is, perhaps, too harsh a descriptor. She is—I haven’t—If I were anyone else—Except—”
“This is the point where Stanley would have said, ‘Take a breath.’” Digby watched Niles with concern and just a hint of amusement.
