Page 53 of Snapdragons
Nicolette smiled in obvious satisfaction. “Julia and I concocted a plan.”
That was both intriguing and promising. “What was the plan?”
“Julia declared that I would remain in England as her lady’s companion,” Nicolette said. “She didn’t need one, but I requireda situation that allowed me to not bend to my brother’s edicts. It worked brilliantly.”
“I don’t suppose either of you is in need of a companion?” Penelope asked with a laugh.
“In need of?” Violet repeated. “No. Willing tosaythat I am? Absolutely.”
“Truly?” She had in no way earned such an enormous kindness from them. “My courtship of Niles has, thus far, been a failure. I promised you I wouldn’t keep trying if—”
“It hasn’t been a failure,” Violet said. “He’s intrigued, and you have managed to see him more clearly than even his own family does. What you need isn’t to abandon your efforts. You need time.”
Penelope might be able to stay. Hope bubbled anew. To stay here, where Niles was. To enjoy his company. To see him smile. To hear him laugh. To perhaps discover something deeper growing between them. Her heart swelled at the possibility.
Chapter Eighteen
“Sir Punchmuch?” Niles shook hishead as he repeated the name Digby had invented while in Hamblestead.
“We couldn’t put your actual name on the roster, now could we?” Kes said in all their defense. “And you were reluctant to take up your previous sobriquet once more.”
The Gents had returned from the Green Badger and were following Digby to an outbuilding on the grounds of Pledwick Manor.
“I still think you should have chosen Marmaduke Fisticuffs,” Lucas said.
“Do not discount the brilliance of Monsieur Poing.” Henri looked thoroughly pleased to repeat his suggestion. “Or Lord Punchington.” He motioned toward Aldric with a twitch of his chin.
In the end, Niles had decided it did little good not to use the name he’d been known as during his active years fighting for purses. They’d had no difficulty getting the Cornish Duke on the list of fighters for the tournament. Aldric had realized their difficulty—placing Niles on the roster while neither giving away his identity nor raising suspicions by having the famed fighter’s name put forward by a group of gentlemen with no established connection to him—and had, as always, devised a brilliant plan.
The Cornish Duke, he’d told the proprietor, was rumored to be in the area, and the whispers were that the pugilist, who had not fought in some time, was game for a new bout. Should his name be added, Aldric had further added, the man himself would, no doubt, send confirmation.
It had proven enough, and quick as anything, Niles had committed himself to stepping once more into the pugilists’ ring.
As the group reached the outbuilding they were aiming for,Digby pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The interior was dark and the air a bit musty. Henri, Lucas, and Digby pulled down the dingy fabric hanging over the windows, allowing light to spill inside.
“I still cannot countenance that you are returning to your duke-ness rather than taking up any of our suggestions.” Digby sounded nearly horrified. “That shows an unforgivable lack of creativity.”
“But a far greater chance of remembering what my false name is,” Niles reminded them all.
Aldric’s expression turned excessively somber. “Are you arguing that Lord Punchington is not memorable? I should call you out for that.”
“Do,” Lucas said eagerly. “It would be excellent practice for Puppy’s upcoming matches.”
Digby shook his head. “I am relatively certain dueling pistols are not used in prizefights.”
“AndI,” Niles jumped in, “am even more certain the General would never actually shoot me, no matter that I did not decide to enter the pugilists’ ring as Lord Fisticuffington.”
“LordPunchington,” Aldric repeated. “Let’s not be ridiculous.”
One of Niles’s favorite things about the Gents was that every so often, they would be in a mood of utter ridiculousness that would grow and expand for days on end. He cherished those times. To have that happen while he was dealing with a crisis was proving an utter godsend.
The outbuilding was a decent size. A traveling coach could fit inside with ample room to spare. It was also entirely empty aside from a generous layer of dust.
“What was this building used for previously?” Niles asked.
Digby eyed the space with a barely-held-back look of underlying disgust. “My father put things in here that he was hiding from my mother.”
“There’s room enough to hide a lot of things,” Kes said, looking around as well.
