Page 9 of Snapdragons
“Then, who?” Digby clearly had no better idea than Niles did.
“Mr. Liam Seymour and Miss Penelope Seymour.”
Miss Seymour.Niles’s entire body froze. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
Digby turned slowly to face him and mouthed, “Miss Seymour?”
That snapped Niles back into motion. He crossed directly to Digby and, in a low voice, said, “Her Christian nameisPenelope.”
“This scheme was a bad idea,” Digby whispered.
“You just said it was brilliant.”
“What do I know about brilliant ideas?” Digby threw his hands up. “I’m not thestrategicGent; I’m thehandsomeone.”
“Where was this humility when we were concocting this no-longer-brilliant scheme?” Niles demanded in a harsh whisper.
“We were both a little cup-shot,” Digby said.
“I was not drunk.”
Digby shook his head. “Then, this is to be laid at your feet, because I was definitely bousy.”
Niles knew perfectly well that Digby was resorting to ridiculousness in an attempt to defuse a tense moment. But the man’s usual approach wasn’t going to help just then.
“What do we do?” Niles asked. “She ishere. Now.”
“First things first, we get our story straight.” Digby held his gaze. “What did you tell your parents in your letter?”
“I said I wasn’t feeling well and needed to delay my return trip.”
Digby’s brow pulled low. “You told them you were unwell, and they didn’t even send well-wishes? That doesn’t sound like your parents.”
It didn’t, actually. But that was hardly the most pressing issue at the moment. “Miss Seymour ishere, Digby. What do we do?”
“You can start by pretending to be dying,” Digby suggested.
Niles sighed. “I didn’t say I was dying, only a little unwell.”
“Then, lie weakly on the chaise longue or something. Try to look pale.”
“I cannot simply will myself to be pale.”
Digby gave him a look of overblown reprimand. “Well, if you spent less time riding horses or playing cricket or beating people to a pulp—”
“I haven’t beat anyone to a pulp in—” Niles shook his head. “We don’t have time for meandering conversations. Miss Seymour is here, no doubt looking for me. What do we do?”
His friend, thank the heavens, grew serious at last. “Look as though you’ve been through something harrowing.”
“Which I have,” Niles quickly added.
Digby nodded. “And we’ll navigate this as best we can.” That was not terribly reassuring. To his butler, Digby said, “Show them in, please.”
Though Niles had protested the request that he grow pale, he felt the color drain from his face. He was not a dishonest person, nor was he irresponsible, yet he’d exaggerated his feelings of unease to give the impression of being unwell, and he had, for all intents and purposes, run away from home rather than do what was expected of him.
Niles should have gone to Norwood Manor instead of Pledwick. Aldricwasthe strategic Gent; he would have formulated a plan that might have actually worked.
Digby smoothed his clothes and fussed a bit with his hair. Niles didn’t bother with either. It was taking all his mental capacity to simply remain on his feet. He’d have no difficulty appearing to be worse for wear.
