Page 8 of Snapdragons (The Gents #4)

Niles had always liked Hamblestead. It was small enough to be idyllic, while also large enough for a new arrival to not draw a great deal of notice. He often preferred to be overlooked. Miss Seymour, however, didn’t appear to overlook anything or anyone.

“Why do you suppose the Seymours haven’t returned home?” Niles asked as he walked alongside the Gents during the group’s excursion to the village. He spoke quietly, not wishing either of those he was discussing, or Violet, who had become fast friends with Miss Seymour, to overhear the question. The three of them were a few paces ahead of the Gents, having their own conversation.

“Because of my innate ability to make any and every guest at Pledwick Manor feel instantly both at home and in awe?” Digby suggested.

“And your willingness to generously lend people access to your remarkably capable staff?” Lucas asked, clearly not serious.

“Your willingness to lend me a member of your staff has certainly made me feel very welcome,” Lucas said.

Digby gave him a withering look. “I ought to have left you to sort the matter on your own when you arrived without a valet. Inexcusable, Lucas.”

“I’ll find a new valet soon enough,” Lucas said. “But in the meantime, I intend to take full advantage of your generosity.”

“Which brings us back to my original point,” Digby said. “If not for my superior ability as a host, Niles might not be in so uncomfortable a situation.”

Niles wasn’t distracted from the worry that had weighed on his mind for days. “Do you suppose they intend to try to force my hand on this match?”

His friends exchanged looks that told him they’d been wondering the same thing.

“We talked about it,” Kes said. “All of us intend to stay here as long as the Seymours do. They’ll not be able to browbeat you into acquiescing with all of us present to act as buffers.”

That made Niles sound like a helpless infant when he really was simply unaccustomed to demanding autonomy. He was further inexperienced in being ungentlemanly. His current predicament arose from having recently done both and the need to continue doing them.

“Digby,” Violet called back to the group from her place at a shop window. “We need your opinion on these shawls.”

“Gents.” Digby struck a very serious pose. “My expertise is being called upon. Do excuse me whilst I see to this utterly crucial matter.”

Lucas leaned a little closer to Niles and Kes as Digby joined the others. “Watch Mr. Seymour.”

Niles did. The gentleman greeted Digby warmly, which wasn’t surprising. Mr. Seymour had seemed intent on gaining Digby’s good opinion. But then he nudged his sister a little closer to Digby. A subtle but unmistakable movement.

“I’ve wondered since supper last night,” Lucas said, still watching the scene play out. “But I’m more and more convinced that the focus of the matrimonial efforts might be shifting, at least from Mr. Seymour’s view of things.”

“Do we need to be acting as a buffer for Digby, then?” Niles didn’t know if that was more relieving or guilt-inducing.

Kes shook his head. “Digby acts empty-headed, but we all know perfectly well that he is entirely capable of looking after himself.”

“He has been doing so since he was a child,” Lucas added, looking genuinely sorrowful on their friend’s behalf. Lucas had known Digby far longer than Niles had and knew aspects of his history that no one else was privy to.

Digby was deep in an animated conversation with the two ladies about the items in the window. Niles didn’t feel equal to that topic, and Lucas and Kes wandered to the window of the next shop over to look at something there. Niles set himself against a wall, waiting.

Twice a year, a fair was held near Hamblestead, which brought in people from miles around. Digby had played host a few times when the Gents had attended. The autumnal fair would be held soon, if Niles was remembering correctly. And if he was further remembering correctly, it was here in Hamblestead that he’d bought a bit of incredibly delicious cheese. He ought to find that shop again and purchase a bit.

They were wandering the village while waiting for the hamper of picnic foods they’d requested from the Green Badger. The sky was overcast, but otherwise, the weather was beautiful. Niles had a bit of time. He made his way down one side of the market cross, where he thought he’d made the purchase before.

A villager tipped his hat to Niles as he passed. Niles nodded back.

He passed two men conversing outside a shop.

“Heard Martin might be arriving to fight for t’ purse,” one of them said to the other, who whistled in response, impressed.

Fight for the purse? Was there to be a pugilistic bout? Niles hadn’t heard as much.

A woman with a little one in tow passed by. “I know you’re jiggered, love, but we can’t move slow. We’ve laundry to see to.”

Niles reached the end of the road without finding a dairy or a shop that looked like it might carry cheese. He’d apparently remembered wrong. That was unfortunate.

“Mr. Greenberry?”

He spun about at the subtly Irish voice speaking his name, knowing even before he looked that Miss Seymour had spoken.

She smiled softly. “The food hampers are ready. I’d not wanted you to be left behind.”

“The Gents rarely forget to bring along their Puppy.”

Her confusion reminded him that she didn’t have the necessary information to recognize the jest he was attempting.

“All the Gents have nicknames we use among ourselves. Mine is—” He’d never before been embarrassed by his moniker but was more reluctant to share it in that moment than he could have anticipated.

“Is it Puppy, by chance?” she guessed.

He nodded. “It’s not ill meant.”

“I’d not have assumed it was.”

They walked beside each other back in the direction of the Green Badger.

“I had a nickname when I was a little girl, given to me by a neighboring family, and it was ill meant.”

She didn’t look hurt by the recollection, so he felt he could continue the thread without causing her pain. “May I ask what the nickname was?”

“They called me the Little Banshee.”

He wasn’t familiar with that term.

Miss Seymour smiled once more. “I can see that doesn’t have the impact it would if told to an Irishman, so allow me to explain. A banshee is an Irish folk creature: female, unbearably loud, fearful, and an omen of horrific things, up to and including death. To be called a banshee is not a compliment.”

“Were you particularly loud as a child?” he asked.

She laughed lightly. “That part of the name was merited, I’m afraid. But the rest was simply unkind.”

“You were not a harbinger of death, then?”

“I’ve killed very few people.” Her extremely serious declaration was quickly countered by the tug of merriment in her features.

“If the neighboring family wasn’t included in your short list of victims, then I would say you missed an opportunity.”

She laughed out loud at that. Niles was not the humorous Gent—that designation was Lucas’s. There was something rather nice about inspiring a sincere laugh in that moment.

“In what little I’ve learned of you over the past months,” she said, “nowhere did anyone mention that you were bloodthirsty.”

“And no one told me you were a murderer,” Niles countered.

Again, she laughed, and he didn’t think it sounded insincere or forced. Did she legitimately find him funny? He certainly had a sense of humor, and he did sometimes make the Gents laugh but not many people beyond them. He didn’t know quite what to think of Miss Seymour doing so, not only easily but also more than once in quick succession. It was... confusing.

They caught up with the rest of the party just outside the inn. Two hampers had been prepared, and Lucas and Kes now held them. Their coachmen carried wool blankets and cushions, as did a couple of stableboys. Digby guided the group around the inn and down the gravel walkway in back, which led all the way to the banks of the lake, where they would be spending that afternoon.

They clearly were not the only people to decide the day would be well spent in that setting. A small group had gathered a few yards away. What appeared to be a young family was equally as far in the other direction. A third group sat on blankets and cushions even farther along the banks.

In the end, they chose a spot just beyond the third group, on the other side of a small boat launch. The location afforded them a great deal of privacy while not being at an inconvenient distance from the inn. The coachmen and stableboys were invited— encouraged —to join in the leisurely meal, and they did so, but in their own grouping, a bit apart.

Through slight maneuvering, Mr. Seymour managed to see his sister seated beside Digby. Lucas tossed a knowing look at Niles and Kes. It seemed there was some truth to Lucas’s theory that the focus of Mr. Seymour’s matrimonial aim for his sister was shifting.

Did that mean hers was as well?

The moment the question flitted through his mind, Niles pushed it aside. If the Seymours’ efforts were adjusting, that would help him in the end. And as Kes had pointed out, Digby was well able to look after himself. Their easy abandonment of him was reason for Niles to breathe more easily. Instead, he found himself with yet another thing to feel guilty about: Digby’s growing inconvenience.

“I suspect one of you Gents might be known as the Sorcerer or some such thing,” Miss Seymour said. “This is the most cooperative weather we’ve experienced since arriving in England.”

“Alas,” Lucas said dramatically, “we do not have a Sorcerer. The Jester.” He motioned to himself. “And”—he motioned to Kes—“Grumpy Uncle.”

That brought a surprised smile to Miss Seymour’s face.

Lucas motioned to Digby. “The King.”

That didn’t seem to surprise her at all.

Lucas turned to Niles.

“I know this one.” Miss Seymour said. “Puppy.”

“Either he told you his moniker,” Digby said, “or you ought to be known as the Sorcerer.”

She pulled her eyes wide. “You’ll never know which,” she said in a foreboding voice.

Digby looked expectantly in Niles’s direction.

“I won’t risk the wrath of a possible sorceress by spilling her secrets,” Niles said.

“Wise,” Lucas said, overly solemn.

“Do they truly mean to call you the Sorceress?” Mr. Seymour asked his sister in a heavy whisper. He didn’t seem to realize, or at least appreciate, that they were joking.

“Of course not, Liam,” Miss Seymour answered.

Her brother looked at them all, clearly unsure how he ought to respond.

Violet smoothed over the uncomfortable moment by insisting they all begin eating. They distributed the food, and everyone settled in to enjoy the meal. Their conversation was general and friendly, and Niles was entirely content to let the people around him speak.

His attention wandered. The coachmen and stableboys were skipping rocks on the lake water. The family they’d passed on their way from the inn appeared to be enjoying their meal. The group nearest them was sitting on their cushions, watching as two of their servants stood at the end of the boat launch, placing items in a rowboat. The younger of the servants watched the water nervously, poor lad. Someone was out on the lake already, rowing slowly on the calm water.

Niles returned his gaze to the group around him and found Miss Seymour watching him, perplexed and inquisitive. Had she said something to him and he hadn’t heard? Was she expecting him to make conversation? Was she simply letting her frustration with his engagement defection show?

But the expression left her face almost immediately, replaced by a light smile. Niles didn’t know what to make of that either.

Sometimes she studied him. Sometimes she laughed. Sometimes she smiled. Sometimes she watched him with suspicion. Penelope Seymour was impossible to sort out.

Without warning, Lucas tore off his buckled shoes and, as he sprinted toward the boat launch, pulled off his coat and tossed it to the ground without slowing.

The nervous younger servant was nowhere to be seen, with the other motioning frantically toward the water.

Niles jumped to his feet and ran in that direction as well. Ahead of him, Lucas dove off the boat launch and into the water. Niles could hear frantic voices behind him, likely as worried about Lucas as the missing young man. But Niles knew Lucas could swim like a fish.

At the edge of the launch, Niles dropped onto his belly, ready to reach out when he was needed. Kes was beside him a moment later.

In the water, Lucas had an arm around the young man, pulling him to the surface a short distance from the boat launch.

“Get—him—out—first.” Water sprayed from Lucas’s mouth as he pushed each word out.

Niles and Kes each took hold of one of the young man’s arms and helped him up onto the boat launch. He was no more than fifteen years old, and though he wasn’t unconscious, he was clearly shaken to his very core. Miss Seymour was there on the boat launch and wrapped the young man in one of the wool blankets they’d been using for their picnic. It was grass stained but dry.

They pulled Lucas up out of the water as well. Miss Seymour immediately wrapped him in another blanket.

“What happened?” Miss Seymour asked the servant who’d not fallen in.

“He slipped. Slipped right into the water. He don’t know how to swim.”

Through chattering teeth, Lucas asked the sodden young man, “Why are you . . . tending to a boat . . . if you . . . can’t swim?”

Shivering as well, the boy answered, his voice identifying his homeland as India, “Because... I am... expendable.”

“No person . . . is ever expendable,” Lucas said.

The group of picnickers the young man worked as a servant for were making their way slowly toward the boat launch, none looking motivated by compassion. The young man watched them warily and with a hint of worry.

“Don’t you fret about them,” Kes said.

“I will be... dismissed without... references.” Poor young man sounded despondent in addition to being cold.

“Concentrate on warming up,” Miss Seymour insisted.

Holding his own blanket tight around himself, Lucas moved to the young man’s side. “We’ll walk with you... back to the inn. If your employer objects... we’ll deal with that as well.”

“You are . . . very kind, sir.”

Lucas motioned for him to begin walking. “What’s your name?”

“I am . . . called Wilson.”

An entire crowd had gathered around the boat launch, including all the others from Pledwick Manor.

Miss Seymour spoke quietly to Niles. “You managed to get rather wet as well. You ought to find a fireplace at the inn to sit near for a time.”

He took a look at himself and found he was a bit soaked from the ordeal. “You were thinking fast on your feet, bringing the blankets like you did. Well done, Miss Seymour.”

“Tell my brother that, if you get a chance. He’ll be upset that I was running as fast as I was, which is generally not considered very ladylike.”

“No matter what he says, coming to the aid of another person is heroic.”

With a smile that proved unexpectedly tender, she said, “Then, you, Mr. Niles Greenberry, are a hero.”