Chapter One

Cambridge University, 1774

Independence was proving to be highly overrated.

Niles Greenberry had come to Cambridge specifically because his very large and very involved family had always attended Oxford. He had a brother and quite a few cousins at that university even now. Other than Niles, there were no Greenberrys at Cambridge.

And he was a little lonely.

Not lonely enough to rush home to the crush of siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins, who filled their corner of Cornwall. And not enough that he was willing to switch universities. But just enough that he had decided to do something he very seldom did: talk. To people. People he didn't know.

Over the course of his first term at Cambridge and throughout this first half of his second, Niles had been inarguably intrigued by a group known to all as the Gents. Theirs was a tight-knit circle, all in their first year at university, who had almost immediately become the stuff of legend. Nearly every student at Cambridge wished to be part of their very exclusive and lively brotherhood.

It was with that aspiration in mind that Niles tentatively approached Stanley Cummings, who was generally assumed to be the head Gent and who was sitting on a low wall in a courtyard. Niles had been hoping for a chance to approach Stanley. He'd been thinking of him by his Christian name in an attempt to feel less intimidated.

The Gent was by himself, which didn't happen often. It was Niles's best opportunity to begin what he wished would eventually become a camaraderie. First, though, he had to actually speak to the man.

Courage.

Niles wasn't a coward, truly. But putting himself forward was a highly uncomfortable prospect. He preferred listening over orating, going along over blazing a trail. Niles enjoyed a lark and an adventure as much as the next person, but he didn't generally instigate those adventures. Among his family, he'd been the reliable companion when a brother or cousin had undertaken a bit of mischief. Surely the Gents could use an accomplice.

Before Niles managed a single word, Stanley looked up and saw him hovering nearby. "How are you, Greenberry?" he asked quite casually, almost as if they'd spoken dozens of times rather than not at all.

"You—You know who I am?" Not the bold beginning he'd meant to make.

Stanley smiled. "Niles Greenberry. You hail from Cornwall. You come to Cambridge from Harrow. You're studying classics, but I suspect you don't enjoy it."

"Yes, but what did I eat for my midday meal today?"

That earned him a laugh, something the Gents were famous for. Laughter and larks and unwavering loyalty.

Stanley lifted the book he was reading. "My father has me studying classics as well. It's not to my liking, but that doesn't seem to matter."

How familiar that was. "My family doesn't allow me many choices in life. I had to browbeat them to be permitted to attend Cambridge when they far prefer Oxford."

"Browbeat?" Stanley looked a little doubtful. And well he might be. Niles was not one to put himself forward, an obvious trait to anyone paying the least attention, and he suspected Stanley paid attention to a great many things.

"‘Browbeat' sounds better than ‘beg and plead like a child.'"

Again, another chuckle. This was going better than Niles had feared it would. Stanley and one of the other Gents, Lord Jonquil, had returned from Nottinghamshire only a few days before. One of Stanley's sisters had died, though Niles didn't know the circumstances. Both gentlemen had returned heavier of countenance. Niles hoped Stanley appreciated having a reason to laugh, even lightly and briefly. He hoped it eased his pain a little.

"I—I thought maybe—" Niles wasn't eloquent, but he didn't usually stumble this much over his words. It was less a matter of not having mastery of the words he wanted and more of being so unsure of the outcome of the request he meant to make. "Should you ever need another person for—When you are undertaking a cricket match, if you're ever in need of another on your team, then I would—"

Stanley didn't laugh then, which was a relief. And he did seem to be listening. "I've not ever seen you play cricket."

"I'm good at it." Niles wasn't boasting but was stating the unvarnished truth. "I know I'm not the tallest of men, and I'm not built like an out-and-outer, but I've yet to find a sport I'm not good at."

"Truly?" That intrigued Stanley.

Niles could hardly blame Stanley for not immediately believing him. The quiet, small, overlooked people were never assumed to be good at anything beyond books and deep thinking and knowing the precise distance from a fireplace to achieve optimal snugness.

"I know you and the Gents have a good team as it is, especially with Fortier on your team. That surprised everyone, truth be told."

"People can be extremely surprising; it is one of my favorite things about them."

This was his moment; Niles knew that instinctively. He would never forgive himself if he didn't seize it. "I think I could be surprising in good ways. If the Gents are ever looking for someone to round out numbers or do some of the less glamorous work on an adventure."

Stanley eyed him with a studying gaze. "Are you petitioning for membership?"

No doubt plenty of others had done precisely that and had been humiliatingly disappointed. Niles refused to be discouraged so quickly. "Only offering my services as an aide-de-camp."

"That's the thing, though, Niles Greenberry: in our brotherhood, there are no subordinates, no underlings."

Well, that was his luck running out, then. He wasn't good for much else.

At that moment, Lord Jonquil happened to step into the courtyard. He was one of the most jovial people Niles had ever encountered, yet he looked completely downcast. That had been a jarring change in him since returning from Nottinghamshire.

"Lord Jonquil has taken your family's tragedy very much to heart," Niles said.

"My sisters are like sisters to him," Stanley explained. "Losing Charlotte and nearly losing Julia has torn him to shreds."

Niles hadn't realized these gentlemen had endured a near-double tragedy. It was little wonder they were both so weighed down by it.

"My family is loud and domineering and often more than I can endure," Niles said, "but I would be devastated if anything happened to any of them." He looked back to Stanley once more. "I am sincerely sorry you both have had to endure such a loss."

"Not everyone here has been so compassionate." Stanley appeared to be watching Lord Jonquil, but when Niles looked as well, he spotted the actual focus of Stanley's gaze.

Timothy Baker had proven himself a source of misery to any number of his Cambridge schoolmates. It was believed he had caused difficulty for local families and shopkeepers as well. Why were some people like that? Taking delight in causing people pain? And why did his group of lackeys enjoy taking part? All three were walking alongside their leader in disagreeableness.

"You're not strutting around so much anymore," Baker said to Lord Jonquil, walking alongside him, though he most certainly hadn't been invited to do so. "It's about time you were brought down a peg or two."

Lord Jonquil didn't say anything but continued his slow walk across the courtyard, his expression pulled in what could be described only as brokenheartedness.

Baker's group kept pace with him.

"Everyone has decided you're pathetic," one of the group said.

Stanley set his book down on the wall, standing as he closely watched what was happening. Niles kept an eye on it as well.

Lord Jonquil still didn't answer. He didn't look annoyed or aggravated. He looked sad, grief-stricken.

Then Baker tossed in one more barbed comment. "She wasn't even your sister."

"She was mine ." Stanley stormed toward them.

"Half sister," Baker corrected with a smirk.

In an instant, a brawling bout of fisticuffs broke out. Baker's group had two on one over Stanley and Lord Jonquil.

Niles rushed into the fray.

"You'll get pummeled," Stanley warned, ducking away from a coming fist.

"I won't," Niles said.

With ability born of years of secret effort, Niles landed two punches in quick succession, leveling one of Stanley's attackers. Niles spun about and felled one of those going after Lord Jonquil. He turned and punched the last of Baker's band in one fluid movement, then shoved him backward onto the ground.

He then rounded on Baker himself. What he saw was shock, and not merely on the face of Cambridge's most dedicated and obnoxious tormentor. Stanley and Lord Jonquil looked just as surprised.

Niles motioned toward Baker with his chin. "This one deserves a facer."

"Agreed," Stanley said with a shrug. "But I'd settle for letting him and his little band toddle off looking... pathetic."

And they did. Niles didn't for a moment think they'd stop being utter nuisances, but maybe Lord Jonquil had gained a temporary reprieve.

"Lud, man," Stanley said to him. "I hadn't heard you were a pugilist."

Niles stretched out the knuckles in his hand, working out the sting that a bare-knuckle brawl always caused. "I decided at Harrow that I needed to be able to defend myself."

"Don't tell me Harrow had people like Baker," Lord Jonquil said.

" Everywhere has people like Baker."

Stanley snatched up his abandoned book. "I've learned a lot about you in the past months, but I didn't realize you play cricket." He motioned with his head for Niles to walk alongside them. "I don't think anyone knew until today that you brawl like a bruiser. But it doesn't surprise me that you jump to the defense of people's sisters. That is precisely the sort of person I was sure you were."

"You've taken that much notice of me?" No one ever did.

"I have. We have. The Gents have wondered if you'd eventually consider joining us."

Niles nodded, unable to find the words he'd formulated in his mind when he'd imagined making a petition for membership.

"I was certain you would when you were ready," Stanley said. "But I meant what I said: no underlings, no subordinates. When you join this group, you become one of us, wholly and completely and on equal footing."

Niles swallowed. "I'd like that."

"Which leaves only one question," Stanley said.

"What question?" Niles asked.

In unison, Stanley and Lord Jonquil asked, "Do you speak French?"

" Oui, je parle francais ."

They exchanged smiles of acknowledgment.

"Well then, Niles Greenberry"—Stanley shook his hand—"welcome to the Gents."

Lord Jonquil shook his other hand. "I hope you're ready for an adventure."

Niles grinned at them both. "Always."

?

Cornwall, Autumn 1787 (thirteen years later)

Niles had known since he was a child that a marriage would eventually be arranged for him. The Greenberrys believed in curated courtships the way other families embraced religion or politics. It was woven into the fabric of who they were. But Niles wanted nothing to do with any of it.

Grandfather had already made matches for Niles's older brother, two younger sisters, and every cousin of marriageable age. He had avoided this reckoning for as long as he had, thanks to the tireless efforts and persuasive abilities of the best friend he'd ever known. It was more than just a shame that they'd lost Stanley so young; it was an unmitigated tragedy.

"Mrs. Seymour is known to be quite the most fashionable lady in Dublin society." Mother stood beside the tailor, whose shop they were at in Plymouth Dock. Niles was to have a new wardrobe, as Grandfather didn't wish the Seymours to have a poor first impression of the Greenberrys.

"Does Miss Seymour have an opinion on such things?" Niles asked, looking over the lengths of silk and satin the tailor was considering. Putting a fashionable foot forward wasn't a terrible thing now and then, but Niles generally preferred being comfortable to being modish.

"I am not at all acquainted with her feelings on the matter."

He had received some variation of that answer whenever he'd inquired about the lady who had been chosen to be his wife. Her family was important and influential and in favor of the match, and that was all Niles seemed destined to know about Miss Penelope Seymour.

Mother added two waistcoats to the order, and the tailor scratched her instructions into a small book before rushing into a back room to fetch buttons for Mother to peruse.

"If we undertook this during the next Season in London, Digby would be more than happy to assist," Niles said. "I'd be so fashionable, it would be painful."

His mother smiled a little sadly and a lot consolingly. "Your grandparents would never hear of the delay. You've already been granted more time than your siblings or cousins. And we've managed to delay things for three months now." She set her hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. "You cannot possibly avoid this forever."

"But I don't wish to be married. And the only circumstances under which I could imagine that changing are those in which the person I am marrying very much wishes to be married to me and I to her. Specifically. Because we chose each other."

"That simply doesn't happen, dear." She watched him with a little too much pity, something he'd cringed at again and again the past months. Mother was a wonderful woman and the best mother he could imagine, but she did sometimes treat him a little too much like a child despite his being thirty years old. "Marriages aren't a matter of romantic connections in our family, or on our rung of Society."

"Two of the Gents married by choice rather than by arrangement," Niles said.

"I worried that would cause you discouragement." She shook her head. "Your grandparents won't be swayed. But take heart. The matches they have brokered for your siblings and your cousins have proven very happy."

While that was true, it was not terribly comforting. Outside of his immediate family and the Gents, Niles hadn't found many people who gave him a second thought, let alone came to like the person he was. Part of that, he fully acknowledged, was his own reticence. The rest was owing to how immediately forgettable he was. It wasn't an observation he made out of self-directed pity; it was simply the truth.

He didn't mind that most people thought that of him. But to be required to build a life with someone who found him entirely forgettable was a miserable prospect.

But Mother was correct: his grandparents would not change their minds on the matter. Niles had always known that.

Mother continued consulting with the tailor. Niles took the opportunity, as he'd done countless times over the past four months, to reconcile himself to his fate.

His grandparents truly had chosen well for the others. Grandfather was particularly careful to address material considerations and needs. Grandmother made certain the social benefits were sufficient. And Niles felt certain they gave at least a little consideration to the personalities and preferences of their individual grandchildren. There was some comfort in that.

Father arrived at the shop, having finished his business for the day. They would all be returning home the next day, and preparations would begin for the Seymours' arrival. Niles dreaded it. Legitimately and fully dreaded it. But what could he do?

They finalized their order with the tailor, then climbed inside the carriage to ride back to the inn, where they would pass the night.

"Is there anything you can tell me of Miss Seymour?" he asked his parents. "Anything to help me form some idea of who she is?"

"I suspect you know most, if not all, of what we do," Father said. "She is twenty-five and Irish. Her family is well thought of."

His father's suspicions hit the mark. That was, in reality, very nearly the sum total of what Niles knew. So impersonal, so unencouraging.

"The Seymours are known for their horses," Father added.

That was new information. Niles liked to ride, and he knew a great deal about horses. Here was a small hint of hope.

"The only sticking point your grandfather has encountered involves the property Miss Seymour inherited from a great-uncle. They have insisted it remain hers rather than become yours, as is customary upon marriage." Father shrugged a little. "And they are further insisting that the trustees appointed upon her inheritance remain the trustees overseeing it."

"Did Grandfather agree to those terms?" Niles, of course, would be the one signing the marriage agreements, he having long since reached his majority. But Grandfather always negotiated the contracts.

"Regardless of who is technically the owner of the estate," Father said, "you would have a place to live and raise a family. It would be an odd arrangement, though not unheard of. Still, having a home is a valuable thing."

A home, but not one he owned. To almost anyone else, that wouldn't be the problem it was for Niles. He'd known for some time that were he to achieve one of his most personally important goals, he had to eventually own land. He himself. Not his wife.

Land ownership was a qualification for seeking election to the House of Commons. He'd wanted the chance to sit in Parliament and make a difference in the world ever since Stanley had left to fight in the war with the colonies. He'd wanted a voice in those decisions that had the potential to irrevocably change lives. But he didn't own land, so he didn't qualify.

Pursuing that goal had motivated him for years, leading him to save as much of his income as he could and to listen closely as Henri and Aldric, two of the Gents, discussed which areas of the country had property at lower prices and which areas cost more but were worth the added expense because their locations offered important advantages. He'd made plans and done calculations. And he'd known in the back of his mind that there was at least a possibility that when his family chose a match for him, the lady in question would bring land to the marriage.

He'd told himself that the possibility of having claim on an estate and finally being in a position to move forward with the one future he'd found himself excited to pursue would make the prospect of an arranged marriage palatable.

"Miss Seymour's family won't budge on the matter of her retaining ownership of the estate?" Niles hadn't heard of this aspect before, and his brain was struggling to sort through it.

"Not even a little."

Mother offered another of her pseudo-pitying glances. "The house and land would still be yours in all ways except that one. Not all young gentlemen without estates of their own are so fortunate."

He didn't feel fortunate.

"And," she added, "the next time it is your turn to host a gathering of your friends, you needn't hold it at our home."

"Did you mind so much?" Niles asked.

"Not at all."

Father added his agreement to Mother's declaration. "And I hope all of them will come to Cornwall for the wedding in a few weeks."

A few weeks .

Miss Seymour would be in Cornwall in only another month. There'd be no escaping at that point, no chance for claiming what he wanted and avoiding the fate that had been chosen for him.

He needed more time.