Chapter Thirteen

By the time the houseguests had gathered in the drawing room after the night's meal, Niles was feeling a little more on firm ground. Wilson had done a fine job fixing his hair after the soaking he had received, so he looked like less of a mess. His own valet had chosen a comfortable but fashionable ensemble for him to wear. And the Gents were all unified in their determination to be obnoxious countercourters, or whatever it was Aldric had called them. Regardless of the title, Niles was grateful for their assistance.

Within moments of being in Nicolette Fortier's company once more, Niles was reminded of why they'd all come to like her so much so quickly. She was intelligent and clever, personable and thoughtful. And she had brought inarguable happiness to Henri, who had known more unhappiness than he deserved.

Niles kept that in mind as he watched Nicolette and Violet interact with Miss Seymour. There was a friendliness between the ladies that Julia would almost certainly have embraced as well if she were there. It complicated his need to keep the lady at bay, but he couldn't fault them for being welcoming and kind.

He could, however, find great hilarity in Mr. Seymour's overly pointed efforts to win over Digby, who was doing an admirable job of not making his annoyance obvious, as well as in the interest with which he watched Aldric. This was a brother on the hunt.

"Shall we undertake a parlor game?" Nicolette suggested, shooting the Gents a look that warned of dire consequences should any of them not agree.

"Impromptu performances would be enjoyable," Violet said.

"'Tisn't one I'm familiar with," Mr. Seymour said, a rare moment of unmistakable Irish flavor in his voice that had been trained to sound as English as any of the Gents during his British education, no doubt.

"This game is a great deal of fun," Violet said. "All participants' names are written on slips of paper and placed in a hat or bowl. Two are drawn at a time, and they form a team. Once everyone is paired up, all the teams are given a set amount of time in which to decide upon a performance—a musical talent, a reading, things of that nature. Everyone gathers once more and enjoys the impromptu performances. If there is time and desire, the entire thing can be repeated with new pairings."

"That seems enjoyable," Mr. Seymour said.

Parchment was quickly acquired, cut into slips, and names scrawled on them. Violet drew the first two names.

"Nicolette," she read, "and— me ."

" Magnifique ," Nicolette declared.

The two ladies looked delighted. Digby didn't look reassured.

"Our next team—" Violet pulled out another slip of paper. "Kes." She smiled at her husband, then selected another slip. "And Digby."

" Magnifique ." Digby repeated Nicolette's declaration but with decidedly more flare.

Violet read the next paper. "Niles." She pulled out another. "And Penelope."

Oh, lud. He'd not given any thought to the possibility of being teamed with Miss Seymour. Violet and Nicolette looked intrigued.

"I had hoped the Seymours would be teamed together," Kes quickly said. "We might have been treated to something very Irish, which I think we would all enjoy."

The other Gents quickly adopted the line, attempting to undo the predicament Niles found himself in.

Miss Seymour's eyes had narrowed the tiniest bit as Kes had finished his declaration. That narrowing eased into a look of realization as the Gents' continued their championing of the change in partners. Niles was certain he saw embarrassment touch Miss Seymour's expression. She had, it seemed, recognized the ruse for what it was, and she was hurt by it.

Confound it. He'd not intended for her to be wounded.

"Perhaps we'll have an Irish performance in the next round," Niles said, making certain his smile was easy and pleased, with no hint of the panic he was feeling. He met Aldric's eyes for the briefest of moments, but he felt certain the General understood what he hoped to communicate. Countercourting was well and good, but hurting Miss Seymour was not part of the strategy.

"Draw the next team, Violet," Aldric suggested. "Perhaps Mr. Seymour will find himself partnered with someone who has a deep appreciation for Irish performances." The redirection was well managed; the focus was off Miss Seymour, and the tone was kept light.

The next name Violet drew was Mr. Seymour's, leading to enough light titters to further ease the tension in Miss Seymour's expression. Then she drew Aldric's, which sent the group into full, deep laughter.

"I hope you have a deep appreciation for Irish performances," Miss Seymour said.

"I suspect I soon will," Aldric answered seamlessly.

There was no need to pull from the hat the remaining names, as only Lucas and Henri had not had their names drawn. With the teams determined, the planning began.

Niles walked beside Miss Seymour to a far corner of the room, unsure how to begin a conversation. Ought he to acknowledge what he'd seen in her expression? Apologize for the embarrassment she'd endured? Ignore it all entirely in favor of moving forward on good terms?

She saved him the trouble. "I realize your friends do not actually long for an evening filled with Irish-themed entertainments. But I suspect they would appreciate something genuinely enjoyable. That leaves us with the question of what we are able to plan and execute together."

It was, in fact, the challenge of two randomly selected individuals attempting to find something both could equally participate in that made the game enjoyable.

"Unfortunately," Niles said, "I don't think Digby would permit us to ride horses in the drawing room. We share that talent."

"Even with the drenching, it was an enjoyable ride, wasn't it?"

He nodded. "It was." And he found he meant it. Yes, he was uncomfortable with her pointed efforts at courting him, but he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed riding with someone who was good at it. That part of the morning had been nice. "Though we did end our race without a winner."

"You will think me odd, but that was one of my favorite aspects of our morning ride. I have not lost a horse race in five years. Continuing that run of luck without actually winning was unexpectedly delightful."

Niles wasn't certain which aspect of that declaration he found most intriguing: that she was undefeated for a half decade, that she was not upset to have not been victorious, or that she took genuine delight at having lost a race without truly losing a race. Too many people who shared his enjoyment of athletic pursuits were so focused on victory that they didn't enjoy the oddities that occurred from time to time.

"Since Morwenna and Midnight can't join us, what ought we to do instead?" Niles asked.

"Do you draw?" she asked.

Niles shook his head.

"Neither do I." Playfulness twinkled in her eyes. Miss Seymour liked to tease, that much had become clear early on.

"I also don't sing," Niles said.

"Neither do I."

A quick glance around the room revealed very different interactions. Nicolette and Violet were smiling broadly, clearly enjoying each other. Aldric and Mr. Seymour appeared to be having a very stilted conversation, one punctuated by how intimidating Mr. Seymour seemed to find his partner.

"I incompetently play the pianoforte," Niles said to Miss Seymour.

She laughed lightly. "A perfect description of my ability on the instrument."

"We could subject the others to a painfully inept duet," he suggested.

"That is the most entertaining variety." She brushed her hand against his, though in a way that he didn't think she even realized she'd done. Or did she? It might very well have been more of her courting efforts. He would do best to remain on his guard. "We should go see if Mr. Layton has any music broadsheets we could fumble our way through."

Their trek from the room took them past Lucas and Henri.

"Abandoning the competition already?" Lucas tsked. "We promise to say flattering things no matter how mortifying your performance is."

"We not only aren't quitting," Miss Seymour said, "but we also intend to hold you to that promise no matter that you don't realize how impossible a task you have set yourself to."

" Ce sera une performance douloureuse ?" Henri had slipped into French more often these past few days than he usually did.

Miss Seymour looked to Niles, a question in her eyes. But there was no flirting in her gaze, which eased his worries from a moment before. "I don't know what he said," she whispered.

"He asked if our performance will be painful."

"Ah." She turned to face the others once more. " Horribly painful, which makes it an absolute shame that there will not be a prize for the worst performance. We would be sure to win."

"I don't know about that," Niles said. "I spied another team who looked to be struggling with their collaboration."

"My brother and Lord Aldric?" Miss Seymour guessed with a grin.

"Perhaps standing about in uncomfortable silence will be their offering." Niles chuckled.

"What are you two planning to offer?" Henri asked.

Miss Seymour shook her head. "You'll have to wait, just like everyone else."

"Have you at least told Puppy?" Lucas asked.

"It was his idea," was her answer.

And for reasons Niles couldn't explain and did not choose to explore, he was inordinately pleased that she'd acknowledged that.

She hooked her arm through his and gave Henri and Lucas a look of cheeky challenge. All Niles could manage was a look of worried confusion. He tried to silently ask his friends if he was now on shaky ground, if this was more of Miss Seymour's attempts to turn his head.

Were they going to intervene? Stage a daring rescue?

"Off with you two," Lucas declared, shooing them away.

Apparently, Niles was on his own. He took that to mean he didn't need to be concerned. He was ; he simply told himself he didn't need to be in that particular moment.

"They are fun to tease," Miss Seymour said as she and Niles walked into the music room.

It was a nearly exact echo of what Stanley always used to say when Niles would ask him why he bantered so often with the Gents. "Because the lot of you are fun to tease," he would answer.

"Perhaps they will choose being teased as their performance this evening," Niles said.

The smile she tossed at him, a simple and fleeting one, had a most unexpected effect. His heart hopped a bit in his chest. But he was quick to shake that off. It was just that he was wholly unaccustomed to ladies smiling at and favoring him. His inexperience might lead him to believe foolish things when he knew perfectly well that her smiles earlier had been part of a scheme.

They looked through the few bits of music Digby had. Niles wasn't certain why Digby had a pianoforte at his house. He didn't play, and he lived alone.

"I don't know that I could play any of these without weeks of practice." Miss Seymour looked up from the parchment and at Niles once more. A hint of embarrassment tiptoed over her features, and just as it had earlier that evening, the sight tugged at him.

"I would need time as well," he assured her. "It seems we both understated our ineptitude."

"I think we should insist that Mr. Layton simply didn't provide enough variety in his musical broadsheets."

Niles nodded. "I like that strategy: blame Digby."

Miss Seymour put the music broadsheets back in the drawer where they'd found them. "What should we do for our impromptu performance now?" she asked, turning back to him.

"I suppose we had best gather the horses."

She smiled at him again, and his heart reacted once more. That foolish organ had no idea it needed to be on its guard. "You are funny, Niles Greenberry."

He didn't think anyone beyond the Gents had ever said that about him.

"Perhaps we could tell a few jokes for our performance," Niles suggested, laughing a little in spite of himself.

"I suspect that is what Lord Jonquil is going to do."

He acknowledged that likelihood with another nod. "We do call him the Jester."

"Do you have names for the ladies in your group as well?" she asked.

"Julia—Lady Jonquil—is called Our Julia, and Violet is sometimes called Lily. Nicolette has become known amongst us as Le Capitaine ."

"You are so fortunate to have such wonderful friends." She tapped out the first five notes of a scale. "I'd love to have that." She finished the scale, then began another.

"You remember your scales." Niles moved to stand next to her and, two octaves below where she was playing, tapped along with her, getting only one note incorrect.

"You remember too," she said.

"Mr. Donovan would be so pleased." It had been many years since Niles had thought of his oft-frustrated music instructor.

"An Irishman, was he?"

"He was, in fact."

A moment later, the entire house party entered the music room, Digby at their head.

"Since your performance involves this room," he said, "we're beginning in here, with you two."

Niles looked at Penelope in the exact moment she looked at him. Without speaking, she widened her eyes and shrugged almost imperceptibly, the message clear: what ought they to do?

A quick thought revealed an answer. He closed the space between them and whispered, "Scales?"

She laughed. "Perfect."