Chapter Sixteen

After changing from his riding clothes, Niles sauntered toward the library, where he'd been informed the Gents had congregated. A sudden burst of laughter echoed from the room as he approached, confirming their presence even before he stepped inside.

You are so funny. Penelope's words echoed in his mind, pulling his lips upward. Few people even noticed him, let alone credited him with a sense of humor. He very much liked that she had done both.

"You look pleased, Puppy," Digby said, watching Niles's entrance from a comfortable chair.

"I saw a hedgehog during my ride this morning. And the weather held until I was almost inside, saving me from a miserable soaking. I negotiated a truce with Miss Seymour, won over Digby's reluctant filly, and went yet another morning without receiving a letter from my grandfather telling me what a horrible grandson I am. All in all, I would say I have ample reason to be quite pleased."

All the Gents were watching him now, except for Lucas, who sat at the desk, writing what was likely a letter. Their Jester was a prodigious letter writer.

"Was this hedgehog on its own or with its prickle?" Kes asked in the same moment Digby asked, "Why did your valet decide on this particular pairing of jacket and waistcoat?"

Aldric looked a little annoyed with both of them and posed his own question in the next instant. "What is this truce with Miss Seymour? Did she say she considered the two of you to be at odds?"

Not at odds as much as she considered herself to have ill-used him. But Niles found himself reluctant to share that. It was an admission that had clearly pained her.

I do try to be a decent person. She'd been trying to convince herself as much as him.

Her pursuit of him, undertaken as it was with an aim in mind rather than the result of actual affection or unbiased interest, had made him uneasy. But he'd not ever thought she was cruel or heartlessly dishonest or any of the things she'd applied to herself.

"She asked if we could start over again, this time as friends," Niles said.

"How precisely did she phrase her request to be... friends?" Digby posed the question in a way that told Niles there was significance to the answer.

"She acknowledged that the beginning of our acquaintance had been uncomfortable and suggested we should make a new start."

Aldric didn't seem to entirely believe that. Or perhaps he disapproved of the changed approach.

"Do you—Do you think this is simply a new courting strategy of hers?" Niles hadn't thought that before, but he was wondering a little now.

"I don't know," Aldric said. "But I think we all ought to pay attention in case that is precisely what this is."

I'm not cruel. And I'm not dishonest, at least not intentionally. She'd seemed to him to be entirely sincere.

"If she is in earnest about beginning over," Niles said, "do you think I'd be unwise to accept her friendship?"

Aldric shook his head without hesitation, which was reassuring.

"Are you certain friendship is actually what she wants?" Kes asked.

"Do you think she doesn't? She seemed honest in her request."

Digby dropped a hand onto his shoulder. "When a lady suggests she be only your friend, that can mean a few different things, Puppy, especially if she was interested in something more."

"Like Miss Hanover changing her tune so suddenly a few years ago?"

Far from embarrassed by the memory, Digby raised a single eyebrow in a show of palpable pride. "I will have you know, she was devastated ."

"No, she wasn't," Aldric said.

"She traded the possibility of Digby Layton for the reality of Wilbur Garner." Digby twisted a pearl cuff link. "How could she be anything but devastated?"

"The Garners seem very happy," Henri countered.

"She is bravely soldiering on," Digby insisted.

From his writing table, Lucas snorted.

"Monarchs execute jesters with alarming regularity." Digby's threat might have held more sway if not for the laugh he was clearly stifling.

Kes was generally a source of reliable information, so Niles turned to him. "What was Digby initially trying to warn me about?"

"A lady saying she wishes to claim merely friendship when that did not previously seem to be her wish can indicate she no longer has any romantic interest, or she never did and has grown weary of pretending otherwise, or that she does not actually wish to be a fellow's friend but hasn't thought of a kind way to say as much."

Niles swallowed. "That's a long list."

"Or," Kes continued, "she actually does wish to be something more than friends but is hoping that by being a little coy or by being less obvious in her wishes, she'll have greater success."

"Oh." Niles tried to sort it in his mind. "So, either she does, in fact, wish to be my friend, or she doesn't even want to be my friend, or this might simply be more of her attempts at courting but is disguised as a truce?"

They all nodded. Oh bother.

"Which do you hope it is?" Aldric asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does. How we proceed will be guided by what you want."

What did he want? He liked Miss Seymour. He would very much like her to continue being his friend. And based on the way that final word stuck uncomfortably in his mind, at least some part of him would like something more than friendship.

"Have you enjoyed spending time with Miss Seymour?" Niles asked, looking at the others. "She's really rather delightful, and no matter that she concocted an uncomfortable scheme, I think she's been a good addition to the group."

"Oh, certainly," from Kes.

" Très agréable ," from Henri.

"She is," from Aldric.

"How ‘delightful' do you find her?" Digby wiggled an eyebrow.

Lucas kept at his letter, but he grinned as broadly as the others. Even Aldric wasn't hiding his amusement.

"I can't imagine why all of you are inferring something far more... amorous in my words," Niles said.

"I don't believe any of us mentioned l'amour ," Henri was quick to say.

"But how very telling that Niles was so quick to mention it." Kes was wearing his "I have made a startlingly intriguing discovery" expression.

"And so quick to insist there is no romantic element to any of this," Aldric added, looking every bit as intrigued.

"I was simply trying to get ahead of your imaginations."

With an air of palpable dignity, Digby said, "Methinks he doth protest too much, Gents."

"Speak more slowly, everyone," Lucas said. "I can't write as fast as you talk."

"You are writing all of this down?" Niles wouldn't put it past him.

"Julia would never forgive me if I didn't relay every word of this to her."

Blasted blazes. And yet, Niles couldn't even be truly upset. The Gents were forever pestering each other, and it was always good-natured.

"That's how you know you're one of us now," Stanley had once explained to Niles. "Just make certain you give it back as well and as often as we toss it at you."

To Lucas, Niles said, "Make certain you include in your report of this moment how ridiculous Digby looks. She'll want to know that."

Just as Niles knew it would, that comment sent Digby into a veritable tidal wave of dramatic declarations of offense. The rest of the Gents joined in the teasing, some taking Digby's part and others insisting Niles's pretended disapproval was accurate. Their propensity for laughing together had seen all of them through incredibly difficult times.

Wilson slipped silently into the midst of this entertaining bit of chaos and crossed directly to Lucas. "This has come for you, m'lord." He held out a letter.

Lucas took it and flipped it over to the wax seal. "It's from Lampton Park."

"Julia again?" Henri guessed.

"Based on the handwriting"—Lucas studied the address on the front—"it appears to be from my father."

Niles hoped that meant Lord Lampton was feeling better. His health had been poor, and that weighed on Lucas's mind.

Wilson turned to leave but seemed to change his mind. He spun around once more and whispered something to Lucas.

"Of course you can talk," Lucas said. "In more formal settings, you'd be expected to scrape and bow and such, but when it's only us, you need simply ask Mr. Greenberry if you can drop a word in his ear."

Niles couldn't help but be intrigued. Why did Wilson want to speak with him?

The young man approached, his posture a mixture of the expected deference and an undeniable confidence. Wilson would, no doubt, prove to be a very interesting sort of valet. Perfect for Lucas, truly. "Mr. Greenberry, might I drop a word in your ear?"

"Of course."

"While I was salvaging your hair yesterday—"

"Best to not use the word salvaging ," Digby said. "You make him sound like a castle ruin or a shipwreck."

Wilson shrugged the tiniest bit, holding his hands up and lifting his eyebrows. The message was clear: he felt his word choice was quite accurate even when explained the way Digby had just done.

That set the Gents laughing again.

"I overheard you saying that you could have the estate you want if you could gather a bit more money." Wilson looked to Digby once more. "I know I'm supposed to pretend I couldn't hear any of the things that were being said, no matter that I was standing among all of you."

"Well, you are supposed to pretend you don't hear anything," Digby conceded.

"Leave Wilson be, Your Majesty," Lucas said, eyes on his letter but apparently also following the conversation being had nearby. "I like having a valet with the skills of a spy."

Wilson beamed with unmistakable pride. He continued addressing Niles. "I thought you might like to know that the fair in Hamblestead will include a pugilistic tournament. All the gentlemen in and around the village are planning to wager on the various matches. Might be a chance to gain a bit of those funds you're looking for."

That set the Gents to discussing what they knew of the fair, which pugilists were likely to come to Hamblestead to participate. None of them was an inveterate gambler, but neither was any of them morally opposed to the occasional, reasonable wager. What constituted "reasonable" varied among them, according to their circumstances, and they all made a point of never pressing each other toward uncomfortable forfeits.

But Niles was intrigued by something other than the unavoidably risky gambler's method of lining one's pockets.

To Wilson, he asked, "Did you happen to overhear what the purse for the tournament will be?"

"The winner will receive ￡150. The one who loses the final match will win ￡50."

That was an enormous purse for so small a village. A fighter of significance must have been expected to attend. Or hoped for, at least. That ￡150 would give Niles what he lacked to purchase the property in Essex he had his eye on.

Wilson took his leave, and Aldric stepped up beside Niles. The other Gents were in conversation with each other, except for Lucas, who had given his full attention to the letter he had received.

"You're thinking of fighting?" Aldric seemed to already know the answer.

"The idea is crossing my mind." Lud, was he truly considering this?

"Talk it through," Aldric said. They'd taken this approach for years: Niles spilling his often jumbled thoughts, and Aldric helping him make sense of it all.

"The Green Badger is clearly expecting someone significant, else the purse wouldn't be so large." Niles rubbed at his tense neck as he spoke. "That makes fighting riskier."

"When was the last time you pugilated?"

Too long. "I spar when I'm in London."

Aldric shook his head. "I mean an actual bout. You know better than any of us that sparring and fighting are different things."

"I'll confess, it's been some time. But if there's even a chance of winning..." His voice trailed off. Claiming a ￡150 purse would change everything. He would have his property. He could return to his family without fear of being forced into a future that would steal that hope from him. He would have independence and the ability to pursue the dreams he had. "Even if I can make it to the final round and lose, I'd come away with ￡50, which will cut more than a year off the time I need to get my property. More than a year."

Aldric watched him intently but made no further arguments.

This was a decidedly unexpected turn of events. And the path ahead was strewn with risk.

"If I don't at least try," Niles said as much to himself as to Aldric, "I think I'll regret it."

Aldric didn't hesitate nor try to dissuade him. Instead, he addressed the group. "Gents, dust off your fists. Niles has a tournament to prepare for."