Chapter Eighteen

"Sir Punchmuch?" Niles shook his head as he repeated the name Digby had invented while in Hamblestead.

"We couldn't put your actual name on the roster, now could we?" Kes said in all their defense. "And you were reluctant to take up your previous sobriquet once more."

The Gents had returned from the Green Badger and were following Digby to an outbuilding on the grounds of Pledwick Manor.

"I still think you should have chosen Marmaduke Fisticuffs," Lucas said.

"Do not discount the brilliance of Monsieur Poing." Henri looked thoroughly pleased to repeat his suggestion. "Or Lord Punchington." He motioned toward Aldric with a twitch of his chin.

In the end, Niles had decided it did little good not to use the name he'd been known as during his active years fighting for purses. They'd had no difficulty getting the Cornish Duke on the list of fighters for the tournament. Aldric had realized their difficulty—placing Niles on the roster while neither giving away his identity nor raising suspicions by having the famed fighter's name put forward by a group of gentlemen with no established connection to him—and had, as always, devised a brilliant plan.

The Cornish Duke, he'd told the proprietor, was rumored to be in the area, and the whispers were that the pugilist, who had not fought in some time, was game for a new bout. Should his name be added, Aldric had further added, the man himself would, no doubt, send confirmation.

It had proven enough, and quick as anything, Niles had committed himself to stepping once more into the pugilists' ring.

As the group reached the outbuilding they were aiming for, Digby pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The interior was dark and the air a bit musty. Henri, Lucas, and Digby pulled down the dingy fabric hanging over the windows, allowing light to spill inside.

"I still cannot countenance that you are returning to your duke-ness rather than taking up any of our suggestions." Digby sounded nearly horrified. "That shows an unforgivable lack of creativity."

"But a far greater chance of remembering what my false name is," Niles reminded them all.

Aldric's expression turned excessively somber. "Are you arguing that Lord Punchington is not memorable? I should call you out for that."

"Do," Lucas said eagerly. "It would be excellent practice for Puppy's upcoming matches."

Digby shook his head. "I am relatively certain dueling pistols are not used in prizefights."

"And I ," Niles jumped in, "am even more certain the General would never actually shoot me, no matter that I did not decide to enter the pugilists' ring as Lord Fisticuffington."

"Lord Punch ington," Aldric repeated. "Let's not be ridiculous."

One of Niles's favorite things about the Gents was that every so often, they would be in a mood of utter ridiculousness that would grow and expand for days on end. He cherished those times. To have that happen while he was dealing with a crisis was proving an utter godsend.

The outbuilding was a decent size. A traveling coach could fit inside with ample room to spare. It was also entirely empty aside from a generous layer of dust.

"What was this building used for previously?" Niles asked.

Digby eyed the space with a barely-held-back look of underlying disgust. "My father put things in here that he was hiding from my mother."

"There's room enough to hide a lot of things," Kes said, looking around as well.

With a tight sigh, Digby said, "Yes, there is."

He almost never spoke of his family, but the Gents had filled in a great many blanks. All of Society knew Digby's parents had hated each other. It was also general knowledge that the in-fighting in the broader Layton family made the Capulets and Montagues look like the friendliest of neighbors. What no one seemed to know was how it had all begun or the details of what it looked like among them now. The only thing the Gents knew for certain was that Digby's mother was dead, his father was not, and Digby permitted very few questions about any of it.

"Tell us what would be most helpful in here, Puppy," Aldric said. "We can begin the work of finding all the things you need."

That was their General: quick to get back to the task at hand, always ready to strategize their next endeavor.

"Sacks of grain." Niles had often used those for practicing delivering punches at force. "Fabric strips." He mimed wrapping his knuckles in the fabric. "Chalk to mark off the size of the ring on the floor."

"Heavy things to lift," Aldric added. "That'll build your fortitude, add a few muscles to your scraggly frame."

"I haven't fought in a true bout in some time," Niles acknowledged, "but I'm not a dandyprat, by any means."

Lucas swung a lobbing fist in Niles's direction, the sort never intended to actually land. "I'm afraid you'll have to prove that to us, Puppy."

Niles took up the pretend sparring. "I've blackened your eye in the past. All of your eyes."

"I only have two, you dunderhead." Lucas swung again.

"I meant all the Gents' eyes, muck brains."

"No, no, no." Kes shook his head. " Digby is muck brains. Lucas is stupid head. Henri is, of course, most reverend sir."

That set them all to snickering. Henri's moniker was, after all, Archbishop.

"Best decide what we mean to call Violet and Miss Seymour," Digby said from one of the windows. "Both ladies will be here in a moment."

Pugilistic matches were fought not only bare-knuckled but also bare-chested. Thank the heavens they hadn't trekked that far down the practice path yet.

Just as Digby had said, Violet and Penelope arrived in the doorway a mere moment later. When Niles had begun thinking of her as Penelope, he wasn't certain. But it somehow fit her so much better than the more staid and sedate Miss Seymour.

"We were told we would find you here," Violet said.

"Who's whispering our secrets about?" Digby said with mock offense.

"We've been sworn to secrecy," Penelope declared. "Torture us if you must; we'll never reveal our source."

The Gents looked at each other and, in unison, said, "Wilson."

"Wilson? Wilson who?" Violet said innocently. Too innocently.

"Never heard of anyone by that name," Penelope added. She was somehow even more gorgeous when laughter filled her intoxicating brown eyes. They twinkled when she was enjoying herself; he'd noticed that time and again since meeting her.

"So, why did you seek directions from this unnamed teller of tales?" Kes slipped an arm around Violet. "I'm not complaining, mind you."

"I should hope not." Violet kissed Kes's cheek.

Niles turned to Penelope. "I know the Gents and their ladies well enough to be certain that this"—he motioned to Violet and Kes's embrace—"could go on for some time. If Julia were here, we'd hardly have a coherent sentence out of Lucas."

"It's kind of a lovely thing, though, isn't it? Couples who love each other that much?" Penelope said.

It was entirely lovely. And it was exactly what Niles wanted. But that was not a conversation he was ready to have with Penelope Seymour, of all people. "If your business is of a pressing nature, you'd do best to take the reins at this point, seeing as how Violet is currently quite distracted."

"Yes, one would think she were attempting to win over a hesitant filly," Penelope said.

Niles shook his head solemnly. "Kes is not nearly as interesting as a horse."

"I heard that," Kes objected.

Penelope leaned closer to Niles and, in an overly loud whisper, said, "He's a grumpy horse."

Niles sighed dramatically. "Alas, grumpiness is an inseverable aspect of his character."

"Not unlike the remaining hints of my Irish accent."

"Except," Niles said, "your accent is beautiful. His grumpiness is tiring."

"Do you truly like m' accent?" Penelope asked. "So few in England seem to think well of it. We're taught from so young to affect an English manner of speaking, though I never entirely managed it."

"Few in England care for a Cornish accent, so I can empathize."

She smiled softly. "You don't have a Cornish accent."

"I do now and then."

"Truly?" Her eyes pulled wide. "Could I hear it sometime?"

"You want to hear me talk West Country?" He couldn't imagine why.

She set her hand lightly on his arm. "I would love to. I really would."

The touch of her hand sent a tingle of awareness through him. Ladies had set their hands on his arm before—when being led out for a dance or when taking a turn about a room with him—but the experience had never resulted in anything but indifference. He didn't think poorly of those young ladies, nor did he think them unworthy of being thought well of. He'd simply discovered as a young man that he was not the sort of person who grew infatuated easily. He sometimes wondered if he was doomed to never fall in love. He wanted to. He knew he could be happy if he finally met someone his heart could be that wholly attached to. But he'd never even come close.

Until now.

A lifetime of feeling lonely and a little broken, then this Irish whirlwind arrived in his life, upending everything and making his hands tingle and his heart pound. It was exhilarating, yet somehow terrifying.

"I'm sorry there's nowhere for you to sit," he said, falling back on civilities while his mind was spinning. "This outbuilding is entirely empty."

She shook her head, still smiling, though no longer touching his arm. "No matter. I like being on my feet."

"So do I."

"So do I," Lucas enthusiastically called over to them.

It was both funny and a timely reminder that there were other people around.

Niles said to Penelope, "Lucas is far less obnoxious when Julia is with him."

She laughed as she turned to Violet. "We should explain why we're here."

"Yes, of course." Violet stood with Kes's arm around her, though she spoke to them all. "Mr. Seymour has declared that he and his sister will depart for Ireland the day after tomorrow."

Though Niles felt certain he kept his expression neutral, the only way to describe what he felt in that moment was panic. He'd waited all his life to feel even an inkling of what the Gents had described when they'd experienced various adorations over the years, a tenderness that, according to those among them who were now married, had intensified and deepened as they'd fallen ever more in love with their now-wives. After a lifetime of wondering if he ever would, he felt the first minute whispers of that, and the lady who'd inspired it was leaving.

Violet continued on, oblivious to his anxiety. "Penelope has decided she doesn't want to go to Ireland; she would like to remain. But being a woman and laws and expectations being what they are, she can't simply stomp her foot and refuse to go."

Penelope wanted to stay. Hope began to glimmer once more.

"So, to give her time to sort everything out, we decided to borrow a page from Julia's book of ingenious strategy and utilize the same approach that kept Nicolette from being required to return to France when her brother made a similar declaration." Violet was one of the most enthusiastic people any of them had ever known. She was genuinely happy and optimistic, even more so now that she and Kes were building a life together. "As Julia is not here to make the offer, I would like to do so." Violet looked at her husband. "This impacts you, so we've come to ask if you have any objections. It wouldn't be a permanent arrangement, only until she can determine what is needed for her to take up residence at her property in Surrey."

"Of course," Kes said. "We'll do whatever we can to make certain her options remain open."

Violet turned to Penelope once more. "Shall we move forward with our plan, then?"

Penelope nodded eagerly. "Thank you," she said to Violet and Kes.

She was remaining for a time. Shifting from unspoken panic to soul-deep relief was proving exhausting. Niles had long bemoaned his lack of infatuations and adorations, but he was now beginning to suspect he'd unknowingly avoided years of swinging on an emotional pendulum.

"We also came in search of you all," Violet continued, "because this has arrived." She produced a letter from the small bag hanging from her wrist.

"Lucas," the Gents said in near unison.

"Actually," Violet said, "it's for Niles."

And the pendulum swung once more.

The letter was handed from Violet to Kes to Aldric to Niles, who didn't take a single breath as he watched it draw closer. Once it was in his hands, he eyed the inscription, and his heart dropped to the soles of his feet.

" Est-ce que ca vient de ta famille ?" Henri guessed.

Niles nodded. "Grandfather's handwriting." Laws, this was going to be painful. "I've been expecting to receive word from him. The only real surprise is that it took him so long to write."

"What are the chances," Lucas asked, "that taking as long as he did means he was in a better mood when he wrote than he would have been otherwise?"

Niles gave him a dry look. "What do you think?" There was no avoiding the missive or the words contained therein. He took a quick breath and squared his shoulders. "Do excuse me," he said and walked out of the outbuilding.

He'd not gone far when he heard Penelope call after him. He turned and saw her rushing toward him.

"Niles." She reached him, her features pulled in concern. "Is your grandfather terribly angry, do you suppose?"

"He is far more likely to be disappointed. That has always been his way."

She looked ever more worried. "My father was like that as well. I hated when he was disappointed in me."

"I hope he would have been proud of you these past few weeks," Niles said. "You've done some remarkably brave things in pursuit of the future you deserve."

"So have you," she said firmly.

But he shook his head. "Hiding here instead of facing my family was a cowardly act."

"No. You were attempting to maintain some control of your own life, which should never have been something you were required to give up or fight for."

"Another of the Gents, Stanley—he's no longer with us—used to say something very similar to me. ‘It is a travesty how many people have to fight so very hard simply to be granted the right to live the life they ought to have been permitted all along.'" Niles eyed his letter again. He didn't know what precisely it contained, but he would have to address it either way.

"Would it help if I sat with you while you read it?" Penelope offered. "I won't peek, I promise."

His first inclination was to reject the offer in favor of privacy. But his heart pleaded with him too loudly to be ignored. Having her nearby would help. It truly would. "I would appreciate that." He tentatively held out his hand, unsure if she would take it.

But she did. And the same tingle up his arm and to his heart that he had felt before returned, accompanied by a feeling of relief and peace and reassurance.

"There's a walled garden not terribly far from here," he said. "And there's a bench in there that we can sit on."

She nodded.

They walked hand-in-hand to the spot he had in mind. But one thing he hadn't thought of rendered the arrangement untenable. This being England, the bench was terribly wet from repeated bouts of rain that day. Her dress would be ruined and his trousers decidedly worse for the experience should they sit.

"We can just walk," she suggested. "We do both like being on our feet, after all."

"Yes, we do," he said, smiling despite the worry still clutching at him.

She walked at his side. But breaking the seal on the letter and opening it required both his hands, necessitating he release hers. He'd heard the other Gents say that letting go of a lady's hand was sometimes a very difficult thing to do. He understood that better now.

Niles,

It was an abrupt greeting, lacking in friendliness or nods to social niceties.

I am certain I needn't tell you the reason for my letter. But as you have not written nor returned to Cornwall, I suspect I do need to express the utter disappointment and frustration we are all feeling. Embarrassment does not begin to touch on what we have experienced as a result of your foolishness and disloyalty. Your mother and grandmother are heartbroken. Your father is confused. I am simply disappointed.

When the late Mr. Cummings first argued in favor of granting you additional time before requiring you to marry, I was hesitant, fearing you might set your heart on someone unsuitable in the interim or miss an opportunity for a particularly good match. Never in my most vivid imaginings did I believe for a moment that you would take my generosity and burn it to ashes as you have done.

I took seriously my role in finding you a suitable match, even going so far as to find a lady who would bring property to a marriage so you would not be homeless and one whose interest in horses matched your own. I moved forward only once I felt hers was a disposition that could blend well with yours.

And this is how that effort is repaid.

Let us all pray Mr. Seymour and his mother do not bandy about the details of this fiasco. Our family name would be dealt a blow, and you, Niles, would find yourself with far fewer options moving forward.

—RG

He lowered the letter, thoughts spinning, his feet following the path of the garden without his mind paying the least heed. Grandfather had signed the letter with his initials, something Niles didn't think he'd ever done in their previous correspondences.

"Is it as horrible as you feared?" Penelope asked softly, still walking beside him.

In some ways, it was worse. His family was disappointed, yes, but not exclusively in his decision not to return to Cornwall. They had gone above and beyond what even he had realized in an attempt to find a match for him that they felt would bring him the most happiness and contentment. It hadn't been done out of convenience or a desire to be rid of him. Neither had the decision been made without giving consideration to his needs and wishes.

That he seemed not to appreciate that was what disappointed them.

And the fact that he hadn't even realized all that they had done for him left him disappointed in himself.

"I suspect I have a great deal of mending to do when I return to Cornwall."

"You are going back?"

"At some point, I have to." But leaving now meant missing the tournament that might see him able to obtain his land. And leaving Yorkshire also meant abandoning these first whispers of affection, which he'd waited for and longed for all his life.

Delaying his reckoning in Cornwall would make things worse with his family, but he knew he couldn't go now. He couldn't simply walk away when he felt the way he did about Penelope. He couldn't toss aside this unexpected possibility of love. He couldn't.

He wouldn't .