Chapter Twenty

A maid from the Pledwick Manor staff attended Penelope the next morning. Lucy was her name, and she showed herself to be both competent and friendly. Penelope was certain to thank her, the absence of Gracie reminding her of her failure to take her abigail's concerns into consideration before making a significant life decision. Lucy seemed pleased, though, so at last, Penelope had managed to do something right.

And she had decided during the course of a rather restless night that she meant to do something else right as well.

Dressed and ready for the day, she made her way not to the breakfast room but to Liam's guest chamber. He ought to know that she appreciated all he'd done and how hard he'd worked to bring about the match with Niles, no matter how it ended. She needed her brother to know that she loved him and that she would do better from then on to show him that she did.

But he was not there. Nothing was in the room but the furniture. The dressing table was empty. Nothing sat atop the bedside table. Penelope opened the clothespress only to find it bare as well. Every drawer in the lowboy was also empty.

It didn't make sense. Liam wasn't leaving until tomorrow. She knew that for a fact.

She knew well his tendency to be rash when he was upset or frustrated. She'd seen it time and again. But she hadn't expected this.

In that moment, an upstairs maid slipped inside the room, freezing on the spot when she saw Penelope.

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss Seymour. I'd not realized you were in here. I'll come back later to see to the room." She turned to go.

"Wait, please." Penelope took a single step toward her. "Is my brother...? Has he gone?"

"Yes, miss. Left early this morning."

He left. Her gaze turned toward the window and the rain pelting the glass. "He left in this downpour?"

"Yes, miss."

He left. He left a day early in inclement weather rather than waiting. He left... without even bidding her farewell. Without giving her a chance to say goodbye.

How could she put things right now? Did he even want her to?

"Please, do step inside and see to your work," Penelope said to the maid still hovering in the doorway. "I'll not delay you in it."

"Thank you, miss."

Penelope stepped from the room her brother had abandoned with such alacrity. He was on his way back to Ireland while she had no idea where she was headed.

At home, when she was overwhelmed or upset or confused, she would choose whichever of her horses seemed most anxious to expend energy, and she would ride furiously for as long as they both could endure. She could do so even in a light rain. But a torrent like the one currently falling often led to disaster. She was a fearless rider but not a reckless one.

There would be no escaping the house to find respite in nature today.

Respite in nature.

There was but one way to claim that in horrible weather, and that was in a conservatory. Fortunately, she knew Pledwick Manor had one, though she'd not visited it yet. She slowly wound her way there, her thoughts growing heavier with each step.

Liam had abruptly left. It was a far more drastic action of protest than he'd ever taken before. How had the disagreement between them led to such a complete and horrible rift? It didn't make sense. How could she possibly fix this?

She wasn't the only one inside the conservatory when she arrived. A man she guessed was a gardener was tending to an orange tree. Penelope smiled at him as she passed, and he dipped his head before returning to his work.

The air was pleasantly warm and scented with the fragrance of flowers and citrus. And the space was quiet. Even the sound of the gardener's shears was soft and somehow soothing. Underneath it all was the patter of rain on glass.

Penelope released a breath and made a point of relaxing her shoulders. She could find a few minutes' solace here.

Liam had left, but she could write to him in Ireland. She could tell him in a letter all the things she'd intended to say that morning. Then he would at least know she hadn't wanted them to be at odds. He would know she cared about and appreciated him. And perhaps when he wrote back, he would express some sorrow at having not even said goodbye. Perhaps he would acknowledge how rash this current action was.

If he wrote back. That one word— if —pulled her spirits low once more. How had everything gone so very wrong so quickly?

Returning to Ireland would have cost her the chance to claim a future of her choosing and any hope of winning Niles's regard. But remaining in England, she was beginning to fear, might sever her connection to her family.

She needed something to give her some hope, to buoy her spirits. The peacefulness of the conservatory was helping, but she was struggling.

Her wanderings brought her to a section with bulb flowers, ones seldom seen outside of spring. On any other day, she would have thought it a nice bit of luck. But today, in this moment, the sight of snapdragons proved almost miraculous.

They were Niles's favorite flower; he'd told her so. But he'd also said they were all but impossible to find this time of year. Did he not realize Mr. Layton grew them in his conservatory?

Feeling a surge of excitement that at least momentarily lifted her heavy thoughts, she made her way back to where the gardener was working.

"Excuse me," she said.

He looked away from his trimming. To her relief, he didn't seem annoyed by the interruption.

"Might I have a small sprig of snapdragons, please?"

"Of course, miss." He stepped down from his short ladder and set his shears on the soil beneath the orange tree. "Only tell me which color you'd like."

It wasn't a question she'd pondered before. "Which is your favorite?" she asked as she walked with him back to the planter where the flowers were growing.

"I'm fond of the dark-purple ones," the gardener said.

"Then, that's the one I'd choose."

He allowed a quick smile as he walked very businesslike directly to the patch of snapdragons. He studied the various stalks for a moment before pointing to a petite sprig on one plant. The flowers were beautifully formed in miniature and were a gorgeous shade of deep purple. "How about this'n, miss?"

"Perfect."

He took a small pair of gardening scissors from a pocket in his work apron and, with combined gentleness and speed, snipped the delicate sprig of flowers, then handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said, taking it carefully. "This will brighten Mr. Greenberry's day. Snapdragons are his favorite flower."

"An excellent choice, that." The gardener glanced back at the many bulb flowers growing nearby.

"And thank you for taking such care of this conservatory. It's a lovely place."

His shoulders squared, and his chest puffed a bit. "I work hard at it, and I think it shows."

"It does."

He gave a quick nod. "I'm happy you've enjoyed it, miss."

"I'll let you return to your work." Penelope raised the sprig of snapdragons. "And thank you again for this."

Another quick nod.

Penelope slipped from the conservatory. Alone in the corridor, she carefully removed one of the straight pins along the neckline of her dress that held the tucker in place. There were ample others, so removing this one would not wreak havoc.

Having accomplished that, she went in search of Niles, or at least in search of someone who could tell her where he was. Her path crossed with a footman, who was able to point her in the direction of the library, where she found Niles.

Excitement added a bounce to her step as she crossed to him at the cherry-wood desk. He looked up from the sheet of parchment he was writing on, smiled fleetingly, then looked back down.

She was interrupting. Again. And she hadn't even given a moment's thought to the possibility. Again.

"Forgive me. I shouldn't have interrupted you." She turned to go, horrified at her own lack of thoughtfulness.

But his voice stopped her. "Please don't leave, Penelope."

Penelope. Hearing him use her given name brought an unexpected burn of tears behind her eyes. Not scandalized or sad tears, but the sort that, if allowed to fall, would bring relief. Unfortunately, they would also bring a wave of embarrassment.

She didn't turn back, desperate to get herself under control once more, but she also didn't leave.

Behind her, she heard the scrape of chair legs on the wood floor. His steps were quiet. In the length of a breath, he had moved to where she stood, stepping around to face her.

"Please don't leave," he repeated softly.

She swallowed down the lingering emotion and smiled. "I brought you something." She held up the sprig of tiny flowers.

His brows shot upward. "Snapdragons."

"They are growing in the conservatory. They are your favorite, so I asked the gardener if I could have a sprig."

"You remembered."

"The first time in ages I didn't win a horse race? Of course I remembered."

"You also didn't lose," he said, "so I'm not owed a forfeit." He didn't laugh or really smile, but she'd come to know him well enough to realize he was enjoying himself.

"It's not a forfeit." She twirled the sprig of snapdragons. "I thought it would make a lovely buttonhole flower."

He looked down at his frock coat, then back up at her. "I think you're right."

She held it up, pointing with the sprig toward his lapel. "May I?"

She was all but certain she heard him swallow even as he nodded.

She slipped her fingers around the top edge of his coat and carefully threaded the stem through the buttonhole. Heavens, why were her fingers shaking? With great care, she pinned it in place.

"There are several varieties of snapdragon in the conservatory." She ran a fingertip over the topmost bloom. "I daresay you could find a different color to complement every frock coat you have."

She raised her eyes once more to find him looking not at the deep-purple blossoms but at her. His gaze was both soft and intense. Her heart raced but in a rhythm of eager anticipation. Dared she trust that? Dared she trust herself?

"Why do you like snapdragons so much?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

His sea-blue eyes didn't leave hers. "The blossoms are so tiny." He didn't speak any louder than she had. "If one doesn't look closely, each flower blends in with every other, and there seems nothing remarkable about any of them. But they are beautiful and unique. One need only be willing to make the effort to truly see it."

Penelope's heart swelled as he spoke. Her arms ached to wrap around him and lean into the quiet, unobtrusive strength of him, to tell him that he was worth the effort to truly see. It was not an impulse she had felt for any gentleman before.

"I should allow you to return to the letter you were working on." She tried to sound as though the ground beneath her were steady, no matter that it had felt less and less so all morning.

"I wouldn't object if I were entirely prevented from finishing it." He shook his head, seemingly at himself. "I am attempting to pen a response to the letter I received from my grandfather. Thus far, it is proving a very daunting task."

"Family can be a difficult thing," she said with a sigh.

Niles took her hand. That simple touch soothed her battered soul. "Yes, indeed."

"My brother left this morning." Again, a lump of emotion formed in her throat.

"I thought he was leaving tomorrow." That he appeared surprised was some reassurance that she hadn't entirely misunderstood Liam's plans.

"So did I."

Niles wrapped his other hand around the one of hers he already held, cocooning it in warmth and comfort. "That must have been a difficult leave-taking."

"He has done imprudent things before when he was upset, but this is different." She swallowed against the thickness in her throat. "He left without a single word, without telling me he was going, without bidding me farewell. He just left, as if saying goodbye to me didn't matter at all, as if I wouldn't want to say goodbye to him."

"Oh, Penelope." It wasn't pity that filled his voice but kindness and concern.

And with that simple response, he broke the dam that had been holding back all the overwhelming emotions she'd felt for days. Tears spilled over as her heart cracked painfully open.

Niles pulled her into his arms, and she clung to him. For the first time in memory, she simply let herself fall apart.