Chapter Nine

Mr. Layton had sent his coachman back to Pledwick Manor to fetch a change of clothes for both Lord Jonquil and young Wilson. Both waterlogged men had spent the interim in rooms at the inn, sitting in front of fires, and once the coachman had returned, they had changed into dry clothing.

In the meantime, the rest of the party had gathered in the inn's private dining room, joined by the group Wilson worked for. Penelope didn't usually pass judgment on people upon first acquaintance, but she found herself entirely displeased with those who'd joined them.

"I will not pay for the room that boy has been in," one of the others said to the innkeeper when he came in to stoke the fire in the dining room. "He ought to have been sent to the stables."

Mr. Layton spoke up before the innkeeper had to. "You aren't paying for the room; I am."

"That boy already has ideas above himself," the same sour-faced gentleman said. "You are making a great deal of trouble for my household, making him think he warrants special treatment."

"Do you consider not being required to tend to a boat when one doesn't know how to swim to be ‘special treatment'?" Niles asked, standing near the fire.

The room seemed to jump a little, not in surprise at what he'd said but in having, apparently, forgotten he was there.

"He is a stablehand," the most talkative member of the other group said. "Tending to boats during excursions falls under his responsibilities."

"If you make a habit of requiring your stablehands to risk falling into water," Penelope said, "you might do better to make Wilson a footman."

A lady in the group gave Penelope a wrinkled-nose look of distaste. "I assure you, we have two footmen already, and they are nearly perfectly matched."

Penelope turned a bit away. In a quiet voice, she asked Niles, "What does she mean, ‘perfectly matched'?"

He seemed a little surprised that she'd turned to him, but he answered just the same, keeping his voice quiet as well. "There are some in English Society who consider it the height of sophistication to have footmen who are as close to indistinguishable from each other as they can be."

"And they are chosen solely because they'll ‘match,' as she put it?"

Niles nodded.

'Twas a difficult thing for her to imagine. "That is something one does with furniture, not people."

"Unfortunately," he said, "for some people, servants and furniture warrant the same level of consideration."

Penelope shook her head. "I've known that to be true for some in Dublin society as well, I'm grieved to say." She eyed the lady who'd spoken. "Seems there are unfeeling people everywhere."

She'd apparently not spoken as quietly as she'd intended to.

The lady's nose scrunched up once more. "Seems there are Irish people everywhere."

Niles took a single step away from the fireplace, putting himself the tiniest bit closer to the sour-faced lady than Penelope. "I beg your pardon. You spoke too quietly for me to clearly hear your comment to Miss Seymour." Though Niles spoke softly, there was a sharpness underlying his words that wasn't lost on the recipient. "I would hate for anyone here to not know what you said to a lady who claims such a close and personal connection to the titled and influential people you see all around you."

The lady sputtered a little.

"What was it you said?" Niles's expression absolutely dared the lady to repeat her unkind words.

Penelope's sudden and unexpected nemesis made no further attempt. She returned to the rest of her group.

Penelope turned to Niles, so touched by his defense of her that she couldn't seem to find the words to express her gratitude.

"She ought not to have said what she did," was the extent of his explanation before he returned to his spot hovering near the fireplace.

You really are heroic, Niles Greenberry. And I suspect you have no idea that you are.

In the next moment, Lord Jonquil stepped into the room, dressed in dry clothing, his cravat quite expertly tied and his hair, though still looking a bit damp, fashionably coiffed. Young Wilson followed behind, looking uncertain and keeping close to Lord Jonquil.

Those not attached to Pledwick Manor eyed Wilson's return with obvious displeasure, though they did show Lord Jonquil more deference than they had at the lake, no doubt owing to their having learned that he was titled.

After a quick nod from Lord Jonquil, Wilson stepped up to his employer—the sour-faced gentleman—and, chin held high, said, "I no longer wish to be in your employ, sir."

That sent eyebrows upward all around the room.

"Think carefully, boy," the gentleman said. "You'll have no references, and you'll find yourself unable to secure a new position."

"I'll take that risk, sir."

The scrunched-nose lady eyed Wilson with her familiar expression. "How dare you speak to him so flippantly."

Niles moved to the door and opened it. "As Mr. Layton is paying for the privilege of his houseguests using this room and you are no longer connected to the concerns of this young man, I believe you can return to your picnic."

Penelope would wager no one in the room was forgetting Niles's presence now. He was proving a complicated person, more difficult to predict than she would have guessed. He was also proving inarguably remarkable.

Their temporary companions vacated the room, though not without a few lingering looks of mingled confusion and disapproval.

"Good to see you two looking a little less like drowned rats," Mr. Layton said to Lord Jonquil and Wilson. "Your cravat is exceptionally well tied, Lucas."

Lord Jonquil motioned to the young man, who dipped his head in acknowledgment.

Mr. Layton looked immediately impressed. "Well done, Wilson."

"He was wasted as a stablehand," Lord Jonquil said.

"You are in need of a valet," Mr. Barrington added.

"Precisely. And Wilson is now in need of a position. Seems fate is smiling on us."

"Grinning, I'd say." Mr. Layton looked directly at the young man. "My valet and I can offer you some training in being a gentleman's gentleman."

"I would be indebted to you, sir."

Throughout the exchange, Niles remained near the now-closed door, seemingly quite content to listen and not participate. He'd come to her defense despite his preference for remaining quietly apart. Realizing that, his defense of her touched her all the more.

Penelope walked toward him but was intercepted by Liam. "You have hardly spoken with Mr. Layton," he said in a tense whisper.

"I haven't precisely ignored him."

Liam threaded his arm through hers and pulled her away from the others to the far side of the room. "He is a gentleman of standing and wealth, without a wife."

She'd suspected Liam's thoughts had turned in that direction. "He is also a very close friend of the gentleman I am meant to be marrying. I sincerely doubt he is that disloyal to his friend."

"His friend has rather soundly rejected you," Liam countered. "There would be no disloyalty in his pursuit of Mr. Greenberry's..."

When the pause pulled out overly long, Penelope offered a conclusion to the observation. "Castoff?"

"That's not what I meant." But his attempt at denial made Penelope only more certain she'd hit close to his aim. "If there is a chance Mr. Layton would take an interest, we would be fools not to seize on it. His standing is remarkably high. And he hasn't rejected us out of hand."

"As unexpected houseguests," she reminded him. "That is far different than presenting himself as a potential suitor."

"I don't want you to end up all alone, Penelope. And we don't have a lot of options." A stubborn flavor of determination washed over him. "I have to at least try."

"Please don't."

But Liam wasn't swayed. He made his way to Mr. Layton's side. Her brother could sometimes be frustratingly oblivious to the impact of his behavior. She didn't doubt he truly believed Mr. Layton would welcome Liam's change in matrimonial goals for his sister, but his obtuse efforts would undermine Penelope's attempted courtship if she didn't begin making progress.

She returned to Niles's side once more.

"This is a more pleasant gathering now that it is our group alone," she said to Niles. "Our picnic partners did not prove very friendly."

"Not to you," he said. "Certainly not to Wilson."

"It was good of you to remove them so firmly. They'll not return and cause further grief."

In a quiet yet not weak voice, he said, "You seem surprised."

" Pleased. " She felt her smile turn a little smug. "But the lady with stanch opinions about the Irish, she was surprised."

He twisted his mouth a little, obviously hiding a smile of his own. "She never did repeat her comment, did she?"

Not trying nearly as hard to keep her delight tucked away, she said, "She did not."

"Imagine that."

Mr. Barrington called Niles over.

Penelope watched Niles leave, and her heart ached a little. She liked him. She hadn't known him long, but she had, in that single afternoon, come to know him a little better. He was heroic in his own quiet way. He had a good heart. He was kind.

And he thought her worth defending. Not everyone did. Her own family didn't always.

But Niles Greenberry did. Something in that realization made her want to cry.