Page 23 of The Pleasure in Persuasion

She took a dainty bite of toast and eyed him pointedly.

Frederick gave her a guileless smile. “What trouble could I possibly get into in Little Bilberry?”

“I don’t know, but if anyone can find trouble here, it’s you.”

The words cut, although he knew there was some truth to them. Still, he couldn’t help but say, “I don’t look for trouble, you know.”

His sister sighed. “I know you don’t, Freddy. But neither do you run from it.”

He’d had no response to that, no argument or deflection, and even now, as he made his way up the lane toward The Weeping Whiskers Inn, he could find no way to deny the charge. Penelope was right. He might not hunt for trouble, but it seemed to find him, anyway, didn’t it?

Did that mean he secretly liked trouble, maybe even welcomed it?

He wasn’t sure. In the end, he’d given Pen the promise she’d asked for, and he fully intended to keep it. He might welcome trouble into his own life, but he did not wish to bring any of it to Lily’s door. He liked her, and her grandmother, and he was sincere in his desire to help them and maybe spend a bit of time with Lily before he returned to London.

Surely there was no harm in that?

Whistling a low, off-key tune, he strolled along the picturesque country lane, suddenly more cheerful than he’d felt since—well, he couldn’t honestly remember the last time he was genuinely cheerful. Oh, he played at being cheerful quite well, but it had been a long while since he’d felt anything more than mild contentment, and even that was usually accompanied by a healthy dose of boredom.

An entirely new experience—like helping out at an inn—was precisely what he needed right now.

The inn in question came into view a few minutes later, and as Frederick approached, still whistling badly, he spotted the elder Grayling woman out front, sweeping the walk in a dark brown dress, a red kerchief covering her short gray hair.

She looked up and paused when she saw him, gripping the broom with one hand and waving to him with the other.

He waved back, smiling as he drew up to her. “Mrs. Grayling, good afternoon,” he said. “You are looking especially handsome today. The sunshine is clearly doing you well.”

She laughed, deepening the lines framing her dark brown eyes, lines that suggested it was something she did often. “You needn’t use those plentiful charms on me, Mr. Darrington. Though I will not be unhappy if you do.”

Frederick grinned. He liked this woman.

“Thank you, by the way, for offering your services,” Mrs. Grayling said, propping both hands on the broomstick. “Not only with the chores but also with deterring Mr. Carstairs.” Her nose wrinkled. “It isn’t always easy running this inn, especially for my Lily.”

Frederick nodded. “Does that sort of thing happen often with your male guests?”

She shrugged. “Lily is a pretty girl, unmarried, and with only her ancient grandmother to watch over her. There have been more than a few gentlemen who have shown an interest in her and, unfortunately, not always with marriage in mind.”

Anger surged through Frederick, anger and the impulse to protect, to stand sentry at the inn’s front door and force a promise from each male guest that he would bloody well leave Lily Grayling alone.

Not that Lily was easy prey, of course. He barely knew her, but he’d seen enough to know she could take care of herself. Even so, he did not like that men came here thinking she was available to them, and that she’d apparently been propositioned for sexual favors as if her favors were freely given, and given away for free, with no expectations attached.

His jaw clenched. He did not like that at all.

The inn’s front door opened behind Mrs. Grayling and Frederick glanced up as Lily walked out, looking lovely in her simple green gown, despite the frown puckering her brow, as if she knew they had been discussing her.

“Mr. Darrington, you’ve come,” she said, her tone serious, verging on officious.

“It’s Frederick,” he reminded her with a friendly smile. “And, yes, I have come and I’m ready to be put to work.”

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Grayling said brightly. “You can assist Lily in the orchard today. The apples are ripe and begging to be picked.”

He nodded and looked at Lily. “I’m ready when you are.”

“I’m ready,” she said, not returning his smile. She turned toward the house. “Will you please carry that ladder for me?”

He followed the direction of her gaze, and spotted the ladder propped against the wall. “Of course,” he said, before tossing Mrs. Grayling a farewell wink.

He followed after Lily, ladder in tow, toward the rear of the inn where, presumably, the orchard awaited them.