Niles chuckled and then winced. “I suppose my duties fell more under the title of… security.”
Fascinating.
“You were one of his brutes? A ruffian?” Common knowledge provided that Mr. Findlay did not achieve all of his objectives by following established practices. She turned her head so that she might study Niles Waverly more closely.
“For a few years.”
This would explain the less than perfect line of his nose. And his very solid presence. Even tumbling down a cliff, she hadn’t experienced fear.
He’d protected her with his own body. She hadn’t considered it at the time, but that was why she’d been entangled with his person when they’d landed.
“What did you do after that?” He’d piqued her curiosity for certain.
His jaw clenched, and she wondered if he resented her prying.
“I became something of a manager.”
“You managed all the other brutes?”
“Among other things.”
“Is that why you never married, then? Because you were constantly putting yourself in danger?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. And the travel.”
Walking side by side with him, she couldn’t help herself but to study Mr. Waverly again. “Did you grow up in London?”
He slid her a sideways glance. “I did.”
She wanted to know more. Had he been very poor? Who were his family?
“And you, Mrs. Mossant, where do you hale from?”
“I grew up on a small country estate, not far from Pebble’s Gate.”
Digging Up Some Dirt
He could imagine her upbringing. Protected. Entitled. The daughter of landed gentry, betrothed at a young age to the son of a neighboring land owner. He’d known enough of them.
“I grew up in Mayfair,” he provided.
Not sure why he’d tell her this. Perhaps because she seemed to want to know. He’d set the record straight. Allow her an understanding of how he came to be the person he was today.
A man with genteel manners, but grossly below her, notwithstanding.
“My father lived in a gardener’s hut, set behind the Earl of Peabody’s London manor. My mother worked in the Earl’s kitchen. His lordship was kind enough to keep her on despite their improprieties.”
“You grew up in Mayfair?” Clearly, he had indeed surprised her with this information. “I’m well acquainted with Lady Ester, his youngest daughter.” Her brows furrowed then.
It ought to come as no surprise to her. He’d grown up a servant to her equals.
Although employed professionally now, in essence, he still considered himself something of a servant on occasion.
He’d believed himself in love with Lady Ester’s older sister at one time. Ah, yes, he’d been a foolish lad back then. And he’d learned his lesson well.
Lines between the classes were as immovable as oceans and rivers. Perhaps more so.
“My father was a baron,” she chimed in. “Spoiled me rotten as a girl. My mother had probably been spoiled worse than me.” She scuffled along, her head down now. “Never in my life have I found an unhappier woman.”
