"You're younger than Miss Whitfield and probably even younger in experience. You're definitely a child."
"Why does Miss Whitfield's age matter?" Lady Agatha asked sharply.
Gabriel realised his mistake immediately. "It doesn't. I was merely making a comparison to establish relative maturity."
"You seem very aware of your housekeeper's particulars."
"I'm aware of all my employees' particulars. It's called being a responsible employer."
Edmund interrupted what was becoming an increasingly dangerous conversation. "Perhaps we should allow Miss Ashworth to tour the gardens? I understand you're quite passionate about horticulture, Miss Ashworth."
Penelope looked relieved. "I do enjoy gardens, yes."
"Then you must see ours," Gabriel said, seizing the escape route. "They're in a state of romantic decay that I'm sure you'll find either charming or horrifying."
"Romantic decay?" Lady Agatha's voice could have frozen fire. "Is that what we're calling neglect now?"
"We're calling it authentic deterioration with potential for renovation, much like everything else around here."
"Including you?"
"Especially me. I'm the most authentically deteriorated thing on the property, with the least potential for renovation."
"That's not true," Penelope said unexpectedly. "You seem quite renovated already compared to what the gossip sheets say."
"The gossip sheets say I'm a scarred recluse who's possibly mad and definitely dangerous."
"Yes, but you're neither mad nor particularly dangerous. I find your current circumstances exceedingly unfortunate.”"
The observation, delivered with innocent directness, silenced everyone.
"Out of the mouths of babes," Edmund murmured.
"I'm professionally miserable. There's a difference."
"You jest to avoid genuine emotion," Penelope continued, apparently finding her courage. "It's what my brother does when he's uncomfortable."
"Your brother sounds like a wise man."
"He's actually quite foolish, but he means well."
Despite himself, Gabriel found himself almost warming up to the girl. "Would you genuinely like to see the gardens, or was that Edmund's attempt at social manipulation?"
"Both. I do like gardens, and Lord Hartley was definitely attempting social manipulation."
"At least you're honest about it. Come then, let's survey the horticultural disaster I've created through pure neglect."
He stood, offering Penelope his arm out of habit more than interest. She took it carefully, as if afraid he might bite.
"I don't actually bite," he told her quietly as they walked toward the French doors. "Despite what my aunt has probably told you."
"She said you were difficult but salvageable with the right feminine influence."
"And you're supposed to be that influence?"
"Oh, goodness no. I'm supposed to be practice."
Gabriel stopped walking. "Practice?"
