In for a Penny (24 page)

She stared at him, puzzled. But she did not want to be unsociable, and in the normal course of things she would have accepted his invitation anyway. It was not as if they had a prior engagement. “We shall certainly be there, if Nev thinks it is proper. We are nearly in half mourning, anyway.”

As the baronet was leading Louisa away, he leaned in toward Penelope. “We are not all as puritanical as Louisa. Pardon her; she is very protective of her brother and very young.”

Penelope flushed crimson. So. He’d heard at least the last part of their conversation. Did he mean—did he think she was having an affair with—
Mr. Garrett
? And that that was why Nev had tossed him out? Then why invite him to stay? Did he
want
her to have an affair? Why? She shook her head, trying to clear it. Nothing made sense anymore. Edward was reckless, Sir Jasper was a pander, and Nev—Nev had said he
loved
her?

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Garrett said once Louisa and Sir Jasper were out of earshot. “She isn’t usually so—so intractable. She’s having a hard time, and she feels trapped, and it makes her say things she wouldn’t otherwise. But she shouldn’t be so careless, or speak to you that way.”

“Don’t apologize to
me
,” Penelope said tiredly. “You’ve put Nev through Hell, the pair of you.”

“I know,” Mr. Garrett said miserably. “But I love her.” He and Louisa said it the same way, as if it excused everything, as if it were the one unanswerable argument in the world. Maybe it did, and maybe it was.

“Mr. Garrett, listen to me. Nev loves both of you, he does. He only wants to protect Louisa.”

“Louisa is wretched. I don’t think Nev knows it, but Louisa has been wretched for a long time. It isn’t—it isn’t a happy home, and never was; without Lord Bedlow, it’s a hundred times worse. Nev always spent as little time there as possible, as soon as he was old enough to choose. Louisa can’t do that.”

Penelope sighed. She wouldn’t like to live with Lady Bedlow either, but how bad could it really be? Perhaps, though, that didn’t matter, especially not at seventeen. She wished she had done more to befriend Louisa, so that she might have some influence now. “Nev only wants to protect her,” she repeated. “She’s so young. But I’ll talk to him. I think if Louisa can behave herself and be patient and prove this is not merely a fleeting ungovernable passion, he will agree to an engagement. Perhaps a lengthy one, but I suppose you will be willing to wait.”

“I would wait an eternity, but he will never agree,” Mr. Garrett said with finality. “You did not hear him last night. Nev does not compromise. He never has.”

“He was angry.” She felt unreasonably angry herself. “You must admit that neither your behavior nor Louisa’s has been the sort to inspire confidence.”

“I do admit it. I have sacrificed every claim to his good opinion. He has a right to be angry.” He looked at her. “You are very generous not to be. My words last night were not those of a gentleman.”

She had hoped he would not bring it up.
A month before your marriage you were gossiping about your bride-to-be’s dowry with your mistress.
What had Nev said?
Your name only came up because I couldn’t stop staring at you.
With a sudden flash of inspiration she could imagine it all—poor Miss Wray, trying to be practical and pretend she didn’t mind, and Nev believing it.
He doesn’t believe you when you pretend
, she thought suddenly and wondered what that meant.

“No,” she said, a chill in her voice. “I should thank you for reminding me of a truth I had almost let myself forget.”

Mr. Garrett bit his lip. “Lady Bedlow, I’ve known Nev a long time. I don’t know what he said to Louisa, but I do know he is very fond of you. I really thought he would hit me last night.”

Nev was very fond of her. She knew it was true. She ought to be grateful; she ought to be satisfied. And she wasn’t. “I know.”

“He hates Mr. Macaulay.”

It was childish, but she smiled. “I know.”

It was a horrid, hot day. As Penelope walked home from a visit to the dressmaker’s, everything seemed malevolent and too bright. She went by a wheat field and saw workers standing in tight knots, talking in low voices. When she passed, they quieted and watched her, their faces blank and sullen. She thought of Sir Jasper and his fears of revolution. These men had rioted before. Penelope hugged her packages to her chest and walked faster.

In the entrance hall at the Grange, she found Nev by the silver salver of mail, staring at the newspaper. Her heart leapt into her throat without her quite knowing why. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“There’s been a massacre at Manchester.” Nev’s face twisted. “Listen to this: ‘The local troops, it is said, behaved with great alacrity. The consternation and dismay which spread among the immense crowd collected cannot be conceived. The multitude was composed of a large proportion of females. The prancing of cavalry, and the active use of the saber among them, created a dreadful sense of confusion, and we may add of carnage. By the accounts received through the mail, no less than eighty or a hundred persons are wounded, and eight killed—’ ” He broke off. “There’s hardly anything else. They hadn’t got their correspondent’s article yet when the paper went to press. God knows what really happened.”

Penelope skimmed the brief article. Edward had been right; the yeomanry had begun the bloodshed.

She tried not to think about it as she dressed for Sir Jasper’s party. She tried to think about her hair and her jewels; she had to be a credit to Nev. But as she clasped the jet around her neck, she saw only Agnes Cusher’s exhausted scowl and Sir Jasper’s frightened, furious face.

She came down the stairs still brooding. Nev and Edward were waiting, each looking preoccupied and uncomfortable. They both moved forward, and then Edward hesitated and fell back, letting Nev take her hand.

“What’s wrong, sweet? You look fagged to death.”

She tried to glare at him, but really she just wished Edward weren’t there and that they didn’t have to go to the party, so she could curl against his side and tell him everything. She opened her mouth to at least tell him about Sir Jasper’s strange behavior the day before.

“Don’t listen to him,” Edward said loyally. “You look perfectly elegant.”

She pulled herself together with an effort. “Thank you, Edward. I’m all right, Nev, truly. It’s just been a difficult week.”

Penelope was dreading seeing Louisa, and it was clear from Nev’s expression that he was too. What new histrionics would they be subjected to this time? But they were pleasantly surprised by the reality; when Louisa climbed into the carriage, she looked radiant. “Thank you so much for the new dress, Nate. I hadn’t realized how tired I was of black!”

Penelope wondered, blinking, if that could really be all. She had never seen Louisa in any color but black; the girl was striking even so, but there was no doubt mourning had subdued her, washing out her already pale complexion. Now, in white with gray ribbons, she glowed. At Penelope’s suggestion, Nev had hinted to his mother that perhaps Louisa
needed some diversion, and that she could not dance with Sir Jasper if she were kept in full mourning.

“Mama says I can even dance two or three dances!” Louisa said. Penelope did not know what Nev would do if she danced them all with Mr. Garrett.

However, no one was dancing when they arrived. Instead they were talking in tight knots, looking worried and angry. Penelope was reminded of the laborers at Loweston.

Sir Jasper rushed over as soon as they entered, barely even looking at Louisa. “Bedlow, we’ve got to talk. The people in this district are on the verge of a riot, and we have no yeomanry here we can call out. The two of us must do something to maintain order. Perhaps if we were to shut down the tavern for a few weeks and—”

“Yes,” Louisa broke in, her voice rising, “it really is a shame we can’t have drunken louts with sabers ride down our tenants and kill them! How can you—”

“Louisa.” Nev put a hand on his sister’s arm. “I believe Sir Jasper was speaking to me. However, I must agree with my sister, Sir Jasper, that I hardly find it a matter for regret that we are in no danger of the sort of atrocity that occurred in Manchester. Perhaps if you were to consider granting bail for the men accused of poaching, our laborers would feel less wronged and—”

Sir Jasper was vibrating with anger. “I can be silent no longer. Lord Bedlow, you are allowing your judgment to be suborned by a woman. I understand that given her background, your wife may feel a natural sympathy for these lowly folk, but now is not the time to allow sentiment to—”

Penelope could not even feel very affronted; she was too amazed by Sir Jasper’s breach of good manners.

Nev blinked. “Sir Jasper,” he said amiably, “though I hardly like to draw such a strong conclusion on my own, I think you just insulted my wife.”

Penelope felt at once mortified and ridiculously grateful.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to, Nev,” she said—the party would be awful enough without out-and-out violence—but she couldn’t help favoring Sir Jasper with a triumphantly gracious smile.

Nev smiled too, a silly-ass smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, there you go. You know, Sir Jasper, I think you may have the right of it; my wife is far too softhearted. Revenge is so much more satisfying than mercy, don’t you know. But perhaps justice is somewhere in between.”

Sir Jasper nodded stiffly. “My apologies. I do not know what came over me.”

“Being a complete bastard?” Louisa whispered in her ear, and Penelope had to choke back a nervous giggle.

Sir Jasper strode away, and a few moments later the band struck up. Penelope remembered her earlier fears that Louisa would make a fool of herself with Mr. Garrett, but she was soon forced to admit that her suspicions had been unjust. Far from trying to talk alone with Mr. Garrett, Louisa danced attendance on Lady Bedlow, showing none of her usual impatience when Lady Bedlow sent her running back and forth to the refreshments table for lobster patties, and then a glass of punch when the patties turned out to be distressingly salty, and some tartlets, and another glass of punch because the tartlets were too dry. In between, the girl was very hot on the subject of the confrontation at St. Peter’s Fields, but Penelope could hardly blame her for that.

However, a party of young gentry could not be distracted by politics forever. Soon Penelope found herself sitting between Nev and Edward and watching couples turn about the floor.

Conversation lagged; she realized she was exhausted. “I don’t think I’ve eaten anything today,” she said, surprised.

Edward frowned, but it was Nev who burst out crossly, “No wonder you look so awful! For heaven’s sake, Penelope, you’ve got to take care of yourself.”

Her apologetic smile turned into an embarrassed grimace as her stomach rumbled. “I don’t know how it happened. But I don’t imagine I’ll starve from going without food for one day.”

“I don’t intend to find out,” he growled, and stalked off toward the buffet.

“But Nev, I don’t—” It was too late; he was gone. Penelope groaned inwardly. She hated eating from buffets, holding a plate in her lap and trying not to get crumbs everywhere. It was impossible to cut things into bite-sized pieces. At their first meeting, she had worried about how she would eat the hors d’oeuvres Nev gave her.

“He shouldn’t talk to you that way,” Edward said.

She sighed. “He’s just worried about me.”

“So am I, but you don’t catch me—” He stopped and drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Penelope, I oughtn’t to let my temper get the better of me.”

It was hard to believe she had once considered making a snappish remark “letting her temper get the better of her.” Now she spent half her time afraid she would start screaming and not know how to stop. She thought of those vicious Hogarth engravings and the cold little note that came with them. Edward might be happier if he did let his temper get the better of him once in a while. It would be like the relief valves on the great boiling tanks at the brewery that let out air and steam so the tanks didn’t explode. “It’s all right. I know you’re worried about me too.”

He took her hand, and she didn’t know how to take it back. He leaned closer. “What I said, two nights ago. You never gave me an answer. Penelope, I—”

“Here,” Nev’s voice said furiously, and a plate of food appeared in front of her. “Take it.” Edward let go of her hand, and she took the plate. Nev handed a glass to Edward. “Here’s her punch. Make sure she eats.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Penelope’s heart sank. Then she looked at the plate and almost couldn’t bear it. He had cut everything into bite-sized pieces for her.

She wanted to get up and go after him—but everyone would stare, and she would have to abandon Edward, and there was already so much gossip. She picked up a fork and speared a tiny piece of pie, but when she brought it to her mouth she almost gagged. She loved nutmeg, but somehow today the smell repulsed her. She set the plate down and took the glass of punch from Edward.

Nev stood by the window, watching the sun go down and hating Edward Macaulay. How dare he hold Penelope’s hands and speak into Penelope’s ear that way? Penelope was Nev’s wife, and Macaulay had no right.

Nev snorted at his own self-righteousness. He forced himself to dwell on Penelope’s life if she had married Edward. She would be respected; her mother-in-law and neighbors would not be always turning up their noses at her behind her back. She would not be worrying about money. She would not be fretting herself into an early grave over poachers and blackmailers and riots and snobbish neighbors and indiscreet sisters-in-law.

She looked so
tired
. He looked over to see if she was eating. She was sitting alone, fanning her heated face. It really was very close in the room. He could see that her plate lay nearly untouched in her lap, and he almost went to her; but Macaulay appeared with another glass of punch, and Nev stayed by the window.

At least Louisa seemed to be trying to put her Cheltenham tragedy behind her. She was laughing and dancing with one of Sir Jasper’s friends, looking not at all as if the day before she had been on the verge of a hysterical scene at a picnic. She had been so good all evening. Nev felt something loosen in his chest; Louisa was the darling little sister he remembered
again. She didn’t hate him. All that had been wrong with her was a touch of the blue devils. He could still fix this.