by Rose Lerner
In retrospect, it was predictable that the new earl would prefer whoring himself out to a Cit to accepting Sir Jasper’s honorable offer for his sister. And he hadn’t even the wits to make a decent settlement: Sir Jasper bribed at least one copy-clerk in every office with which he did business, and since the late Lord Bedlow-and by extension, the new one-used Sir Jasper’s man of business, it had been simple enough to get a copy of the new marriage settlements and find out that most of the money was tied up until the new Lady Bedlow had produced an heir. It might seem sneaking, almost beneath him, but it had been Sir Jasper’s duty. He needed to know how matters stood in his district-particularly as his future wife’s family was involved.
Sir Jasper smiled at Lady Louisa, who was tugging absentmindedly on a long red-brown curl as she gazed out the window. There was still plenty of time to get her brother’s consent to their union, and plenty of other ways to try if he proved intractable.
He was surprised when the young couple came back after a mere twenty minutes, damp but otherwise presentable. The wife must be a businesslike little thing. She looked it now, cold and straight as a rail, as if she hadn’t been giggling and spreading her legs half an hour before.
After he’d pretended to be delighted to meet her, Sir Jasper said, “I rode over to ask if there was any news of the poachers, but we ought not to bore the ladies-”
The countess stiffened even further. So that offended her, did it? She probably wasn’t content until she’d stuck her freckled little nose into everything.
“It doesn’t matter,” Bedlow said. “I have no news.”
“Have you been making inquiries among your people?”
“No.” Bedlow sounded every bit as happy-go-lucky and negligent as his father. If only he proved as easy to influence! “When I hire a new steward, I’m sure he will do so.”
Sir Jasper resigned himself to once again doing all the work of keeping the peace in the district. “I heard you had fired a number of your gamekeepers as well.”
“They were an unconscionable expense,” Bedlow said. “They didn’t seem to be solving the problem. And I dislike the idea of men shooting at each other in my woods.”
Sir Jasper frowned. “You would prefer them to wander about with their guns, unhindered, making free with your game?”
Bedlow flushed, looking like a whipped schoolboy.
“Pardon me if I speak warmly, but it seems to me we must make these folk understand what is due a gentleman. Besides,” Sir Jasper added, chuckling, “I know you are not a great sportsman, but Loweston has some of the thickest coveys of great bustards in the neighborhood.”
Louisa, loyal girl, flew to her brother’s defense. “Nate does not care for that! I do not like men wandering about with guns either, but they poach because they are hungry!”
Sir Jasper couldn’t help smiling. She was so young and eager. “Perhaps that was once true,” he explained. “An honest man may, in desperate straits, steal a bird or two to feed his children. But when a man paints his face black, takes up a gun, and joins with his drinking companions in a desperate gang, he is merely seeking to make easy money at his betters’ expense.”
“They form into gangs because they know if they are captured you will transport them,” Lady Louisa said. She really was pretty when she was angry. He suspected she was passionate too; it would be a nice change from his first wife. Mary had been a dear girl, but she had never much enjoyed their conjugal intimacy.
“Louisa,” the young earl said. He needn’t have worried. Sir Jasper had had his eye on Louisa for too long to be discouraged by a few wrongheaded notions.
“I only wish they were as afraid of me as you claim,” he told her ruefully.
“You must admit, Sir Jasper, that corn is ruinously high,” Bedlow said, putting a restraining hand on his sister’s arm. “I spoke to the baker, and-”
“It is difficult, I know.” Sir Jasper hoped his impatience didn’t show in his voice. “But we all have to make sacrifices for the security of our great nation. Dependence on foreign corn would be far more ruinous than the present state of affairs.”
The young countess looked surprised. “Why?”
“If we allowed the importation of cheap foreign corn to bring down prices, not only would we be turning our backs on English farmers, but in another war the French would have only to stop the grain supply to place us in the most difficult position.”
“I’ve read that the real rivals in corn production are British companies in the colonies,” Louisa said. “Not so patriotic after all, really.”
Sir Jasper knew where he had heard that argument before. “My dear, I think you have been reading the radical newspapers,” he said with some amusement.
Louisa tugged at her earlobe. She had always done that when she was embarrassed, ever since she was a child.
“Aaron Smith and some of the other men tell me,” Bedlow said, “that our own corn cannot be sold advantageously because of the poor condition of the roads. I was hoping we might work with you to better them. God knows there are men who’d be glad of the work, and Jeb Tyler has some experience in that line-”
“Helen Spratt’s husband too,” the Cit said. “What was his name? Harry? He did something with roads on the Continent, during the War.”
They knew the laborers’ names already. Sir Jasper was startled. The late Lord Bedlow had never learned any of their names. “They exaggerate, I assure you. The idle wretches merely wish to be paid. Road crews are a breeding ground for sedition.”
“You don’t really think-” The girl cut herself off.
“You were not in Norfolk during the riots in ’16,” he reminded the couple. “I assure you, the men of this district showed themselves to be desperate characters, ready to murder us all in our beds if they could.”
The dowager countess’s gaze flicked to her children. “You think there is danger of a recurrence?”
“I would like to think there is not,” Sir Jasper said. “I have no wish to alarm you, madam. I am perhaps overcautious, but I was in France in ’89 and I remember all too well the atrocities that were committed.”
The dowager’s eyes widened. “But you couldn’t have been more than a boy!”
“I was seven, madam. I watched from an upstairs window as an old man was dragged from his carriage and hanged from a lamppost.” He could still feel the summer heat on his skin, the stink of the dirty river and unwashed humanity in his nostrils, the shouts of the mob echoing in his ears. Even the women had been ugly and furious, shrieking for blood like animals, their breasts dried up and sagging under their rags. The shadow of the jerking corpse had never entirely lifted from his face.
Did he catch a flash of sympathy in Louisa’s eyes? He would never know what she would have said, because the little Cit exclaimed, “Oh, how dreadful for you!”
Sir Jasper shook his head, and everything faded but the heat. And that was only July in the country, the bright sun and the clean, earthy smell of grass and horses. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I see I have upset you. I promise you we should have warning of any disturbance in time for you to remove to London.”
That did not seem to comfort her or Louisa; he was sorry he had spoken of it.
The moment he was gone, Lady Bedlow turned to her daughter. “Louisa, you were intolerably rude to Sir Jasper. He will think you pert.”
“I do not care what he thinks me, so long as he stops ogling my bosom. Does he think I don’t notice?”
“I hate it when they do that,” Penelope commiserated. Nev jerked his eyes away from her neckline guiltily. As if she could feel it, she glanced at him and smiled, blushing.
“It is trying, I agree,” Lady Bedlow said, “but it is a trial we women must bear. You could do a deal worse, and even if you do not marry him, his notice will do you a world of good in the neighborhood. Nev, tell her!”
Three pairs of eyes turned on Nev. This was part of responsibility, he told himself. “I’m not saying you should marry the fellow,
Louisa, but it wouldn’t hurt you to be civil. He’s our nearest neighbor, and it won’t do to start a feud.”
Louisa stared at him.
In the old days, he would have laughed and told her he would shoot anyone who so much as glanced at her bosom, and they both knew it. But he had not known how important Sir Jasper was to the district then.
Nev and Penelope were off to London, feeling like boys cutting lecture. At least Nev did-it was that same mixture of guilt and conspiratorial triumph. They had left Davies and Penelope’s maid at Loweston; it was just the two of them. Nev drove, and Penelope sat next to him in the box. It was sunny and bright and for a few days there would be no tenants or home farm or paupers.
He gave Bruenor and Gareth their head, faster and faster until the coach was flying down the road. Penelope laughed and took off her bonnet, throwing her head back, and Nev was distracted when he took a turn. They almost hit a cart.
At once Nev was swamped with guilt. Penelope could have been hurt. He slowed the carriage and told himself that her disappointed countenance just meant he was corrupting her.
Penelope sat behind her father’s desk with Nev, interviewing would-be stewards. The first candidate was an idiot. The second seemed competent but thought “Thou Shalt Not Poach” was one of the Commandments.
The third was a tall, dark-haired young man who looked vaguely familiar. He entered the room, said, “Good morning,” and stopped abruptly, turning a dull red. Penelope was beginning to really worry about where she had seen him before when she realized he was looking at Nev, not her. She glanced at her husband, and her eyes widened. His face was bloodless.
“Percy,” he said, in a strangled voice. Everything slotted into place, and Penelope remembered where she had seen the young man before: next to Nev on the night they had met and again that night at Vauxhall.
“I’m sorry. I must have had the wrong address.” Percy bowed and turned to leave.
Penelope watched Nev’s face change. “Wait!” she cried out impulsively.
Percy turned slowly, pasting an expression of polite interest on his flushed face. “Yes?”
Penelope felt her ears turning red. It was what she deserved for meddling, but she forged ahead. “Mr. Garrett, isn’t it? I’m Lady Bedlow.” She came around the desk and held out her hand, so that he would be obliged to take it and it would be a few moments more before he could leave the room.
“Honored.” His bow was graceful enough-and shallow to the point of rudeness. Penelope wasn’t offended. She could feel his hand shaking under hers.
“Won’t you sit down?”
“I don’t think I ought.” He glanced at Nev.
Penelope didn’t dare look. “Please.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at,” Percy said in a tightly controlled voice, “but-”
“Penelope, let him go.” Nev sounded almost desperate.
There was no point pretending to be genteel any longer. She said sharply to Percy, “I’m not playing at anything. I’m interviewing an applicant for the position of steward at Loweston. I’m prepared to pay five hundred pounds per annum-in advance. Can you walk away from an offer like that without at least sitting down?” She knew he couldn’t. It was far too much money. It was what her father had always deplored-financial recklessness.
“Penelope-”
“Loweston can’t afford five hundred pounds per annum to a steward,” Percy said. “Not with the lesser estates sold off and a jointure to pay.”
Well, it was good to know the money wouldn’t go entirely to waste. Percy knew what he was about. “It’s my father’s money.”
Percy flashed her a look of intense dislike. “Then, no. I can’t walk away from an offer like that.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
She wanted to protest that this wasn’t her, that she wasn’t the coarse, flashy Cit he thought her. But who would that fool? Of course she was.
“Penelope, don’t.” Nev’s voice was like a lash.
Penelope finally turned to look at him. He looked angry and betrayed, and his eyes kept straying to Percy. “Come and talk to me in the hall,” she said softly.
“No, I will not come and talk to you in the hall! He doesn’t want the position, and we don’t have the money, and I-let him go!”
Percy half rose from his chair, and Penelope remembered that crate from Paris and Edward’s angry letter. Percy was angry too. No doubt poor Nev had cast him aside as clumsily and cruelly as Penelope had Edward.
She did not always understand Nev; she knew that. But in his expression now, with blinding clarity, she recognized her own emotions as she had stared at the wreckage of her closest friendship.
No. Nev was not going to lose this, and there was no time-no time for gentleness or cajoling or anything that would have saved Nev’s pride. “I have the money,” she said. “And I don’t intend to see Loweston ruined for your sensibilities, not after I pulled you out of the River Tick.”
His face went blank with shock, and inwardly she shrank back-but there was no way out of this but forward. Her father had told her once that if you bullied a man into a deal, you’d better get the papers signed straightaway: give him time to think it over and he’d weasel out somehow.
He had also said that you should never expect to deal with that man again. Penelope didn’t think about that. “Do you think he can’t do it?”
“That’s not the point!”
“What else is the point? Do you think he can’t do it?”
“He can do it.”
“Do you think he’ll cheat us?” Penelope pressed him.
Percy sucked in his breath. She saw with surprise that he was not sure of Nev’s answer.
Nev heard it too. “No. He’d never cheat us.”
Penelope wanted to put her arms around him, but he would have pushed her away. “Then we have to hire him. It’s the responsible thing to do.”
Nev and Percy locked gazes. “Fine,” Nev said.
“When can I get my money?” Percy asked in a strained voice, as if he couldn’t wait to have this over with.
“If you stop by here tomorrow, my father will give you a bank draft,” Penelope said. “How soon can you be at Loweston?”
“Within a few days. Where do you want me to stay?”
“You’ll stay in the steward’s room, of course,” she said, pretending there had never been any question. Nev said nothing.
Percy got up and walked out; Nev abruptly started forward and followed him into the hall.
“Are you all right?” she heard him say in a low tone. “I know you never wanted to be a steward. If you need help-” His concern was clear through the stiffness, and Penelope was violently, nauseatingly jealous.
“You’re my employer, but that doesn’t give you the right to pry into my affairs,” Percy said.
“I’m not your employer. She is.”
Percy spoke so low she almost didn’t hear it. “Indeed. You traded us in for that?”
Penelope sat at her father’s desk, where she had once been so comfortable, and tried not to cry.
They still weren’t speaking when the Browns picked them up for the promised evening at the theater. By tacit agreement, they pretended cordiality in front of her parents, but Penelope’s laugh was brittle and her fingers were stiff on his arm. Nev had not realized how friendly, how almost comfortable he and Penelope had become together until now, when it was gone.
He thought she would have apologized given an opening, but he did not want to hear it. He did not understand what had happened that afternoon. He did not want to.
Of course it had been a shock to see Percy, a miserable shock, but oddly, it hadn’t been that which had lingered with him throughout the day. Rather, it had been the harshness of Penelope’s voice and the cold, insulting logic of her words.
He and Penelope didn’t know each other well; they had had to struggle to get along together. But they had been patient with each other. She had been patient with him-with hi
s mother’s insults and his poor head for business and his ruined estate. And in that room, at that moment, it had seemed as if all at once she had lost patience, and all that had been left was someone who resented and despised him. I don’t intend to see Loweston ruined for your sensibilities, not after I pulled you out of the River Tick. Nev did not know how he would live for the rest of his life if Penelope thought of him like that.
He was barely listening to the play when a very familiar voice echoed through the theater. He looked at Rosalind, and sure enough, the actress was Amy.
His first anxious thought was whether the Browns would recognize her. They had seen her with him at Vauxhall-at least Penelope had. Would they say anything? Of course a lady or a gentleman wouldn’t, but the Browns might. Would Penelope think he had arranged this?
Nev was so tired of worrying. He looked at Amy, standing in the footlights reciting in her clear voice, and thought, A year ago I would have been here with Percy and Thirkell. Now there would be no celebration with Amy and his friends after the show. Instead, there would be more awkward small talk with his mother- and father-in-law, and then he and Penelope would go back to their hotel room and not speak to each other. Tomorrow he would go back to Loweston and not speak to Percy and watch people who depended on him starve by inches, and Penelope would watch it too and hate him. He stared at Amy, and was seized with such a violent longing for his old friends, his old life, that it almost choked him.
Penelope could barely believe it. She ought to have known, she ought to have prevented this somehow-but how could she have? She hadn’t even known the girl’s name (Amy Wray, her program told her). She looked at Nev. He was staring at Miss Wray with an expression of hopeless yearning. Penelope’s stomach twisted viciously.
She darted a glance at her parents; she could not bear it if they saw her humiliation. But her mother was absorbed in the play, and her father had settled in for a nap. Penelope was fiercely relieved that she hadn’t pointed out Nev and his mistress that night in Vauxhall. That night had seemed so far away the day before; now it was apparent that nothing had changed.
