by Rose Lerner
What the devil?
Sixteen
“I’m so very glad you could all make it.” Sir Jasper bent over the ladies’ hands gracefully-lingering over Louisa’s-and turned to Nev. “Your friend Lord Thirkell is here with his aunt and cousin,” he said. “I thought you might like to see him.”
Nev just stared at him.
Sir Jasper leaned forward and spoke more quietly. “You look displeased. I hope I haven’t done wrong by allowing your steward to stay here. I gathered he had left his position, but I had no reason to think it was on bad terms. Lord Thirkell asked me to invite him.”
Did Sir Jasper expect him to swallow that? “I-”
“Of course you haven’t done anything wrong.” Louisa smiled brightly at Sir Jasper. “Mr. Garrett is one of Nev’s oldest friends. What could there possibly be to object to?”
Nev wanted to wring his sister’s neck.
Sir Jasper’s whole face softened as he smiled back at her. “I’m glad to hear it.”
After introductions were made, the party was led out to a shady, hilly area covered in strawberry plants and given baskets. “Won’t you sit by me, Lady Bedlow?” Thirkell’s cousin Harriet said.
Nev could feel Penelope’s sudden uncertainty. “I-I-” She looked at him.
“Of course you must.” Nev attempted to smile. “I’ll see Louisa settled and be back directly, shall I?”
He deftly detached his sister from their mother and led her a short distance away. He opened his mouth to let her know exactly what he thought of her, but she didn’t wait.
“I’m sorry, Nev, I’m so sorry. I knew I was doing wrong, but I love him! I want to be with him forever. I’ll die without him.”
“You’re seventeen! You’re not going to die without him. I assure you, after a few months of remade gowns you’d find that forever seemed a very long time.”
The black lace at her shoulders trembled with rage. “You think I’m shallow, don’t you? You think I’m a frivolous, silly little girl who doesn’t care for anything but her bonnets.”
“Of course not, Louisa, but-”
“I was willing to do my part and marry well when the family needed it. I was willing to sacrifice everything. I would have done it for you and Mama. But you wouldn’t let me. And now-now that we have enough money for me to marry where I love, now that I’ve found love and know what I would be sacrificing-now you ask me to give up everything. Well, I won’t.”
He wanted to slap her right across her tragic, noble mouth. “I’m not asking you to give up everything, Louisa. Don’t dramatize.”
“I hate you! I hate you for speaking to me that way. I love him, Nate, can’t you understand that?”
“No, dash it all,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t understand it. I can’t understand how a clever girl like you could have been so stupid as to risk everything for a few stolen kisses. Tom Kedge saw you, did you know that? He’s threatening to tell Sir Jasper. The bastard’s been skimming from the Poor Authority funds and underpaying his employees, and I’m going to have to renew his lease to save you from the consequences of your own folly. Think about what you’ve done, Louisa.”
Louisa turned pale. “I’m sorry,” she said in a choked voice. “I’m sorry. But you don’t have to renew his lease. You just have to let me marry Percy, and then everything will be fine.”
“You can’t think five minutes ahead, Louisa. How do you expect me to believe you can think ahead to forever?”
“I love him, damn you!”
“No, you don’t,” he said brutally.
“I do. And I’m sorry that you couldn’t have that with your wife, I am, but don’t try to take it away from me!”
He thought he had been angry before, but that had been nothing to his furious rage now. It filled his lungs, choking him. “You willful, irresponsible, insufferable little brat! How dare you? You think love is just-just-something out of a damn Minerva Press novel! You think that because you happen to feel, right now, that you’ll die without someone, that you love him? That you can marry him? Love isn’t a game. Living with someone, being married to her-that’s work, Louisa. It’s trying to be what she needs even if it doesn’t come naturally, and struggling to understand her, and working together to make a life! It’s accepting that sometimes things aren’t perfect. It’s understanding that sometimes one of you has responsibilities that have to come first, and knowing that she understands that too! So don’t dare tell me that because I haven’t behaved like an idiot and brought a host of troubles down around my family’s head, that I don’t love Penelope.”
She stared at him for a long moment, conflicting emotions chasing each other around her face-affection, anger, regret. At last she said, quietly, “I’m not the one who reads Minerva Press novels, Nate. You are. And you’re right, love is work. But it’s also something more. And if you don’t know that, then you don’t love Penelope.” And she turned on her heel and walked away.
Nev breathed deeply, fighting for calm. It didn’t help that when he looked over at his wife, she was laughing and picking strawberries, her bare, juice-stained hands brushing those of her childhood sweetheart. She couldn’t see Edward’s face, because she was turned toward Harriet, but Nev could.
Edward was looking at Penelope as if he would die without her.
To Penelope, it all had a dreamlike unreality. The dappled sunlight, the sweet taste of the berries, the charming straw baskets, the ladies and gentlemen in their fine country clothes-the pastoral loveliness of the whole scene-it all seemed so unconnected to the past weeks, to dust and sweat and hunger and Poor Authorities and Agnes Cusher’s desperate eyes. She could not help thinking of fiddles and burning Italian cities.
“What do you think, Lady Bedlow?” a girl asked. Penelope remembered her from school; Lucy Hopper, her name was.
There was a respectful silence as everyone waited for her opinion. And she had no idea what they had been speaking of-talk about a massive upcoming demonstration in Manchester had been mixed with gossip and clothes and Mr. Scott’s latest novel, which was not selling very well. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
“Do you think a riot in Manchester could set off violence in the countryside?” Miss Hopper repeated.
“I don’t know. But I hardly think a riot in Manchester is likely. From what I’ve heard, the organizers are going to great lengths to keep the gathering peaceful.” She realized she was repeating something Louisa had said at dinner a few days ago.
“I hope you are right,” said a young man whose name Penelope could not remember. “But surely the presence of the yeomanry and so many Hussars indicates that the authorities have reason to be worried.”
“I think the presence of the yeomanry is indeed a good reason for the authorities to worry,” Edward said. “I recently made the acquaintance of several members of the Manchester yeomanry, among them the son of a leading manufacturer and friend of my own employer. I was dismayed by the vitriolic hatred they felt for the local trade unionists and reformers. They mentioned a number of them by name and expressed in the most violent language their desire to deal with these men. Moreover they seemed rather intemperate in their habits. I would not trust them very far with a saber myself.”
A hush greeted this speech. Most simply seemed stunned that anyone would admit, in polite conversation, to being employed by a manufacturer. Penelope felt a sudden fierce, protective pride in poor verbose Edward, who worked for his living and had a million kinds of knowledge these society folk would never understand. But his picture of a demonstration presided over by, in effect, hundreds of armed Sir Jaspers horrified her so that she could not think of anything to fill the silence.
“That is not very encouraging,” Miss Lovelace said gamely.
“No,” Edward said. “But surely such divisiveness does not exist here. Factories and manufacturing towns, as concentrating a large number of men who are not always of the best character in one place, are breeding grounds for factional
ism and resentment. Here, where you know your workers personally, things must be different. And surely it is better to be poor in the country: it is so clean here, and on my way I saw several kitchen gardens, and even chickens. There is nothing like that in the towns.”
Penelope almost laughed, but it was a bitter amusement; at once there were a dozen voices all eager to assure Edward that the poor thirsted for the blood of the rich every bit as much in the country. So much for Edward’s superior understanding.
She felt pulled this way and that. Who was she now? A brewer’s daughter? Or a landowner’s wife? Lucy Hopper, who had laughed at her accent at school, had asked her opinion and listened deferentially to her answer. She had wanted so badly for that girl-all those girls-to respect her; yet she found none of the expected pleasure in her sudden elevation.
Her life had been so much simpler when she was just a Cit. She had known who she was and what she ought to be doing.
Edward leaned down, so close she could feel his breath warm against her ear. It did not affect her in the slightest. “Your sister-in-law is about to create a scene.”
She started and followed the direction of his eyes. A little ways off, Louisa was clinging to Mr. Garrett’s arm. His face was dead white, and he seemed to be trying to detach her. Louisa looked almost in tears. Penelope looked for Nev and felt her face heating. Nev did not see Louisa; he was looking at her and Edward with a distinctly murderous expression.
Penelope smiled at Miss Lovelace. “Please excuse me. I had better make sure the strawberries have not made Lady Louisa ill.”
As she drew near she heard Louisa saying, in a furious undertone, “You men! You’re all the same-you think that because I’m a girl, you must know better than I what will make me happy!”
Penelope felt an unwanted pang of sympathy, remembering how her parents had refused, all those years, to let her marry Edward. Now it seemed they had been right-although she was not sure that in permitting her to marry Nev, they had not made a far greater mistake. “Louisa, Mr. Garrett.” She had made no effort to approach quietly, but they both started as if she had leapt out from behind a tree and screamed. “Please,” she said, “Louisa, won’t you come away? People are staring.”
“Let them stare,” Louisa said.
“Louisa,” Mr. Garrett remonstrated under his breath.
Penelope tried to stand so that she was blocking Louisa’s white, wild face from the view of most of the guests. “Louisa, please, we’ll have this all out later, I promise. But in the meantime wouldn’t it be better not to do anything irrevocable?”
“I want to do something irrevocable,” Louisa said in a low, thick voice. “I can’t be a good girl like you. I can’t pretend that I’m happy living the way everyone else wants me to. Living without scandal and noise isn’t enough for me, I want to live-”
“This isn’t the time or the place to discuss this! Mr. Garrett, tell her-”
Louisa turned to her lover. “Yes, Percy, tell me. Tell me to be bloodless and cold and think three tricks ahead before I discard.”
“I might tell you to have more consideration for the feelings of others,” Mr. Garrett said. “It is not merely yourself that will suffer if you make yourself miserable, Louisa.”
Her mouth trembled, almost smiling. “I’ll only be miserable without you.” He gave her a small, fond, helpless smile back.
Penelope smothered an impatient sigh. “We will all be miserable if your mother catches wind of this.”
Louisa’s eyes widened. “Nate isn’t going to tell her, is he?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” Penelope said honestly. “But he certainly isn’t going to tell her here, if you don’t do it for him by making a scene.”
Louise fixed her with an urgent stare. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand what she’s like. She’ll probably suggest I marry Sir Jasper and take Percy as a lover.”
Penelope couldn’t help a small sputter of laughter.
For some reason, that seemed to calm Louisa. She took a deep breath and eyed Penelope. “You aren’t going to do that, are you?”
Penelope started. “What?”
“Take a lover.” Louisa leaned forward impatiently. “Nate just told me he loves you.”
Mr. Garrett gave her a small shove. “Louisa!”
Penelope’s heart stuttered in her chest. “No, you must have misheard him-”
“I didn’t mishear him,” Louisa said. “I don’t know if I believe it either, but he believes it. And I don’t care what kind of bloodless bargain you made with Nate when you married him, if you think you can do as you like as long as you pretend nothing’s happening and the neighbors don’t find out, think again. Because if you hurt my brother, I will kill you.”
“Lady Louisa,” Sir Jasper said from right behind Penelope, and she started. Oh, God, how much had he heard? “You’re missing all the strawberries.” He held out his arm. “And I know how fond you are of them. Your father used to buy up half my strawberries sometimes to make you happy. Come, there is a patch over there that no one has found yet.”
For a moment Penelope was afraid Louisa really would do something irrevocable. Instead, the girl hesitated, glanced in her mother’s direction-and placed her hand on Sir Jasper’s arm.
Penelope smiled at her. “Did your father really?”
Louisa rolled her eyes. “He never remembered. Not once. But Nate always ate mine, so it was all right.”
“Strawberries make Louisa ill,” Penelope explained.
For several seconds, Sir Jasper could only blink. “Oh, my dear. How very unfortunate. I assure you, I had no idea.”
“Neither did my father,” Louisa said impatiently. “So I can hardly claim to be greatly offended by your ignorance.”
“I hope you will forgive me enough to come with your family to a dance at Greygloss tomorrow night. I know you are in mourning, but it is to be an informal affair, and I thought it might prove a welcome diversion from recent distressing events in the district.”
Penelope, remembering the way Sir Jasper had looked at Josie Cusher, wanted to strike him across the face.
“Mr. Garrett will naturally be attending.” He looked at Penelope significantly; his tone of voice suggested that he thought this would be an inducement to her to come.
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.”
