“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.