In for a Penny (16 page)

He thought of Amy saying she was all right and him not knowing how to tell if she were lying, and panic shot through him. “Penelope, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ll be fine, truly.” Her tears were slowing now. “I’m just being foolish.” She sniffled and began searching her reticule for a handkerchief.

He gave her his, and thought about what to say while she was blowing her nose.

She spoke before he could, however. “Nev, I’m so sorry about this morning. I don’t know what came over me.”

Nev found that he wasn’t angry about it anymore. He didn’t understand what had happened, but it wasn’t important just then. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” She reached up and began taking her hair down, as if she were just tired of the whole evening and wanted it to be over. He reached out idly and pulled out a pin, and she jerked away. “Don’t.”

Nev was appalled. She didn’t want him to touch her? “Penelope?”

She turned her face away. “I’m sorry. Just—not tonight. I’ll feel better tomorrow, but—not tonight. Just help me get my things off and let’s go to sleep. Please, Nev.”

He wanted to insist on an explanation, but he was terrified that she would say it was nothing to do with him. “Of course. Only—” He did not know how to say what he wanted
to. “You know I want you to be happy, don’t you? You know that if you needed me to do anything, I would?”

She gave him a tired smile and nodded. “Thank you, Nev.”

So he changed into his night things while she unpinned her hair and took off her jewelry and her slippers and stockings. He unbuttoned her dress and unlaced her corset and didn’t let his hands stray even an inch, as much as he wanted to. They got into bed, and Penelope blew out the candle, and then she turned away from him and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Nev lay there in the dark. He didn’t wish Penelope were gone, and that he had his old life back. He just wished he knew why she was unhappy and that he could fix it.

It took Penelope a long time to fall asleep. She hated how unreasonable she was being. She hated that she had hurt Nev’s feelings—because they had been hurt, when she had asked him not to touch her. She
wanted
him to touch her. But she had found she couldn’t bear it, not then, not after he had been talking to Miss Wray, not when he was thinking about his former mistress.

It would have been the height of melodrama for Penelope to suppose herself the forsaken lover; she was still his wife, after all, and she had no reason to suppose he had been madly in love with Miss Wray. But that, somehow, was what stung; that probably Miss Wray had meant to Nev exactly what Penelope did. Nev had desired Miss Wray, and liked her. He was kind and did not want anyone to be unhappy. That was very likely all.

It would have been irrational to expect him to feel more for her after a fortnight of marriage, and Penelope knew it. It was irrational to ever expect him to feel more; she was hardly the sort to inspire a grand passion in anyone. She was ordinary—common. She had known it from the start. She
thought grand passions were ridiculous, anyway. She hated that she wanted him to feel more, that she could not help wanting to be special.

And yet when he touched her, it felt so—
affectionate
. It felt like it meant something. And tonight she could not bear that it didn’t, and there was nothing to be done about it.

The next morning she let him touch her again, and Nev seemed to feel as relieved and happy about that as she did. But relations between them, instead of easing, became more and more strained. To Penelope, traveling back to Loweston resembled nothing so much as returning to Miss Mardling’s boarding school after vacation. There was the same feeling of putting back on a heavy cloak of dullness and misery. She did not know whether Nev felt the same or if his silence was due to worry about something else—Miss Wray’s health, for example.

Neither of them spoke of Mr. Garrett, but as the days passed, Penelope sensed a growing unease in Nev. Their one substantive conversation (on how best to help Jack Bailey, a laborer who had gone to help his mother rethatch her roof the week before and returned with a broken leg) quickly disintegrated into bickering about which was better for invalids, chicken broth or French onion soup. Finally, on Thursday, Penelope looked out the window and saw a solitary figure trudging up the drive carrying a valise.

Nev was nowhere to be found, so when Mr. Garrett arrived there was only herself to greet him. “Welcome back to Loweston, Mr. Garrett,” Penelope said, remembering how badly she had conducted herself at their last meeting and ashamed for herself and her husband. “I know I had to bribe you shamelessly, but allow me to tell you anyway how glad I am that you agreed to come and work for us.”

He bowed. “Thank you, Lady Bedlow.”

“Martin will be here shortly to conduct you to your room. Take this evening to settle in. Tomorrow morning after breakfast, I should like you to meet me in your office so that I may show you the work I have done on the books and ask you a number of questions about the estate that I have been unable to find the answers to.”

He bowed again. “Certainly, my lady. I hope I can answer them to your satisfaction. My experience here is all years old. I did, however, take the liberty of purchasing several books and journals on the latest farming techniques, especially those popularized in Norfolk by Coke.” Halfway through this speech Penelope heard the door behind her open. It would have been rude to turn round, and so she saw Mr. Garrett’s eyes fly to the door and saw his shoulders sag a little in disappointment. Evidently it was not Nev who had walked in.

She glanced at his valise. If there were a number of farming books in there, there was not room for much else. “That was very thoughtful of you. I meant to do as much when we were in London, but somehow I did not find the time. If you will let me know how much you were obliged to spend, I should be happy to reimburse you.”

He inclined his head. “Your ladyship is very kind.”

She looked round to see one of the footman waiting by the door. “Martin will escort you to your room. Will you be joining us for supper? You are welcome, if you’d like…” She did not know how to continue.

He smiled ironically. “Thank you, but I am quite content to take my meals in the steward’s room.” Her distress must have shown on her face because his smile grew a little warmer, and he said, quietly enough that Martin would not hear, “It will be a deal kinder to Lord Bedlow and to myself.”

She nodded, but her heart sank. What on earth was the point of going to all this trouble to reconcile them if they were both going to be so wretchedly stubborn?

“Now, if your ladyship will excuse me,” Mr. Garrett said, “I should be glad to rid myself of the dirt of the road.”

“Oh, certainly!”

He followed Martin out. She heard their voices in the hall a moment, talking familiarly together. It surprised her, though it should not have.

She had not forgotten that he had grown up at the Grange; it was more that she had never considered what that meant. How would he be treated in the steward’s room? Would he be welcomed by the upper servants as one of their own? He must have dined with the family on his most recent visits to the Grange; would he be resented? Would he be taunted for his fall from grace?

The first thing Nev heard from the butler Hathick when he returned to the house was, “Good afternoon, my lord. Mr. Garrett has arrived safely.”

He did not know what to say. Soon enough it would be clear to everyone how matters stood between himself and Percy. “I am glad to hear it,” he said at last, awkwardly. “Will he be joining myself and Lady Bedlow for supper?” He didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be.

“I believe he will be taking his meals in the steward’s room, my lord.” Not by a flicker of an eyelid did Hathick indicate that he remembered the dozens of times Percy had eaten at the master’s table. But perhaps it had not been so very often; when they were boys they ate in the nursery, and when they were home from school Percy had generally dined with his own family—which must have meant, Nev realized, in the steward’s room. It was only since Mr. Garrett’s death that Percy had eaten in the dining room with Thirkell and the Ambreys. Nev had always suspected that Percy was uncomfortable there—he barely spoke, and Lady Bedlow would roll her eyes at what she termed his excessive politeness to the
servants. Perhaps Percy would be happier in the steward’s room, after all.

Nev had almost succeeded in banishing the matter from his mind by the time he sat down to supper. But Penelope seemed preoccupied and excused herself directly after the plates were carried away.

When he went to her room that night, she was sitting on her bed brushing her hair. Each stroke was very slow, as if she could not quite remember what she was doing. When she saw him she put the brush down and smiled with an effort.

“What is it, Penelope?”

“Mr. Garrett arrived today.”

“I know.”

“I invited him to eat with us, and he refused.”

“I know,” Nev said again, ignoring his hurt at the reminder.

“I wish you could at least be polite to him, Nev. It’s not going to be easy for him here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I talked to Molly just now and asked what the talk about him was below stairs. She says people weren’t very kind to him at supper.”

Nev stiffened. “It’s not very clever of them to insult a man who is, for all practical purposes, their employer.”

“You’re their employer, Nev. And somehow they all know the two of you have quarreled.”

“I certainly shall not impede him in the discharge of his duties,” he said sharply. “If he wants to sack the lot of them, he will have nothing but my approval.”

She smiled at him. “It would not be a very auspicious beginning. Apparently the elder Mr. Garrett was very much beloved, and the talk is that Mr. Garrett broke his parents’ heart, running wild and never coming home, making a living at cards, and corrupting you in the process.” She toyed with her brush. “
Was
he a bad influence, like they all say?
Like your mother said? Is that why you don’t wish to speak to him? You said he wouldn’t cheat us, that he could do the job—”

He could have said yes, and Penelope might even have approved of his fortitude and firmness of purpose. But he couldn’t do it. “My mother was talking rot. He wasn’t a bad influence. And he can do the job, and he won’t cheat us.”

“But then
why
—”

“Because I have to be respectable now, Penelope! Because I have to be a responsible landlord and a responsible guardian to Louisa! And I don’t know how to do that, but I sure as fire can’t do it by idling away my time with my disreputable friends. You asked me to promise not to leave you here while I went gallivanting about, remember? You asked me to promise not to be a spendthrift. I’ve never spent five minutes in Percy and Thirkell’s company without being tempted to gallivant off somewhere and buy something. My friends and I did nothing but drink, gamble, and—”
Attend the theater. Fence. Talk.
They had done everything together.

“But Mr. Garrett is not a professional gambler anymore,” she protested. “He is your steward.”

He looked at Penelope’s worried face and his resolve hardened. “My father was always out with his friends—drinking, gaming, whoring. ‘At my club,’ he always said. ‘I’ll be at my club.’ We all knew what that meant.” Nev remembered his mother with tears in her eyes, saying,
I didn’t want to marry him, but after twenty-five years—
She had been a wreck, mourning a man she had never loved and who had never been there when she needed him.

“I don’t want to be like that,” he said. “Percy and Thirkell have good hearts, but they aren’t suitable friends for me now. I mean to take care of my family, not spend my time in idle pursuits.”

She smiled at him uncertainly and pressed his hand.

The next morning after breakfast, Penelope went to Captain Trelawney’s office, attended by Molly. How different it looked now! Trelawney, she realized, must have forbidden the maids the room, because the dust, clutter, and smell of spilled claret had disappeared along with his pipe, pictures, and other effects. The windows were clean. Molly went to one and sat down with her pile of mending.

Mr. Garrett had cleared the desk and was occupied in organizing the shelves. A neat pile of new books lay beside him, evidently those he had brought with him from London; but it was an older, much-used book that engaged his attention. He stood turning it over in his hands, regarding it with an expression in which wonder and resignation were curiously mingled. When he heard Penelope enter, however, his face went blank. “Good morning, Lady Bedlow. How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you. And yourself?”

“It is kind of you to inquire,” he said. She did not think he meant it. “I am in excellent health.”

“What—what book is that?”

He looked at it impatiently, as if he wished he had put it down before she could see it. “It is Mr. Young’s
Farmer’s Tour through the East of England
. It was my father’s.”

“Was he fond of it?”

“Very. He revered Arthur Young second only to Mr. Coke.”

“You must take the book, if you wish—do you wish?” Penelope hoped he wouldn’t take offense. But he had looked at it so intently.

“Not particularly. But I suppose that, like this office, it is mine now.” He looked around at the neat little room as though surveying a prison.

“Sometimes I think that is how Nev feels about Loweston.” At once she wished she had not mentioned Nev. It was bound to make things awkward—more awkward.

He regarded her sharply. “And how do you feel about Loweston, Lady Bedlow?”

She was startled. “I—I don’t know. I suppose the same, but—I did not inherit it. It is not my home. I think I would feel differently about my father’s business.”
Never say ‘brewery.
’ She had drilled that into herself for years.

“Of course, the brewery makes more money.”

She was silent, trying not to let him see the sting. It was no more than she deserved.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “You said you had some questions about the estate?”

He only raised his eyebrows a little when he saw her list, and answered all her questions patiently. At times, explaining something that interested them both, he even seemed to forget that he disliked her. Emboldened, she brought forth her list of possible economies. He agreed with the first few items—cheaper and fewer candles, less beef and pork and more game, hot bricks and water bottles instead of fires.

“I don’t wish to let anyone go who might have trouble finding another position,” she said, “but our French chef is talented enough to find another position with ease. If we hired an ordinary cook to replace him, that would save us at least a hundred pounds a year.”

He glanced at her uneasily. “You are certainly correct. But Lord Bedlow is very fond of Gaston. We used to practice our French with him. And Gaston told me last night at supper that Lady Louisa had been by to beg some brioche from him and hear how he did.”

“Oh!” Penelope was abashed. “Then of course we shall keep him. Thank you for informing me.”

He laid down the paper then. “I thought you did not intend to see Loweston ruined for Lord Bedlow’s sensibilities.”

She felt herself flushing. “I am deeply ashamed of my behavior on the occasion of your interview,” she began firmly—
and then started to babble. “The truth is that I had quarreled with a—friend of my own on the occasion of my marriage, and it was a source of much pain to me. I thought—it little matters what I thought. I do not make excuses. I have landed us all in an exceedingly awkward situation. I can only apologize for the insults you have suffered—I did not expect—”

He was looking at her in astonishment, as well he might after such a confused speech. “Do you mean to tell me that you carried on like that because you wanted to make it up between me and Nev?”

She nodded, conscious of how foolish she must look.

“Does Nev know that?”

She shook her head. “He would only say I had no right to act as I did. It would seem like asking to be thanked for a piece of impertinence.”

Mr. Garrett seemed bereft of speech.

“I really am sorry for your part in this. I did not think he would be so”—she searched for a word that would not be disloyal—“constant in his determination.”

Mr. Garrett sighed. “When Nev does a thing, he does it with his whole heart. He does not know a middle road between Spartan restraint and hedonism.”

“But moderation in all things is the most rational mode of existence.”

He said something in a language she did not recognize, and laughed rather unhappily. “I studied Greek, and I agree with you. But Nev prefers Latin, and besides, one cannot always be rational.” After that they were more in charity.

In the weeks that followed, Penelope found herself spending more and more time in the little office going through the books and drawing up budgets and plans. Things seemed manageable there. They were making progress, and there were no tenants or hungry children or husbands around to
confuse her. One day she and Mr. Garrett were in the middle of reading about Coke’s introduction of Southdown sheep when it was time for dinner. Penelope could not quite bear to exchange the comfortable amity of business for sitting awkwardly with Nev, wondering what he was thinking and if his hand would brush hers when he reached for the salt. Mr. Garrett raised his eyebrows when she rang for a tray, but he didn’t send her away.