In for a Penny (22 page)

Penelope found that she couldn’t quite bear the thought. She did not want to be ashamed of her feelings anymore.

Edward leaned closer to her and spoke quietly. “Penelope, I—I know that this is very improper, and if you never wish to speak of it again we shall not. But I want you to know that if you wished to leave him, you would always have a home with me.”

She stared. It was the last thing she would ever have expected him to say. “L—leave him?” she said, louder than she meant. She glanced at Molly, bent over her sewing at the far end of the room, as she had sat through all Penelope’s tête-à-têtes with Edward for years. The girl hadn’t looked up. “But Edward, he’s my husband!”

He flushed and took his glasses off with an abrupt gesture. “I know it’s wrong. But any fool can see he doesn’t deserve you. He’s making you miserable.”

She wanted to defend Nev, but she was still too shocked by Edward’s shocking proposal. It was so very unlike him. “But Edward, I would be ruined. Think of the scandal! Think of what Mr. Meath would say!”

“I have thought of it,” he said grimly. “I have been thinking of it ever since I walked into this house and saw you crying. But I would face it for you, Penelope. I love you. I always have. You shall always have a place to go as long as I am breathing.”

Was it possible that all the things she had never felt for Edward, he felt for her? Or did he love her like a sister? It didn’t matter; he had just offered to sacrifice everything he believed and everything he wanted for her. He was her oldest friend and—she found herself crying again.

His hands tightened on hers. “Penny! Give me the word: we’ll go now, this moment—”

She yanked her hands away just as Nev walked into the room. She saw his stunned expression, saw the blazoning of guilt on Edward’s face, and began to laugh through her tears. “Oh, Nev. What a Gothic novel our life has become!”

He just stared at her. So did Edward. She was becoming a madwoman. Perhaps Nev would lock her in the attic and hire Agnes Cusher as her keeper.

“Penelope,” Nev said. “May I speak to you a moment?”

“Of course.” She wondered what she would tell him. Would she tell him what Edward had said? “Edward, if you’ll excuse us a moment.” She followed him into the steward’s sitting room.

“Amy’s woken up,” he said. “They think—they think she might be all right.”

A mingled pang of relief and fear smote her. She did not know what to say. This, then, was the source of his dazed look. Like everything else, it had nothing to do with her.

“She’s asked for me. I—I have to go. But—”

“Of course you must go,” she said, numbly. She wished he
would
go, and leave her in peace.

But he didn’t. He stood there, his cinnamon hair falling into his downcast eyes, his hands knotting together. “Penelope—I know I’ve no right to ask, especially tonight. But I can’t go without you. It wouldn’t be proper.”

“What exactly is proper about taking your wife to visit your mistress?” Penelope snapped.

Nev looked stricken. And he was right, of course. She could not understand why she hadn’t seen it at once. He could not visit Miss Wray alone without scandal.

Miss Wray had been Nev’s constant companion for a year and she had almost died.

Penelope passed a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long evening. Of course you must go. Let me get my cloak and my boots.”

“Thank you, Penelope.” The gratitude in his voice brought fresh tears to her eyes. “I—thank you.”

Amy was awake. Amy would very likely live.

Nev knew he should be overjoyed. He should not be replaying in his mind, over and over, the moment he had walked into the steward’s room and seen Penelope crying, seen that bastard Macaulay leaning toward her and holding her perfect hands in his. Of course they’d been in the damn steward’s room: the room that inevitably made him feel like a dullard, the one room in his own house where he did not belong and never would.

Edward belonged there; anyone could see that. What if Edward belonged with Penelope? She let him see her cry. She had never let Nev see that, not willingly.

And now he had driven a deeper wedge between himself and his wife by asking her to go with him to see Amy. It was hardly a request calculated to endear to her either him or Loweston. But Amy had asked for him. She would be frightened and alone, and he could not fail this responsibility too.

He did not know what to say, so he said nothing, only watched his wife’s face and tried to trace the tear tracks in the moonlight. He couldn’t.

Amy was thin and pale and dirty, and her eyes were full of unhappiness. She had always seemed so happy before.

But she smiled a little when she saw him. “Nev.” It was her, her voice—raspy and weak, yes, but not that strange restless mumble it had been this past week. Something eased inside Nev.

He smiled back. “Amy. I’m so glad you’re all right.”

“Why am I here? Did you—?”

He shook his head, ashamed. “Your mother asked Mrs. Brown to help her remove you to the country, and Mrs.
Brown asked Penelope to take you in. Neither of us had any idea it was you until you arrived. You gave me the fright of my life, Amy—we all thought you were done for.”

“Did I make a lot of trouble for you with your wife?” Amy asked in a small voice.

“Not really.” Nev was fairly certain it was a lie. “Penelope’s been very good about the whole thing.”

Amy shrugged a little. He could see the bones in her shoulders. “Doesn’t love you.”

“That’s not fair.” Nev knew he shouldn’t upset Amy when she was still so weak, but he found he was quite incapable of letting such an insult to Penelope pass. That is—of course she didn’t love him. But that wasn’t why she had been so kind about Amy—was it? “She’s been good about it because she’s a kind, principled girl. It would be a dreadful scandal for her if it got about you were here, and she hasn’t breathed a word of reproach to me, only sent you chickens and fuel. She agreed to escort me here tonight, even though she was visiting with an old friend. She’s better than I deserve.”

Amy’s lips twisted. “You’re very happy, then?”

That gave him pause. “I don’t know. I hope—I hope I will be.”

Her gaze sharpened, but she said, “That’s good, Nev, I’m glad.”

“Oh, Amy. I’m so sorry. You should have told me what was wrong, that night at the theater. You should have known I would help you.”

Tears glittered in her eyes. “Should I have?”

He took her hand. “I’ll always help you, Amy.” Finally he said what had to be said. “It was mine, the baby, wasn’t it.”

“Who else’s should it be?” She turned her face to the wall, a very un-Amy-like tremor in her voice, and Nev felt worse than ever. “Are you very angry with me?”

How could he be angry? “No. What do you want to do now?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Nev. Gain back some of this weight, first of all. I just don’t know, I’m so tired.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Will you come and see me tomorrow?”

He felt a flash of irritation and resentment at the request—Penelope would be hurt and angry again, and he had so much to do already—and then guilt at his own selfishness. “If I can. Of course.”

“I’d like that. Stay with me till I’m sleeping, won’t you?”

He nodded.

When she was asleep, he went out into the other room. Penelope sat at the table in earnest conversation with Mrs. Bailey. She looked up at Nev, her face grave. “I think perhaps we ought to find another place for Miss Raeburn.”

“Certainly, if it’s too much trouble for Mrs. Bailey,” Nev said, puzzled.

Mrs. Bailey gave him a pleading look. “That ain’t it, your lordship. Everyone hates us now on account of Jack peaching. And Sir Jasper’s been to visit her, and that doesn’t help none. People have been—a rock came through the window in there and almost hit Miss Raeburn on the head, this morning.”

Nev rocked back on his heels. “Oh. Well, then. Certainly. And—I’ll find someone to guard the house. The children ought to be safe.”

Penelope was unsurprised when she woke up the next morning with her stomach in knots. She barely made it to the basin in her dressing room before casting up her accounts. Thank God Nev hadn’t slept in her bed last night.

Her stomach rolled again. He hadn’t touched her, not after talking to Miss Wray. It was too much, all of it—the poachers and Edward and Miss Wray. She wasn’t strong enough. She had never been strong enough, not at school and not now. She was a weak, silly, nervous girl and she felt like crying.

She wiped her mouth and looked at the Hogarth engravings. Edward’s anger didn’t trouble her anymore, and yet the sharpest sting of the engravings remained: the unequal marriage that ended in disaster. Had Hogarth and Edward and Lady Bedlow been right after all?

Miss Wray had been moved to Agnes Cusher’s house. Penelope brought them some soft white bread, soft enough for Miss Wray.

“Thank you, my lady.” Agnes’s face was closed and lined. She took the basket and didn’t move from the doorway.

“I’d like to talk to Miss Raeburn. I’m writing to my parents, and I thought she might want to include a message for her mother.” It was the truth; Mrs. Brown had asked Penelope to do it. But Penelope wasn’t entirely sorry. She was perversely curious, she admitted to herself. She wanted to see what kind of a woman Nev had chosen when he was choosing for himself.

“That’s very kind of you,” Agnes said, in a voice that said she wasn’t impressed, and moved aside.

Miss Wray lay on a cot in the corner of the room. She looked at Penelope with interest, fighting for breath as she tried to sit up. Agnes was at her side in a moment, arranging pillows behind her with gentle hands.

“Thank you, Agnes.” Miss Wray smiled, and Agnes smiled back, with a malicious glance at Penelope to see how she took it.

Penelope raised her chin. So. Agnes knew this was Nev’s mistress and had taken to her out of spite against Penelope. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t hurt her.

If only Penelope believed that.

“I’m going to fetch water. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Come along, Kit.” And Agnes bustled them out the door as if she couldn’t wait to get away from Penelope.

“Lady Bedlow,” Miss Wray said with some constraint. “Allow me to thank you for—”

“Oh, don’t.” Penelope felt as if she were choking. “It was no hardship, and your mother has worked for my father for so long, and—” She did not know how to break through the polite lies, so she was grateful when Miss Wray did it for her.

“Nev says—” She twisted a golden curl round her finger in a nervous gesture that Penelope could see would be bewitchingly flirtatious when she was a stone heavier and clean and well-dressed. “Nev says you know how things used to be between us. So thanks for not tossing me out or having me quietly poisoned or anything.”

Penelope was surprised into a laugh. “I—it bothers me. But Nev’s been so worried about you and felt so guilty. I wanted you to get well.”

“He oughtn’t to feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault, none of it.”

Penelope could not bring herself to say the obvious, that it had been his child. “He thinks—he thinks you must have wanted for money, to go without proper care. And that he could have helped you, in that way at least.”

“I didn’t want for money,” Amy said wryly, “only sense. My mum didn’t know where the money was, that’s all. And I didn’t tell any of my friends I was in trouble because I felt so stupid. Then I knew it hadn’t gone right, and I was bleeding too much and getting sick. But I was so miserable and angry with myself I just soldiered on, and then it was too late.”

Penelope listened to this speech with a growing and uncomfortable sense of recognition. “I’ve done that. When I was fourteen, I decided to run away from school and tried to climb the fence. But I fell and broke a tooth, and I was too ashamed to tell anyone. I went on like that for weeks until I could barely eat, and one of the teachers noticed my face was red and swollen. I’ve never seen my mother so angry.”

Miss Wray plucked at the blanket. “My mum must be out
of her head with worry. You
will
tell her I’m all right, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. I—listen, I know we’re supposed to be at each other’s throats, hissing like spiteful cats, but none of this is your fault. I don’t see why we can’t be friendly.”

Miss Wray smiled at her, a charming smile that dimpled her cheeks, and Penelope thought of several reasons; but she tamped them down.

“I don’t see why either, though I never expected to be friendly with one of my gentlemen’s
wives
. But you seem nice enough, and there’s no reason practical girls like us can’t get along.” Miss Wray made a moue, her voice turning a little bitter at the end.

Penelope couldn’t help it, the instinctive recoil at being told by an actress that they were two of a kind, and yet she felt abruptly that they
were
. They were both London girls who wanted to be something they were not, something glamorous and genteel; they were both girls Nev did not love.

“It gets tiresome being practical, doesn’t it?” Penelope said. “You just want to do something stupid, like smash the china, even though you’d feel foolish the next moment, and it wouldn’t help. You
know
it wouldn’t make you happy but you can’t help wondering if it—would make you different, somehow.”

Miss Wray nodded ruefully. “They want someone who will give them thrills, and I only know how to make them comfortable. We just aren’t the sort men fall in love with.”

Penelope knew that was true, had always known it; but she thought of Edward. “I don’t know—”

Miss Wray’s eyes brightened. “So there is someone? That old friend Nev was so jealous of?”

“We were engaged, before,” Penelope confessed.

“Is it Ed Macaulay? My mum always said the two of you would make a match of it for sure. Half the girls in the plant were green with envy.”

Penelope was startled for a moment. But of course the Raeburns would have known Edward. “Yes.”

“You gave him up for a title, and you’re sorry.”

“I—it wasn’t the title. I gave him up for Nev, because Nev needed me and he was so—” She searched for the word that would describe Nev and why she had wanted him, and could not find it.