Mrs. Brown came closer. “Hogarth!” Then she saw which engravings they were. Her smile faded. “Who sent those to you?”

“I don’t know,” Penelope lied. “There was no note.”

“What kind of devil would do such a thing? It’s bad luck! And on your wedding day too.”

“Don’t be superstitious, Mama.”

Mrs. Brown knotted her fingers together. “But-but who could hate you so much?”

Penelope would not cry. “It’s just someone’s idea of a joke,” she repeated mechanically.

Mrs. Brown’s gaze lingered on the crate, clearly marked PARIS. Her eyes narrowed, but she made no comment. “Here, come help me choose my pelisse. I bought some new ones.”

“Won’t we be late?”

Mrs. Brown looked at the clock. “We have time. Come on. After today, there will be no one to laugh and tell me they become me abominably.”

Penelope smiled around the lump in her throat. “All right, Mama. You go on. I’ll be there in a moment.”

The minister’s voice droned on and on. Nev looked at his bride. She looked adorable-her shining brown hair was braided and curled and adorned with about fifty silk forget-me-nots that fluttered and bobbed with every movement of her head. Her light-blue muslin dress was embroidered with more of the small flowers. Yes, she looked adorable-but she had been crying. Nev was sure of it. He had not the faintest idea what to do.

This was not how he had imagined his wedding. Not that he sat around dreaming of it like a girl; but yes, he’d thought of it once or twice, and he’d always planned a last glorious night of bachelor debauchery, a bride with an indistinct but joyful countenance, and-and Percy or Thirkell at his side, or the two of them grinning at him from the front row and miming toasts and the key turning in a leg shackle.

Instead, he had spent his last night of freedom sitting in his rooms, sober as a judge, gazing at the empty decanter and thinking about Amy. He had gone to bed early. Now, his friends weren’t in the church at all, his mother was sobbing brokenheartedly, and his sister was sitting furiously straight and refusing to look at him. And his bride had been crying.

He couldn’t blame her. Tomorrow night they would be at Loweston. Loweston doesn’t look quite the same anymore.

Trapped in the country on a run-down estate. Far away from London and the comfortable life she knew. Without her friends. About to bed a stranger. Nev gulped.

Poor Miss Brown must be terrified.

“Therefore if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace,” the minister finally intoned. Nev felt a flash of panic. He glanced suspiciously at his mother, but she showed no signs of emerging from her handkerchief with an impediment.

Nev was so relieved that when the minister said “forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her,” he winked at Miss Brown. No mistresses, he mouthed. Preoccupied with the sudden blossoming of a smile on her face, he almost missed his cue to say, “I will.”

“Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honor, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

Miss Brown turned to look at him, her smile still in her eyes. Her clear voice reached effortlessly to the far corners of the church. “I will.”

Nev couldn’t explain why he suddenly felt a thousand times better. He just did.

But when it came time for the ring, the unthinkable happened. He took it carefully from his pocket. It wasn’t the Ambrey ring-his mother had refused to take that off-but it was another of the entailed family heirlooms. In fact, the ring he was giving Miss Brown was bigger than the Ambrey ring, because he knew that would annoy his mother, and besides, he had always liked women in heavy jewelry. It was a square agate intaglio face, ringed with-well, he was fairly sure the large clear stones were paste, but they were pretty. The thick band was gold, at any rate. It had been cleaned and fitted to Miss Brown’s finger the week before.

She had made no demur when he showed it to her, but he was suddenly uncomfortably aware that he had never seen her wear anything but a tiny gold locket or, once, an amber cross on a chain. Was she eying the ring with distaste?

He took her hand and began, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow-”

Someone, somewhere in the church, laughed. “Rather the other way round, isn’t it?”

Nev dropped the ring.

Six

It hit the stone floor with a heavy thunk. Mrs. Brown’s shocked gasp was probably audible all over the church. She muttered something in which the words “bad luck” were clearly discernible.

Frozen in horror, Nev stared at Miss Brown. The girl gave a minatory glance to the congregation, then knelt and retrieved the ring. “I don’t believe in bad luck.” She smiled encouragingly and handed it back to him.

This time he got it on.

It was done, then. By her own hand and with her own voice Penelope had given herself to Lord Bedlow, to obey and serve him, as long as they both should live.

For the rest of her life was a long time.

Her father drew her aside. “Penny-I wish you very happy, but I want you to know-your mother and I discussed this, and if he’s not good to you, we’ll get you a divorce. Never mind the scandal.”

Penelope laughed. So much for as long as you both shall live. “Whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

Mr. Brown scowled. “Never mind that. For twelve thousand pounds Parliament will sunder you well enough. We want our little ha’penny to be happy.”

Penelope felt tears pricking again. Her Nonconformist father was strictly opposed to divorce. “I won’t need a divorce, Papa,” she said, and kissed him.

Six hours later, a divorce sounded pretty tempting. Her new husband did nothing but fidget, stare out the window, and complain about how slowly they traveled. “Loweston is only a day’s journey from London by post,” he said for perhaps the twentieth time.

“How much extra is it to hire post-horses? Surely we might have afforded it.”

Lord Bedlow waved a hand airily. “Oh, post-horses are no good. My father used to keep our own horses at every coaching inn on the Norwich Road…” He trailed off.

“What does an extra day matter?” Penelope asked gently, although a moment before she had felt like snapping at him. After all, she would have liked to lessen their journey too. She was tired and jostled, the relentless rhythm of hoofbeats and carriage wheels was giving her a headache, and Lord Bedlow had already eaten most of the food her mother had packed for them-but she wasn’t complaining.

He slumped back against the seat cushions. “It doesn’t, I suppose.”

“Are you very eager to be home?”

It was painfully easy to tell when Lord Bedlow was being evasive. He fidgeted like a guilty schoolboy.

She hid a smile. “Not very eager, then?”

He shook his head. “I-I suppose I ought to warn you. I haven’t been there in over a year. I don’t quite know what to expect. My father’s solicitor assured me it could be put to rights with a little money.”

“But you’re worried?”

“My sister told me it wouldn’t look like I remembered. She didn’t think the harvests had been very good.” He looked at her. “But-it couldn’t have got too bad, could it? In a few years?”

Penelope had no idea how bad it could have got. She had never been out of the city for more than a few days before. “I don’t know anything about farming.”

Lord Bedlow sighed and resumed staring moodily out the window. She wanted to ask more, to ask if he trusted his father’s solicitor and what kind of accounting system the steward used and if he’d looked at the books. But she doubted he would have useful answers to any of her questions, and she didn’t want to make him feel worse.