“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-”