“I’m sorry,” Mr. Garrett said once Louisa and Sir Jasper were out of earshot. “She isn’t usually so-so intractable. She’s having a hard time, and she feels trapped, and it makes her say things she wouldn’t otherwise. But she shouldn’t be so careless, or speak to you that way.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Penelope said tiredly. “You’ve put Nev through Hell, the pair of you.”

“I know,” Mr. Garrett said miserably. “But I love her.” He and Louisa said it the same way, as if it excused everything, as if it were the one unanswerable argument in the world. Maybe it did, and maybe it was.

“Mr. Garrett, listen to me. Nev loves both of you, he does. He only wants to protect Louisa.”

“Louisa is wretched. I don’t think Nev knows it, but Louisa has been wretched for a long time. It isn’t-it isn’t a happy home, and never was; without Lord Bedlow, it’s a hundred times worse. Nev always spent as little time there as possible, as soon as he was old enough to choose. Louisa can’t do that.”

Penelope sighed. She wouldn’t like to live with Lady Bedlow either, but how bad could it really be? Perhaps, though, that didn’t matter, especially not at seventeen. She wished she had done more to befriend Louisa, so that she might have some influence now. “Nev only wants to protect her,” she repeated. “She’s so young. But I’ll talk to him. I think if Louisa can behave herself and be patient and prove this is not merely a fleeting ungovernable passion, he will agree to an engagement. Perhaps a lengthy one, but I suppose you will be willing to wait.”

“I would wait an eternity, but he will never agree,” Mr. Garrett said with finality. “You did not hear him last night. Nev does not compromise. He never has.”

“He was angry.” She felt unreasonably angry herself. “You must admit that neither your behavior nor Louisa’s has been the sort to inspire confidence.”

“I do admit it. I have sacrificed every claim to his good opinion. He has a right to be angry.” He looked at her. “You are very generous not to be. My words last night were not those of a gentleman.”

She had hoped he would not bring it up. A month before your marriage you were gossiping about your bride-to-be’s dowry with your mistress. What had Nev said? Your name only came up because I couldn’t stop staring at you. With a sudden flash of inspiration she could imagine it all-poor Miss Wray, trying to be practical and pretend she didn’t mind, and Nev believing it. He doesn’t believe you when you pretend, she thought suddenly and wondered what that meant.

“No,” she said, a chill in her voice. “I should thank you for reminding me of a truth I had almost let myself forget.”

Mr. Garrett bit his lip. “Lady Bedlow, I’ve known Nev a long time. I don’t know what he said to Louisa, but I do know he is very fond of you. I really thought he would hit me last night.”

Nev was very fond of her. She knew it was true. She ought to be grateful; she ought to be satisfied. And she wasn’t. “I know.”

“He hates Mr. Macaulay.”

It was childish, but she smiled. “I know.”

It was a horrid, hot day. As Penelope walked home from a visit to the dressmaker’s, everything seemed malevolent and too bright. She went by a wheat field and saw workers standing in tight knots, talking in low voices. When she passed, they quieted and watched her, their faces blank and sullen. She thought of Sir Jasper and his fears of revolution. These men had rioted before. Penelope hugged her packages to her chest and walked faster.

In the entrance hall at the Grange, she found Nev by the silver salver of mail, staring at the newspaper. Her heart leapt into her throat without her quite knowing why. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“There’s been a massacre at Manchester.” Nev’s face twisted. “Listen to this: ‘The local troops, it is said, behaved with great alacrity. The consternation and dismay which spread among the immense crowd collected cannot be conceived. The multitude was composed of a large proportion of females. The prancing of cavalry, and the active use of the saber among them, created a dreadful sense of confusion, and we may add of carnage. By the accounts received through the mail, no less than eighty or a hundred persons are wounded, and eight killed-’ ” He broke off. “There’s hardly anything else. They hadn’t got their correspondent’s article yet when the paper went to press. God knows what really happened.”

Penelope skimmed the brief article. Edward had been right; the yeomanry had begun the bloodshed.

She tried not to think about it as she dressed for Sir Jasper’s party. She tried to think about her hair and her jewels; she had to be a credit to Nev. But as she clasped the jet around her neck, she saw only Agnes Cusher’s exhausted scowl and Sir Jasper’s frightened, furious face.

She came down the stairs still brooding. Nev and Edward were waiting, each looking preoccupied and uncomfortable. They both moved forward, and then Edward hesitated and fell back, letting Nev take her hand.

“What’s wrong, sweet? You look fagged to death.”

She tried to glare at him, but really she just wished Edward weren’t there and that they didn’t have to go to the party, so she could curl against his side and tell him everything. She opened her mouth to at least tell him about Sir Jasper’s strange behavior the day before.

“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.