But he had fixed nothing at all. Instead, he had failed in every way imaginable. His sister was gone. His best friend was gone. His wife was leaving.
Penelope was leaving. God.
What was he fighting for? Who was he fighting for? What was to be his reward when he had pulled Loweston out of the hole it was in? He might as well give up. He might as well go bankrupt tomorrow.
He might as well get drunk and find someone to blow his brains out.
The thought snapped him out of his stupor of self-pity. What would Penelope say if she knew how morbidly he was thinking?
He clung to the last hope he had. He would bring Louisa back. Percy was a faster driver than either of them, but if Nev and Thirkell spelled each other they could overtake him. And when Louisa was safe home, he would talk to Penelope. She was a sensible girl; she would see reason. She had to, because Nev could not imagine how he would live if she did not.
She said she might come back. She said she just needed a little time to think. But what was there for her to come back for? Everyone hates me here, she had said. And the only answer Nev could give her was that he didn’t. If she didn’t want him, then there was nothing for her at Loweston.
He had thought she did. Last night she had been so warm and sweet and she’d wanted him-hadn’t she? She didn’t seem to want him now.
He looked at his wife, leaning back against the seats with her eyes closed and her mouth set in lines of nausea and pain. She looked so pale and tired and unhappy. I’ve compromised all my life, she had said. All he had ever wanted from her-besides her money, he reminded himself bitterly-was for her to be herself. To do and say what she wanted, what she needed. Now she was, and if that meant leaving him, could he really ask her to stay?
They pulled up at Greygloss. Nev put his thoughts aside and ran up the steps. He banged on the door, but it was several minutes before the butler opened it. “I’m sorry to intrude so early, but I have urgent business with Lord Thirkell,” Nev said, grabbing Penelope’s hand and pushing past the startled butler. “If I might just take my family to the breakfast room first-”
“Nev,” Penelope said. “Please-”
He dragged her into the breakfast room and flung her down in a chair. He poured tea and filled a plate with eggs and bacon and toast and set them in front of her. “Eat. It will make you feel better. I’ll be back soon.” He turned back to the butler. “Take me to Lord Thirkell’s room.”
He followed the man to Thirkell’s door and banged on it, hard. There was no answer. Thirkell always slept like a log. Nev pounded harder. “Thirkell!”
“My lord,” the butler said in pained accents, “people are sleeping.”
“And I want them to bloody well stop, that’s the point. Thirkell!”
His fist was raised to pound again when Thirkell opened the door, and Nev nearly hit him in the nose. Thirkell blinked bleary eyes at him. “Nev?”
“Thirkell, I need your help. I need to borrow your racing curricle.”
Thirkell yawned. “You can’t. Percy’s got it.” Then his eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth.
Nev realized abruptly how very, very stupid he had been. He could not understand why he had not tumbled to it immediately-perhaps because he had been so distracted by Penelope’s announcement. Of course Thirkell was in on it. The spiked punch, when Lady Bedlow was so susceptible; Thirkell’s guilty face; Nev, I need to tell you something.
Nev had no one left now-no one to help him. He wanted Penelope so badly it hurt, physically hurt. He clenched his teeth.
“I almost told you, Nev.” Thirkell’s words tumbled over each other and meant absolutely nothing, because Thirkell had helped Louisa and Percy. “I wanted to tell you, but you know how Percy is, and you had been awfully rough on him, and I had promised silence faithfully-there’s no help for it now, you know. Percy and my curricle, and such a head start-”
“It is very early in the morning to be talking of curricle racing,” Sir Jasper said, appearing at Nev’s elbow. Oh, God, Sir Jasper. Lord knew what he would do if he found out how matters lay. He might take his disappointment out on anybody-on Nev’s people, on the poachers, on little Josie Cusher. It had to be hushed up as long as possible.
“Oh, we weren’t-” Thirkell broke off with such obvious guilt that Nev very nearly laughed at the whole absurd situation.
“We weren’t talking of curricle racing,” he said. “Mr. Garrett’s mother has been taken ill, and he borrowed Lord Thirkell’s curricle to go see her. But he has left his luggage behind him, and we were wondering if it might catch up with him.”
“I see,” Sir Jasper said. “Is that what brings you here so early?”
“My mother lost an earring,” Nev said. “She was so distressed that I offered to drive over directly.”
Sir Jasper was too well-bred to inquire further into what Nev was all too aware was a paltry lie, and one he did not even trust his mother to corroborate. But he could think of no other way to explain the dowager countess’s presence.
Though they had been the only people in the breakfast room when they arrived, by the time Nev, Thirkell, and Sir Jasper entered it again, it was full of guests and the bustle of conversation and silverware and morning papers. Nev’s gaze instinctively turned to Penelope. She was eating, methodically, her color somewhat restored. But her drained, unhappy look was as pronounced as ever.
Sir Jasper greeted Penelope and Lady Bedlow graciously. “I will instruct the servants to search the ballroom and hallway for your earring at once. I know it is irreplaceable.”
Lady Bedlow’s startled gaze flew to Nev. He gave her the smallest nod he could manage, and to her credit she said, “Yes. It has my dear husband’s hair in it, you know.”
“But where is Miss Ambrey?” Sir Jasper asked. “Still abed, no doubt?”
Lady Bedlow’s small store of subterfuge was used up. She flushed crimson and stammered something in which, “Louisa,” “a school friend,” and “taken ill” were discernible, but not much more.
Nev looked at Sir Jasper to see how he took this. The man was no fool. Nev was prepared for skepticism, perhaps even anger. But he was shocked by the pure violence of the baronet’s emotion. His face was chalk white, his eyes dark furious slits.
Nev’s heart sank. Louisa and Percy had made him and his people a powerful enemy in the neighborhood.
Penelope stood abruptly. “Nev, I’m going to be sick.”
“You, fetch a basin,” Nev snapped at a footman.
“No time,” Penelope said in a tiny voice.
This, at least, was a crisis Nev felt equipped to deal with. Hurrying to the side table, he unceremoniously dumped the bacon in with the sausage and brought her the pan, cursing as it burned his fingers. The poor girl was promptly, violently sick; the breakfast hadn’t had time to do her any good.
“I’m so sorry,” she said miserably as he wiped her mouth with his handkerchief. “I’m so sorry about everything.”
“It’s all right. It’s not your fault.” He wanted to be angry with her, but she looked so very mortified. Sighing, he gathered her up in one arm and let her bury her face in his jacket. He signaled to the footman to take the soiled pan away and looked round at the assembled guests over Penelope’s head, daring them to look even the smallest bit amused.
Several were hiding smiles, but Thirkell’s aunt said comfortably, “It is embarrassing, isn’t it? I remember when I was expecting my third, I cast up my accounts on my husband’s new Persian rug. Oh, he was furious!” Soon all the married ladies were swapping stories about their morning sickness.
Penelope, however, had gone rigid.
It would never have occurred to Nev, otherwise; she had been drunk the night before. There was nothing out of the way in her feeling sick. But he glanced down and met her eyes, her mouth a stunned O, and the word expecting echoed in his ears very loud.