A/N This will have three parts. TW ahead of time for mentions of suicide and graphic depictions of violence.
In another world, Penelope might have written about the ton and society's players and their movements. But her father died. No one talks about it, but Penelope found the body.
She remembers distinctly walking into her father's office and seeing him slumped on his chair behind the desk. His face was blue, black, and bloody. His chest was still for the first time; breath would never pass his lips again.
Penelope didn't scream. She didn't panic. She calmly rang a bell for a servant and called for her mother and sisters. Her mother screamed. Her sisters cried. Penelope didn't.
When the doctor arrived, shortly after the police. He prescribed a tonic for her mother and diagnosed Penelope with shock.
Penelope wasn't shocked. She was calm. But it was like a fire had been lit under her. Observing how the police moved and how the detectives investigated, Penelope took notes.
No matter what lifetime, Penelope was first and foremost a writer. She listened as the police brought in the detectives. She wrote down the questions they asked her mother.
Thankfully, Penelope maintained her invisibility. While one might think that the police might notice her or remove her from the gruesome scene, they just stepped around her. A doll would have likely received more notice from these men.
The murder was never officially solved. But whether that was due to an inability to solve it following traditional means or the detective's incompetence, Penelope would never know. But, she did know who killed her father.
Her father was a prolific gambler. While he hadn't thrown away their estate by any means. He arrogantly felt that his position in society afforded him the right to skip out on paying his debts.
The Featherington household could more than have paid it off. Yet, he never bothered. He just enjoyed the thrill of betting. One day, the loan community had enough. They banded together to take him out and teach a lesson to the high-brow society.
Gentle women weren't affected. But Penelope saw how certain members of the ton reacted. They walked around with less confidence. These gamblers didn't stop. They couldn't help their addiction. But they did ensure it was always paid. The term Featherington became whispered in certain circles as a reminder to pay debts.
After solving the murder mystery, Penelope was inspired to write her own. Changing up the details and changing the setting to a different country, Penelope wrote a novel. She understood that as a woman, she would struggle to get published. But she unintentionally left out a draft during a visit from her family's lawyer.
When she walked into the room to grab it and keep fixing it, she found the lawyer turning the pages furiously.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
"I can't put this down. Who wrote this?" He asked.
"I did." She raised her chin in pride. She'd been introduced to the ton recently, and while they didn't see her worth. She was confident in her writing. Though not a finished product by any means, that was certainly not the first draft of her project.
"We have to get this published. Do you have a pen name I can use? It would take longer if we used your real name and we'd have to expose it to the criticisms of your name. It would be more successful if you had a set of initials and a generic last name."
"L. Whistledown," Penelope said. She wrote it out for him. "I'll need some time to finalize the story."
"Can I keep this?" He asked. His grip tightened as though she would rip it out of his hands. "I have to know what happens."
"That is the latest version, but let me get you one of the earlier ones with the ending mapped out still." Penelope offered. "This will likely be finalized in a month."
The lawyer reluctantly handed it back to her. "I need to get you a publisher."
And the best-selling 'L. Whistledown' was created. No one would know that Penelope's 'L' stood for 'Lady' as a way to shove it in everyone's face that a woman was writing the work.
Colin was in Italy. It had been some time since he'd been shooting in Aubrey Hall for sport with his siblings. But the high of hitting the target dead-on … he'd been thinking about it more and more lately. He did have a pistol.
The man Colin was eyeing was older. He'd probably lived out his life to the fullest already. It would be better for him to go out quickly than to have to succumb to a disease slowly. Colin just had to determine what his specific target on the man would be. Maybe shoot for the spot between his eyes, the mole on the right of his neck, maybe the buttons on his chest?
Colin would have to test it out at night. It wouldn't do to traumatize his family with the responsibility of having to find his body. Following the man, Colin started carrying his pistol.
One night, the conditions were perfect, they were in an alleyway. The man rested his hand over his chest, as he walked - his middle finger directly over a button. Perfect. That would be Colin's target.
"Mi scusi!" Colin called out to the man.
The older man turned toward Colin. Colin took his shot. Damn. He missed. Well, it would still be good to stay and make sure the man died. If it took too long, Colin would deliver a shot to his head to ensure his life ending wasn't agonizing and slow.
Thankfully, it only took five minutes.
Penelope was riding the high of her first successful novel. So, even though she was at Lady Danbury's ball and alone, she didn't care. In fact, now this was her preferred method of enjoying a ball. Why bother to try to engage when everyone ignored her? Though, Penelope could admit that she tended to get a little tongue-tied around the men of the ton.
Some of them were very handsome, but they didn't give her a second look.
To say that she was surprised to be approached by Colin Bridgerton was an understatement. He asked her to dance, and she could do little more than nod her head. She knew him through Eloise, but she didn't know much about him. He was often traveling.
Colin was one of the most handsome men of the ton. However, Penelope suspected that his asking her to dance had more to do with his mother than with any perceived interest in her.
As the dance began, Penelope had started with a blush. But at his bored countenance, she let her mind drift. She was thinking of her newest idea for a novel.
She had the whole plot outlined, but she was stuck at one point. She wasn't sure how long the killer would need to wait for his victim to die after the gunshot.
'How long would it even take for an adult male to bleed out from a gunshot wound?' Penelope thought.
"About a handful of minutes." A voice answered her. Penelope looked up horrified into the eyes of her friend's older brother. Had she said the sentence out loud? His gaze was considering her anew. "Now, why do you need to know that?"
"How do you know the answer to that?" She countered. Her meekness was gone as she adopted the role of a confident author.
He smiled at her. "You've just become much more interesting, Miss Featherington." The song ended and he brought her wrist up to his mouth for a light kiss. "Shall I fetch you a lemonade and then we can continue our conversation?"
Penelope's eyes darted around. But for all her writing ability, she wouldn't be able to write her way out of this one. "That would be lovely." Her tone implied the exact opposite.
Colin shot her a sharp grin and stepped away. Penelope considered running. But there was nowhere to go until her mother decided it was time to head home.
He had gifted her with time. She just had to think of an excuse to need the knowledge. Unfortunately, what was an appropriate time to be thinking about the logistics of murder?
"Here you are, Miss Featherington," Colin handed her a lemonade. He held another in his hands and took a sip from it. Penelope mimicked him.
'Maybe he forgot their topic of conversation?' Penelope thought.
"So, a gunshot wound." Colin paused.
'So much for that theory.' Penelope thought.
"What do you want to know?" He asked.
Penelope hesitated. "You're just going to tell me everything I want to know?"
"Penelope, this is the most stimulating conversation I'm likely to have all night. Why would I ruin it with morals or focusing on your motivations? I'd be happy to answer any questions you have." He said.
"How do I know that I can trust you're telling me the truth?" She asked.
"If I don't question your motivations, I ask that you don't question where I obtained my knowledge." He replied. "But I can assure you that my responses are truthful."
Penelope kept a skeptical eye on him. However, she'd be a fool to turn down this opportunity. It would help her get out of the rut she'd reached in her story. Penelope shared all her questions with Colin. They spoke for the rest of the ball.
"Could, I mean, would it be alright if I wrote you with more questions?" Penelope unfortunately felt some of her tongue-tying nerves taking over as the night neared its end.
"I'd be delighted to receive them." He smiled down at her. He'd enjoyed her company and she was easily his favorite of his siblings' friends, even before he knew of her interest in murder. "I should admit my current information is limited in scope. Do you have any requests?"
Penelope paused. She spotted her mother eyeing her and Colin in interest. She wouldn't have much time before her mother set her sights on them.
Thinking fast, Penelope said "Stabbing." Then she left to return to her mother.
