The Rules of Propriety

by gottaLoveLOVE

"Yes, but you're not a gentleman, you're Colin," she interrupted him, her blue eyes boring into his, "You don't count." Taken aback by the explanation, he could only stare at her in disbelief. - The year is 1815, and Colin Bridgerton devises the brilliant strategy to aid Penelope Featherington in attracting eligible suitors.

8. The Rules of Friendship (Part Two)

A/N: Hi, yes, hello.

I'm sorry I'm late this week but man, was this chapter the longest thing ever, so I don't wanna hear any complaints look at the LENGHT of this thing.

I'm so exhausted I don't even remember what I should comment at this part. Oh, I know I'm gonna throw a little bit of information here that won't be completely explained, but it will be in the future.

And oh man, I'm sorry for making Penelope cry so much. My poor, emotional girl.

Also, to all of the guests I can't adequately respond to, thank you very much for your review; it is really appreciated.

That's it, happy reading to you guys because I'm going to take a nap.

---

The rain began as Francesca and Eloise exited the carriage on their way to the Featherington country house.

Violet extended her hand, signalling Colin to pause for a moment before leaving, as it appeared that the rain would soon subside into a light drizzle. She paused to observe the lavish wedding decorations that adorned the house, finally realising that Portia had delivered on her promise of an extravagant celebration. So extravagant indeed that it couldn't be contained within their house in Mayfair.

She thought about Francesca's upcoming wedding in just over a week. While it wouldn't have the same flair, by the slightest, it sure was going to be a delightful celebration, to be sure. It was refreshing to see that her daughter had found her match so quickly and effortlessly, despite her typically reserved demeanour.

In general, it was hard to believe how effortlessly that season had passed for all of them, actually.

And then she looked at her third son.

Lost in his thoughts, Colin fixated his gaze on the Featherington country house. The interplay of light and shadows on his face highlighted his cheekbones, while his side-combed hair exuded an air of elegance. It was one of those moments when she would look at him and see Edmund instead.

"So, what are your plans for this summer, my son?" She asked, attempting to get into a conversation. "Did you decide on a destination?"

His face flickered in a small grimace at her question. "I have not. I don't think I will embark on any travels this year."

"Really?" she asked with a frown. "But why? I thought you loved travelling, dear."

He looked at her, appearing tired and worn out, as if he had aged years. With a weary breath, he replied, "I am not in the disposition for it."

Colin was occasionally a bit of a puzzle, even to his own family. Sometimes, he appeared to have limited interests, such as freedom, travel, and food. And if there was one thing Violet knew for certain about Colin, it was his passion for indulging in extravagant adventures abroad, encompassing all three of those things. The sole reason she had even mentioned it was to uplift her son's spirits, as he had been noticeably gloomy lately. And he wasn't in the disposition for it?

She had made an effort to ignore it, convincing herself that she was just overreacting. With all the wedding preparations keeping her busy, she hadn't been seeing much of Colin lately, so she assumed it was all in her head. However, considering the unsettling events that took place at the luncheon and the peculiar dynamics between him and Penelope Featherington at the Blackwell Ball, she had to finally admit there was something wrong.

"Have you and your brother talked?" she broached the subject indirectly.

That earned another sigh from him. "We do not need to talk," he said.

Colin had long come to terms with the fact that he and Anthony had irreconcilable differences. And despite his deep love for his brother, he knew he would never be able to adequately explain the underlying issues that led to that luncheon. If his entire debacle with Marina taught him one thing, it was that no matter how hard he tried, Anthony would never take him seriously. In Anthony's eyes, Colin would forever be seen as the younger sibling who shied away from responsibility.

And if Anthony ever caught wind of even a second of what had happened between Colin and Penelope that season, he dreaded imagining how his brother would react. Perhaps he would advise Colin to stop acting foolishly and address his problems in a brothel, just as he had done in the past. Or maybe he would force him to marry Penelope, a decision that Colin didn't necessarily mind, but one that Penelope had made clear she strongly disagreed with. Whatever it was, he didn't want to know. He didn't need to know, as it wouldn't provide any assistance to him whatsoever.

"I beg to differ," Violet replied. "It is important to avoid leaving conflicts unresolved."

Didn't he know that, he thought bitterly, as he remembered his ongoing conflict with Penelope.

Once she got no reply from her son, she continued, "Are you truly planning to move out of the house by the end of the season?"

He took a moment to consider her question before nodding in agreement. "It is about time, is it not?"

"I am unsure," she replied, her exhale punctuating her words. "Anthony was right. You are young. I'm afraid Benedict might resent you for the implications," she added with a smile. "In any case, if you so choose, you have the option to join me in my new residence after I leave the house in a few months, together with your siblings. Considering the circumstances, Anthony and Kate will require the space, despite their adamant denial."

His forehead creased in response, as he was aware that, due to their large family, it was only a matter of time before they would have to live in separate houses. However, that was not the aspect that confused him the most. "Circumstances? What circumstances, Mama?" he asked.

Violet gave him a small smile as she said, "You really do need to talk to your brother." Her tone carried a hint of I told you so. "Kate is pregnant, dear."

Colin leaned back in his seat, eyebrows raised in surprise. The shocking part wasn't the news itself, but rather the fact that he had to learn about such extraordinary news from someone other than Anthony himself.

"It seems like the rain is letting up, doesn't it?" Violet suddenly remarked, looking at the drizzle outside. "Shall we?"

Colin readily agreed, and together they made their way to Prudence Featherington's wedding reception.

And if they thought the outside was extravagant, the interior was a true spectacle of opulence.

The room was adorned with lavish flower arrangements, including sunflowers, which were exotic for a wedding but befitting of the Featheringtons' taste. The beverage choices were nothing short of luxurious, catering to even the most discerning palates. And every surface was covered in gold, which, despite its gaudiness, reminded Colin of the Featheringtons in an endearing way.

The orchestra boasted an unusually large number of musicians, playing with great enthusiasm as Prudence's Irish relatives engaged in even louder conversations. By all means, it was a lively atmosphere, yet Colin couldn't shake the reminder of the celebration's significance.

His eyes followed Penelope across the room, as they would. That was the wedding that marked her last season in London, whether she liked it or not. Yet, on that day, Colin had a clear sensation that the countdown was directed towards him, rather than her.

After all, Lord Debling was going to propose to her—he would be a fool not to. And if he was that fool, among all the other suitors that had paid attention to her on the last couple of balls, one of them was sure to notice Penelope's perfection. It seemed utterly implausible that someone with her intelligence, kindness, and beauty would remain unnoticed.

And she would accept his proposal, of course. Only a fool would turn down such an incredible opportunity, especially when her ultimate goal throughout the season was to find a husband. Especially when the only reason she and Colin reconciled was because he had promised to help her with that one vital objective.

And that meant that soon Penelope would be married. A stranger would whisk her away to a distant place where she would start a new life, one that didn't involve him. She would have her own children, with whom he would have little familiarity with. Maybe she would keep writing, and he would remain completely unaware. Every dance they shared, every moment he spent searching for her in a crowded room, every letter they exchanged, every conversation they had, and all the laughter they shared would vanish. Because if there was anyone who wouldn't ignore proper behaviour, it would be Penelope's husband, whoever the bastard ended up being.

And that, all of that, was a problem. Because Colin had reached a point where he couldn't even stand the sight of Penelope dancing with someone else. So how could he even consider the image of Penelope in someone else's arms, passionately kissing another man, whispering his name, belonging to him. There was something about that picture that had the potential to destroy him.

So he just stood there, suffocated by Prudence's wedding, finally accepting a fact with absolute clarity. Penelope would be married by the end of the season, whether he liked it or not.

---

Lord Debling didn't attend Prudence's wedding.

Penelope knew that it was foolish to think it had any meaning. Perhaps it was all in her mind, a projection of her emotions following the events at the Blackwell Ball.

Or perhaps it was time for her to finally accept the reality.

Like no matter how much she tried, she couldn't get over Colin. Regardless of his continuous ability to make her angry and the many signs that he didn't love her, it couldn't alter the fundamental truth that she loved him.

And it just bled into everything she did. It was in the way she could not stop thinking about him, in the way she looked at him, danced with him, and even yelled at him. It was everywhere, and she couldn't help thinking that Lord Debling saw it.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned on the terrace railing, feeling the rough texture against her palms as she gazed up at the grey clouds that seemingly mocking her sour mood.

The question lingered in her mind—would Lord Debling still propose, even after the Blackwell ball? And If he did propose, she pondered whether she would say yes or not.

Lord Debling and she had pleasant conversations, but he never made her laugh, surprised her with his sharp wit, or could joke with her about anything and everything. He could see her intelligence and poise, unlike any other suitor. But he did not know how vicious she could be when angry, how easily she could cry when upset, or what she wrote about society in the dark.

When he mentioned proposing to her, Penelope pictured their future together. A calm, sophisticated life full of intelligent conversations and exotic travels. She imagined him embracing her, kissing her, and touching her. The sight of the entire picture repulsed her.

It was irrational, was it not? Lord Debling was undoubtedly the ideal suitor, and she should consider herself extremely fortunate to have the chance to be loved by him.

Yet all she could think about was the picture she had in her mind when Colin asked if they should get married.

It was not as clear a picture as the one she had imagined with Debling. It was more of a feeling, like the sheer joy she exuded whenever she spoke and laughed with him. The thrill of finally being able to express her passion for writing to someone who understood. And the chills that ran down her spine as he planted a kiss on her.

And she could have said yes to that as well. She could have ignored the fact that Colin had never expressed his feelings towards her, unsure if he even had any or if it was just a fleeting, carnal moment. She could have silenced the nagging, over-analysing writer inside of her and accepted the offer, even if he did not love her. If he could perceive her as a woman rather than simply his insipid friend Penelope, it should suffice.

As she glared at the clouds again, she couldn't help but think that she had a knack for making her own life difficult.

"Pen, it is almost time for them to cut the cake."

As she turned around, she saw Eloise standing at the door. Relief washed over her as she realised she still had her friend, at least in some capacity. Even if her pride led her to make the worst decision of her life and remain a spinster, she would at least have Eloise.

Penelope willed her mind to clear of thoughts about Colin and nodded in agreement.

Following Eloise inside, she arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of the cake being cut. Filled with a feeling of absolute finality, she observed as her sister and Harry made their way back to their quarters in order to change into the appropriate clothing for their upcoming honeymoon.

"Despite her vulgar nature, she appears to be a stunning bride, wouldn't you agree?"

A cold shiver made its way down Penelope's spine. Of all the people she thought she would see at the wedding, she was the very last one.

When Penelope looked at Cressida Cowper, she found herself at a loss for words. If she were to be honest, despite all of her bravery behind a quill, she couldn't help but still feel a sense of insignificance wash over her in the blonde's presence.

In response to Penelope's furious glare, Cressida murmured, "Please, as if you haven't made more derogatory remarks about her."

Penelope's eyes widened in disbelief as the thought crossed her mind—it couldn't be, it couldn't be that Eloise was right again. Worse of all, it couldn't be that Cressida was choosing that very moment to do that. With her heart in her throat, Penelope anxiously surveyed the room, ensuring that no one was taking notice of her conversation. Adding to her dismay, she realised Eloise had picked that exact moment to be standing far away, engrossed in a conversation with Francesca.

Clenching her fists, Penelope quietly responded, "I do not know of what you speak."

In response, Cressida couldn't help but let out a disbelieving chuckle, her eyes glinting with a hint of menace. "Of course you don't."

As she stood her ground, Penelope's mind raced, desperately searching for the right words to say. After all that time, no matter what she had experienced, she couldn't shake the feeling of being a powerless wallflower in the presence of high society.

"May I share something fascinating with you?" Cressida continued, leaning in closer. "I never forget an insult."

Penelope resisted the urge to lean away, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she struggled to understand what she was referring to.

"You are quite brave this season, aren't you?" she said. "Do you remember when you told me all about the gentlemen concealing their financial difficulties when I danced with Lord Twombley? I thought it was curious for a wallflower to have such hidden sharp words, so sharp that in fact they were the same words the sharpest writer in town had used on one of her columns."

That could surely be nothing but a wild coincidence. However, Penelope didn't think about that first. No, her first reaction was to widen her eyes as she realised the truth in Cressida's words. And perhaps, that was exactly what the abhorrent woman had been waiting for.

No matter how hard she tried, Penelope's surprise was impossible to conceal. And as she stared at Cressida's growing smirk, she realised she had made an irreversible mistake.

In a strange way, that brought her a momentary sense of undetached calm.

Looking Cressida dead in the eye, she whispered, "Is it the truth behind those words that made you remember them so vividly?"

As the other girl's expression flashed with anger, Penelope's suspicions about Lord Twombley's financial struggles were validated. After all, two could play at that game.

Concealing her rage, Cressida flashed a sly smirk. "There she is," she said.

"What do you want?" Penelope whispered, mustering the courage to finally ask the question she had been longing to ask.

"Oh, my dear, I already have what I want," Cressida answered, her tone haughty and cruel. "Allow me to present two possibilities: either you abandon your trivial column indefinitely and grant me the recognition, forever remaining in the obscurity you rightfully deserve. Or you can write again, and I will personally disclose your identity to the Queen."

Penelope glared at her, choosing not to question how she would make the Queen believe in her real identity. That was certainly a line of thinking she didn't desire to give any ammunition to.

With a final smirk, Cressida finally stepped away and towards her family, leaving Penelope to take a deep breath for the first time in minutes. She looked around the room again, noticing the joyful and carefree expressions all around her, expressions that should give her reassurance, yet it felt like the room was suddenly too suffocating for her liking.

With a quick stride, Penelope returned to the terrace, leaning on the railing as she took deep, gasping breaths. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at those same wretched clouds, wishing that for once, her problems were simple.

"Pen."

She closed her eyes. Naturally. It was quite fitting that during the tumultuous events of that day, he would choose precisely that moment to attempt a conversation with her.

"Colin, please, not now."

"Are you alright?" he asked, despite her reluctance to look at him. And after not receiving an answer from her, he continued, "One should not be concerned with the opinions of Cressida Cowper, as her bitterness is widely recognised, especially in light of her recent announcement."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Penelope swiftly whipped around to face him. "Did you notice that?"

"Of course," Colin answered, his tone laced with confusion, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And perhaps to him it was, since he was always watching Penelope, couldn't miss a thing that was happening to her if he tried.

Unsure of how to respond, she nodded and looked down.

"Pen," he said, his footsteps instinctively drawing him closer to her, "Are you crying?"

As she noticed his approach, her heart raced and she instinctively raised her hands, signalling for him to stay away.

"Colin," she said, her tone carrying a subtle warning, as if she wanted him to understand the potential repercussions.

The man came to a sudden halt, a wave of realisation crashing over him that he couldn't simply approach her like before, knowing that their relationship was far from okay. Caught in the middle of the path between the door and Penelope, he paused, inhaling deeply as he let his arms fall to his sides, uncertain of his next move.

"She knows," Penelope suddenly said, because despite it all, Colin was still one of her best friends. With a trembling hand, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, her eyes locked on him. "She knows about me."

"What?" Colin exclaimed. All thoughts of their previous fight vanished from his mind, and he hastened towards her with determined, long strides. "How?"

With a grimace, she shrugged. "I have made a mistake. It was bound to happen sooner or later, was not it?"

With a clench on his jaw, he regarded her with the utmost seriousness and asked, "Did she make any threats towards you?"

The severity of his voice silenced her for a moment. As her eyes roamed his face, she couldn't help but notice how rarely she had witnessed Colin with such a stern expression. It irrationally made her fear he would do something completely reckless if he found out what Cressida had said.

"None that I cannot handle," she replied, her voice dipping into a lower tone.

"Pen," he repeated, his voice growing more insistent as he took another step towards her, clearly unsatisfied with her answer.

"She wishes me to stop writing," she confessed, if only to prevent him from getting closer and closer to her. "She insists that I cease my writing, or else she will inform the Queen of my true identity."

Colin frowned, unable to comprehend what Cressida could gain from that. "Is she willing to shoulder the blame for Whistledown?" he asked.

"The credit," she corrected him, her eyes piercing with a confrontational glare that he now easily recognised. "She is willing to take the credit, is what you mean."

Colin's gaze shifted downward, fixating on his own feet, while he absentmindedly poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He had a distinct feeling that if he tried to persuade her to save herself from the Queen's fury and let Cressida take the fall, the credit, it would only lead to another heated argument.

"I understand you hate what I do," she said, easily reading his hesitation, "however, this is my life's work, Colin."

His eyes squeezed shut, and a loud exhale escaped his lips, as exhaustion slowly seeped into his bones. Why would she never just listen to the actual words he said instead of attempting to read between the lines?

"I do not hate what you do, Pen," he said, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "I have already told you—"

"No, you stated that you do not hate me," she replied, her eyebrows arching. And Colin resisted the urge to ask her 'So you did listen?' But the fact that they were discussing it seemed miraculous in and of itself, he reasoned. She went on to say, "These are two completely different entities."

Colin decided right then and there that he absolutely despised arguing with a writer. She was determined to grasp the subtle nuances of every word, while he struggled to grasp even his most basic feelings.

"Penelope, I may be frustrated, unable to understand you, and even disappointed, but I do not hate you. Not your work, the way you write, the way you speak, not even the way you argue with me. There is not a single part of you that I hate. Can we establish this unequivocally?" he asked frustratingly.

Suddenly, the fiery fight within her extinguished, leaving her bewildered as she stared at him. "We can," she whispered.

"Perfect," he replied, his voice tinged with both exhaustion, as he pressed a hand against his forehead to calm himself. Inhaling deeply, he decided that since the discussion was unproductive, he would steer it in the direction he had desired for a while now.

"There is one thing I'd like to address, however. One that we have deliberately avoided discussing thus far," he said.

Her blood turned to ice, and she didn't even know why yet. In a state of confusion, she fixed her eyes on Colin, fully aware that the countless topics they were purposely avoiding could resurrect the library of Alexandria.

"Marina," he said, his eyes mirroring the pale, greyish blue of the sky.

An incredulous scoff almost escaped Penelope. Because, of course. Despite everything that had happened between them, it was Marina that he was worried about, of course. What else would it be? She never tired of playing the fool, truly.

Raising her hand in a defensive motion, she said, "Look, Colin, I do not require your judgement regarding my actions, as I am well aware of my mistake. Marina, along with Eloise, is certainly one of the people I have wronged the most and to whom I must apologise, I understand that but—"

"I agree," he interjected, his arms rigidly held by his side, conveying his tense state, "Nevertheless, that is not the topic I desire to address."

Penelope then paused, her mind filled with uncertainty about the direction of that conversation. Colin then inhaled deeply once more, moving closer to her, until he could distinctly make out the stray strand of hair resting on her forehead, and the subtle intricacies of her perplexed gaze.

"You have brought disgrace upon your family's name, and your own reputation, because of me," he stated, his own forehead wrinkling with confusion as Penelope's eyes seemed to widen in recognition. "Why would you do that?"

She took a sharp breath, abruptly turning away from him, covering her face with one hand as she paced back and forth. It never occurred to her that Colin would piece it all together. She almost wished he would detest her for her words about him and Marina instead.

"What do you mean 'why'?" Her pacing grew more frantic, an attempt to put more space between them. "Colin, you were my friend."

He chose to ignore the usage of were instead of are as he had more pressing matters to discuss. Ignoring her attempts to deter him, he walked towards her with determination.

"Surely, Pen, you had countless alternative approaches at your disposal," he said.

"Had I?" As he seemed to have hit a nerve, she turned to him, her temper flaring up. "Colin, did you happen to forget? I had told you."

In a state of confusion, he blinked at her, but now it was she who confidently walked towards him, getting so close that he could almost make out a faint freckle on her nose. So close that he could see the rain reflected in her eyes.

"I told you that she didn't love you, I tried to warn you, but you refused to listen," she said, frustration etched on her face. "Poor Penelope Featherington, so naïve and unaware of the harsh realities of life. Is this not the typical outcome?" she asked, as Colin stared at her, his mouth hanging open, uncertain of how to respond.

"Am I lying? Even to you, who has always been my friend, did you not perceive me in this way?" she asked.

No, she was not lying. That was the worst part of it all. She was completely right. When she had told him back in the Featherington hallway all about Marina's ill intentions, he dismissed it as his sweet friend's innocent concerns over trivial matters.

"Pen, I—"

"That is the problem, Colin," she said, her words choked with emotion. "Unless I'm hiding my true identity behind a quill, nobody pays attention to what I say. I am relegated to the peripheries of everyone's attention, unheard even by my closest friends, even by Eloise, even by you."

He could not shake the sense of shame that washed over him as he noticed her gaze fixed on him. While everyone listened to Lady Whistledown attentively, captivated by her every word, Penelope Featherington was treated differently.

As he pondered about those things, Penelope's expression suddenly transformed into one of unwavering determination.

Stepping away from him, she gave them both room to breathe before declaring, "So I refuse to let Cressida Cowper be the reason I stop writing."

And with those words, she left Colin standing there, bewildered and trying to make sense of what had just happened.

---

My dearest gentle reader,

This author must say, with great satisfaction, that the rumours regarding my demise have been significantly exaggerated.

While certain individuals in high society appear excessively preoccupied with the number of weeks remaining until they are labelled as spinsters, others are occupied with creating elaborate plans to garner attention. It could be the case that Miss Cressida Cowper belongs to both groups.

And as we enter the final phase of the season, it seems that passions are running high, but let me assure you that I will still reveal every secret with no exception.

Shall we first acknowledge the newfound confidence of our resident wallflower, who has found their moment to shine at the Blackwell Ball? However, it still seems that a spinster will not receive a proposal from a distinguished gentleman, regardless of the price of her dress or the intricacy of her hairstyle.

Alternatively, should we redirect our gaze to a more elevated location and give our utmost attention to the distinguished guest of the Blackwell's? Despite the Queen's apparent reluctance to attend events hosted by her subjects this year, it seems that Lord and Lady Blackwell have managed to catch her attention. Or is there something else afoot? I'll leave that question to you, dear reader.

Lastly, it is important to mention that Lord Trombley was heard requesting, in a rather loud manner, information on the most affluent unmarried ladies within the vicinity. This author ponders whether wealth holds greater significance than beauty, or if there are impending challenges for the future Lady Trombley.

For these inquiries, as well as others, we may need to await the forthcoming Bridgerton's annual Heart and Flowers Ball in a few weeks. The rescheduling of such a highly anticipated event as a result of Miss Francesca Bridgerton's wedding could potentially yield timely and unforeseen answers.

And although I may be distant from those events, or perhaps not, rest assured that every detail will be conveyed.

As for the individuals who desire to question the work or identity of this author, please take note that it is I who challenge you to perform at your utmost capability.

The game is afoot.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown.

---

The knock on Colin's bedroom door should have immediately alerted him that something bad was happening.

As soon as he opened the door, Eloise aggressively shoved a paper into his chest, barging inside and demanding, "What have you said to her?"

With a blink, Colin accepted the item Eloise had pressed into his chest and responded, "Good morning to you too, Eloise."

He shut his bedroom door, his attention drawn to the sheet of paper that he now recognised as Lady Whistledown's pamphlet, while Eloise stood by his windows, fuming.

"What have you said to her, Colin?" she asked again.

While his eyes were fixed on swiftly reading Penelope's words, he creased his brow and inquired, "On what basis do you assume I uttered a single word to her?"

"Because there is no other plausible option. These days, both of you seem incapable of employing rationality for even a moment," Eloise exclaimed, gesturing with exasperation, "She was perfectly content with maintaining her silence and keeping her distance from Cressida, but now she has recklessly placed a bounty on her own head." Her voice rose in volume and urgency as she emphatically pointed at the pamphlet in his hands.

Despite Eloise's visibly agitated demeanour, as Colin read Penelope's column, a smile slowly spread across his face.

"She is smart," he said.

Eloise threw her head back and scoffed. "You both are back to being in agreement, are you? This is extraordinary timing, truly," she said.

"Have you perhaps taken into consideration the possibility that it was not I who made any remarks, but rather Cressida herself?" Colin said, his eyes meeting his sister's as he finished reading. Eloise looked at him with a puzzled expression as he went on, "Yesterday at the wedding, she confronted Penelope. Did you not see?"

"What? No, absolutely not," she answered, and Colin's only response was a subtle curl of his lips and a shake of his head. "Nevertheless, this is not a smart decision," she continued, her voice filled with urgency, pointing at the pamphlet again as she took a determined step towards him. "Cressida knows who she is."

"She has tarnished her reputation with this, Eloise," he said. "Is it not evident to you? Regardless of any threats made by Cressida, Pen—" he stopped himself, mindful that even the walls could have ears. "She has established who wields the superior power."

Eloise clenched her hands tightly. "It would be acceptable if this situation only concerned Cressida, but the Queen is on the verge of deducing the truth, and Whistledown has just posed a challenge to both of them."

That single piece of information gave him pause. Penelope had informed him that unless she stopped writing, Cressida would disclose her secret to the Queen. However, Cressida's words weren't necessarily going to be trusted. However, Eloise's implication was something else entirely. As if it didn't matter what the obnoxious girl said, Penelope was already under suspicion.

"Ah, at last, is the problem now clear to you?" Eloise said, as she observed the worry that had spread across her brother's face

Colin nodded silently. "However, how did you come to know about this?" he asked.

His sister sighed. "Because unlike you, I have sense," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, and he responded by rolling his eyes. "Be it my investigative talent or my extraordinary perception, I have been proven correct about other matters in the past, have I not?"

"You were mistaken in the past as well," he responded, arching an eyebrow at her, causing Eloise to recall the occasion when she was convinced that Madame Delacroix was Lady Whistledown.

But she had been close enough.

With a grunt, she roughly snatched the pamphlet from his hand, her frustration palpable in her voice as she said, "Very well, if you refuse to believe me. I am perplexed as to why I had the impression that you would offer any assistance."

As she headed for the door, she thought it would be more productive to have a direct conversation with Penelope rather than dealing with her idiotic brother.

"To address your initial inquiry, it was not I who said something to her, but rather she who said something to me," Colin stated, halting Eloise in her path. As she turned to him, he continued, "She said that unless she assumes the identity of Lady Whistledown, her words go unheard. That not even her closest friends paid attention to what she said, including myself." Then, with a sigh, he added, "I certainly have no intention of doing that ever again."

---

When Lord Debling stared at her silently in her drawing room that day, Penelope knew the moment she dreaded the most had arrived. He did not have to say much, but his serious expression from the moment he arrived told her everything she needed to know.

They were seated on separate sofas, facing each other, their eyes locked in a wordless exchange. He broke the silence with a sip of tea, his gaze shifting to the saucer in his hands as he carefully set the teacup down.

"Have you given any reflection to what I have said?" he inquired.

Penelope looked at him, then at her lap, nodding in response.

He let out a sigh, as if he knew her answer before he even asked. Still, true to his word, he fixed his gaze upon her and asked, "So, Miss Penelope, will you accept my proposal of marriage?"

A grimace formed on her face as she lowered her eyes again. She had already known her answer long before that afternoon, maybe even before he asked her to consider it. Perhaps the answer had always been there, and she had misled herself into believing it could ever be different.

She could deceive herself into thinking that her motivation was solely to protect him from the looming scandal of being associated with Lady Whistledown. But even if that was not the case, she knew her answer would remain the same.

"I apologise, Lord Debling," she whispered, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. "I cannot marry you."

Biting his lower lip, he nodded, not even slightly surprised, though he should have been. Even though others would be.

He then swiftly stood up, causing Penelope to quickly rise to her feet as well. As he took her hand for the last time, he planted a kiss on it.

"No matter the conclusion, I must say it has been a pleasure, Miss Penelope," he said.

She observed him making his way towards the door, a sense of impending doom settling in. As if she had sealed her fate with her own stupidity.

"May I bother you with one final question?" he inquired before taking his leave, and she waited. "Do you think we can still maintain a friendship, once everything is settled?"

She creased her forehead, deeming the question to be quite unusual. Yet, she came to the conclusion that she quite liked talking to him, and even now she held no grudges against him, provided he felt the same way towards her.

"Of course," she answered.

A subtle, amused sigh escaped Debling's lips, leaving her curious about the joke he seemed to be in on. Smiling, he said, "I can now make my exit with a peaceful mind. I wish you a pleasant afternoon, Miss Penelope."

With that statement, he left. And despite the lighthearted end, a heavy weight settled in her chest.

She knew she couldn't marry him. Even if it meant a lifetime as a spinster, writing books that no one would read while enduring her mother's criticism, she knew it would be a happier life than one spent pretending.

However, it still hurt that things could not be so simple, that she could not just marry away all of her problems and ignore her heart's desires. And in that vulnerable moment, she realised that if Colin were to propose to her again out of societal expectations, she would not have the strength to refuse.

"Pen."

Turning around, she caught sight of Eloise standing by the door, a concerned expression on her face. Penelope's own thoughts had consumed her so much that she likely didn't even notice when the footman announced her arrival.

Eloise observed her in the same way she had before, back when Penelope stumbled upon her in the Bridgerton garden, sobbing over Lady Whistledown's story about Marina and Colin. This time, still not feeling as close as they used to be, instead of holding her, she cautiously approached her, observing the emotions etched on her friend's face.

She put a hand on her shoulder and asked, "Are you alright?"

Her face contorted with the effort to hide her emotions, and Penelope's throat tightened as she nodded in agreement. "Yes," she said, "I am."

Eloise's disbelief was obvious as she looked at her with worry, her grip tightening on her shoulder. "Do you wish to accompany me to the market?" she asked hesitantly. "We can browse the stands for quills, if you like."

The apparently random suggestion caused a moment of confusion for Penelope. However, when she looked into Eloise's worried eyes, she recognised her friend's attempt to distract her.

So she nodded.

---

"How about this one?" Eloise waved around a big brown quill, its feathers rustling softly in the air, while Penelope nodded in a subdued manner, offering her a small smile as she took the quill in her hands.

Sensing her friend's distraction, Eloise took the initiative to settle the payment with the stand owner, even though she knew that Penelope was significantly wealthier than her at that time. The older woman gave Eloise a peculiar look as she accepted her coins, but Eloise decided to pay no attention to it.

"You know," Eloise said, playfully linking their arms together as they began to walk, and Penelope stared at their intertwined arms in surprise, "This was supposed to be a distraction."

Penelope's gloomy disposition momentarily lifted as a slight chuckle escaped her lips, her reply filled with a touch of amusement, "I regret to inform you, El, that I do not easily let things slip from my memory."

"No, you don't, do you?" Eloise asked, looking at Penelope as if she was considering that fact for the first time. She inhaled deeply, gripping her friend's arm tightly as they strolled through the lively market. "In light of the updated guidelines pertaining to our friendship, I must ask whether you would prefer me to inquire about the rationale behind your exceedingly unwise choice to write that column, or if we should defer discussing this subject until the upcoming week."

Fortunately, she refrained from asking about Debling's visit, as she was certain that Eloise must have come across him, considering how quickly she had found Penelope in her drawing room.

"Although I understand your disagreement, I cannot simply leave things as they currently stand," she declared as they strolled past the flowers stall, lowering her voice as she went on,"She issued a threat against me during my sister's wedding, El."

"And do you consider this reason sufficient to expose yourself to potential danger?"She hissed as they both walked past Lord Hall, followed by Lady Eaton, both of whom shot them strange glances.

In a weary tone, Penelope posed the question, "What is the point of placing safety above all else, when it means relinquishing everything I have worked tirelessly to achieve?"

Eloise disagreed, stating, "Your worth extends beyond your work, and you possess a multitude of talents. Besides, how can you aspire to persist in doing what you love if you—" she stopped herself before she said something confidential in public. But the truth remained, if Penelope were to be discovered by the queen, her days of writing would surely come to an end.

"I cannot pursue my passions if I lack courage," Penelope retorted, her voice brimming with determination. Eloise was on the brink of rolling her eyes, struggling to conceal her exasperation, when Lord Cho walked past them, his scrutinising gaze fixed upon them.

"Very well," Eloise halted their stride and their conversation. "Is it me or—"

"We seem to be attracting quite a bit of attention," Penelope acknowledged, her gaze fixed on the individuals in their vicinity.

"Not 'we'," Eloise clarified, her eyes scanning the crowd, "Me. They are staring at me." She turned her attention to Penelope, who appeared to be equally perplexed. In a tone of exasperation, she declared, "This is truly fantastic. You are the person I would rely on to keep me informed.

Contemplating their options, Penelope tilted her head thoughtfully. "There might be someone else," she said.

---

The sight of the duo knocking at her door caused Madame Delacroix's eyes to nearly pop out of her head.

Fortunately, the next ball wasn't scheduled until over a week later, which meant her shop was quite empty.

In light of this, she decided to redirect the ladies to her living room, after they managed to convince their maids to give them some privacy.

"Miss Penelope, are you certain that this is prudent?" The modiste inquired while Eloise trailed behind her, and Penelope closed the door after them. "We are in the midst of the day."

"Oh, just pretend that there was a pressing matter regarding our dresses," Eloise waved her arm dismissively.

Madame Delacroix looked at her in exasperation, surprised to find the opinionated Bridgerton daughter entangled in Lady Whistledown's affairs, despite their apparent fallout in the prior season.

"We understand your time is valuable, Genevieve," Penelope said as she approached them, "However, we are hoping you could provide any information you may have heard about me or Eloise in your shop."

With that, the older woman paused, her brown eyes quickly scanning Eloise before returning to Penelope. The two girls shared a knowing glance, instantly recognising her affirmative response before she even uttered a word.

"I might have heard something," Madame Delacroix answered hesitantly. "About the second daughter of the Bridgerton family, who has been exchanging confidential letters with an individual of undisclosed identity.

"What?" Penelope asked at the same time as Eloise placed a hand on her chest. The gossip writer then turned to her friend, questioning the validity of that information. However, the second Bridgerton daughter in question spun around abruptly, her hand instinctively reaching for her forehead, while she inhaled a long, steadying breath.

"Eloise?" she asked. "Is it true?"

"How did word of it even spread?" With a swift motion, Eloise turned back around, her face contorted in disbelief, and her words brimming with fire. "My discretion has been absolute and unwavering, and it has only been a few months. You and Colin have been corresponding for years, with nobody discovering it." She gestured to Penelope, who widened her eyes at Eloise's loose tongue.

Penelope's attention shifted to Genevieve, who had raised her eyebrows at the unexpected information.

"Eloise," Penelope hissed, before her friend proceeded to reveal even more secrets in her passionate speech.

The brunette then noticed her slip and waved her off, "It is not as if Madame Delacroix is unaware of any other secret of yours."

Penelope rolled her eyes and Genevieve stifled a laugh, but Eloise remained determined. "Nevertheless, my inquiry is of a serious nature. Pen, this information has not been disclosed to anyone beyond the confines of my household."

Her friend then frowned, contemplating whether any of the Bridgerton servants could have divulged this information. However, given their unwavering loyalty over the years, it appeared highly improbable. The only remaining option was for someone else to gather the information in the same manner she did.

"Have you discussed this matter at any social gathering, by any chance?" Penelope asked. "Perhaps someone happened to overhear you."

Eloise pondered her question, reflecting on the fact that she could not recall ever discussing this matter in a public setting. However, before she could express that thought, she recalled the Vauxhall Ball and how Colin had teased her about the letters.

"Have you?" Penelope asked again as she noticed her friend's pensive expression.

"I might have," she answered, causing Penelope to press a hand against her forehead in frustration."But that occurred months ago, why... why would they bring up this matter now?"

"What motivates society to do anything, El?" Penelope asked. If people were sufficiently bored, it was not rare for old news to resurface.

Somehow, that response did not quite satisfy Eloise.

As Eloise pondered over the matter, Penelope took the initiative to express her appreciation to Madame Delacroix, allowing the two ladies to return to their residences. Their ride home in the Bridgerton carriage was silent, as Penelope watched her friend seemingly lost in her thoughts.

"I shall not write a word on the matter. You know that, don't you?" She asked, concerned about the meaning behind Eloise's silence.

Eloise's eyes met hers, and she nodded. Despite their turbulent past and all that had transpired between them, she had an uncanny certainty that her story wouldn't end up being exposed by Lady Whistledown. Maybe she had more trust in that supposedly unfamiliar version of Penelope than she realised.

And she appreciated that Penelope did not even ask who Eloise was corresponding with; after all, Eloise had politely ignored Penelope's state following Lord Debling's visit, so it seemed only fair.

Penelope then took her leave first, bidding her goodbyes, and Eloise returned to her own residence, where she had the naive belief that she would have some peace and quiet to collect her thoughts.

"Eloise," her mother called out to her from the drawing room just as she was about to retreat to her own room.

As she dragged herself slowly towards her, she quickly realised that not only her mother, but also Kate and Francesca were present in the drawing room, both looking at her with wide, pointed eyes.

"Today, we received some rather unsettling information concerning you and an alleged secret correspondent," Violet said, causing Eloise's stomach to sink. "Nevertheless," Violet directed her gaze at her younger daughter and daughter-in-law, "Francesca and Kate provided me with reassurance, as you had already informed them beforehand. So there is no need for me to reprimand you, nor am I angry with you. However, taking into account what happened last season, what I truly require is confirmation from you that what you told them was entirely honest."

Confused, Eloise blinked as she tried to comprehend how the crisis had been resolved so quickly, contrasting with her mother's serious expression. "Um. Yes. Yes, Mama," she said.

With a nod, Violet said, "I trust you if you say so." She stood up at a leisurely pace and headed towards the door. "Now, if you will excuse me, today has been quite taxing."

Eloise released the breath she had been holding, placing a hand on her stomach to calm her nerves. What in the world was happening? She couldn't fathom how a rumour could spread so explosively and seemingly out of nowhere.

"Where did Mama hear about it?" She asked, her breath catching slightly, as she turned to the other two women in the room.

"While choosing the wedding flowers," Francesca replied, "Mama overheard the whispers of the other customers."

"I do not understand," she repeated, her tone growing more exasperated.

Kate walked up to Eloise and gently placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I believe her concern stems from the possibility of it being exposed in Whistledown," she stated, misinterpreting Eloise's anxiety as being connected to her mother. "Maybe we should attempt to reveal the true recipient of your correspondence? Your brother will understand."

"Inevitably, it will find its way onto Whistledown," Francesca commented. "There seems to be little else to do but to disclose the entire story in order to prevent any misunderstandings."

"No," Eloise raised her hand, dismissing that idea off the bat, until her hand froze in the middle of the air as a sudden understanding washed over her. Her eyes glazed over and she let her hand fall to her side.

"Eloise, why—"

"I... I must excuse myself," the girl in question interrupted Francesca, her voice filled with urgency as she suddenly sprinted out of the room.

Kate and Francesca exchanged puzzled glances, both clearly unsure of what to make of the situation. Kate, however, shrugged it off, having grown accustomed to Eloise's frequent outbursts.

---

"You need to write about me."

While Penelope was in the midst of adjusting the pins in her hair, she suddenly turned to her friend, who was panting heavily. When Mrs Varley had announced her arrival, the youngest Featherington had expected a few moments to gather herself before Eloise stormed into her room in a state of panic.

"Good afternoon to you too, Eloise. Again."

Eloise shut the door behind her with a determined thud as she entered Penelope's room. "Do you recall your promise to keep silent about me? Forget it. Write about me."

As she sat at her dressing table, Penelope turned to face her, her hair half styled into a graceful bun, half an untamed, uncombed mess. "Eloise, what are you talking about?"

"I have come to a conclusion," Eloise declared, making decisive gestures with her hands, as if preparing for one of her lengthy rants. "Everything has fallen into place. It is evident why this information is only coming to light now and why it seems like the rumour is spreading rapidly to everyone."

"That's just how gossip operates," Penelope replied, not quite grasping her friend's train of thought.

"Pen, my family learned about it through word of mouth from a shop situated at a considerable distance from our location today." Eloise said. "And do you know how gossip truly works in this society? A rumour of this magnitude is reported on Whistledown."

"Eloise, I won't write about this matter regardless of what is expected of me," Penelope replied, sensing her own voice raising. There was something about Eloise's demeanour that was making her feel on edge.

"Pen, you are not listening to me," Eloise exclaimed, her voice echoing with frustration, instantly evoking memories of a similar argument they had before. "They will know it's you. That's clearly the focal point of this matter, it must be. They know it's not me. Who then could conceivably refrain from disseminating a scandalous rumour concerning myself? It can only be you, there's no one else."

The girl closed her eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and then stood up. It is certain that there were other people who could have been considered, including everyone in her family. Furthermore, Penelope had written about Eloise in the past.

"I cannot jeopardise your reputation again based on mere speculation," she said slowly, hoping her friend would understand.

"Fine," Eloise grunted in exasperation, fully aware that her assumption was not unfounded, but rather the most logical explanation. "Then I grant you the freedom to proceed regardless. If the decision lies between prioritising your well-being and preserving my social standing, then I grant you permission. I have been here before and I survived, but if Her Majesty discovers your identity, your fate may not be as fortunate, Pen."

Penelope responded to the suggestion with a tight-lipped expression, saying, "Thank you, but I decline."

The other girl shook her head, exasperated by her friend's lack of belief. "They are well aware of our past conflicts and subsequent reconciliation. Lady Danbury herself made this known in the presence of the Queen, with you as a witness."

"Eloise, it matters not to me whether you are correct or not, can you not see?" Penelope interrupted, her face flushing with anger, a clear indication that her patience was wearing thin. Eloise gazed at her, still taken aback whenever she had an outburst. "You may not believe me, and you may never fully forgive me, but it was absolutely agonising to go through with what I did last season. I simply cannot fathom being expected to repeat such an ordeal." Penelope's gaze hardened. "I refuse to mention you in my writing ever again, regardless of the truth, even if it means facing the Queen of England herself. Do you understand me?"

The brunette could only stare at her as she realised that no, she had not understood her before. But she did now.

"Pen, I forgave you," Eloise said slowly, knowing it to be true as she said the words. "I forgive you. It is alright."

"No, it is not." Penelope sighed, running a hand across her face as she paced in her room. "I understand that you believe this is easy for me, but it's not. What I did last season was out of necessity, as the Queen was pursuing you. But if she's targeting me now, then so be it. I challenged her to give her utmost effort and I will not retreat, and I certainly put you in harm's way to protect myself."

Eloise paused, taking a deep breath, as she tried to compose herself. In that moment, she realised it was the first time she fully trusted Penelope's words. "I am your best friend," she said, "you cannot possibly ask me to merely watch—"

"Indeed, you are my best friend," Penelope interrupted her, her eyes filled with an indescribable emotion. "So, you can't… you cannot ask me to do this to you. So please, just stop."

They locked eyes, a brief pause hanging in the air as a whirlwind of feelings swirled between them. The silence hung heavy in the air until Eloise finally spoke up, her words breaking through the quiet. "Can we acknowledge the obvious? I have no desire to enter into matrimony, Pen. But you do."

Penelope cast her sight downward, she appreciated that Eloise remembered, but she was also well aware of the inevitable course of the conversation.

"I am willing to accept being regarded as undesirable by society, even embracing the possibility of being a spinster. But you do not want that," Eloise continued.

"That may change," Penelope murmured, still avoiding her gaze. "You may have a different perspective if you encounter someone who captures your heart, Eloise.

Her friend replied with a disbelieving scoff, "Well, if I happen to encounter such suitable individual, he certainly won't be a fool who relies on incomplete information from Lady Whistledown to judge my character, will he?" And then, as Penelope glanced over the Lady Whistledown comment, she quickly added,"No offence." Drawing nearer to her friend, she pleaded, "This is not the same as having my head on a platter presented to the Queen of England. Pen, isn't Lord Debling planning to make a proposal? Are you seriously on the verge of relinquishing it all?"

With a dry laugh, Penelope met Eloise's gaze and said, "He already asked, and I declined."

Eloise's eyes widened as she looked at her friend. "What? Why on earth would you do such a thing?" She could somewhat comprehend the reasoning behind it, considering she had some reservations about marriage herself. However, this was Pen.

Her friend's shock deepened the sinking feeling in Penelope's stomach. If even Eloise, who despised weddings and anything associated with them, believed she was crazy, then perhaps she truly was.

"Because I have no desire to wed him," she declared, running a weary hand across her face.

"I thought you were fond of him. Did you not dance countless times? Did he not visit you often, did you not stroll together?" Eloise asked.

Penelope resisted the temptation to tug at her messy hair strands. "Lord Debling is quite agreeable, indeed, but that does not imply that I desire to wed him."

Eloise tilted her head back, as if she could see her friend from a new perspective. She was sure she had seen her friend on the verge of tears that afternoon after Lord Debling's visit, so what was the reason for that?

"Alright, if Lord Debling is not an option, then what are your considerations regarding the other suitors you have danced with?" Eloise asked, her voice lowered as she kept a watchful eye on her friend. "What if one of them were to make a proposal?"

"They will not," Penelope replied confidently, yet Eloise sensed something in her demeanour that showed it was inconsequential whether they made a proposal or not.

"But what happens if they do? What if they do, Pen?"

No longer able to contain herself, Penelope tugged at her hair roots. "In that case, the answer remains unchanged," she said, her unwavering blue eyes fixed on Eloise. "Alright? Rest assured, my response will remain unchanged, alleviating any concerns you may have. From the very start of this season, my intention has been to acquire the necessary funds and peacefully settle down in the countryside. Being publicly slandered, even by the Queen herself, will not impede those plans."

The thought of the Queen calling for her arrest seemed far-fetched to her. So what was the worst she could do that Penelope hadn't already done to herself?

Eloise stood there, her mouth hanging open in disbelief, as she uttered the words, "I do not understand you. Was this entire season a deception? Were you merely stalling for time? I don't—you told me you wanted to get married, Pen. Are you saying you changed your mind completely?"

Penelope released a breath that was a mix of amusement and desperation. That's what made it so cruel, after believed that by adhering to Colin's teachings, she could easily find another man who would be open to marrying her. After all, that was her desire - to enter into matrimony. She didn't have to stick to her gloomy, so-called independent plans of living alone. She had the ability to overcome her challenges and make others truly see her. And she certainly made people take notice of her.

But it didn't make any difference, did it? Because the gift of that season was the mind-blowing realisation that it did not matter how many suitors saw her, wanted her, or proposed to her.

All she really wanted was to be seen by that one person.

And maybe one day, she would meet someone whose presence would erase all memories of Colin. Who would paint a picture of a different future in her mind, one that she couldn't help but daydream about. But that was not going to happen that year. Furthermore, if Eloise's speculation proved true and Penelope's imminent exposure as Lady Whistledown was a possibility, it would be in everyone's best interest to stay away from her altogether.

"Eloise," Penelope said, inhaling deeply in an effort to articulate her thoughts. "I understand that within our societal framework, marriage potentially represents the sole avenue through which a woman can attain a degree of personal autonomy. Despite the presence of a husband who may or may not exert control over her, she may maintain her own house and set her own rules. Nevertheless, due to my personal circumstances, I am able to enjoy the privilege of independence despite any associated risks. I can see marriage for what it is," she stated. "And the fact is, marriage is only desirable when it is with the right person. Otherwise, as you have repeatedly stated before, it feels like being confined in a prison cell."

Her friend's eyebrows furrowed, taken aback by her astoundingly self-aware statement. And despite its undeniable truth, the simple message behind it did not escape notice.

No, Penelope had not given up on marriage. The problem was something else entirely.

As she observed the sombre expression on her friend's face, she had a sudden epiphany that the answer had been glaringly obvious for weeks, even years, but she had stubbornly opted to overlook it.

"Is there any chance that this is about Colin?" Eloise asked.

A pained expression crossed Penelope's face, and she quickly looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "Eloise—"

"No, Pen," Eloise interjected before her friend had the chance to refute anything. "I am unable to comprehend the nature of the situation between the two of you, but I am aware that there is indeed something transpiring. Therefore, please refrain from requesting me to feign ignorance, as I have already done so for an extended period of time."

With a defeated sigh, Penelope locked eyes with her, her weary face expressing both exhaustion and sorrow.

"Can we postpone our discussion on this matter until the upcoming week?" she asked, remembering the offer Eloise had made earlier that day.

And perhaps that was as much of an affirmative answer as Eloise could get. The look on Penelope's face indicated she was not prepared to talk about it, so it was best to honour her wishes. With a nod, Eloise reluctantly agreed, all while suppressing the urge to strangle her brother.

"Alright," Eloise said with a sigh. "As my endeavours to divert your attention today have been completely futile, I would like to suggest another opportunity: would you be willing to accompany me tomorrow in offering our opinions on Francesca's hairstyle choices and floral arrangements? Apart from Hyacinth, I am the only one responsible for fulfilling my sisterly duties, as Daphne will not be arriving until the day of the wedding. You know how I detest these things."

Penelope let out a weak chuckle. It was an odd proposition, but it had that distinct Eloise kind of oddness, so she couldn't help but accept.

---

"Is this still happening?" Colin raised an eyebrow inquisitively as he approached Francesca's untidy room, where white fabrics, hair pins, and laces were scattered about.

"What can I say," Violet answered, her voice carrying an exhausted tone, as she carefully placed a delicate veil on top of Francesca's head, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Daphne is dearly missed."

Sitting on the opposite side of the room, Eloise and Hyacinth exchanged eye rolls.

"Mama, it is nearly nighttime, and it is not our fault if none of our suggestions are accepted," Eloise commented as she stood up and walked towards her brother.

Holding up a weathered wooden jewellery box, he questioned, "Where should this be placed?"

Eloise had practically forced him to help her, as she was too busy aiding Francesca.

"Leave it in the drawing room," Eloise replied, and noticing Colin's puzzled expression, she elucidated, "John presented me with his mother's antiquated jewellery box, inquiring about my perspective on whether he should arrange for its restoration. However, Hyacinth made the false assumption that it was my personal jewellery box." At Colin's deepening wrinkles on his forehead she just waved her hand as a way to conclude the story, "Just place it on the drawing room table so I can easily return it to John tomorrow, will you?"

His eyebrows shot up and he shook his head in resignation, realising that it was better to do as instructed than to become entangled in yet another confusing monologue. Then the girl calmly returned to her seat despite the confused gazes her way.

"Eloise, that is your jewellery box." Hyacinth said, motioning towards the general direction where Colin had left.

Her sister, in turn, simply scoffed, "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

As Hyacinth continued to give her a bewildered look, while Francesca posed the question from her spot in front of the mirror, "I am curious as to when exactly John bestowed that upon you. He did not come by the house today."

"Yesterday," Eloise answered quickly, suddenly very interested in the carpet.

Thinking the subject was over, Eloise was relieved to keep quiet until Hyacinth leaned in, her voice barely audible as asked, "And where is Penelope? She was here mere moments ago."

While absentmindedly biting her thumb nail, Eloise replied indifferently, "She returned home as she stated she was fatigued."

---

As the day transitioned into evening, Penelope grew increasingly perplexed by Eloise's prolonged assistance to Francesca in selecting a veil. She believed that such a task should have been simple, given the proximity of the wedding.

And then, with a suddenness that startled her, Colin burst into the drawing room, nearly tripping over his own feet as he laid eyes on her, clutching a wooden box tightly in his hands.

"Pen?" He asked as if he were looking at a hallucination, as she continued to gaze at him with her mouth gaping. "What are you doing here?"

From her spot on the sofa, she pointed towards the door, her voice hesitant as she explained, "Eloise has requested that I wait here so I can aid her in choosing the flower arrangements for the wedding, as Francesca has been unable to make a decision."

With a tilt of his head, Colin's forehead wrinkled, leaving him certain that he would age prematurely, just like Anthony. In what world would Eloise, instead of their mother, be assisting with the wedding flower arrangements? And Francesca had definitely picked her own wedding flowers; he was certain he remembered hearing that conversation once or twice.

"The flower arrangements were picked days ago, what—" he said, and then he realised. "Eloise."

"What?" Penelope asked

Shaking his head in exasperation, Colin set the wooden box on the side table. He then made his way to the door, wanting to ensure that no one was near the drawing room. He then closed the door after him and resumed his former position beside the side table, as standing near Penelope had showed to be dangerous in several instances.

"Colin, what about Eloise?" she asked again.

Leaning on the table, he let out a sigh and said, "She won't be coming." Seeing Penelope's puzzled expression, he gestured towards the wooden box next to him and explained, "She explicitly requested for me to bring this to the room."

Making an "oh" with her mouth, Penelope then nodded. Of course, Eloise had now decided to meddle. The only thing surprising in that scenario is how long she had refrained from doing so.

Still, as she didn't know half of their issues—and she never would—she also didn't know how much her plan wouldn't help at all.

With an uncomfortable expression, Penelope asked, "Would you like me to leave?"

It was quite an absurd question, given that she was the one who had stormed off during their previous conversation. But when it came to Colin and herself, she had long given up on trying to apply reason.

"No," Colin replied without hesitation, his immediate answer taking her by surprise. His gaze remained fixated on the mystery box he had brought, while he absentmindedly scratched his head, deep in thought. "I… Before you leave, I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies, Pen."

As he looked at her, he observed a confused expression etched upon her brow.

"Because I failed to heed your words. In the past," he clarified.

Her eyes widened momentarily in recognition and then she quickly dropped her gaze, shaking her head at him. "It's alright, Colin. Please disregard my previous remarks. I was in a heightened emotional state and..."

"I will not do such thing," he said firmly, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as he waited for her to meet his gaze once more. "And I will never disregard your words again. I promise."

There was something in his reply that struck a chord deep within her, causing a sudden wave of tears to well up. Maybe because even after everything that had happened between them—all the rights and all the wrongs both of them had done—Colin still had a deep understanding of her, allowing him to say the perfect thing.

And maybe because, on some days, she just wished she could love him a little bit less.

With her head lowered once more, she was overwhelmed by a sense of disarmament, a feeling that can only someone genuinely apologising to you can make you feel. "Um." She cleared her throat, looking up at him again as she tried to control her emotions. "I'm sorry, Colin."

It was his turn to gaze at her perplexedly. "For what?"

She mustered up the courage to admit, "For lying to you all these years," her words filled with the weight of the feelings she had suppressed for far too long. "For not being the person I claimed to be, the person you always believed I was."

Strangely, that made him shake his head. He leaned back on the table, fidgeting with the wooden box as if to occupy his hands. "No, you are not anyone else," he said, a small smile of endearment growing on his lips as he said, "You're still Pen to me."

She really, really wished she could love him less.

Her shoulders fell as she sighed, and her face contorted in misery as she tried not to cry. She didn't realise how much she yearned to hear those words until he spoke them. And at that moment, she realised that, despite seeing him constantly amidst all of their problems, she had truly missed him.

"Colin," she said.

"Um?" He glanced in her direction.

As she gazed at him once more, her eyes welled up with tears, and she gently asked, "Are we… are we still friends?"

That certainly was a loaded question, Colin thought. He had forgiven her, and did not feel so alienated from her that they could no longer be friends. But the problem was that, after knowing Penelope for almost his entire life and being her friend for that long, he couldn't think of a more ludicrous answer than yes.

"We are alright, Pen," he replied.

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips as she acknowledged his answer. And that made his half-truth seem worthwhile.

"So," she said, her voice full of renewed energy as she shifted the topic, "How are the wedding preparations coming along?"

He let out an exaggerated sigh, feigning annoyance. "I am not involved in the matter and I am already fatigued. Should I encounter any additional laces within this household, I shall permanently relocate to Will's club."

Penelope couldn't help but smile at his theatrics, shaking her head in amusement.

"Tomorrow you shall hear it on Whistledown," he continued, gesturing with his palms as if to show the forthcoming headline: "Third Bridgerton brother murdered by wedding flower suffocation."

Penelope put a hand over her face, restraining her giggles; she couldn't believe he was joking about that. "Colin, this isn't funny," she said, laughing.

"Upon further reflection, this could prove to be entirely advantageous for me; perhaps by disclosing Francesca's secrets, the wedding could be expedited and I could be liberated from this agony."

"I'm sorry, but I won't be able to assist you. The wedding is taking place tomorrow, and unfortunately, you missed the deadline for today's column," she responded with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

"Well, I never gained a reputation for meticulous planning," he remarked with a touch of sarcasm, causing her to shake her head once more. Then he pulled something out of his pocket and continued, "On that note, thank you," while holding up the pamphlet of the day written by Lady Whistledown.

She was surprised he had it on him, much alone in his pocket. Colin had never shown any inclination to care about Lady Whistledown before.

"Um." She blinked and collected her thoughts, "For what?"

He raised an eyebrow and simply said, "Eloise."

A look of comprehension crossed her face, and she asked, "Have you also heard about it?"

Tilting his head, he said, "Surprisingly, I was already aware of it. Nevertheless, I happened to hear the topic being discussed in public, therefore it is likely that you did too. If it's not mentioned here, it's because you made a deliberate choice not to include it. So, thank you."

"Of course," she replied instantly, while her thoughts rushed with the realisation that even Colin had deduced that she had intentionally not mentioned Eloise."I would never… The one time I wrote about her—"

"I understand," he interjected; she had already explained to him, and she did not need to explain herself again.

She nodded, becoming more and more concerned about Eloise's theory. But oh well, she said she was ready to face the consequences.

Mistaking her silence for a moment of discomfort, he nervously toyed with the wooden box at his side. As if he were a self-hating moron, he devised a topic to either break the ice or quell his curiosity.

"What about yourself?"

She cocked her head in his direction, perplexed by the abrupt shift in topic. "What about myself?"

Scratching the back of his head, he commented,"The social season is drawing to a close, isn't it? How are things progressing with Lord Debling? Has he made a formal proposal yet?"

"Oh," she said. Among all the topics she anticipated him mentioning, that was the least likely. But she assumed it made sense. With the end of the season approaching, it would have been sensible for her to take up Lord Debling's offer. Nonetheless, the man standing before her rendered her completely senseless.

Her throat tightened, and she turned her gaze elsewhere, mustering the words, "No, not yet."

His eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, a wave of irrational happiness washing over him as he absorbed the unexpected information. He was, however, unable to understand. Lord Debling seemed to be smitten with Penelope, and she seemed to be anxiously awaiting his proposal.

Colin then blew out a breath as he muttered under his breath, "What an absolute fool."

Penelope shook her head, letting out a forced laugh to hide the truth: Lord Debling was anything but the fool in that story.

"I must confess, I may be utterly hopeless," she said, ridiculous words tumbling out of her in despair. "It seems that I would have profited from receiving extra lessons."

Somehow, he truly doubted that. Even he had proposed to her twice. Lord Debling had only himself to blame if he failed to recognise the remarkable woman that Penelope truly was.

"To be completely honest, I am unsure of what additional knowledge I can impart to you, Pen," he said with a hint of amusement, "Nonetheless, I must confess my worry about the prospect of you never again laying eyes upon my face, as specified in our proposition. Do you have any suggestions?"

As she let out a sigh, her eyes fell upon her hands, neatly folded in her lap. With any gentleman but him, she could think of something that she was completely hopeless at.

"Dancing," she said with a touch of irony, her own personal joke.

A look of surprise crossed his face. That was intriguing. Without a doubt, he recognised Penelope as one of the most talented dancers he knew. However, he knew that being a skilled dancer didn't always guarantee dancing appropriately with someone you were attracted to.

He knew that because of her.

And then, he did the last thing she expected. He held out his hand, as if inviting her to dance.

"You cannot be serious," she replied, suddenly becoming completely sober.

With a nonchalant shrug, he kept his palm in the air, waiting for her. "As you previously mentioned, the season is drawing to a close. We mustn't squander any more time, would you agree?"

Maybe he was deranged, but given that the season was winding down and she was probably getting married to another person, he had no intention of wasting any further time.

"There is no music," she observed, gesturing towards their surroundings to emphasise her observation. One last effort to convince herself to listen to reason.

Narrowing his eyes at her, he retorted, "You're addressing someone who strolled with you in your drawing room. You do recall that, do you not?"

Suppressing a smile, she pressed her lips together. His point was impossible to refute.

She released a sigh, rose to her feet, and confidently approached him, her intense gaze fixed on his, fully aware that there was only one certain outcome to that lesson. Or perhaps, if she were completely sincere, yearning for that one, unavoidable outcome.

As she delicately placed her hand on his, he gazed at her with intensity, his eyes eventually settling on their intertwined hands. Gradually, he gently grasped her hand, causing her to involuntarily suppress a shiver.

He cleared his throat. "Well," he drew in a shaky breath and looked up at her once more, "The essential element is to never lose eye contact."

She gave a slight, barely noticeable nod, her attention fixated on his eyes and their dilated pupils, with no intention of diverting her gaze to anything else.

He then stood up straighter, walking them to the centre of the room, their hands between them. "Each dance is unique, and each one carries its own significance, thus requiring one to adapt accordingly," he said, smoothly lifting her hand until their palms were suspended in the air, only inches apart, mirroring the position from their previous dance.

"Certain dances, such as the waltz, focus on an established sense of intimacy, which is why it is not commonly recommended for a potential suitor." They circled around each other as he spoke. "In contrast, other dances revolve around the torturous distance between partners."

As he reconnected their hands, he effortlessly lifted them above their heads, his other arm holding her waist in a firm embrace, leaving her breathless. While she held onto his waist, her eyes fixated on his lips, observing how they moved with each word he uttered. And as they became a blur to her, she felt herself leaning closer to him, mentally calculating the precise amount of tiptoeing required to reach his mouth.

"Your sole task," he whispered, his uneven breath softly touching her skin, "is to make your partner ache with an uncontrollable urge to close that distance."

The searing sensation on her skin made her marvel at his undeniable success. If he didn't close the distance between them at that very second, it felt like she was on the verge of losing her mind. She briefly contemplated if she could ever exert that kind of power over another person, but her thoughts were immediately interrupted when he twirled her.

With a decisive tug, he brought her towards him, her back pressed against his chest, his arm encircling her waist and his hand holding hers tightly against her stomach. Once again, his longing gaze locked onto her neck; once again, she couldn't help but feel the brush of his breath against it.

But this time, Penelope was correct: there was no music. There was no music to guide their steps or rhythm, and no music to remind him not to lose control.

And so he kissed her neck.

Penelope's whimper echoed through the room as she leaned into him, her legs growing weak.

He gently nibbled on her skin, relishing the sight of goosebumps forming in response. With deliberate slowness, he moved his lips along the curve of her neck, savouring the symphony of desperate sounds escaping from her throat. With a tightening grip on his hand, she smoothly guided their intertwined fingers upwards until they came to a rest against her sternum, allowing him to feel the rapid pulsations of her heart against his palm.

Her fast heartbeat caught him off guard, prompting him to raise his head briefly. It was in that moment that he took in the sight of Penelope, her body sagged against his chest, eyes closed and completely surrendered to him. And in that everlasting moment, his wish was to be the source of that expression for the entirety of his days.

"Colin," she said, now staring at him. He then didn't say a thing, choosing to kiss her lips instead before he redirected his attention to her bare shoulder.

With each breath she took, her chest heaved up and down in a display of her quickened breaths, while he leisurely trailed a series of kisses along her shoulder until he reached the delicate material of her dress. Undeterred, he gently tugged down her sleeve, revealing her smooth, delicate skin, and creating a clear path for his lips.

Her pulse quickened even further, and in response, she tightly intertwined their fingers, her body temperature rising in sync with his. The details of what they had figured out that day and what he had taught her were hazy in her mind, but she was more than ready to let go of those concerns.

That was until a loud crash outside the room ruined the moment completely.

Startled, Colin and Penelope almost leaped in opposite directions. Her heart, which was already beating at an absurdly rapid pace, nearly jumped into her throat with fear, but fortunately, it settled down once she realised the door was still closed. Anger seeping through her, she could only stare at the door in frustration, silently resenting the person outside who was apologising to someone else for the mess. If only they weren't so clumsy, she and Colin wouldn't have been interrupted.

Because the pretence was finally over, wasn't it? Their five-second friendship truce was predictably shattered, leaving no possibility of going back. And to make matters worse, the chance of him kissing her neck again was even lower.

When she glanced at Colin, he was facing away from her with his hand on his forehead. Slowly, he returned to the wretched side table, standing behind it and supporting himself by placing both hands on its surface. As he turned to face her, his eyes caught her attention—they were red and brimming with an intensity she had never seen.

Colin knew that it was pointless to propose to her at that moment. The ending of that story was always the same. In fact, every time they were alone now, the story unfolded in the same way—a beginning that filled him with anticipation and an ending he detested.

As he gazed at her, he couldn't help but feel a mix of dread and intense affection for her dishevelled appearance. Her hair was in disarray, her sleeve hung loosely, and her skin blushed from the countless kisses he planted on it.

And friends weren't supposed to know how their friends looked when they were well kissed. They were not supposed to know the specific places where their friends preferred to be kissed, the sounds that escaped their throats when kissed, or the expressions they wore in someone is embrace.

None of these things were meant for him to know, yet they plagued his thoughts day and night. A flood of improper information concerning a person he had known for years inundated him. And the problem was that it was not strange at all; it did not bother him in the least. In fact, all he wanted was to know more, to go back and remember everything with perfect clarity.

"To answer your previous question," he said, his gaze locked on her unwaveringly, "No, Pen, I cannot be your friend any longer."

---

A/N:

PHEWWWWWWW

Alright, Colin's and Penelope's feelings and thoughts will continue to be explored and explained, let me start by saying that. Everyone breatheee it's only over when it's over.

And talking about being over, we are reaching the final phase of this story, my friends. I don't know how many chapters we have left because I have this tendency of writing huge chapters in my head (as you just witnessed). In this writer's mind there are at least 4 "parts" left, which may be 4 chapters or might be more.

For this chapter, I HAD to choose song number 14. The way I was pissed off when Ariana released this album that close to the season like come on this is such a Polin anthem I needed it on the show. (and I know the song is not complete but when someone uploads a full violin version of this song on spotify you bet I'm adding it to the Playlist )

I honestly don't know if I'm forgetting to comment on anything else, i'm exhausted. If you guys wish to ask something else feel free to comment haha.

My birthday was on Saturday, so please be kind to this author? Don't forget to review, I love you guys, have a good evening!