It was nearly a week after Penelope's hasty flight from Aubrey Hall when the Bridgerton family carriage finally clattered back through the streets of Mayfair. As the footmen scrambled to unload their mountain of trunks and cases, Anthony Bridgerton wasted no time in striding across the square towards the Featherington residence.
His family's cries of protest went entirely unheeded as the Viscount took the front steps two at a time before pounding insistently on the door. He needed to lay eyes on Penelope, reassure himself of her well being after her disappearance. Nothing else mattered until then.
The door finally creaked open to reveal Briarly, the Featheringtons' loyal butler. "Lord Bridgerton." He greeted, raising an eyebrow at Anthony's appearance. "We were not expecting you to call so soon after returning to town."
"I must insist on seeing Miss Featherington immediately." Anthony said brusquely, making to push past the butler.
Briarly held up a hand. "I'm afraid Miss Penelope is out at the modiste presently. Shall I inform her you called when she returns?"
Anthony deflated somewhat at the news, though his shoulders remained taut with tension. "Yes, do ensure she knows I wish to call on her again this evening if at all possible."
"Very good, my lord." Briarly inclined his head deferentially before closing the door once more.
With a frustrated grunt, Anthony pivoted on his heel and started back towards his own family's household. There was nothing for it but to wait, though the thought grated on his very last nerve.
Across town, Penelope Featherington sat in the back workroom of Madame Genevieve Delacroix' modiste shop, listening raptly as her friend recounted the events of the past year and a half regarding Lady Whistledown's gossip empire. She had been piecing together the events that transpired during her incapacitation, and Genevieve had been instrumental in filling in the gaps. The elegant modiste had recounted how Lady Whistledown's issues continued to be published despite Penelope's absence, detailing Eloise Bridgerton's desperate intervention.
Genevieve had described how Eloise, with resolute conviction, had approached her, insisting she knew the modiste was involved in the publications. Eloise had revealed her discovery of Penelope's secret identity as Lady Whistledown and explained the gravity of Penelope's accident and condition. Convinced of the necessity to maintain the ruse, Eloise had persuaded Genevieve to show her how Penelope managed her business. Eloise had taken over the publishing temporarily, ensuring that the ton and, more crucially, the Queen, would not grow suspicious of Whistledown's sudden silence.
Penelope listened intently, a mixture of gratitude and astonishment washing over her.
"I cannot believe Eloise did all this for me.." Penelope breathed utterly gobsmacked. For the span of several heartbeats, she could only gape silently at her modiste friend.
Genevieve nodded. "She was relentless. She feared that any disruption in Whistledown's publications would raise questions, especially about your absence."
Penelope sighed, her thoughts swirling. "Eloise always had a keen sense for the truth. I owe her so much."
The modiste smiled warmly. "We both did what we could to protect you and your secret. Now that you are back, how do you wish to proceed?"
Penelope took a deep breath, the weight of her responsibilities settling on her shoulders. "I need to take back control of Whistledown. The ton is expecting nothing less than my usual sharp wit and insight. But I must also navigate my personal relations, especially with the Viscount.."
Genevieve's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Speaking of Viscount Bridgerton, have you seen him since your return, of your memories I mean?"
Penelope shook her head. "No, I haven't. I left Aubrey Hall so abruptly. I'm sure he's wondering what happened."
—-
Back at the Featherington household
When the Featherington carriage finally pulled up to the front door, Penelope felt a weight lifting from her shoulders simply at being home again. So much had transpired in such a short span of time - the jarring return of her memories, the revelations about her secret identity, and now the utterly bewildering situation with Anthony Bridgerton.
As if sensing her addled state, Briarly was at her side almost before she'd fully alighted from the carriage. "A visitor called for you earlier this afternoon, Miss Penelope." The butler informed her gravely.
Penelope's heart stuttered in her chest even as weariness washed over her. Of course she knew exactly who had come calling. "Lord Bridgerton, I presume?"
Briarly inclined his head. "Indeed, miss. He was most insistent on seeing you, though I regretfully had to turn him away. The Viscount stated he would return again this evening if you were amenable."
A heavy sigh gusted past Penelope's lips. She had hoped to postpone this inevitable confrontation for a while longer, at least until she'd regained her metaphorical footing.
"Penelope?" Her mother's concerned voice drifted over from the open doorway. "Is everything alright, dear? Did you and Lord Bridgerton perhaps have a disagreement of some kind?"
Penelope shook her head slowly as she moved herself deeper into the foyer. "Not precisely a quarrel. I simply.." She hesitated, carefully choosing her words. "I am not yet prepared to receive his call, mama."
"But why ever not?" The dowager baroness frowned. "Surely your engagement to the Viscount has not been broken?"
The youngest Featherington flinched slightly. "I.. I do not rightly know if I can proceed with any engagement, mama. Given the circumstances.."
Her mother's expression softened with instant understanding. "Ah, I see now. The return of your memories has you feeling quite at odds with the situation between yourself and Lord Bridgerton, is it not?"
Penelope nodded mutely, silently willing Portia to grasp the true depths of her dilemma. How could she begin to articulate her inner turmoil to Anthony when she herself could scarcely make sense of it?
To her surprise, her mama reached out to grasp her hands reassuringly. "My dearest child, I cannot fathom the upheaval you have endured these past days. But neither can I nor your sisters stand idly by while you falter."
Portia's jaw set in that familiar way Penelope recognized from her childhood - an understated show of the baroness' formidable determination.
"You must grant Lord Bridgerton an audience, if only to convey your wishes regarding your understanding, whatever those may be." Portia continued firmly. "The Viscount deserves to know where he stands, as does his family. Further prevarication on your part will only lead to more hurt and confusion for all involved."
Penelope opened her mouth to protest out of sheer habit, but quickly realized her mama spoke nothing but sense. She could not simply avoid Anthony indefinitely, no matter how tempting the prospect. They were too deeply entangled now for anything less than a frank and open discussion between them.
Squaring her shoulders, Penelope met her mother's gaze levelly. "You are correct, mama. I shall pen Lord Bridgerton a note informing him I am prepared to receive his call this evening."
For just an instant, raw pride shone in the dowager baroness' eyes before the moment passed.
—-
Anthony Bridgerton, having received the note from the Featheringtons' footman, prepared himself with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The evening meal with his family had been a blur, his thoughts consumed by the impending meeting with his fiancee, Penelope. As he stood before the Featherington estate, he took a heavy breath, steeling himself, and knocked on the door.
Briarly, the ever-loyal butler, opened the door and informed the Viscount that Penelope was out in the gardens. The butler led him through the mansion, past the ornate rooms and into the serene outdoor space. There, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, sat Penelope Featherington, engrossed in a book.
Anthony paused, mesmerized by her beauty. Her red hair was braided into a bun, her mermaid green dress hugged her curves perfectly, and the soft pink tint of her lips made him long to rush to her and shower her with kisses. His trance was broken when Briarly announced his arrival.
"Miss Penelope. The Viscount Bridgerton is here to see you, miss." Briarly said.
Penelope looked up, closing her book and setting it aside. "Thank you, Briarly." She said, her voice polite but distant. "You may leave us."
Briarly hesitated, aware of the propriety required, but Penelope's firm nod reassured him. He then left them alone in the garden.
As soon as the butler was out of their presence, Anthony approached, his heart pounding. "Good evening, Pen." He said, bowing his head. She stood and gave him a curtsy in return.
"Good evening, my lord." She replied, using his title rather than Anthony's Christian name. Her formality cut him to the quick, a reminder of the distance that had grown between them.
"How have you been?" Anthony asked, trying to keep his tone light.
"I have been well, thank you." Penelope replied, her voice cool and measured.
Anthony's heart ached at her demeanor. She felt so far away, even though she stood just an arm's length from him. He tried to bridge the gap with small talk. "My mother's birthday celebration was lovely, though Hy and Greg have terribly missed your company at Aubrey Hall. The entire family is quite insistent that you join us for tea on the morrow. We have all missed your presence most keenly these past few days. I, for one, could not wait to spend time with you." He tried for an easy smile.
Penelope's expression remained impassive. "I am afraid this cannot be allowed to continue, my lord." She said coldly.
Anthony blinked in shock, feeling a mix of confusion and dread. "What needs to be stopped? Do you mean the tea? Or do you simply want to end my call for tonight?"
The redhead took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. "I would like to end our engagement."
The world tilted dizzying on its axis as the implications clanged deafeningly in Anthony's brain, her words hitting him like a physical blow. "End our engagement?" He repeated, scarcely able to believe his ears. "But why?"
She was renouncing their betrothal? After everything they had endured together over the past months, she was utterly rejecting their chance at love and happiness?
"Penelope, no!" He exclaimed, taking an unconscious step towards her even as a thousand disbelieving protests battered around his skull. "You cannot mean that. We are to be married, you and I. How can you throw that all away so cavalierly? Have I wronged you in any way Penelope? Tell me so I can make it right.."
Her jaw jutted out stubbornly. "Because I no longer have any recollection or context for how this came to pass between us, my lord. All that I can recall are the ancient boundaries of propriety that should never have been breached by someone in my position to you."
Anthony recoiled as if struck, the hurt lancing through him at her searing dismissal. This was his Penelope, his beloved, his future, unfalteringly loyal partner speaking such wretched sentiments? He shook his head forcefully in denial as his heart began splintering to shards within his chest.
"I.. I do not understand Penelope." He croaked, sounding utterly broken. "We love each other.."
Penelope's expression shuttered closed as she replied in a dull, hollow tone. "I have returned to my previous frame of mind, Lord Bridgerton. As much as it pains me to admit, I do not remember our courtship nor our engagement. All I remember is.. Nothing. You were always the Viscount, the eldest brother of Eloise. And now, I find myself unable to reconcile my past with the present. I have felt nothing but confusion and conflict about my relations with you."
As her meaning lanced home with brutal clarity, Anthony felt the first twin trails of devastation burn searing tracks down his cheeks. She had reverted fully to viewing him as an untouchable, unattainable relation, nothing more. Her recovery had erased every last trace of their hard-won love and commitment.