The Bridgerton House was abuzz with anticipation on a bright afternoon, the air thick with the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea and the promise of delightful company. Penelope Featherington, the radiant jewel of the season, had finally graced the esteemed household with her presence, much to the delight of its occupants.
Eloise was overjoyed to have her dearest friend step into their house once more after a long time. While she had seen the redhead five days ago, at their morning excursion at the park, today was Penelope's first time to grace her presence at their house for almost two years.
Violet Bridgerton, ever the gracious hostess, warmly welcomed Penelope into the drawing room, where her children had gathered in eager anticipation. Introductions were made, and Penelope found herself reacquainted with the youngest Bridgerton siblings, Hyacinth and Gregory, both of whom could scarcely contain their excitement at the prospect of reconnecting with their dear friend.
Hyacinth's eyes sparkled with mischief as she vied for Penelope's attention, regaling her with tales of her latest escapades. Gregory, on the other hand, found himself struck by a peculiar shyness, his cheeks flushed with the telltale signs of a boyhood crush that had blossomed anew in the presence of the beguiling redhead.
The conversation flowed seamlessly, with Eloise and Francesca eagerly inquiring about the suitors who had been gracing the Featherington doorstep in recent days. Penelope, ever the demure lady, obliged with a shy smile, her cheeks flushed wit a rosy hue as she recounted the various gentlemen who had sought her favor.
Violet, the ever-watchful matriarch, sipped her tea in contemplative silence, her keen eyes observing the interactions with a maternal warmth and an undeniable air of interest.
The tranquil atmosphere was momentarily disrupted as Anthony and Benedict strode into the drawing room, their arrival punctuated by the masculine air they carried. Violet greeted her sons with a warm smile, beckoning them to join the gathering.
As Anthony settled onto the plush sofa beside Benedict, his gaze swept over the assembled company, coming to rest upon Penelope's radiant form. "And what, pray tell, has captured my ladies' attention so thoroughly?" The Viscount inquired, his rich baritone carrying a hint or curiosity.
Hyacinth, ever the eager one, piped up with a delighted grin. "Why, Pen has been regaling us with tales of her suitors, brother!" She exclaimed, her eyes alight with mirth.
A flicker of something indecipherable passed across Anthony's features as his gaze locked onto Penelope's, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. He remained silent, content to listen as the youngest Featherington recounted her musings on the various gentlemen who had called upon her in recent days.
As Penelope's melodic voice filled the drawing room, regaling her captive audience with tales of the suitors who had called upon her in recent days, a palpable tension seemed to settle over Anthony. His posture stiffened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching imperceptibly as he found himself torn between a desire to hear her accounts and a mounting sense of discomfort that he could scarcely comprehend.
"Mister Dankworth was among the first to pay a call." Penelope began, her tone tinged with a hint of amusement. "He presented me with a most extravagant bouquet of roses, each petal more vibrant than the last."
Hyacinth and Francesca exchanged conspiratorial glances, their eyes alight with the mischievous delight of young ladies reveling in the pursuit of suitors. Elosie leaned forward, her elbows resting upon her knees as she hung on Penelope's every word. Eloise has never been fond of the marriage aspect, but as it was Penelope who was speaking, her attention was piqued.
"And what of Lord Debling?" Francesca inquired, a teasing lilt to her voice. "I hear he is quite smitten with you, Pen."
A delicate blush crept across the redhead's cheeks as she ducked her head, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "Indeed, he has been most persistent in his attentions." She admitted. "Why, just yesterday, he presented me with a most exquisite set of pearl earrings, claiming they paled in comparison to the radiance of my complexion."
Anthony's fingers curled ever so slightly, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to maintain his composure. A muscle twitched in his jaw, betraying the growing sense of unease that churned within him.
Benedict, ever the observant one, cast a sideways glance at his brother, his brow furrowing in silent inquiry. Yet, before he could give voice to his concerns, Hyacinth's eager voice cut through the tension.
"Oh, Pen, you simply must share the particulars of Lord Fife's visit!" She exclaimed, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Rumor has it that he arrived with a most extravagant gift, one befitting a true lady of the ton. Wasn't he included in Whistledown's issue last time? Whistledown did say that he was enraptured since the night you were announced as Emerald."
As Penelope launched into yet another tale, her words painting vivid pictures of the lavish attentions bestowed upon her by her suitors, Anthony found himself increasingly unsettled. A foreign emotion churned within him, an unfamiliar beast that he could neither name nor tame, clawing at his chest with each breathless recounting.
Violet noted the subtle shift in her eldest son's demeanor, her keen eyes missing nothing. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she silently contemplated the implication of Anthony's apparent discomfort.
Perhaps, she mused, the seeds of something deeper had taken root, a tender blossom unfurling in the depths of Anthony's heart - a blossom that threatened to upend the carefully cultivated facade he had so meticulously constructed.
As Penelope's tales of her suitors wound to a close, Violet Bridgerton seized the opportunity to put her eldest son's affections to the test.
"My dear Penelope." Violet began, her voice rich with maternal warmth. "I simply cannot bear the thought of you departing so soon. The afternoon has flown by, and yet it feels as though our time together has been far too fleeting."
The matriarch's eyes twinkled with a knowing glint as she turned her gaze towards Anthony. "Perhaps you might indulge an old woman's request and grace us with your presence for dinner, and even spend the night in our humble abode."
A chorus of delighted exclamations erupted from Anthony's sisters, their eyes alight with excitement at the prospect of extending Penelope's visit. They turned their imploring gazes towards their brother, silently beseeching him to acquiesce to their mother's suggestion.
Anthony's features softened, his resolve melting in the face of his family's collective enthusiasm. Truth be told, he found himself equally enamored with the idea of prolonging Penelope's company, if only to savor the warmth and light she seemed to effortlessly emanate.
"Of course, mother." He acquiesced, his rich baritone laced with a tenderness that surprised even himself. "I shall pen a note to Lady Featherington, informing her of our intentions to keep Penelope in our care for the night."
A chorus of jubilant cheers erupted from the younger Bridgerton siblings, their joy palpable and infectious. Hyacinth, ever the vivacious one, sprang from her seat and tugged Penelope towards a plush settee, her eyes alight with excitement.
"Pen, you simply must style my hair for dinner!" She exclaimed, her voice brimming with childlike enthusiasm. "I recall the exquisite braids you once wove for me, and I should dearly love to wear them again this evening."
A palpable silence descended upon the room as Hyacinth's innocent request struck a chord within Penelope Featherington. The weight of her memory loss, the fragments of her past that remained elusive, threatened to overshadow the joyous moment.
Before Violet or Anthony could intervene, the redhead's gentle voice broke the stillness, carrying a warmth and reassurance that belied the turmoil she undoubtedly felt.
"My dearest Hy." She began her tone soothing and maternal, calling the child by the nickname used by her family. "While I fear I cannot recreate the styles of old, for those memories have yet to return to me, I would be delighted to weave a new and equally beautiful design for you."
Hyacinth's face blossomed into a radiant smile, her earlier disappointment forgotten in the wake of Penelope's gracious offer. Violet, ever the doting mother, summoned a maid to fetch a selection of ribbons and hairpins, ensuring that Penelope had all the necessary accoutrements for her task.
As Penelope's deft fingers wove intricate braids into Hyacinth's tresses, Anthony found himself utterly captivated by the scene unfolding before him. The gentle way in which she soothed Hyacinth's momentary dismay, the patience and care she exhibited - it all coalesced into an undeniable truth that struck him with the force of a thunderbolt.
Penelope Featherington, the woman who had started to slowly ensnared his heart and mind, possessed a natural affinity for nurturing and maternal grace that left him in awe. Unbidden, a vision of her cradling a babe in her arms, her radiant smile illuminating the world around her, flickered through his consciousness, igniting a longing he dared not give voice to.
As Hyacinth marveled at her newly woven tresses, bestowing upon the redhead a grateful kiss and a tender embrace, Anthony found himself wholly enraptured, his heart swelling with an emotion so profound, so all-consuming, that he knew in that moment his world had been irrevocably altered.
For he admits to himself, that this youngest Featherington who he saw as a fragile yet elegant young lady, shy, quiet but with intelligence and wit, kind, graceful and is valued truly by his family, a wallflower who had blossomed into a fine resplendent lady before everyone's eyes, is someone he had become attracted to.
Anthony Bridgerton is starting to fall in love with Penelope Featherington. And a fast rate at that.
—-
The crackling of the fire in the hearth cast a warm, flickering glow upon the study, where Anthony and Benedict had retreated after the evening's dinner. The rich aroma of aged whiskey permeated the air as Anthony poured generous portions into two crystal tumblers, the amber liquid glistening invitingly.
Settling onto the plush sofa, the brothers faced each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. It was Benedict who broke the silence first, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that was all too familiar to Anthony.
"So, brother." Benedict began, his voice laced with a teasing lilt. "Perhaps you might indulge my curiosity and enlighten me as to your intentions towards a certain Miss Featherington."
Anthony's brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he feigned ignorance. "Whatever do you mean, brother?" He countered, his tone tinged with a hint of defensiveness.
Benedict's chuckle was rich and full-bodied, a clear indication that he saw through Anthony's ruse. "Come now, Anthony, did you truly think your behavior in the drawing room earlier would go unnoticed?" He challenged, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "The way you glared and grimaced with each tale of her suitors - one might almost mistake you for a jealous man."
A flush crept across the Viscount's cheeks, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as he fought to maintain his composure. He knew better than to engage in Benedict's teasing, yet the weight of his brother's words struck a chord within him.
"I cannot fault you for harboring affections for Penelope, if that is indeed the case." Benedict continued, his tone growing more contemplative. "She is a remarkable woman - intelligent, kind hearted, and possessed of a wit that few can match. Truly, she would make an exemplary Viscountess. Not to mention, the family dearly loves her already."
Anthony's grip tightened around his tumbler, the ice clinking against the crystal as he shifted in his seat. "Penelope is Eloise's dearest friend." He continued, his voice being defensive. "And she is but a young woman, hardly suited for a man thirteen years her senior."
Benedict's laughter rang out once more, rich and unbridled. "Anthony, dear brother, have you forgotten the ways of our society?" He chided gently. "It is perfectly acceptable for a gentleman to take a bride who has only recently made her debut, provided she is of marriageable age."
A shadow passed over Anthony's features as Benedict's words struck a nerve. "And would you have Lady Featherington secure Pen's hand, only to relegate her life of servitude to a much elderly lord?" He challenged, his voice tinged with a hint of steel. "Or perhaps you would prefer to see her bound to a man like Lord Fife, whose only redeeming quality appears to be his title?"
The mere suggestion seemed to ignite a spark of fury within Anthony, his eyes blazing with a protective fire that caught Benedict off guard. It was a reaction far more potent than he had anticipated, one that spoke volumes of the depths of his brother's affections.
"I would sooner see the entirety of the ton damned than allow such a fate to befall Penelope." Anthony growled, his words laced with a conviction that brooked no argument.
Benedict's laughter returned, rich and unrestrained, as he regarded his brother with a knowing smile. "Well, well, it seems my teasing has struck a chord." He mused, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Fear not, brother, your secret is safe with me - for now."
With a wink and a conspiratorial grin, Benedict raised his tumbler in a silent toast, leaving Anthony to ponder the implications of his own impassioned response and the depths of the feelings he had so vehemently denied.