The rhythmic clash of steel sang out across the Bridgerton estate grounds as Anthony traded blows with Benedict. Sweat beaded on his brow beneath the morning sun, muscles straining with each parry and riposte. After days mired in brooding over Penelope, the Viscount finally heeded his brothers' insistent cajoling to join them for fencing practice.
Benedict feinted left before whipping his foil in a blistering arc. "Well, well." He panted, narrowly deflecting Anthony's counter-strike. "Seems our illustrious Viscount has deigned to grace us lowly rakes with his presence at last!"
Pivoting smoothly, Anthony batted aside Benedict's blade with an audible clang. "Careful now." He rumbled, the hint of a grin playing at his lips. "Or I may be forced to let this 'Viscount' instruct you in humility."
Before Benedict could retort, Anthony's foil flashed out in a blur. One moment his brother's defenses were set, the next his saber clattered to the ground in surrender.
"Touché." Anthony murmured, utterly unrepentant as Benedict clutched at the fencing vest over his chest.
"Devilish.." Benedict swept his damp curls from his forehead with a rueful grin. "Though I suppose I've only myself to blame for poking the slumbering bear, eh?" He arched one brow meaningfully. "Your improved humor this morning wouldn't happen to stem from indulging in a particular redhead's delightful company last night, would it?"
To his credit, Anthony's only reaction was a fractional tightening of his jaw. "A gentleman always takes pleasure in the company of his beloved." He replies, voice pitched carefully even. "Though I'll thank you not to make rude insinuations about a lady's character, dear brother. Especially if it's Penelope. She is to be my wife and your sister-in-law, do not forget that."
Benedict held up his free hand in mollifying surrender, sensing he'd prodded the wrong nerve. Anthony's mood had been utterly mercurial of late regarding Miss Featherington.
"Peace, Ant." Colin's voice rang out in timely intervention as he sauntered over, already bedecked in his fencing vest. "No need to impale the messenger simply for insinuating what we all already suspect."
He cast Anthony an amicable wink as he twirled his foil absently. "Though if the lady in question tamed even a fraction of your usual churlish demeanor.. Well then, my hat is off to her."
Anthony held his brother's gaze for a protracted beat, as if weighing the merit of rising to the bait. Finally, he settled for widening his stance in silent acceptance of Colin's unspoken challenge to a bout.
The clink of their salutes rang out like a gunshot. From the first bell, Anthony's focus was lasered intensity personified. His feet danced with the ferocity of his cuts and strikes, allowing Colin no quarter for misstep.
Within seconds, Benedict's brows hiked higher in surprise at the sheer ferocity of the onslaught. Colin, ever the more disciplined technician, took an inadvertent step back with each blistering attack his brother unleashed.
On and on Anthony pressed his advantage, parry after parry battering Colin's defenses like a battering ram. Then, at last, one final pirouette and flick of Anthony's saber skittered Colin's foil from his grasp.
The younger Bridgerton held his hands up in surrender, chest heaving as he stopped to retrieve his weapon. "Good lord, Anthony!" He gasped, shooting his older brother an incredulous look. "What's got your hackles raised so viciously this day? One might mistake our bout for outright retribut–"
The dawning realization showed plainly on Colin's face then, derailing his words entirely. When next he spoke, his tone was carefully circumspect.
"This.. this has to do with Penelope, does it not?"
Anthony dragged the back of his sleeve across his perspiring brow as he sheathed his foil briskly. "You'd do well to mind a civil tongue where Penelope is concerned for now, Colin." He replied, tone weighted with censure.
"After some.. Consideration, it's come to light she has reacquired certain aspects of her former memories you slighted in past with reckless words."
Colin's eyes widened fractionally as Anthony's stare became utterly glacial.
"While I bear you no true malice, make no mistake - Penelope is mine to cherish now. Any who would risk prompting further hurt or distress are courting an answer from me. Am I unequivocally clear, brother?"
The weight of the moment stretched between them, brittle and utterly devoid of their earlier levity. Finally, Colin bobbed his head in solemn acquiescence.
"I.. understand, Anthony. And you have my word - I shall make amends to Pen most contritely. Whatever insensitivities I perpetrated in immature ignorance, I'll not compound them further."
Anthony regarded his younger brother appraisingly for a long moment before offering the barest nod in return. As siblings, there were bonds of trust that transcended even such hallowed ground as courtship. For Penelope's sake, he would have to accept Colin at his pledge.
"See that you don't. You need to apologize to her, but only when she is ready to speak with you. Do not force her. If you do, you'll have to answer to me." Anthony said strictly, before retrieving his discarded jacket with a decisive snap of the lapels. "Now if you'll both excuse me, I've my lady's graces requiring my attentions this forenoon."
With that, the Viscount turned on his heel and strode back towards the manse, every line of his body broadcasting a bachelor's day had decidedly, officially, come to its conclusion.
—-
As she had promised - or rather, as she had no choice but to agree - Penelope Featherington found herself at the doors of the Bridgerton house across the square. The grand, imposing facade of the estate did little to calm her nerves, but she took a deep breath and approached the door.
The gentle tinkling of china and murmured conversation greeted Penelope as Humboldt ushered her into the Bridgertons' sunlit drawing room. Despite her lingering trepidation over Lady Violet's insistent invitation, she could not deny the welcoming ambiance soother her somewhat.
"Penelope!" The Bridgeton matriarch rose with a beaming smile, crossing the room to warmly embrace her. "We're simply delighted you could join us."
"Lady Bridgerton." Penelope murmured, returning the older woman's affectionate squeeze. "You're too kind. I'm honored by your hospitality."
"Nonsense, my dear!" Violet tittered, ushering her towards the low settee where Francesca and Eloise were seated. "You're among family here, are you not?"
A tiny traitorous kernel of happiness bloomed in Penelope's chest at those words, even as her pragmatic side reared up instinctively. Family.. Truly?
Francesca offered her a warm smile as she settled between them. "Do forgive us for absconding with you so, Pen. Mama shan't be deterred once she's turned that formidable matriarchal will towards something!"
A muffled snort issued from the chess table nearby where Hyacinth and Gregory were engrossed in their game. Penelope hid a smile - some things would never change, it seemed.
"I do hope my presence doesn't disrupt your usual routines dreadfully." Penelope replied as Humboldt began pouring fresh tea. "You're all too hospitable by half, really."
"Piffle." Violet interjected breezily, reclaiming her own cup. "You've simply been kept away from us too long as it is, that's all."
A somewhat strained silence followed, the weight of unspoken implications hanging heavily in the air. Eloise, who'd remained unusually mum since Penelope's arrival, finally piped up. "We're just glad for any chance to reassemble the old Covey's full ranks again, aren't we?"
The force levity in her tone was palpable. Penelope shot her oldest friend a questioning glance, but Eloise's gaze seemed fixedly averted. A hot pang of remorse gripped Penelope's heart - she and Eloise had barely spoken since that awful awakening at Aubrey Hall. How adrift and hurt her dearest friend must feel...
A raucous clatter of boots and jangling spurs from the gallery heralded a new arrival before Penelope could pursue the thought further. All eyes, swiveled as Anthony Bridgerton strode into the drawing room with characteristic insouciance, still bedecked in his fencing practice attire.
Perspiration sheened over the open vee of his shirt where the top laces hung loose. Disheveled chestnut hair tumbled over his brown in a somewhat reckless manner. Yet the overall effect was nothing short of devastatingly, roguishly alluring in Penelope's utterly discomposed opinion.
"Penelope." He fairly purred, lifting her knuckles to brush an infinitely tender kiss across them. His lips seared like a brand even through her gloves. "What an unexpected delight to find you gracing our parlor this afternoon."
Penelope felt her cheeks flush traitorously at the molten timbre of his voice. Deliberately pitching lower than usual, no doubt – and succeeding wildly at demolishing any scant composure she may have retained. Sweet lord, how was she to endure such open seduction?
Lips still hovering perilously near her trembling hand, Anthony's heavy-lidded gaze slanted up through his lashes to pin her with a look of pure, shuddered sin. "I don't suppose I might persuade you to indulge my shameless desire for you audience a while longer?"
Of all the unabashedly rakish –!
Despite her furious mental flailings, Penelope was mortifyingly conscious of all the rapt eyes trained on their byplay. The open provocativeness of Anthony's advances left her utterly poleaxed. How did one respond with any shred of propriety when being so.. So... blatantly ravished before an entire party?!
"I.. ah.. That is.." She began faintly, pulse rabbiting beneath the sheer intensity of his scorching regard. Oh merciful heavens, get a hold of yourself, Penelope!
Rallying the reserves of her rattled sanity, she finally managed. "I should think that depends entirely on the nature of said audience you crave, my lord."
Anthony awarded her with a half-grin of sheer masculine satisfaction – the self-possessed look of a cat toying with its prey. "Why, the pleasure of your sparkling conversation, of course. That incomparable wit and wisdom I've come to so dearly cherish."
The tips of his fingers skated lightly over her knuckles in a whisper-soft caress. "In short-simply basking in your unparalleled light, a while longer, Miss Featherington."
Good God, this man would be the utter dissolution of her before week's end!
Throat perilously arid, Penelope could only nod wordless acquiescence in the face of such overwhelming ardor. Behind them, a discreet cough sounded from the settee. Violet's gaze shone with a peculiar, maternal gleam as she observed them fondly.
"Well then, you simply must join us properly for tea, dearest." She pronounced in a tone that simply broke no argument. "Lord knows we've been dreadfully remiss in extending the fullest honors and hospitality to our future Viscountess these last few days!"
Penelope's rebuttal withered on her lips beneath the dawning realization in Anthony's smoldering gaze. She suddenly knew with inescapable certainty that every shameless tactic, every scorching endearment – it had all been meticulously choreographed with intent to reduce her objections to absolute ash.
And as Anthony boldly claimed the seat beside her with proprietary ease, slinging one arm across the back of the settee in a subconscious embrace, Penelope couldn't shake the dizzying sense that she'd just been irrevocable, inescapably..
Ensnared.