Chapter Three: Truce
After Penelope's bold confession, the silence now seemed to be reverberating around them, as Colin stared at Penelope, and she gazed fearfully back.
There was an odd rushing sound in his ears, turning into a roar, and he felt how unsteady his breaths were. A rising tide of shock and anger was rearing its head inside him, and he wasn't sure how to control it. Colin, famous amongst his family and those who knew him best, for never losing his temper. His mother would often fondly say that he was the child most quick to smile and laugh, taking life as it came, rolling with the punches.
Well, here was the first true punch to the gut he had felt since he had found out about Lady Crane's deception last year. And like Anthony's boxer friend Will Mondrich, it had delivered what felt like a knockout blow.
There could be no doubt she was telling the truth. He'd hoped when he questioned her that she would've denied, denied, denied, vehemently denied any such idea that she and the infamous author could be one and the same. But he'd seen the truth written all over her face when he'd looked up at her, the fear and horror in her eyes, then the quiet defiance.
The author who had reported on and mocked his family and other close acquaintances, exposed and hurt Marina in such a fashion (who mayhap had deserved it to some extent, but that was a point he was beyond fathoming), the author who had turned society upside down, the author who had everyone hanging onto every written word. That author was the same woman as the friend standing in front of him. It felt impossible to come to terms with.
"Colin, please say something."
Penelope's chest was rising and falling rapidly as she watched him, and she sounded afraid, terribly afraid. He looked down at the incriminating paper in his hands and watched in detached interest - his hands were shaking slightly. He took a deep, steadying breath, and let it back out.
"How…" his voice came out raspy, and he cleared his throat to try again. "How did…how could… how could you do this?"
She was still gazing at him, her wide blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Colin…"
"No, really Penelope, how could you do this?" he repeated, stepping forward and brandishing the paper at her. He shook it a little, and she took a half-step back. His gentleman's upbringing admonished him silently for making her in any way afraid of him, but hang the upbringing for a moment, because he needed to say this. "You've spread gossip and lies and innuendo for two years, you've turned people, human beings, even your own family and friends, my family and friends, into nothing more than tidbits or items of scandal, to be talked over and dissected by everyone, you've risked the wrath of the Queen and the Court, and for what? Why? Why have you done this?"
She looked distraught, and he thought distantly that his words must be landing heavily on her, just like the punch he'd felt to the gut from her admission. He watched as she took a deep breath, her shoulders straightening, dignity and poise seeping into her bearing in a way he had never seen before from her.
"I do it," she declared gravely, "because I love it. I do it because I'm good at it, Colin. I will admit," and her voice wavered as she blinked against the tears threatening to spill over, "I will admit… that there are some passages I would undo if I could. There were some choices I made that were done so in haste, or in anger, or in spite, and I cannot say that every word was written righteously or with purely noble purpose at all times. But I cannot take back what has been done, and it is work that I would do again, would choose again for myself, without hesitation. You don't know what it's like, to stand in the shadows, on the outskirts of everything. Everyone who knows you loves you, and even those who don't know you very well, still think well of you. And me? They don't think of me at all," she concluded bitterly. "I would be invisible at society events if it weren't for you and Eloise."
Colin passed a hand over his face, thumb and forefinger resting against his furrowed brow, closing his eyes. She pressed on, seeing he did not seem inclined to speak yet.
"You don't know how I've struggled with some of the choices I've had to make." The tears were spilling over now, silently running down her cheeks. "It has pained me to think I have caused any hurt to people I care about, but I have tried where possible to write to protect, to warn, not to injure. And…" her voice grew stronger, "…and you don't know the joy it's been, to see my words being discussed around the ton, to become an authority and have a voice, the voice, that influences events. You don't know what a sensation it is to me to speak, and to actually have people listen, even if it's only through words on paper."
He opened his eyes, dropping his hand, pinning her with his gaze. She surged on, determined to say her piece. "I'm the youngest of three daughters of the Featherington name, sharing the ridicule, the expectations, the hand-me-downs, the parading in front of the low tier eligible bachelors, with a future that looked so bleak to me when I first was out in society last year. This," and her voice rose passionately, "is the one thing I have, that I have just for myself, that I have carved out, just for myself. This is the one thing that is mine and mine alone."
Colin exhaled angrily, looking away from her. Her tears had not escaped his notice, and the soft part of his heart urged him to comfort her, fighting against the more savage part that still snarled with fury, and hurt, and confusion. He had been listening hard to her every word – indeed, it was hard to imagine her words would be anything but etched into his memory forever now – and the anger in him was not ready to wrestle with the idea that she could be in any way justified in her actions, and her activities. The sense of betrayal was too raw, the frayed edges of his nerves too exposed, his mind reeling too much with the implications. It was all too much to examine further right now.
He dropped the draft paper down on the desk, flinging it away as though it had singed his fingers. His throat thick, his bearing shaky, he knew being around her any longer right now would be a bad idea, as he had no earthly idea what would come out of his mouth if he tried to speak. Their eyes met again for a few breathless moments before he bowed his head, settling for a curt farewell nod, cutting off any further possible discussion. "I bid you goodnight, Miss Featherington."
"Colin," she protested, but he turned and swept away towards the library door, and was gone in moments, leaving her standing alone in the pool of candlelight by the desk, tears pouring down her cheeks.
The scheduled daytime activities for the next day, the final day of the country visit, were most unfortunately ruined by a heavy, pouring rain which started around dawn, and showed no sign of abating all morning, leading well into the afternoon.
Left to their own devices indoors, the guests of the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton were invited to relax in the Hall's ample entertaining and drawing rooms, and with many bellpulls in action, the Bridgerton family's smiling servants were kept busy indeed. Teas were ordered for guests to enjoy informally with each other, as everyone gossiped happily and waited to the appropriate time to begin to prepare for that night's farewell ball, Violet's annual tradition, the Hearts and Flowers Ball.
Penelope passed the day in the chambers assigned to the Featheringtons, with her mother and sisters, and Cousin Jack; they had received no invitations from the other families to join the impromptu informal tea plans. Her mother Portia had been admonishing her daughters for referring to Jack as their cousin, intending apparently to try and foist Prudence onto him to secure a marriage. The notion was laughable, and Penelope had previously found it somewhat amusing despite herself to watch her eldest sister's attempts to woo the completely disinterested Jack. He had been paying more attention lately to Cressida Cowper, of all people, at society events.
Her mother seemed to view the change of plans indoors as a boon to her own schemes with Prudence and was using the opportunity to make loud and pointed comments to the room about Prudence's charms, clearly with intention that Cousin Jack should overhear, look up from his perusal of his newspaper, and suddenly declare himself completely in love with Prudence after all.
Yes, Penelope may have found the situation, while still a little dismal, to offer at least some amusement, in other circumstances. Instead, she found herself perched on the edge of the chaise lounge, embroidery in hand, completely frozen on a self-created torture rack. She had barely slept. She had rehearsed the events of the night before over and over again in her mind, until she thought she would go quite mad with it all. She stared at the outline of the blue cornflower she was meant to be stitching, and all she could see in front of her was Colin's furious face, his shaking hands, his disbelief, his hurt.
The rain seemed like a divine punishment, sent to leave her hours with nothing to do but wonder who Colin had told first. Had he told Eloise yet? The Dowager Viscountess? His brother Lord Bridgerton? Her active imagination now became a curse, as it helpfully created new and more devastating scenarios in her head. Would any of them ever speak to her again? Would Colin ever even look at her again? Surely if he had told his family, word would have spread by now to the rest of the ton. If she could only find the courage to go see Eloise, she would know for sure, but she could not bear the thought that the door on that friendship might be closed to her forever too. She near trembled with fear at the thought of attending the Hearts and Flowers ball tonight, which too now became a setting in her mind for her very public and thorough ruin.
She sat like a ghost, barely speaking a word, and while she would admittedly never claim that the relationship she shared with her mother or sisters could be described as overly close, it was still galling to realise how little they paid heed to her, or indeed even asked if she was alright; the kind word to describe her relatives would be self-involved. But, she thought impatiently to herself, what would she have told them anyway, if they had asked? The truth? She almost laughed out loud to think of it.
No, I am not alright, because the love of my life found out last night that I am Lady Whistledown, and have been the one writing every single edition of it since the beginning, and my life as I know it is over. Yes, Mother, please pick yourself up off the floor, of course I'm Lady Whistledown.
There was nothing for it but to let the hours slip by, the ticking clock feeling like a long slow march to her doom. When it finally was time to get ready for the ball, she didn't even make her token protest to her lady's maid Rae when she was presented with the sickly pale-pink dress that her Mama had picked out for her. Obediently, she stepped into it, then sat at the dressing table gazing at her reflection as her hair was styled in its usual swept up style for the evening. Rae did what she could with her beauty administrations, but Penelope rather fancied the sleepless night showed quite clearly on her face.
Her mother stuck her head into the chamber, impatience in her bearing. "Ready, Penelope?" she asked briskly.
Penelope looked herself in the eye one last time in the mirror, making a silent promise to herself that whatever came, she would try and get through the evening with whatever poise she could.
"I'm ready, Mama."
As the Featherington party entered into the grand hall, Penelope braced herself, waiting for eyes to turn towards her, whispers to be exchanged, silence to fall. But as they made their way down the main staircase into the room, the bright chatter of the guests continued, with barely anyone even glancing up at her family's arrival at all.
Musicians had been set up to play on a small platform in the centre of the room, and beautiful fresh green garlands with flowers in pastel shades of pink, peach and palest purple were tastefully hung everywhere, set off by the crystal chandeliers and the burning light from the garlanded candelabras. Dancing couples were already elegantly whirling around the centre platform, with the rest of the countryside guests arranged around the room, sipping lemonade, chatting and laughing.
Her family reached the bottom of the staircase and for the most part went their separate ways – Cousin Jack to speak with an acquaintance, Philippa to the snacks provided, and Prudence and her mother to a corner, for what appeared to be a hurried whispered strategy meeting. Penelope stood for a moment quite exposed next to the staircase by herself. She stared around the room – absolutely nothing, no response, no acknowledgment from anyone. This… was unexpected.
She spotted a head of familiar deep chestnut brown hair coming towards her, and her heart leapt, but then sank again to see it did not belong to a male Bridgerton but her favourite female Bridgerton – Eloise was making a bee line to her through the crowd. Penelope stood still, watching her approach. Perhaps Colin had only told Eloise, then? It seemed likely Eloise would want Penelope to verify the story was true before Eloise would believe her brother. But, and she frowned as Eloise approached, her oldest friend did not appear to be angry, or upset, just…agitated. Which was a quite common facial expression for Eloise.
"Pen," Eloise greeted breathlessly, coming to her side. "Finally, I've been waiting for you to get here."
"Oh?" Penelope said, cringing inwardly, bracing herself.
"Yes, I begged Mother to let me come visit you today, but she said I was to stay in the family drawing room today as a," and here Eloise made a face and switched to a tone in more or less perfect imitation of the Dowager Viscountess, "show of unity as a family for Anthony when the Sharmas came by for tea. Can you believe that? As if having the family spend more time around Edwina is going to speed the business with her along any faster. Slow it down, more like. Did I tell you about the family game of pall-mall we had earlier in the week?" Eloise paused, frowning, trying to remember.
Stunned, Penelope tried to find her voice. "Uh, why yes, yes you did," she laughed a little awkwardly, "I recall you said Miss Sharma found the Bridgerton competitive spirit a little hard to comprehend."
Eloise nodded seriously. "Indeed, and I wanted to tell Anthony that this was further proof that he may be rushing into this with a lady ill-suited to him, even if she is the diamond, but you know Mother, she told me to keep my opinion to myself and allow Anthony to make his own choices. As if anyone would choose matrimony with a veritable stranger, and an ill-suited one at that…"
Eloise chattered on, adjusting the delicate fabric of the wrap around her narrow shoulders, seemingly completely oblivious to Penelope smiling and nodding mechanically beside her, completely unable to listen to her friend in her shock.
Eloise doesn't know.
Had Colin really not told anyone?
She chanced another look around the room, searching. She located several other Bridgertons (Benedict laughing painfully with a society mama, Anthony standing rigid to one side with his eyes locked in focus on the Sharmas in conversation across the hall, Violet speaking with Lady Danbury) but no sign of Colin.
Eloise was still in midst of talking.
"- Benedict warned me Mother has a suitor lined up to dance with me this evening, so if you see her coming anywhere near me, you must warn me, so that I can get myself upstairs, post-haste." Eloise's lovely dark grey eyes were wide and imploring. "I mean it Pen, I do not want to partner anyone in a dance, in front of everyone no less. I shall trip over my feet and fall over, I swear. One can only imagine the suitor she has lined up for me."
"Of course," Penelope hastened to agree. "If that is what you wish." She coughed and fiddled with her gloves. "Say, Eloise, have you seen Colin?" she tried for a casual, indifferent tone, but still her voice squeaked a little at his name.
"Hm? Oh." Eloise frowned. "No idea. No. Well. Actually, yes. He was at the refreshment table just before, and he may have muttered something about getting some fresh air after that, I was scarce paying attention."
"I see," Penelope replied, still trying to mask her nerves. "I just wanted to speak with him about his visit to my cousin yesterday. If you'll excuse me, I shall go see if I can find him."
"Oh alright, if you must speak with my silly brother instead of me," Eloise pouted laughingly. Penelope bid her adieu, and Eloise called after her with a hiss, "Remember, find me and tell me at once if you see this suitor Mother has in mind!"
Penelope smiled and waved back acknowledgement to her friend as she threaded her way through the guests along the side of the dance floor. Fresh air… perhaps he was on the terrace? The grand hall of Aubrey Hall connected to a rather lovely terrace space outside, which would often fill with guests spilling over from the indoor area as the evening wore on and the dancing wound down. As the ball had only just started, it would likely be mostly deserted right then.
There is a skill a society wallflower develops, and that is the art of sidling unnoticed along the edges of a room, subtly moving at the periphery of a crowd, even being able to slip away undetected if one managed to reach an open doorway or exit spot. Sidling just so, Penelope passed the Sharmas. She was just in time to witness Anthony, Lord Bridgerton, march up to them and in an oddly loud and strained voice, ask for a dance not with Edwina, but her elder sister, Miss Kate Sharma. Now that was interesting…
Penelope hesitated, torn between the urge to stay and watch this development, surely important to her next Lady Whistledown issue, and her own highly pressing need to find Colin. Kate, after a weighty pause, had accepted, and Lord Bridgerton was now leading her out to the floor, both of them grimly tense, looking rather like they were walking towards their gallows rather than a dance. Kate's expression was particularly captivating – there was something about the look on her face, the way she was holding herself, that was familiar, but Penelope couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe if she just stayed and watched a little more…
No. It was too important to find Colin – she might not get another chance for a private word with him this evening. She would have to try and ascertain later what had unfolded with Anthony and Kate – she made a mental note to perhaps ask the Dowager Viscountess, who after all tended to closely follow every movement of her children.
Penelope reached some open doors to one side leading to the terrace, noting that the steady rain from the day had finally stopped, and although there was yet some puddles on its stone floor, glistening with the reflected candlelight from the continued tasteful decorations and lighting outside, the night sky was now quite clear. She stepped carefully outside, glancing over her shoulder – no one in the hall was looking her way. Good.
Outside, the air was cooler and crisp, and she shivered and drew her own wrap a little tighter around her (a ghastly pink, like her dress, unfortunately). She looked around, searching for Colin, and spotted him quickly, a tall figure standing a little way away from her, hands clasped behind his back, staring up at the sky. Her heart skipped a beat – one could almost forget how handsome he was, but even in this moment of crisis, how debonair he looked in his formal jacket struck her anew.
She knew he'd noticed her presence, from the tightening of his jaw and the way his eyes flicked ever so slightly to the side and then heavenward again. She approached him cautiously, slowly; they were standing in a gap between the terrace entry doors and the next window, meaning anyone inside would have to truly crane their necks to see them. The soaring music and chatter inside should help cover any eavesdropping. Again, good – always good, to avoid any explanations.
She stopped a few feet away from him, waiting to see if he would speak. He wouldn't look at her.
"Colin," she tried, "I need to speak with you. I'm glad I found you."
Colin grimaced but said nothing.
"I just wanted to…I mean, I was hoping to… I wasn't sure if you were going to tell anyone, you see, and it seems that has not happened, so…"
"Unlike Lady Whistledown," Colin said coolly, "I do not repeat every morsel of gossip I hear."
Ouch.
A moment passed, as he let that blow land. "R-right," Penelope swallowed, "And for that, I wanted to thank you. It is more than I deserve from you, and I do appreciate…"
"I have spent," Colin interrupted, "all of last night, without sleep, and all of today, trying to connect the girl I've known for so much of my life, with the person who has written that scandal sheet." He shook his head and turned to her, and she was startled at the flatness in his eyes. "For the life of me, I cannot see my way to making that connection."
Penelope lowered her eyes, nodding silently. "It is indeed hard to credit, I am sure."
"Yet here, now, I begin to understand a little better, how it might have been achieved." He was staring at her, frowning, noticing behind her the terrace doorway and the light spilling from inside, from where she had passed seemingly unnoticed. "You said yourself last night, at society parties, you stand in the shadows, at the outskirts. In your… writings…" he packed a volume of contempt into the word, "you have referred to yourself more than once as a wallflower. The pieces seem to come together, of how you have managed to pick up on information, how you have gone undetected for this long." His eyes focused back to her face, and his voice dripped with sarcasm. "It seems I should congratulate you, Miss Featherington, on your ingenuity."
There was a beat of silence, and Penelope blinked, heat rushing to her face. She carried that predisposition, common especially with the red-haired, to flush easily when upset, angry, or embarrassed. Her peaches-and-cream complexion would turn pink, red, all shades in between depending on the depth of her emotion, and she dreaded to think what her body was betraying her with now.
"I did not seek you out only to be mocked, Mr Bridgerton," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, matching his frigid politeness, meeting his eye. "Only to thank you, which I have done, and to ask if you do indeed intend to tell anyone my secret."
Colin exhaled, looking away from her again. He was not by nature vindictive, or cruel, or even one to particularly enjoy treating another with malice. Even from the exchange last night, and right now with Penelope, it was difficult to get through without his urge to smooth things over, to resolve a conflict, to return to the sunnier disposition that came more naturally to him. But, he reminded himself, what she had done was no small matter.
"The ton, for all their faults and flaws, do deserve to find out who has been writing about them for all this time," he said finally, slowly. "But, I do not think that knowledge should come from me." He gazed at her sternly. "I think when they do find out, they will deserve to hear it from Lady Whistledown herself." He gave a small half-mocking bow.
It was Penelope's turn to exhale, a relief she had never expected to feel tonight washing over her. "Thank you," she said simply. "Yes, you… you are right. Of course. When… when the time is right, I will tell them."
Silence fell between them. Colin rocked back on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck. Something had been eating at him since last night, and he needed to know. "May I ask you something, Penelope?"
Back to first name basis again so soon! Penelope could've wept with relief – she had certainly felt the ice between them when he'd used her formal title. "Yes?"
"How did you do it? How did you ever manage to… to get it started, get everyone hooked, keep issue after issue coming…" He paused and looked to her, curious despite himself. Penelope cut a disarmingly diminutive figure, unassuming, dismissed by so many in society time and time again. Despite the anger he still felt toward her, she had planned and executed something that seemed unfathomable, especially for a young unmarried lady, and he had been turning it over in his mind since last night as to how she'd achieved it.
"Oh, that." Penelope drew in a sharp sigh, her delicate hands fiddling again with the ribbon of her dance card on her wrist. This was an explanation she could give him, and hopefully, maybe, it would make him understand. "Well… when I debuted, I did so with a kind of dread and an excitement that I would finally be able to enter society, have my turn to make my mark, perhaps even find a husband, which I knew Mama so desperately wanted for her daughters." She sighed again. "The reality of life in the ton, especially with my family name, was rather difficult to reconcile myself to. I have always been fond of books, of reading, and admired writers far greater than I's ability to turn a phrase. I have especially loved stories of the outsider looking in." She was gazing away from him now, her eyes distant, lost in remembrance.
"I found myself the outsider at the events I was attending. Left to my own devices, I began to notice things, perhaps things that no one else was standing still long enough to pay attention to; the way people interact with each other, speaking but not saying what they truly mean, a whispered word, a secret smile, a flick of a fan, a casual glance, a touch of a gloved hand. One night, after a long ball, I went home and I wrote down my observations, more just for my own amusement. Quickly, writing my own accounts of events afterwards became the only reason I wanted to attend them at all."
Colin was listening intently, silently urging her on to continue speaking.
"Next thing I knew, I'd built a half dozen samples of my work. I wanted to at least try to do something with them. I found the addresses of some of the publishers of my favourite books. I told Mama I was going shopping with Eloise, and promptly directed the hackney driver elsewhere; I made my way into Bloomsbury. I adopted the pretence of acting as an anonymous maid of a mysterious noble lady writer, but still, I was turned away from several publishing houses before I found one who was willing to hear me out, in exchange for more of my pin money. They agreed to publish the copies as long as I paid the initial distribution, and I connected with a print shop. I asked them to set the purchase price to zero at first, just to create some interest. After two weeks," she smiled modestly to herself, "it was quite clear that there was an appetite for the column in the ton, indeed, an almost instantaneous addiction, and that was when I set the new price, and the arrangement has continued since. The print shop thinks still that I am Lady Whistledown's maid each time I've visited them."
He stared wide eyed at her, absolutely stunned. She looked back up at him (lord, but he was tall), and gave a most unladylike shrug. "I have managed since then to publish multiple times a week, as you know."
Colin nodded distantly, blinking. It had rather dropped from his mind entirely for a moment, how he was angry with her, hurt and upset at the deception she had pulled off against everyone she knew. Despite himself, he could not help but feel somewhat… impressed. To admire her creativity, her determination, her acumen. He could not think of a young lady of his acquaintance who could have achieved what Penelope had. Indeed, he could not think of a young lady of his acquaintance who was like Penelope at all, and while she may think of that as a curse, it had clearly become a distinction that she had worked out how best to use to her advantage.
He felt discombobulated, thrown off balance – rather, he thought wildly, like if one had a reliable pet that suddenly showed itself able to speak perfectly, having taught itself in secret the whole time. Not that he would ever compare a lady to an animal, of course, but he was struggling to find an apt comparison to this feeling. He'd thought he knew Pen, thought of her as safe, reliable, predictable. How disconcerting, to realise that one can never wholly know another person, at all. How…thrilling, to realise that people may surprise you.
She was still looking at him, waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat. "It seems I should congratulate you, Miss Featherington, on your ingenuity." He repeated his same phrase from earlier, but this time it was said with a genuine feeling, wholly without sarcasm, meaning every word. A brilliant, vibrant smile erupted onto her features in response, making her eyes shine brightly in the candlelight.
"Thank you, Colin," she whispered. "You don't know what that means to me to hear."
He smiled slightly, but he knew he still hadn't quite fully forgiven her. One could admire a person's motivations while still deploring their actions. Casting around for something to say, he seized on a detail from her story that had bothered him and clung to it like a raft.
"I do say… I do not like at all that you have been able to slip back and forth to Bloomsbury and to the print shop without accompaniment," he frowned. "Surely you should have a maid or escort with you."
She stared at him, the smile dropping from her face. Why was he focusing on such an unimportant detail? "It is a trip I have made numerous times," she replied testily. "I am quite capable of looking after myself, though I thank you for your concern."
"But anything could happen to you while you're out alone!" Colin growled, suddenly feeling anger stirring in his belly once more. Anger at her for taking such foolhardy risks, at her family for regarding her so little that her absences could be so unremarkable to them. And even at himself, for being in the same boat as them – it seemed Lady Whistledown had been created, and consequently succeeded, only because of everyone's utter dismissal of Penelope Featherington.
"But nothing has happened," she pointed out. "The arrangement has worked marvellously thus far for well over a year now, without incident." Seeing the dangerous glint in his eyes, she impulsively leaned forward and seized his arm, gazing at him imploringly. "Please Colin, please do not tell anyone and ruin it. I take every precaution, and you said yourself, that I should be the one to reveal the secret to everyone. I will do so, I swear, but in my own time, and in the meantime…"
He stared down where her gloved hand gripped his arm, frowning. The touch of her hand, even through the fabric of his jacket and her glove, was warm, and it was throwing off his line of thought. He heaved a frustrated sigh, patting her hand with his before gently releasing it and easing her hand back to her. "I just don't like it, Penelope," he said frustratedly. "Surely there must be another way, that doesn't put you, your reputation, everything at risk. Especially knowing what I know now, I couldn't stand it if something were to happen to you."
Penelope's hand was still warm from where she had touched him, and the concern and care in his eyes as he stared down at her was almost too much to process. It was a cruel joke of the world, to present her with such a man to love, but to curse her so that he only saw her as a friend. Well, it would have to be enough, to know he regarded her sufficiently important to him to have a care for her welfare and reputation, something which was oddly thrilling in itself.
"Thank you, Colin," she responded quietly, sincerely, looking up at him with a gentle and grateful smile. "I know you mean well to look out for me, just as I would do the same for you."
The silence of the moment stretched on as they looked at each other, broken by a sudden burst of applause and chatter inside – someone in the grand hall had clearly just concluded a speech. They both cleared their throats, stepping away from each other.
"We had best get inside soon," Colin murmured, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "We have been talking for too long."
"Indeed," Penelope murmured back, feeling herself blushing once more. She straightened her shoulders. "To avoid a scandal, you slip inside first, and then I will follow a minute afterwards."
Colin half snorted, half laughed, and she looked at him questioningly. "'To avoid scandal?'" he repeated, his mouth quirking in the crooked smile she loved so much. "I suppose you do know what you're talking about… Lady Whistledown."
He bowed abruptly in a kind of salute, then strode past her, back to the doors leading into the grand hall. A truce, it seemed, had been reached between them, for now.