Chapter Four: Scheme
The rest of the evening, after the drama of its beginning, passed without further major incident. Penelope had walked back inside the grand hall (discreetly, one minute after Colin, as agreed) just in time to witness Eloise's pained smile as she took to the floor with a gentleman who was, undoubtedly, the Violet Bridgerton-approved suitor.
Penelope had wafted to the sidelines and watched, trying not to laugh, at her friend's grim facial expression as she and her dance partner commenced their steps. Her laughter turned to concern, however, when it became clear that conversation between Eloise and the gentleman was not going well. She could see her friend's eyes flash even across the room, and with a quiet and furious word to the suitor, Eloise turned and walked from the dance floor, leaving her partner standing. Quite a breach of decorum, it was true, but Penelope had no doubt Eloise would not do that if it wasn't justified.
She'd tried to move to intercept Eloise, but Violet had gotten there first, and after a quick and heated exchange with her mother on the staircase, Eloise had fled upstairs, just as Penelope reached Violet at the base of the staircase.
The Dowager Viscountess was staring after her daughter, her soft grey eyes distressed.
"Is she alright?" Penelope murmured.
"Oh!" Violet startled, turning towards her. "Penelope, my dear, I scarce realised you were there." She smiled weakly, casting a gloved hand absently over her brow. "Yes, yes, all will be well, I'm sure. I only meant to introduce her to someone who might engage her interest a little, seeing as she's so vocal about her disdain for most other suitors." And here Violet made a face and switched to a tone in more or less perfect imitation of her daughter. "They are 'repetitive and offensive numbskulls,' it seems."
Penelope tittered quietly, wanting to remain neutral. Portia Featherington did care about her daughters, in her own way, but that close interest and maternal warmth that Violet Bridgerton showed to all her children was something she'd always envied Eloise for. She felt sympathy for her friend's opinions on courtship and marriage, but it was difficult not to empathise with Violet's motivations as well when she so clearly wanted to see her children happy and settled.
"It is certainly a lovely set up," Penelope changed the subject, smiling and gesturing to the grand decorations around them. Social rule number one; compliment the host…ess.
Violet smiled back gratefully. "Thank you, Penelope." She slipped her fan from her sleeve and absently fanned herself, gazing around at her guests. "It is all going smoothly, now, which is good."
"Now…?" Penelope queried delicately. Perhaps she could get some insight into what she'd missed while on the terrace with Colin.
"Yes, well, the Viscount certainly knows how to create a scene, dancing with the elder Miss Sharma," Violet sighed. "He is under an enormous amount of pressure with the public courtship, and a great deal of that pressure he is exerting upon himself."
Penelope nodded thoughtfully. She made a mental note for the next edition of Whistledown; Kate and Anthony had indeed danced, in front of everyone. It apparently had not ended the festivities or resulted in furniture being knocked over. Two stronger personalities, or more stubborn characters, in close proximity around each other, Penelope couldn't imagine. "I am sure he only wants to make a choice that would make you and the late Viscount proud, my lady."
Violet appeared momentarily taken aback by her words, and Penelope wondered if she had presumed too far, but then the Dowager Viscountess gracefully bowed her head. "Indeed," she murmured with a misty-eyed smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must mingle some more with my guests… and brace myself for their inevitable questions about my daughter's absence."
The remainder of the Hearts and Flowers ball for Penelope had been spent at the sides of the hall, watching the couples dance while she sipped some lemonade, making polite conversation with a few, and very carefully trying to avoid actively searching for Colin in the crowd. Each time she'd spotted him (while completely casually and not at all deliberately looking around the room, certainly for absolutely no one in particular), she had looked away again quickly, her heart hammering, before she'd seen whether or not he'd been searching for her too.
Now, several hours later found Penelope once more in the bedchamber assigned her for the country visit, undoing the ribbon of her (empty) dance card at her wrist and tugging the pins out of her hair. Everyone was scheduled to depart to return to London the next day, back to normal life in Mayfair, where the season would continue. She was not looking forward to the long journey back in the hot and close confines of the carriage with Mama, her sisters and Cousin Jack, but it at least would afford her a chance to daydream a little and reflect on what had been an enormously eventful visit to the country.
She turned over her conversation with Colin tonight in her mind. It was an indescribable relief to know that he hadn't told anyone of her secret identity, and that he didn't seem to be intending to. She knew he was right; she should be the one to reveal herself. And she would! She intended to. When she was ready. Which would be soon, surely. It wasn't fair, she knew, to put him in this position as the only one of their acquaintance who knew the truth, but she was relatively convinced of his sincerity in intending to keep her secret. Tonight had been a step in the right direction, and she held out hope that he might, one day, forgive her.
Rae came to assist her with de-robing from her ball finery (she bid a silent good riddance to the pink dress) and helped her step into a fine white nightgown. As Rae curtsied and departed, Penelope decided to review the items she needed to pack for their journey tomorrow. The colourful fruit salad of her clothing was strewn in the storage dresser in the room. She sifted through the items, mentally tallying a count of what was in front of her against the inventory that she'd brought with her. It was still a warm night after the rain of the day, and the heavier orange dressing gown she'd worn at the scene of the crime the night before would not be needed, so she should pack that now too…
Wait, where had she left it again? Penelope closed her eyes, trying to remember. Walking back to her bedchamber last night after the confrontation with Colin seemed like a blur to her now, although she remembered she had clutched the incriminating draft column the whole way back and had since smartly tucked and buried it into her luggage, to avoid a repeat discovery. She remembered slipping silently back into the guest chambers, walking blindly through the anteroom that her bedchamber was attached to, and shedding the dressing gown as she went, flinging it into a corner. It must still be there.
With a sigh, she went and poked her head into the anteroom. Her sisters had retired to their separate bedchamber, and the candles had already been doused in the room – she could just make out where she was walking from the reflected lights in her own bedchamber. She tiptoed through the room, trying to retrace her steps, groping along the walls until she found the offensively orange bundle on the ground. She scooped it up, and was just about to return to her bedchamber, when she heard the soft but unmistakable murmur of voices, coming from the main drawing room area that connected to the anteroom.
She inched closer – the connecting door was ever so slightly ajar, and she recognised one of the voices as Cousin Jack's, having a seemingly quiet and urgent conversation with…was that Mama's voice? Penelope squinted through the gap in the door and saw the unmistakable flare of red hair reflected against the fireplace flames. Indeed, that was Mama. They appeared to be seated on the lounges, both angled enough to be facing away from the door. She argued with herself about invading their privacy, but only for a moment, before curiosity got the better of her and she pressed herself near the door to listen.
"…don't understand what could be so important, Jack," Portia Featherington was saying, speaking sotto voce and sounding very vexed indeed. "Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow? There'll be hours in which to converse in the carriage ride home, and a lady needs her beauty rest, after all."
There was a faint smirk in Cousin Jack's voice as he replied, also speaking softly. "I can't imagine that would be wholly necessary for yourself, my lady, but trust me when I say what I need to discuss with you is extremely important."
There were a few beats of silence, and Portia drawled, "Well, do get on with it, then."
"Lady Featherington." Jack sounded like he was smiling. "Pray forgive me for my boldness, but I believe I may speak frankly with you. You must know it has not escaped my notice of your…admirable efforts…to push Prudence in my path and secure a match, and your family's security."
Penelope would have willingly given her entire Lady Whistledown fortune to be able to see the look on Mama's face right at that moment.
Portia coughed a little uncomfortably, letting out a skittery and breathy laugh. "Why, my lord, whatever can you mean…"
"Do not try and deny it," Jack interrupted calmly. "It is, with respect to your ladyship, blatantly obvious. But it is not really that topic which I wanted to meet with you to discuss. You know I was delayed in my arrival to England from the Americas after the sad passing of your late husband, due to some complications with my business."
Portia sniffed, clearly impatient (and, Penelope imagined, probably sulky at the ease with which he had seen through her Prudence scheme). "Yes, yes, and…?"
"Those complications are…well, they have come to a point, and I cannot put this off any longer. The mines have shown themselves to be worthless," he said flatly. "There are no real rubies, no real jewels or ore, nothing of true value."
Penelope felt her stomach drop down to her feet, for the second time in as many nights. Worthless?
"Worth…good lord, sir, what do you mean?" Portia entreated him.
"I mean that I have only a few months, maybe half a year if we are lucky, before I run through the investment funds I had secured in the Americas," Jack said matter-of-factly. "Only a few months before we will be bankrupt."
There was a soft noise, of Portia leaping to her feet, and beginning to pace around the drawing room. She passed quite close to the door behind which Penelope was hidden, and Penelope shrunk back instinctively, her mind reeling. Bankrupt? In a few months?
"This is… how could… you mean…" Portia was muttering rapidly, and one could hear her hurried and rattled breaths. "But my girls, and their dowries! Our estate, our lifestyle, our heritage, our reputation, our position in society…"
Jack was silent, presumably watching Portia pace as she panicked.
"How can you just sit there and say nothing, my lord?" she rounded on him, her voice rising.
"I do not say nothing," he re-joined pleasantly. "And please, keep your voice down. I am merely allowing you your very valid moment of panic and realisation of the dire consequences we are all facing, before I reveal to you my plan."
"You have a plan?" she said at once, and Penelope heard Mama move back to the centre of the room, and the soft squeak of the lounge as she resumed her seat. She could almost picture her, eagerly leaning forward towards him, grasping at anything to save them.
"I do, and I have decided after observing you these past few weeks, that it has a better chance of succeeding if I include you in it," Jack said calmly. "You are an admirably determined woman, and I know I can trust you to act in you and your daughters' best interests." He paused, and Penelope imagined him smiling disarmingly. "Especially now that they align so closely with mine."
Her mama huffed impatiently. "Well, what is your plan?"
"What does any secretly penniless gentleman do in my situation? Marry for wealth, of course."
There were a few beats of silence, as Portia (and Penelope) turned this statement over in their minds and reached the same conclusion simultaneously.
"Miss Cressida Cowper," Portia whispered, sounding distinctly thunderstruck.
Miss Cressida Cowper, Penelope thought with horror, feeling distinctly thunderstruck.
"Precisely," Jack smiled. "You have seen how I have made good beginnings into courting the girl. It must be managed just so for her to believe me in love, to have her gagging to marry, and when the time is right, I shall propose, she shall accept, and we will all have the lifestyle we deserve."
Silence again, and Portia got up once more to pace around the room. Penelope could picture her Mama worriedly chewing on her lip, debating with herself. A war was waging inside Penelope as well. Cressida Cowper, as far as these things went, could in fairness be considered her nemesis. Never had there been a girl more deliberately and pointedly cruel in Penelope's life, a girl more determined to outshine all others around her, to bring others down in her own determination to get to the top. Penelope worked with words almost every day with her Whistledown sheet, and yet there were few others in her life who had taught her the true and devastating power that words could have over a person – there were barbs and remarks Cressida had made to her over the years that Penelope could still hear echoing in her head.
Yes, Cressida was to be considered wicked in many ways. Vindictive, petty, cruel.
But, Penelope argued with herself, that didn't mean she deserved to be entrapped in a loveless marriage. That didn't mean she deserved to be used by a conman for her wealth.
Portia appeared to have found her voice. "Are you quite sure," she spoke, sounding rather furious, "that this is the only way? That you can accomplish this without anyone finding out? If this should rebound badly on me and my girls…"
"I am certain," Jack declared. "Trust me, I have it all in hand. All will be well."
"Pray do tell," Portia said sweetly, in a voice that Penelope recognised as Mama at her most sarcastic, "you have brought me into this scheme as your accomplice, my lord – what role am I to play in this? How best am I to assist you?"
She had stopped her pacing not far from the door near Penelope – through the gap, she could see Mama standing, her hands on her ample hips, glaring at Jack. He stood from the lounge and moved to her, stopping more closely than was necessary, looming over her mother and looking very threatening indeed.
"You…" he whispered with a cold smile, "…were a risk to me, if I hadn't told you my plan. God knows what you would have contrived to entrap me with Prudence. So now, you…will keep your mouth shut. You will assist me only when I ask it of you. Allow me to handle our family business. My way. Are we clear?"
Penelope heard her Mama swallow nervously. "Crystal, my lord," she bit out.
"Excellent." All charm again, Jack stepped away from her, seemingly beckoning her back towards the lounges. "Come, join me in a nightcap to celebrate our new arrangement."
They moved away from the door, the scheme sealed, and Penelope stood frozen for a few moments, her heart pounding, anxiety and horror mingling in her veins. The clinking sound of brandy glasses in the next room startled her back into herself, and gritting her teeth, she backed away from the door, silently moving away back towards her bedchamber, her mind reeling.
The carriage ride back to Mayfair had been… awkward, to say the least, Penelope reflected. They had returned to London in stony silence, punctuated only by Philippa's inane but well-meaning chirping. Prudence, knowing nothing of course of what had transpired, had sat glaring furious daggers at Mama, clearly understanding that the plan to marry her to Jack had been abandoned, but not knowing why.
Penelope had gazed determinedly out the carriage window, thinking furiously the whole trip. She had turned the situation over in her head all the way from Aubrey Hall to Featherington House, and while their belongings were unpacked when they returned home, throughout breakfast, luncheon, supper. They had been home from the country for nearly two days now, and still, Penelope was no closer to reaching a conclusion on what to do. If anyone had told her there was a situation that could rival her panic and worry over someone finding out she was Lady Whistledown, she would have laughed in their face. Especially when it was Colin who had found out first, as it had transpired. But here she was, and the duelling whirlwind of concerns around her felt ready to engulf her.
She had taken her first draft from the library (that traitorous, treacherous first draft) and re-written it into a new final draft, ready for publishing. She had removed all mention of Colin, still blushing at the memory of him spotting his own name on the paper; she couldn't bring herself to include the original passage. She'd worked a neutral account of the Hearts and Flowers ball in, making sure to include a passage about the dance between Kate and Anthony which had been the talk of the ton since:
… as for the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton's Hearts and Flowers Ball? Why, so determined was Lord Bridgerton to impress the Diamond would-be bride, that he wore his heart on his sleeve, braving some withering stares indeed to ask Miss Edwina's older sister, Miss Kate Sharma, to dance, to try and appease the would-be matchmaker. This author can only give Lord Bridgerton his flowers for his efforts.
Yes, dear reader, your eyes do not deceive you. One has employed a flower (and heart) metaphor. Do try and keep up.
She knew she needed to get the country visit column published, and quickly. The issue now was, she was struggling to get away from the house to get the final draft to her print shop connections. Tense with worry, Mama was keeping a tighter rein than usual on her daughters since their return to London. The next ball was not for another couple of days, and that would be far too late to publish about the country visit – Penelope prided herself on getting her commentaries out to the public in a timely manner after an event had occurred. It would not do to give Lady Whistledown a blemish in her reputation for having her finger on the pulse of society news.
Sitting that afternoon in the Featherington's informal drawing room, Penelope was nestled in her nook near the window which looked out onto Grosvenor Square. There was a book open in front of her, but she was scarce paying attention to it, too busy monitoring the current positioning and mood of her Mama. Portia was seated nearby with Philippa and Prudence, ostensibly all working in placid silence on needlework patterns. But Penelope, knowing what she knew about Jack's scheme, could read the tension at the corners of Mama's mouth, the slight furrow of worry in her brow.
She was struggling not to feel sympathy with her. It was a wicked thing indeed that Jack was intending, that he had coerced Mama to agree to. The scene she had overheard kept replaying in her head, and looking back at it, Portia's motives made sense, much as Penelope wished she could outright censure her mother. They were indeed, if what Jack had said about the mines was true, approaching what appeared to be a desperate situation for the family, and even if Portia's decision to go along with Jack's plan was to some degree self-motivated to maintain their lifestyle, she was also clearly doing it for what she thought was the benefit of her daughters. Goodness knows, Penelope did not always see eye to eye with her mother, who could be dismissive, callous, and vexing to the extreme, but she knew Mama loved her daughters, in her own way. Like some mothers, she just…had an odd way of showing it sometimes.
Penelope shifted in her seat, restless. She needed to get out of the house, now. Time to act on the half-baked idea that had formed in her head that morning – find a pretence to go visit Eloise. And on the way back, abscond to the print shop, get the country draft published, and then…find a way to deal with the Cressida/Jack mess… later. She had tucked the draft into the folds of her dress for this purpose, nestled beneath the stiff, lurid yellow fabric of her dress and the undergarment at her chest. There were advantages, it turned out, in having an ample bosom.
She made a dramatic show of looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, and snapped her book shut, exclaiming "Oh!" and startling her mother and sisters.
Portia half-turned to her, eyebrows raised. "For goodness sake, Penelope, you nearly made me prick my finger," she scolded.
"Sorry, Mama," Penelope looked down contritely, then peeped back up through her eyelashes. "It's only that I've just remembered, I had promised to meet Eloise for tea this afternoon, and I shall be late if I don't leave now."
Thankfully, Penelope attending tea with the Bridgerton ladies was a quite common occurrence, almost a weekly occasion of late during the season. She had a sneaking suspicion her mother preferred it when she was elsewhere visiting the Bridgertons, which she did not take any offense to, as she infinitely preferred it herself.
Portia hesitated, then nodded assent with a sigh. "Very well, dear. Do pass on my best to Viscountess Bridgerton for me, if you see her."
"Of course, Mama," Penelope hopped to her feet, setting down her barely touched book and crossing the room to kiss her mother's cheek farewell. "Enjoy your afternoon."
Her sisters had barely looked round – Penelope knew her comings and goings were of very little interest to them – and Portia had already bowed her head back to her needlework before Penelope had even exited the room.
It was an easy walking distance from Featherington House across the Square to reach the Bridgerton House, and an enjoyable walk at that, with a clear sky and pleasant temperature outside. As she made her way to the Bridgerton residence, she reflected that while the afternoon tea plans had been a lie, it was still highly likely she would find the family lounging in their informal drawing room, enjoying tea and biscuits, and she felt assured of her welcome from Eloise, and even Violet as well.
If Colin was there…well, she would have to handle that situation if and when it occurred. She had caught a glimpse of him at a distance while they were all departing Aubrey Hall a few days earlier, joking around with Benedict about something while they'd waited for their carriage to pull round. The two of them had not spoken since the Hearts and Flowers ball, and she could not with any certainty predict how things would be between them now, after the events in the country.
She passed through the entrance gate of Bridgerton House, climbing the steps and entering into the beautiful entrance hall. She looked around, breathing a small happy sigh – this was the home of two people that she loved, and the comforting and familiar surroundings did make it feel almost a second home to her.
The Bridgertons' footman John approached her and bowed, his brown eyes warm. "Miss Featherington," he greeted.
"Sir," she nodded to him, smiling. "I wished to call upon Miss Eloise, if I may."
He bobbed his head politely. "I'm afraid Miss Eloise, Miss Hyacinth and my lady Dowager Viscountess are at the modiste presently. They are expected to return soon, perhaps within the next hour." He watched her face fall and hastened to speak. "Miss Eloise has always been clear in her instructions to the household staff, Miss Featherington, that you are always to be made welcome in the family home, and her instructions are if she herself is absent when you visit, should you wish to wait for her return, we are to escort you to the upstairs informal drawing room."
"Oh!" Penelope smiled, pleasantly touched. "Well, I should certainly be happy to wait for her there, then, if you say she shan't be too long."
He bowed smartly, then straightened and gestured up the staircase. "If you would follow me, Miss."
Penelope followed him up the stairs, and along the powder-blue walls of the corridor that led to the Bridgerton family's more informal rooms – rooms intended for use by the family only, and with select close friends allowed entry. They reserved the more formal rooms downstairs for acquaintances and lesser-known visitors. Bless Eloise, for having the foresight to prepare in advance for an occurrence such as this. She did not have a backup plan, and it was still too early in the afternoon to make her way to the print shop, so she was grateful indeed for the chance to pass some time in comfortable surroundings while she waited.
They reached the drawing room, with John smartly leaning forward to open the door and allow her access inside; he bowed as she passed and bid her to use the bellpull if there was anything she should need.
"Thank you," Penelope glanced over her shoulder with a smile, before walking into the open and light-filled room. The first thing she saw was the brown pianoforte, positioned just opposite the door.
The second thing she saw was Colin, startling to his feet from where he had been sitting on a plush lounge, his deep blue eyes widened in his surprise as they stared at one another.