Testing Audio -DK Principessa

by kibass91

Read

15. Welcome home

Summary

Penelope's family is forced from their Mayfair home after Lord Featherington gambles it away. The Bridgerton family offers to sponsor her for her next season.

-~-

The downfall of the Featherington household and the loss of their Mayfair home came as a shock to absolutely no one who knew the rather intensive gambling habits of the Baron. Unfortunately, those who might have been included in that group did not encompass the residents of the home itself, except for his wife, so when the family was ubiquitously informed that they would be heading back out to their country seat quite sooner than the season end, they did not immediately comprehend the cause of such unexpected upheaval.

Once Penelope's father started explaining what had happened and how he'd tried to wager on a presumably fixed boxing match only for the fighter to not fake defeat as intended, the angry screaming from her mother began in earnest.

Amidst the chaos of her mother's beratement, Penelope found herself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. She had suspected her father's penchant for gambling, but the extent of his recklessness left her stunned. As the reality of their impending loss settled in, Penelope's mind raced with thoughts of what would become of their family and their once-grand home. She and her sisters were left without dowries and they'd only just barely resolved the matter of Marina with her reluctant acquiescence to marry Sir Crane.

According to the whispers of the remaining servants, their entire estate was in a state of utter destitution — they were nobility in title only. The once bustling halls now echoed with the hushed tones of despair and uncertainty. Penelope couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for not realizing the extent of their financial ruin sooner. With their status as nobility hanging by a thread, she knew they faced a daunting future filled with challenges and hardships. Worst yet was that it was most certainly within her comprehend to fix it, but she could not do so without outing herself to the entirety of the Ton.

She'd made a pretty penny moonlighting as the infamous gossip columnist, Lady Whistledown, but the funds she'd gained were in secret and could lead her family into even further ruin if their origin was discovered. Even should she not assist financially, her position remained precarious. It would not make sense for her to not report on the upcoming ball the Duke and Duchess would be hosting, and the absence of an article coinciding with the disappearance of her family only made it equally as likely that she would be caught simply by circumstance.

That is, unless she wrote the article ahead of time and skipped over the ball entirely to report on the demise of her family fortune — something that she was quite severely considering when she arrived at the back entrance of the Bridgerton house the evening before her family was set to flee the Ton with no warning.

The grand Bridgerton estate loomed before her, its elegant façade starkly contrasting with the turmoil swirling inside her mind. Penelope took a deep breath, steadying herself before knocking softly on the door. A maid answered, her expression polite but curious.

"Good evening," Penelope said quietly. "Could you please fetch Miss Eloise? I need to speak with her urgently."

The maid nodded and led Penelope to a small waiting area, then hurried off to find Eloise. A few moments later, Eloise appeared, her sharp eyes immediately noticing the distress etched on Penelope's face.

"Pen, what on earth are you doing here at this hour?" Eloise asked, concern lacing her words.

"I needed to see you," Penelope replied, her voice trembling despite her efforts to keep is still. "I need your help."

Eloise ushered her into the house and towards the quiet sanctuary of the library. Once settled, Penelope revealed the dire situation her family was in, her voice breaking as she recounted the events of the past few days.

"We're ruined, Eloise," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "My father has gambled away everything. We're leaving London tomorrow, and I don't know what to do."

Eloise listened, her expression serious. "There must be something that can be done, Pen. We can find you a way out of this."

Penelope hesitated, the weight of her secret pressing down on her. Desperation overcame her caution, and she looked directly into Eloise's eyes. "There is another factor... but you must promise to keep it a secret."

Eloise nodded, her curiosity piqued. "Of course, Pen. You can trust me." Penelope took a deep breath. "I'm Lady Whistledown."

For a moment, Eloise was silent, her eyes widening in shock. "You're Lady Whistledown?" she whispered, disbelief and awe mingling in her voice.

"Yes," Penelope confirmed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've made a considerable amount of money from my writings, but I can't use it to save my family without revealing my identity. If anyone finds out, it will ruin us even more."

Eloise's mind raced as she processed the revelation. After a moment, she spoke, her tone firm and resolute. "We have to find a way to protect you, Pen. There has to be something we haven't thought of yet."

The two friends spent hours brainstorming, their ideas becoming increasingly desperate and far- fetched as the night wore on. They considered elaborate schemes to transfer the money anonymously and wild plots involving additional intermediaries to allow Penelope to use her funds without arousing suspicion. Each idea seemed more impossible than the last, and their frustration grew.

As the first light of dawn crept through the windows, their exhaustion became too much to bear. Curled up on the plush sofa in the library, Penelope and Eloise drifted into an uneasy sleep, the weight of their unsolved dilemma heavy in the air.

The morning sun found Benedict stumbling upon the two girls fast asleep, their faces still marked by worry. He had arrived home in the early hours after spending the evening with the Genevieve but paused in the doorway at the sight of his sister and her friend huddled together. He did not know why the pair were in there, but recognized the situation as quite unusual. After all, the house usually had notice on the rare days when Penelope's mother would allow her an overnight stay, and when that occurred they would very rarely leave the confines of Eloise's bedroom.

There were also, of course, the tear tracks on each of their cheek, obvious even in the dim morning light as they curled into each other for comfort in their sleep.

He was confused and concerned, so he did what he imagined any of his other siblings would have done if faced with the same sight — he went to alert his mother.

Preface - Violet

Chapter Notes

Me, telling myself that I was going to write this entire fic from Pen's perspective and then immediately not doing that~

-~-

Violet Bridgerton was awoken by a quiet but insistent knock through the thick wooden door of her bed chamber. Blinking against the dawn light filtering through the curtains, she drew back the covers and pulled her legs over the side of the bed. Her silk nightgown rustled softly as she stood, the cool morning air prickling her skin.

She crossed the room quickly and reached for her dressing robe draped over a nearby chair. The fabric was soft and familiar, a comforting shield against the chill. She pulled it on, cinching it tightly at her waist just in time for the knock came again, a little louder this time, urging her to hurry.

With a sense of foreboding settling in her chest, Violet approached the door and grasped the brass handle. As she opened it, she expected to see one of the servants with a mundane morning task, but instead, she was met with Benedict's troubled gaze. The sight of her son, standing there with worry in his eyes, sent a jolt through her. Instantly, she knew something was terribly wrong.

"Benedict?" she questioned, her voice hushed yet steady, searching his face for an answer.

His expression confirmed her fears. "Mother," he began, his tone serious as he explained why he'd woken her so early. With a reassuring pat on her son's arm after he mentioned their unexpected guest, she swept down the hallway toward the library. As she stepped inside, the sight of Eloise and Penelope asleep on the sofa with tear-streaked faces made her heart ache. This wasn't a common occurrence, and it was obvious to her that something serious had transpired.

With a soft touch, she roused Eloise first.

Eloise stirred, blinking in confusion before she fully realized where she was. Her eyes widened when she saw her mother. "Mama, I—" she began, but Violet held up a hand.

"Let us wake Penelope, dearest, and then you can both tell me what has happened," Violet said gently.

Eloise nodded and nudged Penelope awake. Penelope's eyes fluttered open, panic flashing across her face as she remembered the events of the previous night. Seeing Violet's compassionate gaze, she felt a small measure of comfort, though her anxiety remained.

Violet sat between the girls, her presence exuding calm authority. "Now, tell me everything," she urged softly as she wrapped an are around each of their shoulders comfortingly

Penelope hesitated, her eyes darting to Eloise. With a nod of encouragement from her friend, she began to recount the story, her voice trembling. "My father has... gambled away everything," she confessed, tears brimming once more. "We're leaving London tomorrow. No, today now that the sun is up. We've lost our home, what was left of our status—everything."

Violet listened intently, her heart breaking for Penelope as she gently squeezed the girl. "Oh, Penelope," she sighed. "I'm so sorry."

"We couldn't come up with anything that would work," Eloise admitted after the two young woman explained how they had spent most of the night trying to devise a plan to save the Featherington family, frustration evident in her rasping voice. "We're out of time."

Violet took a moment to absorb the gravity of the situation. She understood the precariousness of Penelope's position and the urgency of their departure. She also realized the importance of handling this delicately to preserve the dignity of Eloise's closest friend.

"You are always welcome here, Penelope," Violet said warmly. "But for now, it's best if you return home and prepare for your journey. We will figure something out. This is not the end."

Penelope nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, Lady Bridgerton," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

The matriarch embraced her tightly, conveying all of the affection and support she could in the limited time available. "You are loved, Penelope. We will do everything we can to help you."

After ensuring that the redhead had composed herself well enough to leave, Violet sent for one of the maids to escort her back to the Featherington household.

"This is unfair," Eloise muttered angrily after she'd departed. "We should be able to do more for her."

Violet turned to her daughter, her countenance serious but calm. "Eloise, I understand your frustration. But sometimes, immediate action isn't possible. We must think strategically. The Featherington's situation is delicate, and Penelope cannot afford for us to make any hasty decisions."

"But what can we do?" Eloise persisted. "There must be something!"

Violet placed a reassuring hand on Eloise's shoulder. "For now, we cannot do anything, but that does not mean we are without options forever. We must simply be patient and find a way to help without drawing unnecessary attention. News of the scandal will break soon, I am sure, and we will need to gauge the response of the ton first before we can decide on the best approach."

Eloise sighed, reluctantly accepting her mother's wisdom. She wanted immediate action, but was starting to realize that sometimes immediate action lead to more harm than good. "I just hate feeling so helpless,"she whispered.

"I know, dearest" Violet said softly. "But we will find a way. Trust me."

She then turned to Benedict, who had been quietly observing the exchange from the doorway leading to the hall. "Benedict, I need you to find Anthony and bring him here. I have an idea that might not directly solve the Featheringtons' predicament, but it could at least help Penelope secure a comfortable future."

Benedict nodded, his expression determined. "Of course, Mother. I'll find him right away."

As Benedict left the room, Violet took a deep breath, already formulating the beginning of said plan. The Featheringtons' downfall was indeed tragic, but she was resolved to ensure that Penelope, at least, would not suffer unduly. The Bridgertons were a family that valued loyalty and compassion, and she was determined to extend that to their dear friend.

It wasn't long before Benedict returned with Anthony in tow. Anthony's brow furrowed in concern as he took in the solemn atmosphere. "What's happened?" he asked.

Violet quickly briefed him on the situation, outlining her thoughts on how they might assist Penelope without causing a scandal. As the Bridgertons set about their plan to assist Penelope, a sense of purpose and determination filled the house. While they couldn't undo the Featheringtons' misfortune, they were resolved to ensure that Penelope, at least, would have a chance at a brighter future. And in this way, they demonstrated the true strength of their family bond — one that extended beyond blood and encompassed all those they held dear.

Preface - Eloise

-~-

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers June 3, 1814

Dearest Gentle Readers,

The London Season has commenced with all the splendor and magnificence one would expect of our fair city. The ton is abuzz with anticipation as a new crop of debutantes takes their first steps into society, their eyes bright with dreams of advantageous matches and glittering futures. Among these hopeful young ladies, several have already caught the eye with their charm and grace, promising a season rife with intrigue and competition.

This year's debutantes bring with them the fresh beauty of spring blossoms, each one vying for the favor of the most eligible bachelors. Notable among them are Miss Harriet Fitzwilliam, whose ethereal beauty has already earned her the unofficial title of 'Incomparable'—though we shall see if the Queen agrees with her subjects once the young woman is formally presented—and Miss Clara Wyndham, whose wit and vivacity promise to make her a formidable presence in any drawing room. The Viscountess Bridgerton's second daughter, Miss Eloise Bridgerton, is also making her debut, and there are whispers about whether she will enjoy a similar success to that of her sister, the Duchess of Hastings, or if she will fall short of spectacular.

In a surprising turn of events, the esteemed Bridgerton family has extended their generosity to one of the Featherington girls. This magnanimous act comes after whispers of the Featherington fortune being irretrievably lost to the hazards of the gaming tables by the baron himself, which itself presented on the heels of the scandal with Miss Marina Thompson that resulted in a hastily cobbled marriage and a birth six months later. The question on everyone's lips, however, is which of the Featherington daughters will be the beneficiary of such noble patronage.

Miss Penelope Featherington seems the least likely candidate for such favor to result in any amount of success, and one can only speculate on the Bridgertons' true motivations behind this choice. Could it be an attempt to elevate an overlooked wallflower, or is there more beneath the surface of this seemingly altruistic act? Only time will tell.

Still, the Bridgertons' decision has certainly set tongues wagging. This author cannot help but wonder if the prudent choice might have been Miss Philippa or Miss Prudence, both of whom, despite their peculiarities, have shown a certain flair for the dramatic that society so loves to behold. Miss Penelope, on the other hand, with her penchant for remaining constantly on the edge of the room rather than in the middle of the dance floor, seems an odd selection indeed.

Yet, after last year's unexpected coups and scandals, perhaps we should brace ourselves for more than anticipated. After all, stranger things have happened in the ballrooms of Mayfair.

As the season unfolds, rest assured, dear reader, that this author will be there to chronicle every scandal, triumph, and whispered secret. For now, let us all bask in the excitement of what promises to be a season like no other.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

-~-

"I truly hate how you write about yourself," Eloise sighed, tossing the written draft onto the empty section of bench by her hip. She glared over at the redhead sitting across from her in the jostling carriage, though it was largely in jest. "And do you truly have to mention my debut?"

Penelope's responding smile was more of a grimace, and Eloise felt a minuscule bubbling of guilt. She knew that her best friend was dealing with difficulties that she couldn't even begin to fathom, and as much as Penelope would argue that Eloise shouldn't walk on eggshells around her, the Bridgerton daughter had developed an awareness of just how different their circumstances were even prior to the decimation of the Featherington fortune.

"Well, I couldn't very well leave you out, could I? It would be quite suspicious," Penelope replied pragmatically, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she stared out the window. "You know as well as I do that your debut would be much anticipated after your sister caught a Duke in her first season out, even if there were no Whistledown to report it."

Eloise rolled her eyes. "That is precisely what I loathe. The scrutiny, the expectations... it's all so dreadfully tedious. Daphne was perfect, but I do not wish to be."

Penelope leaned forward, her expression softening. "I understand, Eloise. But think of it this way: you have a chance to shape your own story. You do not necessarily have to conform to their expectations, and should you not find luck on the marriage mart and decide to become a spinster, then that will be that. You have plenty of other siblings that your mother could foist marriages upon."

Eloise huffed, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "I suppose you're right. Still, I wish I could skip the whole affair altogether."

"Well, at least you have your family to support you," Penelope pointed out. "And, who knows, perhaps you'll find it more enjoyable than you expect. There is more to do during the season than simply fawn over suitors."

Eloise's smile widened slightly. "Perhaps. And I suppose I should be grateful for your company in all this madness. How are you feeling about your own prospects this season?"

Penelope's smile faltered for a moment again before she composed herself. "Honestly, I'm not quite sure what to expect. With my family's situation and the Bridgertons' generous sponsorship, it feels like I'm stepping into unknown territory. But I suppose that's part of the adventure, isn't it?"

Eloise reached out and squeezed Penelope's hand. She knew that her friend was merely feigning ambiguity for her sake. If rereading her saved articles of Whistledown with new eyes had taught her anything, it was that Penelope had very little confidence in herself, something that Eloise could not fathom because, to her, Penelope was one of the most intelligent and wonderful people she'd ever met. "Whatever happens, Pen, you know you have a friend in me. And if anyone can navigate the treacherous waters of the ton with grace and wit, it's you."

Penelope's eyes glistened with gratitude. "Thank you, Eloise. That means more to me than you know."

The carriage jolted as it rounded a corner, and the girls settled back into their seats, the weight of the upcoming season hanging between them as they arrived in London after traveling from the

Featherington country home. They both knew that the months ahead would be filled with challenges, but they also knew that they could face them together.

As the grand houses of Mayfair loomed closer, Eloise glanced out the window, her thoughts drifting to her mother and siblings. There was pressure for Penelope to succeed, obviously to restore some semblance of honor to the Featherington name, but there was also the unconditional affection that each member of her family had for the woman. With friends—no, family—like the Bridgertons by her side, Penelope had much more hope than she realized.

Eloise, meanwhile, steeled herself for the onslaught of balls, parties, and suitors. She would face it all with her characteristic defiance and determination, and perhaps, just perhaps, she might find a way to enjoy herself along the way.

As the carriage drew to a halt in front of the Bridgerton residence, the girls exchanged a final, conspiratorial smile. Together, they stepped out into the bustling street, ready to face whatever the season had in store for them.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Preface - Penelope

-~-

Eloise was the first to descend from the carriage, her blue traveling dress catching a glint of the afternoon sun. Penelope followed, her heart pounding with apprehension as she clutched her reticule tightly. In front of her stood the grand visage of the Bridgerton home—a testament to their status and also a comforting reminder of the support she had in this new chapter. Still, she felt exposed to the eyes of the Ton after an entire off-season of being completely cast out.

She couldn't resist glancing back down the street toward her old home. The familiar sight of the once-Featherington residence still felt like too close of a memory, soaked in incredible sadness. Her heart clenched as she saw new curtains adorning the windows and unfamiliar figures moving about the garden. Laughter floated on the breeze as a brown-haired maid spoke with one of the carriage drivers, a stark reminder that the house was no longer her home.

Eloise noticed her hesitation and followed her gaze. Understanding dawned in her eyes, and she reached out to gently touch Penelope's arm. "It's hard, isn't it?" she said softly.

Penelope nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yes, it is. But I think it will also be a reminder of why I need to succeed this season. For my family's sake."

Eloise squeezed her arm reassuringly. "And you will, Pen. We'll make sure of it." She laughed. "Even if you do not, we shall be quite independent spinsters together, I should think."

With a final, lingering look at the Featherington house, Penelope turned her back to it and faced forward. She took a deep breath, drawing strength from Eloise's words and the kindness of the Bridgertons. As they walked up the steps to her temporary residence, Penelope felt a renewed sense of determination. The circumstances leading to it were unideal, but this was her chance to rebuild and redefine her place in society, and she was not alone in the endeavor.

Violet Bridgerton was there to greet them at the door, her smile warm and welcoming as always. "Eloise, Penelope, welcome back. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Eloise gave a dramatic sigh. "As pleasant as any carriage ride could be, Mother. But I am glad to be back."

The dowager chuckled, turning her attention to Penelope. "And you, dear? How are you feeling about the upcoming season?"

Penelope forced a returned smile, hoping it appeared more confident than she felt. "I am grateful for your family's generosity."

"Nonsense," she replied, waving off Penelope's thanks. "You are practically family yourself. Now, let us get you both settled. We have a busy week ahead in preparation for Eloise's debut." As they moved inside, Penelope noted that there was indeed a flurry of activity as servants bustled about.

Unusually nervous and distracted, despite having visited the Bridgerton house ten times over, she did not see the tall frame stepping out from the adjoining room until it was too late and she'd collided into the solidly built chest of one Benedict Bridgerton.

"Oh!" Penelope yelped in surprise, her hands flying up to land firmly on his lapel in order to keep herself from falling. "Excuse me!" She stammered as she then yanked her hands away and

stumbled back to an appropriate distance, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she looked up into Benedict's amused eyes.

"Miss Featherington," he greeted, chuckling warmly. "It's quite all right." He settled a gentle hand on her elbow briefly, just long enough to ensure she was steady on her feet. "I was just heading out to the garden. Are you all settled in?"

"Just arriving, actually," she managed to say, her heart still racing from the sudden impact.

He nodded, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Well, if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. And welcome back. We're all very happy to have you here with us for the season."

Benedict greeted his mother before making his exit, and Eloise shouted a teasing comment about ignoring his sister before being lightly chastised by Lady Bridgerton for her unladylike methods of communication.

Meanwhile, Penelope took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. The warmth and hospitality of the Bridgertons was both comforting and overwhelming when it was aimed directly at her, and she didn't know if she'd be able to handle an entire season being on the receiving end of such generosity. But she knew that they would insist if she put up too much of a fuss—not to mention, her mother would have quite the strong opinion if she even suspected her youngest daughter did not take full advantage. This season was her chance to make a difference for her family, and she had to avoid letting anything distract her from that goal.

With renewed determination, Penelope followed Eloise and Violet further into the house as they led her to the guest bedroom she would be staying in—a room directly across the hall from Eloise's, blessedly.

Penelope set her reticule on the small writing desk in the guest room and took a moment to absorb her surroundings. The room was tastefully decorated in the soft pastel blues she'd long associated with the Bridgerton family, a stark contrast to the overwhelmingly bright, oppressive hues of her old home. She ran her fingers over the embroidered coverlet, feeling a strange mix of comfort and unfamiliarity. This was to be her refuge for the season, but while it was certainly better decorated than her family home, it did not feel like hers.

Eloise, never one to stand on ceremony, flopped onto the bed with a sigh before launching into her many complaints about having to officially enter society.

Penelope nodded along, feeling a swell of affection for her dear friend. Eventually, Eloise jumped up to find a servant who could fetch them some tea. Penelope took a deep breath and moved to the window, gazing out at the well-tended gardens below and spotting Benedict outside as he said he would be, with a sketchbook in hand.

Penelope felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in a long time — excitement. The season ahead was a daunting prospect, but she dared to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, things might turn out all right after all. This was a new beginning, one filled with uncertainty and challenges, but also with hope and possibilities. She vowed to herself that she would do her best to seize this opportunity with both hands, for her family's sake and for her own.

Chapter End Notes

The next chapter marks the official season 2 start within the context of the AU. Expect to see some familiar faces and some surprise familiar faces too!

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

Penelope sat comfortably in the corner of Eloise's room with a book on her lap — more for show than for any actual reading. Her casual day dress, simple and green and one of the least ghastly her mother afforded her, was drab in comparison to the ivory gown laid out for Eloise. She watched with quiet amusement as the Bridgerton daughter she was lucky enough to call her best friend was being readied by her maids into her debut dress, a stunning creation of Madame Delacroix's with gold embroidery and delicate lace that made her look every inch the debutante she begrudgingly was.

Eloise huffed as one of the maids adjusted the gown's waistline. "Honestly, this entire charade is exhausting. If I had my way, I would skip straight to the part where Penelope and I become fabulously wealthy and independent spinsters."

Guilt bubbled low in Penelope's stomach. While she did not contradict Eloise's professed desire to remain spinsters together, the truth was that Penelope herself did not want to remain unwed forever. She had dreams of her own, dreams she hadn't dared to voice aloud.

Still, she couldn't help but laugh, even as she was sent a sharp glare in turn. "Eloise, you've been complaining about this for years. You knew it was coming."

Eloise rolled her eyes dramatically. "Knowing it's coming doesn't make it any less dreadful. And now, everyone is hovering outside, waiting for me to emerge like some sacrificial lamb."

Penelope glanced toward the door and could almost feel the presence of the Bridgertons waiting in the hallway. "They're just excited for you. This is a momentous day."

Eloise sighed deeply. "Excited for me or for themselves? They get to parade me around like a prize horse now that Daphne is wed."

Penelope smiled softly, her eyes drifting back to her book as she absentmindedly caressed the cover. "You know that they love you, El. They're proud of you."

"And I love them, too. But I'd love them even more if they let me skip this nonsense," Eloise retorted, adjusting her gown herself despite the maids' protests.

Penelope watched her friend, feeling a mix of amusement and affection. Eloise had always been fiercely independent, and the idea of conforming to societal expectations was understandable abrasive to the young woman. Penelope, however, also knew there was more to Eloise's bravado than met the eye. Deep down, Eloise wanted to be appreciated for who she was, not just as another Bridgerton debutante.

Unfortunately, they both knew that wasn't likely to happen today. "You do look beautiful, Eloise," Penelope said sincerely.

Eloise snorted. "Flattery won't make me like this any more, Pen." Penelope laughed, smiling widely. "It is not flattery if it's true."

Eloise finally sat still for a moment, allowing the maids to finish their work. She glanced at Penelope, her expression softening. "I wish you were coming with me. It feels wrong to do this without my best friend by my side."

Penelope's heart warmed at Eloise's words. It was no secret that delaying her initial return to society was strategic. Given her family's situation, Daphne had practically forced her unused dowry upon the redhead, but they were under no illusions that her family's reputation was in tatters, and the Queen would not have taken kindly to her presence.

Not viewing herself as particularly handsome, Penelope was aware that gifted dowry was the only potential draw she might have to lure in a suitor, which put her as risk of attracting the wrong kind. The Bridgerton brothers, sans Colin who had yet to return from his travels, had all declared they would now allow for her to be taken advantage of. Even the young Gregory seemed particularly staunch, and had offered to marry her in the future if she was willing to wait for him — everyone had laughed, assuming it was a tender hearted joke, but he seemed perhaps just a bit too flustered for it to have been completely in jest.

"I'll be here when you get back," Penelope assured her friend. "You can tell me all about how dreadful it was."

Eloise gave her a rueful smile. "You always know how to make me feel better."

Penelope returned the smile, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She had a surprise for Eloise, something she had been working on in secret that only Eloise would know what just for her.

As the maids fussed over the brunette's hair, Penelope allowed herself a moment of reflection. She admired Eloise's defiance, but she also understood the importance of this debut. It wasn't just about societal expectations; it was about family, legacy, and future. And as much as Eloise protested, Penelope knew that deep down, she cared about these things too.

The final touches were made to Eloise's ensemble, and the door opened to the sight of the entire Bridgerton clan hovering as the maids filtered out. Daphne, stunning as always, gave Eloise a once- over and smiled approvingly. "You look perfect, Eloise."

Eloise grimaced. "I feel like a child's doll."

"Ready to face the music?" It was Benedict who stepped forward and offered his arm — a smart choice, Penelope thought, given that she was least likely to lash out at her favorite brother as opposed to, say, Anthony. Colin had not yet returned from his travels, so he was a moot point.

She took his arm reluctantly. "I do not suppose I have much of a choice?" "No," Benedict replied with a grin.

The family gathered around, offering words of encouragement and teasing remarks that the new debutant batted away with a sharp glare. Penelope watched from behind, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging even as she stood slightly apart from the others. Despite her own circumstances, the Bridgerton family had always made her feel welcome but especially since welcoming her into their home for the season.

As they prepared to leave, Eloise turned back to Penelope. "Don't get too comfortable. I'll need you to help me remove this torture device when I return."

Penelope laughed. "I'll be here. Good luck, Eloise."

Capitol R Rake - Benedict

-~-

Penelope stood by the gates of the Bridgerton home as Benedict and his siblings made their way to the waiting carriages, her smile warm and sincere.

"Good luck, everyone," she called after them, her voice full of genuine well-wishes, even as her eyes held a distinct hint of sadness.

Benedict, lingering behind his brothers for a moment, saw through the mask of her expression— intimately familiar with such things after what felt like a lifetime of helping to raise his siblings while navigating his own grief. Still, he did not want to confront the young woman, as goodness knows she had every reason to feel the way she did, and he did not yet have the same rapport with her that Eloise or Colin did.

So instead, he turned to her with his signature teasing smile and commented, "Everyone? How gracious of you to extend your well wishes beyond just my prickly sister."

"Are you so confident as to think you would not also need luck with her now out in society?" Penelope raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling with their own mischief, and he found himself relieved that his method of distraction seemed to be the appropriate route.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You raise a fair point, Miss Penelope, but you forget that you will also be called to the line of duty in the matter of keeping her from biting the heads off every suitor who approaches either of you."

Penelope laughed, a bright and melodic sound. "I'll do my best, but I can't make any promises. Eloise has a mind of her own, as you and I both very well know."

It was true, and he admired the way Penelope always seemed to handle Eloise's fiery nature with such grace. There was something about her steady presence that was both comforting and admirable, and she was one of the few people who seemed able to not only keep up with, but pull his sister back from some of her more impulsive thoughts.

"I have every faith in you," he said sincerely. "You've always been her anchor."

Her expression softened at his words. "And she has been mine."

Benedict found himself studying Penelope more closely. There was an unspoken strength in her, a resilience that often went unnoticed by others. He wondered how much of her own dreams and desires she kept hidden behind that calm exterior and felt a kind of kinship with his own hesitant dreams and desires. His entire family had noticed her tendency to put herself second, even in her friendship with Eloise, and he knew that his mother, in particular, hoped that this season away from her family might do her some good in blossoming as her own person.

Benedict lingered for a moment longer, feeling a pang of regret that she wouldn't be joining them. "You know, I think you might be in need of some luck for yourself tonight."

Penelope tilted her head, curiosity evident in her eyes. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because," he said, a playful glint in his eye, "you'll have to put up with the full force of Eloise's ire at once instead of spreading it out through the day. That requires a special kind of fortitude."

She laughed, the sound filling the space and easing the tension that had settled over him. "I dare say that I think I can manage."

Benedict smiled, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the young woman. As he finally joined the rest of his family, he glanced back at Penelope still standing by the gate, her presence an oddly quiet reassurance.

The Bridgertons, meanwhile, were a flurry of activity, each sibling finding their place. Eloise was already seated, looking every bit the reluctant debutante. Benedict took his place in the next carriage with Anthony and Gregory.

As the carriages began to move, Benedict glanced out the window, his thoughts shifting to the day ahead, but it wasn't long before he was drawn into Anthony's own little drama.

"My task this season cannot be exceptionally difficult," his elder brother announced. "Hastings did it after all. How hard could it be?"

"Ah, spoken with such feeling too," Benedict teased. It wasn't that he did not support his brother's search for a wife, but rather that Anthony approached the matter in such a cynically practical way that they would all likely end up miserable for it.

"I do not need feeling," Anthony argued, and it was the same old rationalization that Benedict had been hearing for weeks. "What I need is what I have, and that is a list: tolerable, dutiful, suitable enough hips for childbearing, and at least half a brain. And that last part is not so much a requirement but a preference, in fact."

Benedict sighed. "You may as well marry Penelope and be done with it then, brother," he said. "But I doubt Gregory here would be much in support, since he seems to have his own sights set on her."

"I do not!"

"You know why that is not an option," Anthony snapped. He had actually considered the option with Benedict over a decanter of brandy not too long ago, but none of the rest of the family was aware. "Her family situation aside, Colin..."

He did not have to finish the sentence, because they all knew of Penelope's feelings for the third brother, and they all were certain those feelings would eventually be returned once Colin managed to overcome his own thick skull. Even if he did not, it would be cruel to Penelope to offer marriage to the wrong brother and expect her to maintain the same close familial bond with the other that the Bridgertons had with each other. Better to find her a sensible match with another respectable household instead and save her that heartbreak at least.

The carriages rolled on, carrying them toward the day's grand events. Benedict leaned back, his thoughts lingering on Penelope's resilience and the complexities of the path ahead. He glanced once more out the window, imagining her standing by the gate, a comforting constant amid the whirlwind of societal expectations. The thought of her waiting for them, ready to support and share in their experiences, brought a sense of reassurance. As they neared their destination, Benedict felt a renewed determination to help her face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that with the strength of their friendships and the steadfast loyalty of family, they could navigate even the most daunting of societal trials together.

She was, after all, even temporarily, a member of the Bridgerton family.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

Penelope spent her morning alone in the Bridgerton library, surrounded by the scent of aged leather and the soft rustle of pages being turned as she tried to distract herself from the anxiety of her looming scandal sheet delivery. The familiar tranquility of the room was usually a comforting balm, but without the background chatter of Eloise to fill the space, she could not quite silence her thoughts. Try as she might to focus on the pages in front of her, she found herself casting repeated glances at the clock and becoming more antsy as she waited for one of the servants to receive and deliver what she wanted most.

The rest of the Bridgertons were likely already at the Queen's palace for the presentation, and Penelope understood why she had to stay behind, but not being there to support Eloise left her feeling slightly out of sorts. As she waited, her thoughts wandered to Anthony's bullheaded intent on finding a wife this season. It was no secret that the Viscount approached marriage as a duty rather than a romantic endeavor, but Penelope couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern for the woman he would eventually choose. He was charming, as all the Bridgertons were, when he wanted to be, and she suspected that if things went the way he wanted, he would end up with a heartbroken bride in an unrequited love match.

It was a fate even Penelope would dread, regardless of the security a match might bring.

A sudden noise at the door pulled her from her musings, and a footman she recognized as John, a favorite of Eloise's, entered carrying a small stack of letters and the anticipated pamphlet.

Penelope stood quickly, not bothering with any pretense as she dropped the book she'd been using as a prop by that point on the writing desk. She managed not to trip on her day dress but stumbled slightly in her haste—she did not begrudge John the glimpse of a smile that managed to crack his otherwise straight expression, as she was certain she looked rather silly scrambling for a few bits of paper.

As it were, she'd had much practice discerning a malicious smile from one of amusement thanks to her years prior on the marriage mart.

Penelope's heart quickened as she saw two letters on the tray he presented in addition to the latest issue of Lady Whistledown. She recognized the handwriting on both of the letters and reached for one first with a resigned sigh. It would be best to get her mother's correspondence out of the way so that she might cheer herself afterward with the kinder words that Colin might have to offer.

She thanked the footman, knowing that he likely had more important duties to attend to, and sat down at the writing desk to get the worst part over with.

Penelope,

I trust you are well and making the most of your time with the Bridgertons. Remember, dear, how crucial it is for you to leverage your connections this season. Your sisters depend on you to help them make advantageous matches. We cannot afford for you to dawdle in the background any longer; your prospects, after all, are not as promising as theirs.

Do make yourself useful, Penelope, and ensure your sisters are presented in the best possible light. Your father and I have high hopes for them, and it is your duty to assist in any way you can.

Sincerely, Mother

Penelope's cheeks burned with the familiar sting of her mother's words. She did not outright say it was useless for Penelope to try and make a match, but it did not need to be said. Portia Featherington wanted her to wield her connections with the Bridgertons like a tool, pushing Prudence and Philippa into the limelight, even if it meant sacrificing her own prospects. The unspoken message was as painful as if it had been spelled out in black and white: Penelope, in her mother's eyes, was nothing more than a means to an end.

She took a deep breath, folding the letter with more care than it probably deserved, though her hands still trembled. There was a tightness in her chest, a familiar ache that had settled there over the years, each condescending letter and dismissive comment adding to its weight. Penelope loved her family deeply, but the constant reminder of her supposed inadequacies chipped away at her self- worth.

Penelope pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on Colin's letter. His bold, looping script brought a small smile to her lips even before she opened it. His words were always a balm to her wounded pride, a reminder that there were people who saw her value beyond societal expectations and familial duties. She clung to that warmth, drawing strength from the knowledge that not everyone viewed her as a pawn to be moved in the marriage market.

Dearest Pen,

I hope this finds you in good spirits. I'm sorry I haven't written sooner—Greece is a whirlwind of beauty and history, and I find myself swept up in its wonders. I miss our talks and your insightful views on everything under the sun. Traveling is not quite the same without your companionship.

Tell me, how are things in London? How are Eloise and the others? And, most importantly, how are you managing with everything? I wish I could be there to offer my support in person, but know that you are always in my thoughts.

With fondest regards, Colin

Penelope clutched the letter to her chest for a moment, the warmth of Colin's words chasing away some of the chill left by her mother's missive. His letters were a lifeline, a reminder of their enduring friendship despite the distance. Even if she should not make a match this season, as she likely wouldn't, she would still treasure the time she got to spend with him, Eloise, and the entire Bridgerton family.

Capitol R Rake - Eloise

-~-

"You are my most favorite," Eloise announced as soon as she walked into the drawing room to find Penelope, having clearly been waiting for the family to return home. Eloise had not even gone up to her room to change out of her presentation gown, too eager to see the wickedly clever gossip columnist whom she adored. None of the others had followed her, wishing to change out of their own formal attire first, so she felt comfortable following up the claim by adding, "Your column was delivered during the presentation, and the queen was so distracted that she did not even bother to look up from the parchment while we simpered and sighed at her feet! Mama is irritated, of course, but truly you have delivered me a boon I can never repay!"

Penelope grinned throughout Eloise's giddy tirade, standing to embrace her. "Oh, El, I'm so glad it all worked out. I feared the possibility that my little scheme might backfire and land you in even more trouble."

Eloise squeezed Penelope tighter, feeling a rush of gratitude and excitement. "Trouble or not, you are the smartest and most benevolent gossip columnist in all the empire. How did you manage to time it so perfectly? The queen couldn't care less about those being presented because she was reading the pamphlet during the entire ceremony!"

Penelope laughed softly as she pulled back from the embrace. "It was no easy feat, I assure you. A lot of meticulous planning and a bit of luck. Although, in hindsight, it might have been more effective if I'd waited to publish the first column of the season until presentation day. It would have ensured maximum impact."

Eloise waved her hand dismissively, her smile broadening. "Nonsense! It was perfect timing. I cannot tell you how delightful it was to watch the queen's eyebrows shoot up at your latest revelations. The entire court was abuzz with speculation, but none of them would dare leave while the procession was still happening, even if the Queen herself could not care less. Oh, the irony was utterly intoxicating!"

Penelope's eyes twinkled with satisfaction. "Well, I'm happy to have helped in any way I could. But remember, discretion is still key. We do not want to draw too much attention, else some might catch on."

"Of course," Eloise said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Your secret is safe with me. But I must admit, I'm already looking forward to your next installment. You have a knack for keeping everyone on their toes."

Penelope chuckled. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Eloise. Now, go change out of that gown before your mother scolds us both. We can celebrate properly once you're more comfortable."

Eloise nodded, her excitement still palpable as she headed towards the door. "Thank you, Pen. For everything."

As she climbed the staircase, Eloise's mind buzzed with the events of the day. The look on the queen's face, the whispers in the court, and the knowledge that her best friend was behind it all filled her with pride. Smiling to herself, she hurried up the remainder of the stairs, almost colliding with her mother at the corner.

"Eloise!" her mother exclaimed, her tone a mix of surprise and mild irritation. "What on earth were you thinking? You could have tripped and fallen!"

"Sorry, Mama," Eloise replied, trying to keep her voice light. "I was just excited to get out of this torture device."

Her mother sighed, smoothing down her skirts as she regained her composure. "I suppose I cannot fault you for that. But Eloise, we need to talk."

Eloise's heart sank a little, sensing the seriousness in her mother's tone. "Yes, Mama?"

Her mother took her by the arm and led her to a quiet corner of the hallway, away from where they might be easily disturbed. "Eloise, you know how important today was. Your presentation to the queen is a significant step towards making a good match."

Eloise nodded, though her mind was far from thoughts of suitors and marriage. "I understand, Mama."

"I'm not so sure that you do," her mother said, her eyes searching Eloise's face for any sign of understanding. "You are at an age where you must start thinking seriously about your future. The queen's favor could greatly influence your prospects, and yet she was barely paying attention during your presentation."

Eloise felt a spark of irritation at the mention of the queen. "Perhaps she had other matters on her mind, Mama. It's not something we can control."

Her mother shook her head, her expression softening. "I worry about you, Eloise. You are intelligent and capable, but you often seem more interested in your books and your friendship with Penelope than in securing a good match. I merely want what is best for you, Dearest."

Eloise's frustration bubbled over. "Mama, I'd rather be a spinster than be forced into a match based on my ability to curtsey before a queen who has done nothing for me or our family! Why should my future depend on her fleeting attention? What if I want to choose my own path? I have more to offer than just my status as someone's wife."

Her mother sighed, this time with a hint of resignation and sadness. "I know you are strong-willed, Eloise, but the world is not as forgiving as you or I wish it to be. Promise me you will at least consider the possibility of love, should it arise."

Eloise took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. "I promise to consider it, Mama, but only if it aligns with what I truly want. I won't sacrifice my happiness for a title or a marriage that would have me lose part of myself for a mere man."

Her mother gave her a brief, tentative hug before continuing on to her original destination prior to their near collision on the stairwell. "Very well."

Eloise sighed, watching her mother walk away. She took another deep breath, feeling the weight of her mother's expectations mixed with her own defiance.

As she returned to the drawing room after donning her most comfortable day dress, Eloise couldn't help but smile at the sight of Penelope waiting for her. Despite the pressure to conform and make a good match, she knew she could always count on her friend to support her, no matter what.

"Is everything all right?" Penelope asked, noticing the determined look on Eloise's face.

"Yes," Eloise replied, her smile returning. "Everything is fine. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, celebrating your brilliant success!"

Penelope laughed, and together they settled into a comfortable conversation, the worries of matchmaking momentarily forgotten in the warmth of their friendship.

Chapter Notes

A new POV!

Capitol R Rake - John

-~-

It seemed to John as though the pay he received as a footman to the Bridgerton family might not have been worth the years off his life that the stress surely took from him in return. Nearly a decade her senior, he'd started said employment when Eloise was merely ten years old — still making mud cakes and running from the maids as they attempted to force her to wash the muck away before she was ready. With a spirited young sister of his own, he had felt a natural protectiveness as he watched her grow from an unruly child into a fiercely intelligent young woman, but somewhere along the way, he had also become increasingly entangled in the intricate web of her schemes and adventures.

Tonight was merely one such example of the peculiar requests made upon him that he could not seem to find it within himself to refuse — requests that far exceeded the usual scope of a footman's duties. He glanced at Penelope, who sat across from him in the carriage, her face partially obscured by the hood of a Bridgerton maid's uniform. Her demeanor was calm and collected, but he could sense the underlying tension that mirrored his own.

He had not been surprised to find out that the young Featherington woman was the infamous Lady Whistledown, at least not once he took the time to fully digest the idea. She'd always been as intelligent a young woman as Eloise, but her unfortunate family circumstances had given her something that he felt his favored young mistress often lacked — common sense. Where Eloise held strong, idealized beliefs on what she felt should and should not be, Penelope seemed to have a more tempered view on the realistic applications of such beliefs, and it led the pair to have an intellectually beneficial, if not sometimes emotionally tumultuous relationship.

Penelope caught his eye and gave him a reassuring smile. "Thank you for helping, John. I know this isn't exactly what you're employed for, and both Eloise and I appreciate the discretion."

He nodded, trying his best to hide his unease at the late night errand he'd been roped into, and Penelope smiled sweetly at him in response. He felt another pang of worry about the young lady traveling through Bloomsbury at night, even with him as an escort, and he shuddered to think of the risks she might have been taking with her deliveries before she'd started staying with the Bridgertons and Eloise had insisted she take him with her. The streets of Bloomsbury could be unpredictable, especially after dark, and the thought of a young lady navigating them alone filled him with immense discomfort. He was glad Eloise had the foresight to ensure Penelope's safety, even if it meant the risk of involving him in their secretive endeavors.

So long as it did not cause either woman harm, he was happy to keep their confidence on the matter.

The carriage came to a halt in a quiet, dimly lit street, and John opened the door, stepping out first and scanning the area to ensure they were alone. Once he was satisfied that there were no vagrants lying in wait, he helped Penelope down. The night air was cool, and a slight fog had settled, adding an eerie atmosphere to their evening errand. He kept his senses on high alert, every shadow seeming to hold a potential threat.

"I'll only be a few minutes," Penelope whispered in what he was certain she thought was a reassuring manner, but did not soothe him in the slightest. "Stay with the carriage. I'll make the drop and return quickly."

John nodded, glancing around nervously. "Be careful, Miss Penelope."

She adjusted the maid's uniform, her movements confident and comfortable despite the unfamiliar garment, and he wondered if she utilized a similar tactic in her deliveries prior. She pulled the hood further over her face and made her way to the designated drop-off point, a small, nondescript print shop that would have blended seamlessly into the surrounding buildings were it not for the stacks and stacks of boxed pamphlets in front of the building and ready to be sent off for distribution.

John watched her go, his senses still on high alert. She remained in his sight for all but the time she spent physically inside the building, and even then, he still caught glimpses of her through the dirt smudged window. As he waited, he kept a hand close to the small dagger he had concealed within his coat, just in case.

As she emerged back from the building, John tensed again, his eyes darting around the street. Seeming to sense his anxiety, she quickened her pace back to the carriage.

"All done," she whispered as she approached, as though to reassure him. "Let's go."

John helped her into the carriage, closing the door firmly behind her. He climbed in after — another unusual occurrence for a footman, but one that Eloise had personally requested in her efforts to keep her friend as safe as possible — and signaled with a knock to the driver that they were ready to head back to the Bridgerton estate. As the carriage jolted into motion, he couldn't help but glance at Penelope with curiosity now that they were safely off the street.

He had many questions but chose not to press the debutant. The secrets he would now carry on her behalf weighed heavily on him, but the loyalty he felt towards Eloise and, by extension, Penelope,

also seemed to anchor him. Despite the dangers and the secrets, he couldn't deny the sense of purpose it gave him.

The journey home passed in comfortable silence, each occupant of the carriage lost in their own thoughts. As the Bridgerton estate came into view, the footman couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Another night, another secret drop off completed. He only hoped that the next one would be less nerve-wracking, though he doubted it. One thing was for certain — life as a footman for the Bridgerton family would never be dull.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

The chaos of the Bridgerton family drawing room had always been a welcome distraction to Penelope, a reprieve from the stiff and overperformative expectations she'd endured in her own family home. Even now, after weeks of soaking it in almost daily, she found that she showed no signs of growing weary of the relaxed dynamic the Bridgerton siblings and matriarch had with each other.

Francesca played a jaunty dance tune on the pianoforte, slightly slower than she usually would but still filling the room with a lively rhythm. Meanwhile, Benedict sketched the flurry of activity in front of him while Hyacinth hovered behind, and Eloise was doing her very best to trample every one of Gregory's toes as her dance instructor counted out a simple half-time beat in a voice as sharp and precise as Penelope's favored quill.

The redhead herself sat across from Benedict and Hyacinth in the lone armchair, observing Eloise's dance practice as she embroidered a pew cushion until her attention was caught by the pair's whispered words.

"I do not think she's very good," Hyacinth snickered, leaning so precariously over the arm of the sofa that Penelope worried she might topple over Benedict's splayed form.

Benedict, suppressing a clear smile at his younger sister's mischief, replied, "I believe she can hear you," and Eloise's irritable snap of, "I can hear you," confirmed his joking hypothesis.

Suddenly, Gregory yelped, "Ow! Watch my feet!"

Penelope winced in sympathy as Eloise snapped toward her mother, "Might we be done?"

Violet sighed, uncharacteristically fidgeting with her necklace. "If you are to catch the queen's eye after that interruption, you must be perfection."

She was anxious, Penelope realized, and it twisted her stomach to see the matriarch so genuinely worried about the future of her most rebellious daughter.

Not seeming to notice, Eloise quickly retorted, "I believe it was the interruption that was perfection."

Penelope couldn't help her quiet laughter, despite her mild discomfort, and she could never resist the urge to poke harmless fun at her best friend. "Well, it was certainly memorable, I'm sure."

Benedict smiled cheerily at her comment, leaning over as if to conspire similarly with the redhead as he'd done with Hyacinth and nearly falling off the sofa for his efforts. "Shocking that Eloise Bridgerton was not named the season diamond, was it not?" he joked after correcting his balance.

Penelope had a quick retort on her tongue, but Eloise was saved from further teasing as Anthony entered the room with an air of purpose, diverting the conversation.

"Was anyone else aware that dear Colin has decided to add Albania or some such place to his itinerary as he gads about the world?" he asked.

"No," Eloise scoffed. "But how happy for him that he can simply decide to do that."

Eloise took that as her cue to relax and flopped down across from Benedict with little care for the look of warning shot in their direction by their mother.

Gregory, however, loitered in front of Penelope with a hopeful expression. "Penelope, would you also like a refresher on the dances of the seasons now that Eloise is finished?"

Penelope felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment over the unexpected attention but maintained her composure. "Thank you, Gregory, but I believe I've got the steps down."

A series of knowing looks passed between the other Bridgertons, subtle smiles hinting at Gregory's mild crush on Penelope. She caught Violet's indulgent smile and Hyacinth's mischievous grin.

Gregory, slightly flustered, nodded. "Of course, if you change your mind, I'd be happy to help."

Penelope gave him a kind smile. "I appreciate it, Gregory. Truly."

Penelope pretended not to hear Hyacinth whisper loudly to Benedict, "I think he likes her." Benedict chuckled. "I think we all know that, Hyacinth."

"Joining us for tea, Anthony?" Violet asked, her tone both inviting and strained.

"I'm afraid I must pass," Anthony declined. "Too many calls on my funds today. Now that the season has started, I need to fill your coffers at the modiste and oversee the hiring of extra staff, including a new lady's maid for Penelope during her stay."

Penelope was taken aback by his consideration, not expecting such a luxury to be provided to her as a mere guest. "Lord Bridgerton, you do not have to—"

Anthony cut her off before she could finish her protest. "And your ring, mother. When you get the chance, I shall need it." He paused for half a moment, his train of thought seemingly plowing ahead to other matters almost immediately as he then continued. "The fields by Ferryhallow. I was thinking we might hold off on leasing them due to the hard frost."

"I beg your pardon?"

Penelope hadn't noticed immediately, but the dowager Viscountess looked positively gobsmacked as she placed a hand on the soft back near Benedict's head as if to steady herself. The sight, in turn, sent another shock of alarm through her, and she had to put down her embroidery over the worry that she might accidentally stab herself with the needle in her distraction.

"The frost hardens the soil, saps it of nutrients," Anthony explained, oblivious.

"That is very well. But you requested my ring?" Violet pressed.

"Father's betrothal ring," Anthony clarified, as if that was an explanation in and of itself.

Benedict, ever sensitive to when humor might best be used to smooth over a situation or garner further information, teased, "Did someone catch your eye at the presentation, Brother?"

"I thought all the young ladies looked beautiful," Hyacinth chimed in, even as Anthony dismissed the question.

"Not particularly," he replied frankly. "And all the young ladies looked the same. Like ladies. I'd simply like to be prepared for when the opportunity presents itself."

"The opportunity?" Violet inquired, still appearing thrown off guard.

"I've compiled an index of the season's eligible misses and arranged interviews," Anthony stated matter-of-factly.

Penelope did not hear the response, as Eloise had leaned over to her and joked, "It is quite well that you'll never have to suffer the thought of being on Anthony's idiotic list. Being subjected to such an interview by him seems like it would be insufferable."

Penelope grimaced at the unintended insult, feeling a pang of hurt at Eloise's oblivious insensitivity. Benedict caught her eye and shared a commiserating stare, understanding her discomfort, and it soothed a bit of the ache away to be acknowledged in such a way.

Violet suddenly turned to Benedict, and Penelope's attention was pulled back to the Viscountess. "See that he is quite well," she instructed her second son.

"Me?" Benedict asked, feigning innocence.

"I'm not in need of coddling. I assure you all, everything is in order," Anthony declared. Penelope couldn't resist another playful jab. "Everything except Eloise's dancing."

"Penelope!" Eloise exclaimed, her scandalized expression much more delighted than it would have been if she were truly insulted.

"Merely an observation," Penelope chirped.

"Very funny, Pen," Eloise replied, her spirits slightly lifted by her friend's humor.

As the conversation shifted and each sibling continued in the lighthearted banter, Penelope watched on with a feeling of contentment and longing. She cherished these moments with the Bridgertons, even as she remained acutely aware of the differences in their lives.

"You know," Benedict murmured quietly to her while everyone else was distracted. "Anthony did consider you for his list. But given his expectations for marriage, he decided that you deserved a better match than what he could provide."

"How kind of him to make that decision on my behalf. It's always nice for others to decide what a lady does or does not deserve in a suitor, as we clearly do not have any thoughts of our own on the matter."

She'd meant the remark to be more joking than it actually came out as, her frustration bubbling up just enough to catch the artist's acknowledgment.

Benedict cringed, thoroughly chastised, and Penelope took pity on him, as her ire was not for him alone but rather society as a whole. Eloise's rants were perhaps beginning to influence her more than she realized, but not so much that she was unable to acknowledge the intent behind Anthony's decision wasn't based on malice, and really, she was grateful for the attempt at soothing her ego while Eloise, still oblivious, merely shrugged and said, "I suppose that's Anthony for you."

Penelope forced a smile at her best friend but couldn't help feeling the omnipresent sting of being overlooked yet again.

Capitol R Rake - Benedict

-~-

Penelope Featherington had never been so much at the forefront of Benedict's mind as since she'd joined his family for the start of the season. Granted, they hadn't gotten quite that far into the season yet, only having just managed the hurdle of Eloise's presentation to the Queen but not yet having reached Lady Danbury's opening ball. Even the past few weeks of her near-constant presence in the household had brought forth observations he'd never had the chance to make during her previous, shorter visits.

Namely, the redhead indulged and conceded to his younger sister and others much more than he'd ever realized, and it reminded him a bit too much of his own tendency to do the same for him to be completely at ease with the revelation. His personal experience had taught him that while it kept peace and soothed egos, it often came at a personal price. He did not particularly mind paying the toll, as he was fully aware of the charmed life he had as a second-born son in a loving family, but to see a lady have so much taken from her and still continue to give bits and pieces away felt entirely unfair.

Benedict watched from the doorway as Penelope and Hyacinth huddled over a book in the drawing room. Hyacinth's animated gestures and Penelope's patient smiles painted a picture of easy companionship, a scene that made Benedict's heart ache with a strange mixture of fondness and concern.

As Hyacinth continued to demand the full attention of their guest while he stood watch at the door, he couldn't help but admire how effortlessly Penelope managed to keep up with his siblings' boundless energy, always with a warm smile and encouraging words. He knew for a fact that Francesca had indulged in her companionship before the two youngest had accosted them, and before that, Eloise had kept her locked up in her room for all but the brief family meals his mother required of them. It was a testament to her kindness, but it also made him wonder if she ever allowed herself the space to assert her own needs and desires.

"You do not have to let her tug you to and fro," he found himself commenting as he sauntered over to lounge on the sofa. Penelope, obviously tired out by the antics of the two youngest, took the opportunity to rest opposite him—the sounds of Hyacinth and Gregory playing in the background providing a lively soundtrack to their conversation.

When she looked over, it was with caution simmering deep in her eyes. "I don't mind, truly. Hyacinth is spirited, and I always felt that if I were to have had a younger sister, she would be much the same. It's rather endearing."

Benedict stopped and turned to face her fully. "Endearing, yes. But sometimes I wonder if you let her take advantage of your kindness because it is easier than letting yourself speak up. You deserve to be heard, too, even if it is difficult for others to listen."

"Quite bold of you to assert, Mr. Bridgerton," she responded carefully. "You may, however, say what you actually wish to without worry about my taking offense instead of pretending your thoughts merely reflect on my indulgence of Hyacinth."

Benedict took a deep breath, steeling himself for the delicate topic. "Very well. When Eloise made that comment about you never being considered for Anthony's list. It was thoughtless and hurtful, and I'm sorry you had to hear that from her."

Penelope's expression softened, but there was a hint of resignation in her eyes. "It's alright. I've learned not to take such comments to heart. Eloise speaks her mind without considering the impact sometimes."

"But that doesn't make it right," he insisted. "You should not have had to learn to tolerate such things. You deserve respect, Penelope, especially from us as your hosts. You're a wonderful person, and anyone would be lucky to have you as their partner."

She gave him a small, appreciative smile, though the sadness lingered. "Thank you for saying that, but I am unfortunately not nearly as convinced on the matter."

Benedict hesitated before continuing, his voice softer now. "And I also want to apologize for implying earlier that you might not know what's best for you in a suitor. It was presumptuous of me, and I did not mean to imply any deficiencies in your judgment. I was not lying when I said Anthony did consider you for a wife—extensively, in fact. It is just that our family holds such affection for you, and he did not feel he could be the one to give you what we all want for you."

Penelope's cheeks flushed under his scrutiny, and she looked away, focusing on her hands resting on her lap. "You do not need to argue his case. I'm used to blending into the background. It's easier that way, especially in my family. But your apology is appreciated, Benedict. Truly." Her mouth twisted in a slight grimace. "My defensiveness in the matter may have been a slight overreaction, as I admit my feelings are quite tender this season, given the circumstances of my stay."

The vulnerability in her voice struck a chord within him. He wanted to say something, to offer words that would reassure her of her worth, but the moment passed too quickly, and she began to

shift her focus back to the embroidery. He took a step closer, his gaze earnest. "You don't have to blend into the background with us, Penelope. Not here. Not ever."

They continued in silence until Gregory's exuberant laughter broke through, drawing their attention. Penelope smiled at the sight, her earlier sadness dissipating.

Their moment was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and they turned to see Eloise approaching, a mischievous grin on her face. "There you are! Mother is looking for you, Pen. Something about preparing for Lady Danbury's ball."

Benedict and Penelope stood up, the spell of the moment broken. As they walked back to the preparations for the ball, Eloise chattering away beside them, Benedict glanced at Penelope and silently vowed to himself that he would do whatever it took to make her feel truly at home with the Bridgertons.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

Penelope was taken aback to find out that the important interruption that Eloise had facilitated on behalf of Lady Bridgerton was an invitation to accompany Eloise and herself to the modiste.

She'd been expected to spend the day in the drawing room entertaining the younger Bridgertons as she had been, perhaps engaging with a book or in idle conversation, but she instead found herself bundled into the carriage and whisked away to the shop of one Madame Delacroix. There, the Viscountess intended to assist in the selection of and completely cover the purchase of a new wardrobe for Penelope.

She's tried to resist, of course, politely arguing that it was too generous of a gift, but the mother of eight would not hear a single word of it. She'd said that it was her duty and pleasure as Penelope's sponsor for the season to help her shine as much as any diamond the queen might choose, and Eloise, in an unusual twist of irony, completely agreed with her mother. Between the two of them, Penelope had been successfully coerced into accepting the gift — overwhelmed with emotion over the kindness that she'd started tearing up before quickly wiping the evidence away.

As the trio entered the boutique, Penelope felt a familiar knot of anxiety form in her stomach. The shop was filled with vibrant fabrics in every shade imaginable, and the prospect of choosing new clothes, especially under Lady Bridgerton's discerning eye, was somehow more daunting than any trip she'd taken with her mother in the years prior.

She had long resigned herself to the citrus-colored gowns her mother insisted upon, despite how they clashed with her complexion. She'd endured the ritual of fittings and adjustments, her mother's unyielding preferences dominating the choices. The bright yellows, oranges, and lime greens made her skin look sallow and washed out, but her protests were always met with dismissive comments about happy colors. The gowns, often adorned with excessive frills and garish patterns, made her feel like a gaudy ornament rather than a young lady of taste and refinement. Over time, she had learned to suppress her own preferences and silently endure the well-meaning but misguided intentions of her mother, but her self-confidence eroded with each citrus monstrosity.

Much to her horror, Lady Bridgerton began to peruse the fabrics, holding up similar bolts of bright yellows and oranges. "How about this, Penelope? It's such a cheerful color."

Penelope smiled weakly, trying to muster enthusiasm as a rock sunk heavy in the pit of her stomach, but the thought of yet another orange gown made her feel physically ill.. She had just opened her mouth to respond when Eloise, who had been quietly observing, burst out, "For goodness' sake, Mama, Penelope does not actually like those colors."

Penelope's eyes widened in surprise at Eloise's outburst, but Lady Bridgerton merely raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" She turned to Penelope with a thoughtful expression, and the younger woman had to make a concentrated effort not to squirm."I thought as much, but I did not want to assume."

Lady Bridgerton set aside the bright fabrics and began pulling out bolts of fabric in shades of blue, green, and softer pinks and purples. "These colors would suit you much better, I believe. Let's see what we can find."

Penelope watched in amazement as Lady Bridgerton and Madame Delacroix selected fabrics that complemented her complexion. She felt a rush of gratitude and a sense of being truly seen for the first time. The gentle pastels and rich jewel tones were a far cry from the garish hues she had grown accustomed to, and she couldn't help but smile as she imagined herself in the beautiful new dresses.

Eloise nudged her playfully. "With you here, I do not have to endure mother's incessant poking and prodding."

Penelope nodded, her eyes shining with emotion. "Thank you, Eloise."

As Madame Delacroix took her measurements and discussed designs, Penelope felt a wave of happiness wash over her. For the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope for the future, surrounded by people who truly cared for her and saw her for who she was.

She marveled at the delicate fabrics draped across her arm, running her fingers over the luxurious silks and satins. She'd never imagined wearing such beautiful garments, and the thought filled her with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. Madame Delacroix, ever the professional, quickly took charge, pairing colors and fabrics with designs that would best flatter Penelope's figure.

"This blue," Madame Delacroix said, holding up a bolt of deep sapphire silk, "would bring out the color of your eyes perfectly."

Lady Bridgerton nodded in agreement. "Yes, and perhaps a touch of lace along the neckline. Simple, yet elegant."

Penelope could hardly believe her luck. "It's beautiful," she whispered, unable to hide her delight.

Madame Delacroix began taking Penelope's measurements, her tape measure flicking around with practiced ease. "We'll have to work quickly to have your first dress ready for the ball, but it can be done. The rest will unfortunately have to wait until after."

As they discussed the details of each gown, Penelope found herself growing more confident. The citrus-colored dresses her mother had forced upon her already seemed like a distant memory as Madame Delacroix suggested a soft green dress with a flowing skirt for daytime events, which both Lady Bridgerton and Eloise enthusiastically approved — although, Penelope was certain that Eloise's enthusiasm for the choice did not stem from the dress itself but rather the look of wonder on her best friend's face at the idea of it.

"And for the ball," Madame Delacroix continued, "this blush pink would be perfect. It's delicate, yet sophisticated."

Penelope nodded, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes once again. Everyone was just being so kind to her today, and it was incredibly overwhelming. "Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you so much."

Lady Bridgerton squeezed her hand. "It is no burden, Penelope. You deserve to feel special and to have a wardrobe that reflects who you are."

The rest of the fitting passed in a blur of fabric and pins, with Madame Delacroix working tirelessly to ensure everything was perfect. By the time they were finished, Penelope had the stepping stones in place for a beautiful new wardrobe that made her feel like a different person.

As they left the shop, Penelope felt a lightness in her step that she hadn't felt in years.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

Penelope walked arm-in-arm with Eloise through the bustling afternoon market following their visit to the modiste, the bustle of activity around them a welcome distraction to her thoughts. Stalls filled with the vibrant colors of the season's harvest lined the streets, and the sweet scent of ripe fruits mingled with the more earthy aromas of herbs and spices, creating a sensory tapestry that almost distracted her as thoroughly as the constant stream of chatter beside her. Eloise had been a whirlwind of commentary since they'd parted ways with the Viscountess Bridgerton, her voice rising above the din of haggling merchants and clinking coins.

"Daphne provided me a list of recommendations for a successful season. Private advice regarding the top ten ways in which to entrap a man. I'm telling you, Pen, the season has barely begun and already I feel touched in the head," Eloise complained, her eyes scanning the array of goods without much interest.

Penelope chuckled, the sound of her friend's complaints strangely comforting in their familiarity. Despite the impression Benedict might have gotten from their relationship, she adored Eloise and her unfiltered honesty, her relentless questioning of societal norms, and her unabashed enthusiasm for literature and learning. Eloise was a kindred spirit, a rare find in a world where many conformed to expectations without question. Her sharp wit and keen intellect were a constant source of inspiration for Penelope, who often found herself buoyed by Eloise's bold ideas and unwavering courage. It was moments like these, amidst the chatter and the mundane tasks of daily life, that Penelope felt a profound gratitude for their friendship. Eloise's presence was a reminder that she was not alone in her yearning for something more, for a life beyond the constraints of their social status.

Penelope's gaze was drawn to a stall displaying an assortment of writing supplies as Eloise continued her tirade. She picked up a finely crafted quill, turning it over in her hands, appreciating the smooth, polished wood and the delicate feather.

"Another quill, I see," Eloise noted with an entirely unsubtle wink, her tone clearly teasing. "You do get through them at an extraordinary rate, dear Pen, but I suppose I should always know exactly what to get you for any gift-giving occasion."

Penelope couldn't restrain her smile, the corners of her mouth lifting against her will. "My scribblings usually go through several drafts," she responded, carefully avoiding the context of her writings. "Even the best writer does not get it perfect the first time." She thought of the many nights spent rewriting and revising, especially early on in her publishing career, her determination to express herself clearly and precisely driving her to perfection.

"I should think not, especially not the men. I've more faith in the fairer sex to perform such a feat. Speaking of, how is my brother? I have stopped reading his letters, as he has a tendency to ramble and it is dreadfully boring."

Penelope's smile widened at the mention of Colin. "He has been keeping me informed of his adventures in Greece," she said, a soft smile touching her lips. She remembered the excitement in his letters, the vivid descriptions of ancient ruins and bustling markets, and the thrill of discovering new cultures. His words transported her to places she had never seen, fueling her own desire for something more.

"Ah, to simply be able to go somewhere and be without the trappings of society acting as a ball and chain around one's ankles," Eloise remarked. "I envy that Colin can do such a thing, unlike us. Truly, I preferred our respite in the country, as it gave me some time to read a few articles of substance." She cleared her throat before quoting, "'My own sex, I hope, will excuse me if I treat them like rational creatures, instead of flattering their fascinating graces.' Wollstonecraft."

"Rather haughty," Penelope observed, though she admired the boldness of the sentiment. It felt entirely right for Eloise.

"I suppose in a certain light," the Bridgerton in question conceded. "But imagine if someone like Whistledown wrote like this, instead of simply turning our eye to every newly-minted debutante. Perhaps then we might find our respite from the tedious sequence of tea parties and balls."

"She could," Penelope said slowly, carefully wording her response, as she suspected Eloise would not accept a simple 'no' as a sufficient answer. "But you must also consider that she has already made herself an enemy of the crown by merely reporting the gossip. Certainly, she critiques the haut ton in more subtle ways, but as a woman, she would not be so protected from the wrath of the monarchy should she choose to address more... radical topics—at least not without a husband or powerful family backing her, do you not think?"

"But Pen, you know that my family—"

"No, Eloise. I would not risk harm to those I love unless it was an absolute last resort."

Eloise sighed, her eyes narrowing in clear irritation as they continued through the market, though luckily it did not appear to be aimed directly at Penelope. "I just wish for more, you know? For us to experience life beyond the confines of what is expected of us."

Penelope nodded, understanding all too well. "Perhaps one day, things will change. Until then, we must find our own ways to challenge the norms, even if it is more subtly than we would like."

Eloise didn't seem to like that answer much, but she did not have an immediate retort at least. That did not mean, however, that Penelope should not expect the topic to be revisited once her friend regrouped her thoughts and mustered up the next iteration of her argument.

Her mind lingered on the notion of change, the slow, inexorable march of progress. She glanced at Eloise, seeing the same yearning reflected in her friend's eyes. They were bound by similar constraints, but they did not necessarily have the same dreams nor the same protections. As much as she would like to, it seemed impossible to approach their differences without addressing those parts which Eloise did not seem to want to hear.

Perhaps Benedict may have had a point.

Capitol R Rake - Violet

-~-

The sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the plush carpet of the drawing-room. The Viscountess Bridgerton sat at her writing desk, a look of satisfaction on her face as she added the final touches to her meticulously organized plans for the family's attendance at Lady Danbury's ball. Her neat script detailed every aspect of the evening, from the carriage arrangements to the precise time of their arrival and departure.

Across from her, Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, waited patiently, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Violet glanced up and smiled, setting her quill aside.

"I believe everything is in order, Mrs. Wilson," Violet said, handing over the finalized plans. "We must ensure that tonight runs seamlessly."

Mrs. Wilson nodded, taking the papers with a respectful incline of her head. "Of course, my lady. I will see to it that all preparations are properly executed."

The matriarch leaned back in her chair, allowing herself a moment of satisfaction before her thoughts drifted back to something that had been niggling at the back of her mind. "Have you heard about the new family residing in the old Featherington house?"

Mrs. Wilson's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Yes, my lady. Lady Araminta Gunningworth and her two daughters, I believe."

"Indeed," Violet confirmed, her tone tinged with a hint of skepticism. "I took it upon myself to visit them yesterday, to extend a warm welcome to our neighborhood."

"Quite thoughtful of you, as usual, my lady," Mrs. Wilson replied, her expression attentive.

"Lady Gunningworth is a recent widow, twice over, and her eldest daughter has just debuted for the season, though we did not get a chance to speak during the presentation with everything that occurred," Violet continued, waving a hand to the newest copy of Lady Whistledown on her desk. "They seem pleasant enough, though I must admit, I felt somewhat ill-at-ease during our conversation. Lady Gunningworth has a rather... forward manner of ingratiating herself."

Mrs. Wilson's brow furrowed slightly. "That is unfortunate, my lady. I trust you managed to maintain your composure."

"Of course, we must all play the string in the grand orchestra of society from time to time," Violet continued with a small, wry smile playing at her lips. "It was not difficult to remain polite, but I shall be keeping a watchful eye on her."

Their conversation was interrupted by a soft knock. Mrs. Wilson opened the door, ushering in a young woman with a humble yet steady demeanor.

"Lady Bridgerton," Mrs. Wilson began, "this is Sophie Beckett, the new lady's maid for Miss Penelope."

Sophie curtsied deeply. "It is an honor to meet you, my lady," she said, her voice steady.

Violet's smile widened with genuine warmth as she rose to greet the newcomer. "Ah, Miss Beckett, welcome to Bridgerton House. We are delighted to have you join us."

As Violet studied Sophie's face, she saw a flicker of relief in the young woman's eyes, and she felt a surge of empathy. It was never easy starting anew in a grand household, especially one as bustling as theirs. Sophie curtsied again. "Thank you, my lady."

Turning to Mrs. Wilson, Violet instructed, "Mrs. Wilson, would you be so kind as to give Miss Beckett a tour of the house? I shall find Penelope so that we may make introductions."

"Of course, my lady," Mrs. Wilson replied, gesturing for Sophie to follow her. "This way, Miss Beckett. We shall begin with the main floor and then proceed to the upstairs quarters."

As Mrs. Wilson and Sophie exited the drawing-room, Violet smoothed her skirts and made her way towards Penelope's chambers. The corridors of Bridgerton House were filled with the quiet hum of activity, maids bustling about with last-minute preparations for the evening's ball. Violet's mind wandered back to her earlier thoughts about Lady Gunningworth. It was rare for someone to make her feel uneasy, and she resolved to trust her instincts.

Reaching Penelope's room, Violet knocked softly before entering. Penelope was seated by the window, engrossed in a novel, but she looked up and smiled brightly as the Viscountess entered.

"Lady Bridgerton," Penelope set her book aside, standing to greet her hostess for the season. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, dear. Everything is fine," Violet reassured her. "I merely wanted to introduce you to your new lady's maid. Sophie Beckett seems quite capable and kind. Mrs. Wilson is showing her around the house as we speak."

Penelope's eyes sparkled, though Violet could easily see that she was still uncomfortable with receiving what she viewed as excessive generosity. "I'm looking forward to meeting her. Thank you for your kindness."

Violet did not know the inner workings of the Featherington household, but she was well aware that the scandal that had rocked their family the previous season was merely a symptom of a greater illness. Penelope's father had gambled away their entire fortune, leaving them in a precarious financial situation. Despite Lady Featherington's tireless efforts to maintain appearances, Violet suspected that Penelope had endured more than just financial strain from within those walls. There were subtle signs—an overly practiced smile, an eagerness to please—that hinted at emotional neglect as well. Penelope's cheerful demeanor often seemed to mask a loneliness that tugged at Violet's heart, prompting her to extend the warmth and care the girl so clearly needed.

She approached the young woman, reaching out to take both of her hands as her expression softened. "It is not only my pleasure, Penelope, but the pleasure of this entire family to do what we are able during your time of need. You will do wonderfully this season, my dear. Just remember that the most important thing is to be yourself. People will love you for who you are."

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Wilson entered with Sophie in tow. Violet stood, gesturing for Sophie to come closer.

"Penelope, this is Miss Sophie Beckett, your new lady's maid," Violet introduced them with a warm smile. "Sophie, this is Miss Penelope Featherington, a family friend whom we are sponsoring for the season."

Sophie curtsied deeply, her demeanor respectful yet approachable. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Penelope."

Penelope smiled back, a touch of her earlier nerves melting away. "Thank you, Sophie. I look forward to working with you."

As the introductions concluded, Violet felt a sense of contentment. The evening ahead held the promise of excitement and social maneuvering, but for now, she was pleased with the harmony within her home. She excused herself, leaving Penelope and Sophie to get acquainted, and returned to her own chambers to prepare for the ball.

Capitol R Rake - Eloise

-~-

Eloise Bridgerton's room was a whirlwind of silks and satins, the air filled with the mingled scents of lavender and rosewater. The anticipation of Lady Danbury's ball had set the entire household abuzz, but here in Eloise's sanctuary, the excitement was tinged with the usual dose of skepticism and wit that characterized her friendship with Penelope Featherington.

Penelope sat at the vanity, her cheeks slightly flushed, as Sophie Beckett, her new lady's maid, deftly arranged her hair. Eloise lounged on the chaise, her own preparations momentarily set aside as she observed her friend with a critical yet affectionate eye. The rustle of taffeta and the occasional clink of hairpins punctuated their conversation.

Eloise shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the bodice of her gown. "Honestly, Pen, I sometimes think these gowns are designed to torture us. How are we supposed to enjoy ourselves when we can barely breathe?"

Penelope glanced at her, a sympathetic smile on her lips. "I know, Eloise. They can be quite restrictive."

"It's more than that," Eloise continued, her tone indignant. "I suspect that evening dress fashion is somehow meant to inhibit us, to keep us from relaxing and moving freely. I haven't quite figured out how yet, but there's something about it that feels like a deliberate constraint."

Penelope chuckled softly, but her eyes held a glimmer of agreement. "You may be right. But then again, what in society isn't designed to keep us in check?"

"Exactly," Eloise said, her frustration evident. "It's just another way to ensure we play our roles perfectly, without any room for deviation. Heaven forbid a woman feels comfortable and at ease at a social event."

"Are you nervous, Pen?" Eloise asked, a playful lilt in her voice, trying to steer the conversation away from her own grievances.

Penelope smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "A little, I suppose. It's always daunting, these grand events."

Eloise was about to reply when a soft knock interrupted them. Footman John entered, carrying some sealed parchment. "A letter for Miss Penelope.""

Penelope's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face as she took the letter. "Thank you, John," she said quietly. The footman bowed and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Eloise watched as Penelope broke the seal and read the letter, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. She could see the distress creeping into her friend's demeanor, though Penelope said nothing about the contents of the letter. Eloise waited, giving her the space to speak, but Penelope simply folded the letter and tucked it away without a word.

Assuming that Penelope did not wish to discuss it, Eloise refrained from asking. Instead, she shifted the conversation back to lighter matters. "So, what do you think Lady Whistledown will make of tonight's ball?" she asked, her tone conspiratorial.

Penelope's smile returned, albeit faintly. "I imagine she'll have quite a lot to say, given the guest list. There's bound to be no shortage of gossip."

Sophie, having finished with Penelope's hair, began helping her into her gown. The two friends continued their conversation, speaking in vague terms about their plans to gather gossip for Lady Whistledown. They were careful not to say anything too explicit in Sophie's presence.

"I wonder if that new family across the street will make an appearance tonight," Eloise mused, tugging at a ribbon on her own dress. "I heard they have a daughter on the mart."

Penelope's eyes flicked back toward her letter before she responded. In the mirror, she saw the mildest hint of a grimace cross her maid's face but did not comment. "I wouldn't be surprised if they did," she said instead. "The Queen often attends the opening ball, and with the interruption that occurred during the presentation, all the mama's will most likely be aiming for a better introduction."

Sophie stood back, admiring her handiwork as Penelope's gown settled perfectly into place, even though her smile was a little too composed to be completely genuine. "There you are, Miss Penelope. All ready for your ball."

"Thank you, Sophie," Penelope said, her voice warm with gratitude. "Could you please take this letter back to my room? I wouldn't want it to get lost in the excitement of the evening."

Sophie nodded, taking the letter from her outstretched hand. "Of course, Miss Penelope. I'll see to it right away."

With the maid gone, the room felt more intimate, and Eloise took the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Now, tell me, who do you think will cause the biggest scandal tonight? My money's on Lady Trowbridge and her notorious flirting."

Penelope laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. "Oh, undoubtedly. And I'm sure Lady Whistledown will have much to say about it."

Eloise leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Speaking of Lady Whistledown, we need a strategy for tonight. How can we ensure we gather the most gossip? We must be subtle, of course, but effective."

Penelope tilted her head thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should divide and conquer. I could stay near the refreshment tables—people always gossip when they think they're just chatting over a glass of punch."

"Brilliant," Eloise agreed. "Mama will be watching me like a hawk, so I will likely have to spend much of my time avoiding her. We can reconvene in the garden halfway through the evening to compare notes."

"And we mustn't forget to keep an eye on the Sharma's," Penelope added, her voice low. "I don't know all of the details yet, but there have been whispers about them. There's bound to be some interesting interactions around her."

"Absolutely," Eloise nodded. "We'll be vigilant. Remember, the key is to appear disinterested while actually listening intently. It's an art form, really."

Penelope laughed, "you instruct me as if you have already done this for a year instead of I!"

They shared a conspiratorial smile, the thrill of their secret goal adding a spark to their preparations.

As they continued their playful banter, the door opened again, and Sophie returned, her presence once more restoring the rhythm of their preparations. The ball awaited, promising a night of intrigue and spectacle, but for now, the camaraderie between the two friends offered a comforting reprieve from the pressures of the social season.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

The grand halls of Lady Danbury's estate were alive with the sounds of laughter, the rustle of silks and satins, and the glittering shimmer of candlelight. Penelope stood on Anthony's arm opposite the Dowager Viscountess, her heart beating like a hummingbird in her chest. It was, after all, her first major appearance in the ton since news of her family's financial disgrace, and even on the arm of a Bridgerton, she still felt a heavy mix of trepidation and excitement.

As they entered the ballroom, Violet, resplendent in her elegant gown, looked around with satisfaction etched in her smile. Eloise, by contrast, appeared much less comfortable as she sighed and fiddled with the fabric of her gown.

"Stop fussing with your dress. You look lovely, dear," Violet chided gently, a warm smile on her face.

"I look like a prize calf, trussed up for auction," Eloise retorted, grimacing in turn.

Benedict, ever the elder brother, mooed quietly in her ear, eliciting a disapproving look from his mother and quite the unladylike snort from Penelope — the sound of which appeared to give him an immense sense of satisfaction if the grin that split his face was any indication.

"Even Daphne felt most apprehensive at her first official ball, and look how well her season turned out," Violet tried to reassure Eloise.

Her daughter was having none of it, however, and became immediately distracted trying to look for an escape as a gentleman began his approach with eyes locked on her.

Violet chuckled again, patting her daughter's arm reassuringly, but Benedict, noticing Eloise's genuine discomfort, stepped in before their mother could stop them. "Come, Sister. The cakes at these occasions are surprisingly good."

Eloise shot him a grateful look as he led her towards the refreshment table, leaving Penelope and Violet with Anthony.

Penelope had initially planned to stay near the refreshment table to gather gossip, but with Eloise and Benedict now occupying that space, she immediately began looking for another spot. The ballroom was already filling with guests, the air buzzing with the anticipation of the evening's events, but there were quite a few plants and alcoves she could easily station herself. She would just need to find an excuse to detach herself from the Viscount and his mother first.

Anthony surveyed the room, a slight frown on his face. "It truly is a sparse crop," he muttered.

"Oh, I am sure there is someone here who will charm you. After all, this is the season the viscount intends to find a wife," Violet announced, her voice carrying just enough to attract the attention of several nearby ladies.

Anthony turned to his mother, incredulous. "You honestly just did that?" "I believe I did," Violet replied, her smile unwavering.

Immediately, a small crowd of hopeful young women and their mothers swarmed around them, eager to introduce themselves to the eligible viscount. Penelope, feeling overwhelmed by the sudden influx of people, was happy to have the excuse to quietly remove herself and slipped away.

As she moved through the throng, she spotted Lady Danbury in conversation with a group of distinguished guests. Penelope considered joining them but decided against it. She needed a quieter place where she could listen without being expected to contribute, and Lady Danbury — being close with Lady Bridgerton — would likely take it upon herself to draw Penelope into the discussion should she get caught in her orbit.

Instead, Penelope found a relatively secluded corner near a row of tall windows overlooking the gardens. From here, she had a good view of the ballroom and could observe the interactions without being in the thick of things. The chatter and laughter floated through the air, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and the strains of the string quartet.

Penelope's eyes scanned the room, picking up on the subtle dynamics at play. She watched as Eloise and Benedict navigated the refreshment table, Eloise still looking slightly disgruntled but more at ease with her brother by her side. Anthony was doing his best to remain courteous as he was introduced to a seemingly endless parade of young women, his mother's gentle prodding pushing him towards potential matches.

A soft murmur of voices drew Penelope's attention to a nearby alcove, where a group of matrons were deep in conversation. She recognized several prominent society figures among them and knew this was where the most valuable information could be gleaned. She moved closer, positioning herself discreetly so she could overhear without drawing attention to herself.

"Have you heard about Lady Gunningworth's sudden return to London?" one of the women asked, her voice low but animated.

"Indeed," another replied. "It seems she is quite determined to make a name for herself this season. Though one wonders if it's for her daughter's sake or her own after the death of two husbands."

"Speaking of newcomers, have you met the Sharmas? They've just arrived from India, and Lady Danbury has taken them under her wing."

"Yes, I heard their arrival has caused quite the stir. The youngest daughter, Miss Edwina Sharma, seems to be quite popular."

"Lady Danbury does have an eye for potential. It will be interesting to see how they adjust to London society after the scandal their mother left behind."

Penelope's ears perked up. Lady Araminta Gunningworth was the matriarch of the family who'd moved into her old home, and any information about her was valuable not only as gossip, but to fulfill her own morbid curiosity. And now the Sharmas, a new family from India, had entered the scene, adding even more intrigue. She made a mental note to follow up on these leads.

Just then, Eloise rejoined Penelope, her face a picture of exasperation. "Penelope, you would not believe the gentlemen I have encountered tonight," she began, her voice dripping with frustration. "One fellow tried to compare my eyes to the color of his horse's mane. Can you imagine?"

Penelope stifled a laugh, knowing her friend's disdain for such flowery compliments. "I suppose he thought it poetic?"

"Poetic? Ridiculous is more like it. And then there was the one who could not stop talking about his latest hunting trip. As if I care how many pheasants he shot last week!" Eloise continued, her irritation evident.

Penelope patted her friend's arm consolingly. "You'll get through it, Eloise, and you shall have me to keep you company in the meantime."

Eloise sighed. "Yes, I suppose that's something. But honestly, Penelope, I'd much rather stay at home with a good book. Or even a bad one."

Penelope laughed softly at Eloise's remark, understanding her friend's distaste for the societal charades, even if she did not completely agree. "We shall retire soon enough. Now, which debutante do you think your mother will push toward Anthony next?"

Capitol R Rake - Benedict

Chapter Notes

If you saw the original version of this chapter, no you didn't.

I realized after I posted that I hated the pacing and it felt super incredibly rushed, so I took it down and split it in half to write as two chapters instead.

The second half is still in the rewriting stage, so bear with me and it'll be posted soon!

-~-

After being viciously abandoned by his dear younger sister, Benedict felt an odd moment of uncertainty. While he was grateful for the brief respite from Eloise's grumbling, he was used to sharing his time dedicated to the ton in the company of his brothers. He glanced around the room, appreciative of the grandeur but oddly lonely. Colin was off gallivanting around the world while Anthony, in his quest for a wife, was right where Benedict would least like to be — surrounded by a pack of debutantes and mamas hunting for the most eligible bachelor.

When a young woman approached him, her steps confident and deliberate, he began to fear he might soon be subjected to the same.

"Good evening, Mr. Bridgerton," she greeted with a bright smile. He searched his mind for her face but could not seem to recall a match to anyone he might already have been acquainted with.

"Good evening, Miss...?"

"Rosamund Reiling."

Benedict returned her smile with a polite one of his own as his eyes involuntarily scanned the room, searching for the inevitable trailing mother in her wake. Surprisingly, there was none in sight. "Good evening, Miss Reiling. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"I've heard so much about your family," she continued, her tone overly enthusiastic, and he had to resist the urge to cringe. "It's wonderful to finally meet you. My family moved into the house across the street from yours, and we had a lovely visit the other day from the Viscountess following my recent debut."

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate a beautiful woman or the hoops women of gentle breeding had to jump through to navigate polite society, but he hated the facade of it all. It was why he gravitated towards the outskirts where he'd felt the first tendrils of genuine connection outside of his family form. He would be perfectly content getting to know a lady of the ton — someone like Penelope, or his sisters, or even a widow who was not constricted by the same expectations — if only he could find someone who did not lose themselves beneath the act.

"Ah, yes, I recall hearing about your family," Benedict replied, trying to keep the conversation light as his gaze continued to wander, seeking an escape.

"Indeed," Rosamund, seeming oblivious or stubborn, pressed on, leaning a little closer. "I will not lie, Mr. Bridgerton. I approached in the hopes of securing the next dance with you."

Benedict felt a wave of discomfort. He appreciated the honesty but was surprised at how forward the young woman was in her request. Were it one of Henry's parties, he wouldn't have thought twice about it, but with the eyes of the ton on them, it felt almost like a trap. While Rosamund was undoubtedly charming, he had no desire to lead her on or give any other chatty debutante the wrong idea that he was in search of a match. "I'm flattered, Miss Reiling, but I'm afraid I've already promised the next dance and will be otherwise occupied with my family for the remainder of the evening."

Miss Reiling's smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered. "Oh, perhaps another time then?" "Perhaps," Benedict agreed passively, offering a polite nod before swiftly making his exit.

He scanned the ballroom and spotted Penelope and Eloise standing together, deep in conversation. He sighed with relief, a plan immediately forming in his mind that would corroborate his excuse. Careful to avoid being caught up in any further conversation, he made his way over to the pair of young women.

Penelope was the first to see him, her head subtly tilting in his direction as soon as she noticed his approaching figure. It wasn't until she realized who it was that she turned fully to greet him, tugging at Eloise's arm to grab her attention as well, and Benedict found himself impressed by the maneuver — he did not doubt that her subtle assessment of his approach would have allowed her to feign not noticing him if he were someone she did not wish to engage with.

"Miss Featherington," he greeted her, not bothering with superficial pleasantries, which had the delightful side effect of his sister's gobsmacked face while he initially ignored her in favor of the redhead. "As my dearest sister's best friend," he continued with a grin, "you are obligated to indulge her most favorite brother by dancing with him, especially should he be in peril of being labeled a rogue and a liar if he does not find an appropriate partner for the next dance."

Penelope and Eloise exchanged amused glances. "Avoiding someone then, Benedict?" Eloise teased.

"Not at all," Benedict said with feigned innocence. "I simply could not very well resist the opportunity to be the first dance of the lovely Miss Featherington this season, for we all know I am a selfish cad, and I demand all the best boons for myself."

Penelope laughed, shaking her head in good-natured disbelief, and Benedict once again found himself struck by her — this time by the realization that she seemed much less tense than at previous balls. Even the curls of her hair seemed softer, though that might also be the work of this new maid of hers that he'd heard whispers of.

"Well, since you put it that way, Mr. Bridgerton," she said cheekily, "I suppose that I have no other option but to accept. I should not like to make a liar out of you, I suppose."

"I should," Eloise grumbled.

Benedict ignored his sister and offered Penelope his hand. Carefully, she laid her gloved palm over his, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor, her steps silent against the backdrop of chatter and musicians tuning their instruments for the next set. He did not know the set list for the night, but as they moved into position, he was pleasantly surprised to find it was not one of the more vigorous dances. He grinned at Penelope, who grinned back as the music began, and together they started to dance.

Capitol R Rake - Benedict

-~-

"You know," Penelope said with a wry smile that Benedict found himself easily returning in anticipation of whatever clever remark she was about to make. "Avoiding dancing with one young lady by dancing with yet another seems counterintuitive."

"I'm quite certain I have no idea what you could possibly mean," he teased, his smile turning into a tongue-touched grin.

While her moments of shining wit used to catch him off guard, they no longer surprised him as much. He supposed it was the natural side effect of knowing the youngest Featherington for years, even if they hadn't directly interacted much outside of their mutual relationships with Eloise before now. She did not make constant quips meant to alleviate as he did; rather, she traded frequency for a more honed twisting of words than his own, using her sharp tongue to call attention to something rather than away from it.

"I assure you, Miss Featherington," Benedict continued, weaving around her as the steps dictated and losing sight of her expression, "I am here purely for my enjoyment—and because I would much rather dance with a good friend than the hypothetical young lady in question, if I am to be honest."

Penelope chuckled, turning back toward him with an arched eyebrow. "Ah, so the truth comes out."

As they twirled around the floor, Penelope's gaze drifted past Benedict's tall frame, her forehead furrowing as she caught sight of something he couldn't quite see until they switched positions again —at which point he managed to locate a rather despondent-looking Albion Finch hovering at the edge of the crowd, his parents eagerly dragging him along to be introduced to every possible debutante within polite speaking range.

"Someone catch your eye?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Penelope did not bother with any pretense, for which he was grateful. "Mr. Finch seems rather downcast tonight," she observed. "My sister has been much the same since their engagement was broken off, but this is my first time seeing him since I arrived from the country."

"I didn't realize the engagement had ended," he commented, sweeping her under his arm in a slow spin. "That's unfortunate. He seems like a decent fellow, if a little single-minded about dairy."

"He is," Penelope agreed, her expression softening. His heart ached for the sadness in her eyes. "Philipa was heartbroken, but she's been trying to put on a brave face."

The dance slowed into a simple frontward-facing series of turns with their hands clasped together and held out to the side, allowing Benedict to take in her vision much more than he'd been able to all night. Perhaps it was the newer gowns his mother had arranged, much more suited to her than those her own mother had forced her into the previous season. Perhaps it was that she had Eloise by her side now. Whatever it was, despite her melancholy, Benedict found she seemed more settled and sure of herself than before, and he felt the barest urge to try and capture the curve of her smile or the sparkle of her eyes in a sketch.

They danced in comfortable silence for a few moments as he contemplated the change before speaking again. "It goes without saying, but you look lovely tonight, Penelope."

Her cheeks flushed a light pink, and he didn't realize at first that it was from an unpleasant kind of embarrassment. "Please do not mock me, Mr. Bridgerton."

"I am not mocking you," Benedict insisted gently, squeezing her hand to draw her full attention when she still didn't seem to believe him. He had to duck his head slightly, but he managed to catch her eye so he could reiterate, "I am being genuine."

Penelope looked back at him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity. It took a moment where they might have missed a step or two of the dance, but finding none, she smiled with a much more satisfying flush blooming across her cheeks. "Thank you."

As the final notes of the orchestra faded into silence, Benedict became acutely aware of the murmurs and sidelong glances from the other guests. Benedict's brows furrowed slightly in concern, while Penelope did her best to brush off the unwanted attention, focusing instead on remaining as composed as he was certain she'd trained herself to be when faced with the vitriol of the ton—he didn't quite know how to feel about the fact that she'd dealt with enough disdain to fall quite so easily into her protective mask.

From nearby, a snide comment cut through the din, just loud enough for them to catch. "He's only dancing with her out of pity because his family is extending a kindness, of course, considering her own family's financial ruin."

Penelope's smile faltered for a brief second, but she quickly composed herself, lifting her chin in defiance. Benedict, however, was not so easily placated. His expression darkened as he turned toward the source of the comment, his eyes narrowing. "I assure you, my dance with Miss Featherington had nothing to do with pity," he declared, his voice firm and carrying just enough authority to silence the whispers around them.

Penelope, sensing the tension, gently squeezed his arm in an attempt to calm him. "It's alright, Mr. Bridgerton. There is no need to make a scene on my account. It will just cause rumors and misinterpretation."

Benedict's jaw tightened as he fought the urge to argue further, but he recognized the embarrassment in her eyes, having just seen it moments before. With a deep breath, he forced himself to relax so as not to cause her any further discomfort. "Of course. My apologies."

They made their way back to Eloise, who was watching them with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "Well, that certainly caused a stir," she remarked.

"I'm sure it will be the talk of the town by morning," Penelope replied with a resigned sigh, exchanging a knowing look with Benedict's younger sister.

"Let them talk," Benedict said dismissively, his tone resolute. "I know the truth, and so do you." Penelope's expression softened into a grateful smile. "Thank you."

"It was my absolute pleasure," he replied with a warm smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go find another place to hide from the ladies of the ton, as I should think that asking for a second dance would not do much to quell the gossip."

Eloise and Penelope both laughed as Benedict walked away, the faintest whisper of a thought in the back of his mind asking if a second dance would really be such a bad thing.

He dismissed it immediately.

Capitol R Rake - John

Chapter Notes

In which plot finally reveals itself

-~-

John shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other. His eyes remained locked on the grand entrance of the Danbury estate, and though the opulence of the ball was palpable with the warm glow of chandeliers spilling out onto the steps and the steady stream of carriages arriving and departing, he was completely unable to relax enough to enjoy the atmosphere.

He had been instructed to wait away from the main walk with the extra Bridgerton carriage, a peculiar request from Eloise on any other day but one he was now used to and happy to oblige. After all, Penelope needed to make as discreet an exit as possible, as the reason he was there was to escort her to the printer under the cover of darkness before delivering her home and returning to the ball to gather the rest of the Bridgertons as if it were any normal evening out.

As he waited, John's attention was drawn to a commotion near the doorway. The newly returned Gunningworth Matriarch, Lady Araminta, descended the steps with her daughter, Rosamund, and a maid trailing behind her. Lady Gunningworth's voice was sharp as it pierced the night air.

"Rosamund, you should not have left my sight!" she chided, her tone clipped and severe. John could not help but note the irony in how she did not bother to look at the daughter in question as she delivered the rebuke.

Miss Rosamund's response was calm but firm. "I merely stepped away a moment to speak with that Bridgerton boy, mama."

Her mother pursed her lips in disapproval. "You should have approached the viscount. He is the heir, after all."

Miss Rosamund shook her head, but he couldn't quite make out her expression from the angle. It gave a clear picture of who they were, he thought, that they would speak so freely in front of the servants of other families among the ton. "In a family like that, the second son should do just fine, mother. Besides, it will be much easier to mould myself into the sole focus of the spare while the other women of the ton are fighting over the heir, do you not think?."

Their argument was interrupted when the maid stumbled on the uneven cobblestones. John instinctively burst forward to help her, his strong hands catching her arm and steadying her before she could fall.

"Thank you, sir," the maid murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked up at him with wide, grateful eyes, a wisp of brown hair dislodging from her simple bun, and John was struck by her pretty features, hidden beneath the unflattering uniform and her nervous demeanor.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentle.

She nodded quickly, pulling away as soon as she regained her balance. "Yes, thank you," she repeated, rushing to catch up with her mistresses who had not paused in their argument. While they did not seem to care for a mere servant, the Bridgerton's had always held respect for their staff and received respect in turn — as such, John was already planning to alert Lord Bridgerton about the apparent machinations against his brother.

Still, he watched the maid for a moment longer, feeling a pang of sympathy for the young woman before returning his attention to his duty.

Just then, he spotted Miss Penelope and Miss Eloise emerging from the ballroom. Penelope's eyes scanned the area, and when she saw John, a look of relief washed over her face.

"Eloise, thank you," Penelope whispered to her friend, squeezing her hand. "I won't be long."

"Take care, Pen. I shall distract the others so they do not note your absence. And should they, I shall tell them you were feeling the eyes of the ballroom a bit too keenly and decided to retire early," Eloise replied with a reassuring smile before heading back into the grand home.

Penelope hurried over to the carriage, and John helped her inside. "Miss Featherington, we must leave quickly," he said, glancing around to ensure they were not being watched.

"Thank you, John," she said as she settled into the seat before pausing. "While it is not uncommon for someone to leave an event early, it may draw more attention to use the same method for repeated escapes. The Bridgerton livery is quite notable, and we may need to find you more casual attire if you are to continue assisting me, as well as return to my previous method of utilizing hired hacks. It is more discreet."

John made a face but nodded. He did not like the idea, but the logic was sound. "Of course, Miss Featherington. I'll do whatever is necessary."

As the carriage pulled away, John thought back to the maid he had helped. The Gunningworths were currently staying in the Featheringtons' old house, and he couldn't help but feel a strange connection between the young maid and Penelope. Both seemed to be navigating their way through a world that did not fully appreciate them.

"Had you been waiting long, John?" Penelope asked, breaking the silence.

"Not too long, Miss," he replied, focusing back on the task at hand. "The streets should be quiet enough for us to reach the printer without incident."

Penelope nodded, clutching the small parcel containing her latest article. "Thank you again for your discretion, John. This means a great deal to me."

"As always, it is my pleasure to assist, Miss Featherington," he said earnestly.

They rode in silence for a while, the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels on the cobblestones providing a soothing backdrop to their thoughts. John, in particular, found his thoughts drifting back to the maid and the determined look in her eyes.

Those thoughts were interrupted by a sudden gasp before they could develop further. "John, stop the carriage," Penelope abruptly instructed.

He knocked on the roof, signally the driver to bring the carriage to a halt. "Is something wrong, Miss Featherington?"

Penelope shook her head, her mouth twisted in a grimace. "No, I just need to make a few last- minute changes to my article. There was an... unexpected occurrence tonight that would be odd not to mention."

John handed her a small lantern and a writing set that they'd previously hidden under the seats. "Take your time, Miss Featherington."

Penelope quickly opened her parcel, spreading out her papers on her lap. She wrote furiously, her quill scratching against the parchment as she added the new information. After a few moments, she looked up and nodded to John, looking mildly ill. "Finished. We may proceed."

Capitol R Rake - Eloise

-~-

The Bridgerton drawing room was charged with tension as Eloise avoided looking at the young Marquis who had come to call on her. She was not even sure why he, of all the men of the ton, was there. They'd not spoken the at Lady Danbury's ball, or ever, quite frankly, and where she was used to men trying to overpower and guide the conversation as though they were the only ones intelligent enough to take on the responsibility, he seemed particularly tongue tied. Eloise did not want to participate in the farce of courtship with anyone, but especially not him.

Sensing the strain, Penelope tried to keep the conversation going to dispel any awkwardness — she'd been doing so most of the visit, and Eloise was unsure whether to be grateful or annoyed at her friend.

"My lord," Penelope said demurely. "I understand you enjoy reading. Have you had the chance to explore Mrs. Burney's works? Her novels are quite popular."

The marquis, a young man with bright red curls, eagerly responded, "Indeed, I have. 'Evelina' was delightful. Her depiction of societal manners and the heart's intricacies is remarkable."

Her mother had also taken it upon herself to keep the conversation going. "Mrs. Burney has a keen insight into society, does she not? It's refreshing to see what we take for granted through an author's eyes."

Oblivious to the undercurrents, their guest continued chatting amiably. "It's fascinating how authors capture our society's essence, revealing both its grandeur and flaws. It's like a mirror, don't you think?"

"Indeed," Penelope replied. "Literature allows us to reflect on ourselves and aspire to something greater."

As the conversation continues to wander through various topics Gregory and Hyacinth entered the room, waving joyfully before settling on the floor away from the adults. Violet occasionally cast approving glances at Penelope, the pride in her eyes familiar to Eloise only in that she'd seen it so often aimed at her other siblings but rarely, she felt, her own direction. It filled Eloise's stomach with a surprisingly sharp and deep sense of discomfort.

"Some tea, my lord?" Her mother offered the marquis.

"Perhaps some warm milk would be better," Eloise couldn't help by mutter, her disdain barely concealed.

The marquis looked puzzled, not quite having heard what she'd said, but was distracted by a clatter on the wood across the room from where they sat.

"Oh! Are those marbles? How fun!" he exclaimed, catching sight her youngest siblings' activity and starting to rise as though to join them.

A child, Eloise scoffed in her mind.

Penelope quickly interjected, "Do you enjoy marbles, my lord? I never quite got the hang of it," she said smoothly, keeping him seated.

The marquis, intrigued by Penelope's interest, replied, "Yes, it was a favorite pastime during my school days. There's a strategy to it, though it may not seem so at first."

Eloise watched with irritation and disbelief. Why was Penelope engaging this boy? Could she not see Eloise's lack of interest? Eloise crossed her arms, making her disinterest clear.

"Is that so?" Penelope continued. "I suppose it requires a keen eye and steady hand. Did you play other games or sports?"

"Yes," the marquis said, warming to the topic. "I enjoyed fencing and cricket, but I've always preferred quieter pursuits like reading."

"Reading is a noble pastime," Penelope said.

Eloise's mind wandered. Her best friend was entertaining a suitor Eloise had no interest in, as if Penelope were the one being courted. Gregory and Hyacinth were absorbed in their game, oblivious to the social dynamics.

The marquis' conversation suddenly caught Eloise's attention.

"Speaking of intriguing stories," he said conspiratorially, "have you heard about the Sharma family? My mother gossiped that Mary Sharma left London under a scandal after marrying a man of ill breeding."

The Viscountess decided it was time to redirect, which disappointed Eloise, as that was the first interesting thing the Lord had said the entire call. "We all have our stories, my lord. But let's discuss something more pleasant. Have you—"

Taking advantage of the diversion, Eloise whispered to Penelope, "Why are you indulging him? You know I am not interested in this farce."

Penelope gave a firm but gentle look. "He is not an indecent suitor, El, merely young. Disinterest doesn't justify rudeness."

Eloise scoffed, her patience thin. "Rude or not, I can't endure this any longer. I'm going to the library," she announced, rising.

Violet's eyes showed clear disapproval. "Eloise, dearest, we have a guest."

"And Penelope is doing a wonderful job entertaining him," Eloise retorted. "I am not needed."

She made a swift exit before her mother could stop her, only pausing once she was out of sight In the hallway. She expected to hear Penelope following after a moment, but the conversation continued uninterrupted. Eloise's heart sank. She had expected solidarity, but Penelope stayed, engaging the marquis.

Confused and hurt, Eloise went instead to the privacy of her own bedroom so seek solace. It was instinct to settle into her favorite chair and grab the book she'd left on the side table to pretend at reading while her mind raced. Why had Penelope chosen to stay? Did she find the young lord interesting? No, that was impossible. Was she smoothing over Eloise's brusqueness? It was entirely possible either way, but it still felt strangely like a betrayal.

Replaying the scene in her mind, Eloise's emotions were a jumble. She had always counted on Penelope's understanding and support. Now, it seemed her friend had chosen to be the dutiful guest over the loyal confidante. Her thoughts swirled with a mix of anger and sadness. She wondered if this was a sign of things to come—was Penelope slowly becoming more aligned with society's expectations, leaving Eloise behind and feeling increasingly isolated? Eloise felt a knot tighten within her. If she did not have Penelope on her side in this battle against the cracked system of society then she had no one. The thought was an incredibly lonely one, and she did not want to entertain it.

Even if Penelope indulged now, Eloise could still rely on their plan to become spinsters together to heal her distress.

Capitol R Rake - Benedict

-~-

Benedict, after nearly half a day of trying to find somewhere quiet and uninvaded by either the staff or his siblings, had sequestered himself away in the library. The length of time it took to settle there was partially due to how long it had taken him to check, as he was truly surprised to find it empty of it's usual crowd women most appreciative of the treasures it held — namely Eloise, Francesca, and Penelope. That wasn't to say that Benedict didn't appreciate a good book himself, but as of late his appreciation had been less specific to the printed words contained in their pages.

Before him lay some such pile of well appreciated books that he was attempting desperately to instead capture with parchment and graphite, their worn covers and weathered spines presenting a challenge that his pencil seemed unwilling to meet. He had specifically chosen books of similar hues, hoping that the subtle differences would help him visualize and be able to capture the contrast more easily before moving on to practice with more varied colors. Yet, he found his frustration mounting as each stroke failed to capture the essence of the scene, the lines on the page refusing to align with the image in his mind or the sight in front of him.

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his increasingly tousled hair and thinking that perhaps a break would help clear his mind and grant him a fresh perspective. Setting his sketchbook and pencil aside, Benedict rose and instead began to browse the shelves for something simple to occupy his time and his mind with, fingers trailing lightly over the spines of countless volumes.

As he moved along each row, his thoughts drifted to his sister and her uncharacteristically sour mood over the last few days. It wasn't necessarily the mood itself that was unusual, for Eloise was particularly prone to a disgruntled temperament, but rather that Penelope did not seem to be the exception for her ire, as was typical when El could not stand the rest of them. She had always been spirited and independent, often challenging societal norms with her sharp wit and rebellious nature. Yet recently, she seemed more withdrawn, her usual spark dimmed. Benedict couldn't help but worry about her, wondering if she too was grappling with some inner turmoil or secret concern. The Bridgertons were a close-knit family, but among the elder of them, there were personal battles fought in silence — he dreaded the days that Hyacinth and Gregory lost the uninhibited reliance that youth afforded them, for the transition to adulthood could be a lonely one even in a family such as theirs.

As he continued to wander in a halfhearted attempt for distraction, his gaze happened to fall upon the writing desk in the corner of the room. There, amidst the neatly arranged parchment and quills, laid what looked to be a letter left behind by some forgetful soul. Curiosity piqued, Benedict approached and picked it up, intending to set it aside for the maid to return to its owner. However, his eyes caught Penelope's name at the top of the first page and he could not tear his eyes away.

It wasn't her name in particular that gave him pause, as he'd seen her both writing and reading received correspondence since she'd joined them, but rather the nagging familiarity of the distinct

lettering of the person who'd written her. It took a moment for recognition to dawn, but when it did, it struck him with the force of a physical blow. The handwriting was Colin's.

His brother Colin, who was known for his charming demeanor and easy wit, was writing to Penelope? Benedict's mind raced. He knew Colin and Penelope were friends, but he also was fully aware of the current precariousness of Penelope's reputation — for an unmarried man and woman to be corresponding privately was scandalous, a fact that could ruin Penelope's already narrow chances of securing a respectable match if it were to become known. The Bridgerton name might offer some protection, but even their influence had limits after everything that had already occurred.

Compelled by a mixture of concern and morbid curiosity, Benedict unfolded the letter completely and began to read. As he scanned the lines, his shock grew. Colin's words were warm and intimate, almost as though they were already courting. Yet Benedict knew for a fact they were not. The tone of the letter was filled with affection and subtle longing, emotions that could easily be misinterpreted—or perhaps they were not misinterpretations at all.

Benedict's thoughts swirled. Penelope, sweet and intelligent, must have been aware of the risk she was taking by engaging in such correspondence. Yet Colin, in his obliviousness to his own feelings, was leading her on, knowingly or not, and Benedict felt a surge of protectiveness for Penelope. He was offended on her behalf that his brother had so little regard for the potential effect of his words.

By the time he's finished reading, his agitation had rendered him incapable of returning to his sketching. His mind buzzed with the implications of what he had discovered. He needed an outlet for his restlessness, a way to channel his turbulent emotions. Making a swift decision, he headed for the drawing room in search of Anthony. Perhaps his older brother would be interested in a visit to Whites, or better yet, a few vigorous rounds of fencing.

As he strode through the corridors of Bridgerton House, Benedict's mind remained a tempest of conflicting emotions. He was just reaching the drawing room when he nearly collided with Madame Delacroix, the modiste who had become a familiar figure in their home. Behind her, through the partially open door, he caught sight of his mother and Eloise engaged in conversation with Penelope seated nearby.

It was quite serendipitous, as he couldn't help but think that perhaps Madame Delacroix might indeed be the perfect diversion from the tangled web of emotions and potential scandal that he had stumbled upon.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

Penelope sat awkwardly next to Eloise in the drawing room across from Lady Bridgerton. She hadn't contributed much to the conversation as Madame Delacroix displayed a variety of fabric samples from her swatch book, which was bursting at the seams with a curated collection gathered over the years. The conversation largely revolved around color and cut, but the occasional detour led to discussions about the upcoming Diamond Ball. Anthony sat nearby at the chessboard, pretending to read a newspaper but occasionally glancing their way when the topic returned. The room was otherwise the standard bustle of activity, as Hyacinth and Gregory entertained themselves in the opposite corner, their laughter adding a lively background to the conversation.

Penelope tried her best to focus on the fabric selection, as the Viscountess had once again insisted on including Penelope among those it was her responsibility to dress. Still, her mind kept wandering to the awkward whisper of tension that lingered between her and Eloise. She did not regret her choice, but she still felt the keen sting of Eloise's disappointment when she hadn't supported her in abandoning the young marquis to Lady Bridgerton. Though Eloise seemed less irritated now, Penelope couldn't shake the feeling that they hadn't actually resolved the issue. It had merely been set aside and ignored, like the other, admittedly few, disagreements they'd had over the course of their friendship.

Luckily, the book in her lap was as good an excuse as any to explain away her less-than-usual silence.

Violet's chuckle brought Penelope back to the present. "There. You see? Lady Goring was quite taken with Eloise's dress at the last ball, Madame Delacroix. She kept saying how well it complemented her complexion. She said you reminded her of Daphne, dearest."

Eloise rolled her eyes, barely paying attention to her mother's attempted positive reinforcement. "I am not Daphne."

Violet ignored the remark and pointed to a fabric sample. "This is the one."

Genevieve Delacroix, ever the professional, nodded as she began to pack up her sample book. "Ah. With pleasure, Lady Bridgerton," she said with a curtsy.

Violet thanked her quietly, then turned her attention back to her most rebellious daughter. "You do know, Eloise, that you might enjoy the next ball if you, in fact, danced with someone. Meeting new people can be thrilling."

Eloise's tone was dry. "Yes, it certainly seemed as though Anthony had a thrilling time. Swept away by many a nimble-footed young lady, Brother?"

Anthony glanced up from his newspaper once again. "I can still barely feel my toes. I thought you ladies were taught to dance."

Eloise retorted swiftly, "I thought you gentlemen capable of worthwhile conversation. How sad both of our hopes were dashed."

Surprising no one in the room, Hyacinth chimed in from where she was apparently beating Gregory at some kind of card game. "I think Eloise would make a brilliant diamond."

Anthony smiled indulgently at his youngest sister, and Penelope felt a pang of sadness as she considered that, in reality, their relationship was more akin to that of a father and daughter, given the circumstances of Hyacinth's birth and their father's death being so close together.

"I could not agree more, Hyacinth," he said with a smirk. "Perhaps Her Majesty will take note at her ball tomorrow night."

Eloise glared at him, her grip on a nearby couch pillow tightening as if preparing to throw it at him. "I despise you."

As the exchange wound down and Madame Delacroix made her way to the exit, Benedict entered the drawing room, momentarily blocking her path. Penelope watched as the two exchanged a few quiet words, noticing Benedict's mildly agitated expression before they started speaking and after. He then moved to join Anthony at the chessboard.

Penelope continued to quietly observe the brothers as they spoke, straining to hear their conversation but unable to make out the words at the distance between where she sat and the chessboard. Her curiosity was especially piqued when Benedict's voice began to rise, and she could finally understand what was being said.

"...until there are none left? Is Mother aware?"

Violet, looking concerned, asked, "Aware of what?"

Anthony stood abruptly, his relatively neutral mood from before now decidedly sour. "I'm off to deal with our solicitor. Have fun with your pretty pictures, Brother." He tossed the newspaper aside and stormed out, leaving Violet to follow him into the hallway while Eloise and Penelope remained with the other Bridgerton siblings.

Seizing the opportunity to further keep herself busy while Eloise was still semi-reluctant to entertain her, Penelope stood and walked over to grab the discarded newspaper, hoping to find a more reliable distraction. Benedict nodded at her in greeting, and after exchanging a few superficial pleasantries, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to know what's caused our dear Eloise's ire as of late, would you, Miss Featherington?"

Penelope, not wanting to delve into her strained relationship with Eloise, deflected. "Only so much as you would happen to know what's caused Anthony to storm off in such a huff."

Benedict laughed, recognizing her evasion but letting it go. "Fair enough. Have you had any callers thus far?"

Penelope felt her cheeks warm. "None, but I did not expect any. It is not so boring either way, as I have my hands full acting as hostess alongside Lady Bridgerton for the callers Eloise has had no interest in. Truth be told, I suspect she hopes one of them might take an interest in me, but mostly I just do not wish to be impolite."

Benedict's smile faded slightly, and he looked as though he was about to say something more but decided against it. He glanced over at Eloise, who was now examining a fabric sample with faux interest, her previous irritation hidden behind her obvious attempt at eavesdropping.

Penelope felt a pang of guilt. She wished she could find the courage to talk to Eloise about what had happened, but the fear of reigniting her friend's anger kept her silent. Instead, she focused on the newspaper in her hands, glancing at the words but not quite seeing them. Benedict waved a hand to indicate she should sit down beside him in Anthony's vacated chair, his own restlessness evident. "These social seasons seem to get more complicated each year, don't they?"

Penelope nodded, her eyes scanning the headlines. "Indeed they do."

The two sat in companionable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Penelope could feel the weight of unspoken words and unresolved issues hanging in the air. Eloise's unpredictable mood, her own insecurities about the lack of callers, and now the mystery of Benedict's odd glances—it all seemed too much to unravel in a single conversation.

Eventually, Benedict stood up, giving her a reassuring smile. "I should probably go see to my social obligations."

Penelope returned his smile, grateful for the momentary reprieve. "Good luck."

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the newspaper, hoping to find some solace in its familiar columns. The Diamond Ball loomed on the horizon, bringing with it the promise of new opportunities and the threat of fresh complications. Penelope could only hope that by then, she and Eloise would have found their way back to the easy camaraderie they usually shared.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

Penelope had never particularly liked mirrors. When one grew up in a home where their flaws were constantly pointed out and prodded at, it might become difficult to reconcile the image a mirror may reflect. Still, she liked to consider herself relatively well-adjusted, all things considered — it was just hard to still see the things her mother had despised about her appearance and wonder why no one around her now seemed to care — worse yet, why she still seemed to care despite the lack of criticism.

The mirror she faced now was highly ornate, something that she figured was appropriate for the opulent yet flattering gown she'd been gifted for the Queen's diamond ball. She tugged at the neckline, the dress a delicate shade of lavender that brought out the peachy undertones of her skin rather than washing out her complexion. The waist was slightly lower than was fashionable, but it seemed to suit her figure better than what society deemed best. She felt, for the first time, that she looked like a young woman rather than an awkward child. She only wished that her apparent transformation was to be witnessed by the one Bridgerton who'd yet to arrive home for the season.

She sighed inwardly and pushed her thoughts of Colin aside, as they would do nothing to help her now, and focused instead on the conversation she was having with Eloise.

"Have you ever truly considered what you could do with the Lady Whistledown funds?" Eloise asked, and from her tone, Penelope knew she would not have to provide an answer because it would be provided for her.

Penelope glanced over at her friend, lounging on the chaise. "Live freely, of course," Eloise continued, exactly as expected. "Can you imagine, Pen? We could be two independent spinsters traveling the world, writing, reading, and having not but a single care for the expectations of society."

Penelope smiled, though her heart was not fully in it. The idea of independence was appealing, but a significant part of her still longed for a life of marriage and family. She wanted to give what she had never been given, to care for another with her whole heart and be cared for in turn. "It does sound wonderful," she said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. "We could write about our adventures."

"Exactly!" Eloise's eyes sparkled with excitement. "We don't need husbands to define our worth. We can be happy on our own terms."

Penelope nodded, but her thoughts drifted back to Colin. They had been writing to each other for months, and his letters were a source of great joy and comfort to her. She had even begun to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he might see her as more than a friend. The latest letter had been particularly dear to her, filled with his travels and musings, and she cherished each word.

"Speaking of writing," Penelope said casually, glancing at Eloise. "Colin has mentioned in his letters that he has not received a response from you or anyone else besides Lady Bridgerton in months. Are you not returning his letters? I thought you adored your correspondence."

Eloise shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. "Why should I? He goes on and on about views and vistas. I should not think that there is much of interest to respond to. Besides, I am sure you keep him apprised of anything of note, and it would be dreadfully redundant for him to receive the same news twice, I should think."

Penelope felt a wave of both frustration and relief wash over her. Eloise's nonchalance about the letters eased her worries, though she couldn't shake the unsettling thought that it had less to do with Eloise's cavalier attitude about society's rules and more because of some deficiency on Penelope's part.

Suddenly, she was struck with a he realization that she had left Colin's most recent letter at the writing desk in the library — her pulse thundering in her ears at the thought of someone finding it.

"I just remembered, I left something in the library," Penelope said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Would you mind terribly if I sent Sophie to fetch it for me?"

"Not at all," Eloise replied, her attention already returning to the book that had been discarded at the start of their conversation. "What did you leave?"

"Just a letter," Penelope said lightly, hoping Eloise wouldn't press further. She rang for Sophie and quickly instructed her to retrieve the letter from the desk.

As Sophie departed, Penelope wished she could purchase a writing desk for her own room. It would be so much more convenient and private, but such an expense would be too obvious. Using the Lady Whistledown funds for personal luxuries would draw unwanted attention, and she couldn't risk anyone discovering her secret. She also felt uncomfortable reading or responding to Colin's letters in the presence of others, especially Eloise, who had a penchant for peeking over her shoulder.

The thought of asking the Bridgertons for a desk was even more unthinkable. It would not only be an imposition but would also make her writing habit that much more conspicuous. She sighed, resigned to the constraints of her current situation.

She looked over at Eloise, who was still glancing over the pages of her book, seemingly unaffected by the complexities that weighed on Penelope's mind. Penelope admired the ease with which Eloise dismissed societal norms, but it also made her feel isolated in her own yearnings. She hesitated, her heart heavy with the conflict between her loyalty to their shared vision of independence and her own dreams of love and companionship.

"Do you ever think about what might happen if one of us were actually to marry?" Penelope ventured, her voice softer now. The question had been gnawing at her, a hope she couldn't quite abandon, even at the risk of Eloise's dismissal.

Her friend laughed, setting her book aside again. "Marry? Why would we want to do that? We'd be much happier without husbands, Pen. Marriage is a cage, trapping women into lives of servitude and domesticity. We can be free, living our lives as we choose."

Penelope felt a pang of disappointment. "A match of convenience or an arrangement with a stranger, perhaps, but what if there was love? Someone who respects our independence and supports our dreams?"

Eloise shook her head, her expression resolute. "It's a fantasy, Pen. Men, even the best of them, cannot help but impose their will. We are better off relying on ourselves."

Penelope nodded slowly, though her heart ached. Eloise's words were harsh but were also the reminder she needed that what she longed for was not what society had to offer. At least it wasn't for women like her — in the back of her mind, she knew that between the two of them, Eloise was more likely to make a match, and her friend was dead set against marriage. That meant Penelope needed to come to terms with and accept her future, perhaps even find joy in it, for at least she would be with her dearest friend.

There was a quiet knock on the door and Sophie entered with the returned letter from Colin. Penelope took it with a grateful smile, but the weight of it felt different in this new reality. It represented a fantasy that Penelope thought might be doing her more harm than good.

"Thank you, Sophie."

The girl nodded, eyes a shade of somber that Penelope recognized, and she thought for a moment that perhaps she wasn't the only one learning to face a new reality.

Capitol R Rake - Benedict

-~-

Benedict had always found the tastes Benedict had always found the tastes of the queen to be a paradoxical blend of splendor and tedium; the Diamond Ball did not disappoint, so to speak, in how disappointingly unchanging it was on that matter. The opulence of the ballroom, with its gilded mirrors and glittering chandeliers, was meant to dazzle and impress. Yet for Benedict, the gilding and glamour felt more like a grandiose cage, trapping him in the superficialities of society. He couldn't help but inwardly roll his eyes at the excess of it all as he stepped into the room, trailing behind his mother, Eloise, and Penelope, who was escorted on the arm of Anthony.

"Is there anyone here you have not yet rejected?" he asked, casually walking up on Penelope's other side as his brother looked around at the women in the room with apparent frustration.

"You're the artist," Anthony responded, continuing to glance around with a critical eye. "Do you see anyone remotely inspiring? We shall have our diamond tonight, and then I shall have a wife."

Benedict smirked, his gaze shifting to Penelope, who silently listened to the viscount with an amused expression of her own. She looked radiant in her dress, the color accentuating her fair complexion and fiery hair. "You say that as if you do not have the loveliest woman in the room already on your arm," he teased, indicating Penelope with an unsubtle nod.

Anthony spluttered, clearly taken aback. "That is not— I did not mean—"

"Do not worry, my lord," Penelope interjected smoothly, her tone light and teasing. "Your brother clearly jests."

Benedict clutched his chest dramatically. "You wound me, Miss Featherington."

"A job well done on my part, then, I should think," Penelope replied with a tongue-touched smile.

Their playful exchange was interrupted as the family, specifically Eloise, was ushered forward for her introduction to Queen Charlotte. Benedict watched from where he remained beside Penelope with a mixture of amusement and apprehension. Eloise was not known for her adherence to social conventions, and he could only hope she wouldn't cause too much of a stir.

"Lady Bridgerton. Miss Bridgerton. Such a shame your presentation at court was so rudely interrupted," the queen remarked, her tone both imperious and faintly amused.

His mother inclined her head gracefully. "Shame, indeed."

Queen Charlotte's eyes twinkled as she addressed Eloise. "I nearly forgot you were making your debut this season. After your elder sister's triumph, perhaps good fortune might run in the family."

Eloise's laughter was awkward, but she managed to respond with a semblance of composure. "Uh, it is a delightful ball, Your Majesty. Very diamond-y." She chuckled nervously. "Though, I must admit, I am more of an emerald person myself."

To Benedict's surprise, the queen laughed heartily. "Oh, dear! My favorite necklace is one of emeralds. How thoughtful of you to know that."

His sister's relief was palpable. "Oh." She chuckled again, more naturally this time.

"It seems you have indeed come a long way since last year, Miss Bridgerton," the queen continued, her tone approving. Then the queen turned her attention to Penelope, eyes sharp despite the crows' feet gathering at the corners. "And you, Miss Featherington. How brave you must be to return to society, as I see none of the rest of your family has, and to be escorted in by the viscount himself, no less."

Penelope, smart girl that she was, curtsied deeply. "Your Majesty. It is no bravery of mine, but rather the generosity of the Bridgertons. I am grateful for their kindness and your grace."

"Indeed," the queen said, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her wrist, and Benedict released a tight breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

As the family moved away, he leaned in close to Anthony. "If the queen, in fact, names Eloise the diamond, whom will you marry then, brother?"

Anthony's eyes narrowed. "Hush, you."

Penelope, much to Benedict's delight, joined in the teasing banter against his brother by chiming in, "Even if we were so royal as to engage in such a practice, do you truly believe Eloise, who holds derision for even love matches, would ever consider accepting a suit from someone such as Anthony?"

Benedict laughed heartily, absolutely caught off guard by her quip. "Penelope!" he exclaimed, though not loud enough to draw more attention from around them than they already had. If the flush on her cheeks was any indication, she did not quite think through her words before speaking, but, oh, Benedict now had an inclination toward hearing more of her unfiltered thoughts.

Anthony's expression, however, was a classic mix of frustration and amusement. "A young lady should not be engaging in such scandalous conversation at the queen's ball."

Penelope's eyes sparkled with mischief, despite the embarrassment staining her cheeks. "Is that more or less scandalous than the use of a young lady's Christian name at the same event?"

Anthony was a stickler for propriety, and Benedict did not need the glare aimed his way as a reminder, but the fact that he'd been equally as casual in conversation with Penelope was a sign of just how much he already considered her a part of the family.

Still, it was a decidedly friendly casualness and Benedict's mind momentarily twisted back to his other brother's less appropriately casual correspondence with the very same woman, nearly missing the instructions that Anthony directed toward him.

"You are a bad influence, brother. Go find your entertainment elsewhere before you draw unwanted attention."

He didn't argue, and as Benedict walked away with a shrug and a laugh, he could hear Penelope's laughter trailing after him. "I do believe you'll find that Eloise is largely at fault for whatever influence I've succumbed to, Lord Bridgerton."

Benedict mingled for a while, engaging in polite conversation and exchanging pleasantries with various members of the ton while trying to ignore the distinct feeling of missing out as he watched the redhead continue to chat with his brother. His mind, however, kept drifting back to Penelope. There was something about her tonight—her confidence, her wit—that made her stand out in a way

she never seemed to before. He'd witnessed it with her interactions with Eloise and sometimes Colin, but to see her comfortable enough to now share her wit with the rest of the family was a delight.

It was as though he was seeing her for the first time, not just as a fixture in the Bridgerton household, but as a vibrant and captivating woman. He had known before that Colin was drawn to her, whether his younger brother realized it or not, but now Benedict understood what it was to be drawn in.

He felt a pang of something—jealousy, perhaps?—as he watched her smile and laugh, wishing he were the one making her laugh instead. The realization startled him. He shook his head slightly, trying to focus on the conversation at hand. He admired beauty in all forms, and he could acknowledge his unexpected attraction without feeding it into something further. Attraction, after all, did not equate to an attachment, otherwise he'd be courting half the men and women of the ton.

Eventually, while slipping away from a trio of overeager debutantes, he found himself in the unexpected company of Henry and Lucy Granville. A sense of relief washed over him at the sight of familiar, friendly faces.

"Henry, Lucy," he greeted them warmly. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"Ah, even those of us who prefer entertaining in a less formal setting would not dare insult the queen by missing a ball she herself is hosting," Henry replied with a wry smile. "Besides, it is always a lark to behold the spectacle of it all. And you, Benedict? We have not seen much of you as of late. How fares the life of our favorite Bridgerton?"

Benedict chuckled, feeling a bit more at ease. Yet, his previous inclination turned into an idea as he glanced back over at Penelope, who was quietly escaping his mother and brother as a swarm of ladies and their mamas engulfed them. "As diverting as ever. Though I do have a small favor to ask of you both."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

"As I'm sure you've heard, my family is hosting Miss Featherington this season, and I was hoping you might help me get her onto the dance floor. She seems to be in need of some encouragement."

Henry followed Benedict's gaze, a knowing smile forming on his lips. "Ah, the lovely Miss Featherington. She certainly seems set to blossom this season. How kind of you to be so invested in her evening's enjoyment."

Lucy exchanged a glance with her husband, her expression thoughtful. "Very well, Benedict. We shall assist you in your noble endeavor. But do tell us, is there more to this than mere hospitality?"

Benedict's smile was enigmatic, as he'd rather deflect and have them think he was keen on the woman than admit his worries about his younger brother courting scandal instead of just courting her as he should. Attraction did not mean an attachment, he reminded himself.

"You know me, Lucy," he said. "Always eager to ensure everyone has a good time."

With their agreement secured, Benedict felt a sense of satisfaction. The Granvilles were known for their ability to draw even the most reluctant of wallflowers into the heart of the dance floor. He was confident that with their help, Penelope would soon be enjoying herself.

As he watched them begin to formulate a plan, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation. There was something about the idea of seeing her happy, seeing her truly enjoying herself, that made him feel a sense of fulfillment. Perhaps it was simply the joy of seeing a friend content. Or perhaps, it was something more — something that he could tell himself for now was just familial.

Tonight he would focus on the task at hand. This evening was about ensuring that Penelope, their dear family friend, and his sister began the season as they deserved. That mean he would help his sister hide and he would make sure Penelope got to dance.

As he watched redhead glance up and meet his gaze for a brief moment, he felt a flutter of something exciting.

Capitol R Rake - Penelope

-~-

Penelope had only narrowly escaped the horde of newly minted debutantes and their eager mamas after Lady Bridgerton had loudly announced Anthony's intent to find a wife. The Viscount in question had been momentarily reluctant to release her from his arm, likely intending to use her as a shield against the rabid pack of ladies, but a well-placed and well-timed pinch at the crook of his elbow ensured her freedom.

That was how she found herself standing against the ornate wall of the grand ballroom with a sigh of relief, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the lace of her gloves. She watched the swirl of colors and lights, the glittering gowns, and the dashing gentlemen moving in perfect harmony to the music. Though the ball was in full swing, she felt strangely detached, as if she were merely an observer of some grand play. Usually, she did not mind being such, but the memories of her unexpected dance at the previous ball were still fresh on her mind.

"Pen! Pen! Pen, Pen. Pen," Eloise Bridgerton's urgent voice cut through the din of the ballroom, pulling Penelope from her moping.

She turned to find her friend breathless and flushed, standing before her. "Eloise, you must calm down," Penelope said gently, reaching out to steady her.

Eloise's eyes were wide with a mixture of excitement and confusion. "The queen, she... I somehow managed to charm her. She seems to, in fact, like me. I don't..."

Before Eloise could finish her sentence or Penelope could remind her that she'd, in fact, been present for the exchange with the Queen, Cressida Cowper glided over as though a lioness having spotted a gazelle on the Sahara, her eyes glinting with their usual malice. "Eloise Bridgerton," she said with a mocking chuckle, "the diamond. Perhaps now you might stop spending time with insipid wallflowers all evening and refine your circle of friends. I may have an opening..."

Penelope sighed, feeling the familiar sting of Cressida's barbs. She had every intention of quietly accepting the insults until the bully found a more entertaining target, but Eloise shot back a vicious, "I would rather die."

Cressida's eyes narrowed, but before the tension could escalate further, Lord Lumley unexpectedly approached. Penelope wasn't sure if she should breathe a sigh of relief or prepare a swift escape — it all rather depended on if he was there to ask Cressida or Eloise to the dance floor. Surprising everyone, he instead bowed slightly in Penelope's direction.

"Miss Featherington," he greeted her, and the entire group froze with surprise. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

Penelope blinked, feeling her heart flutter. "O-of course, my lord," she replied after probably a moment too long, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

As they began a quadrille, she felt a mixture of nervousness and exhilaration. Lord Lumley was a skilled dancer, certainly, and he did not seem to shy away from casual conversation when the dance allowed. Penelope was largely just confused as to how she'd ended up dancing with the man in the first place. For a few moments, though, she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of being twirled gracefully around the room.

She'd just barely returned to Eloise's side from her dance with Lord Lumley when another gentleman approached, and then another. Penelope found herself swept up in a series of dances, her cheeks flushed and her heart light. She was confused but giddy. None of the gentlemen seemed particularly bothered by her family's reputation, for they absolutely had to have been aware of it in a ballroom such as this, nor did they hold themselves awkwardly or speak stiltedly as the usual pity dances entailed.

It was when Benedict Bridgerton finally approached that she got an inkling of what machinations were afoot, but she could not find herself upset at the interference as she felt a rush of warmth at the sight of his familiar, kind face.

"Miss Featherington," Benedict said with a charming smile, "may I have this dance?"

Penelope nodded eagerly, her heart skipping a beat as she took his hand. He'd intersected her path before she could make it back to the increasingly annoyed Eloise, and as they moved across the dance floor, she couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and ease in his presence.

"Hopefully your evening has been quite well," Benedict said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Penelope's return smile was wry. "I suspect you already know the answer to that, Mr. Bridgerton, but I shall let you keep your dignity by not revealing your secret tender heart."

Benedict chuckled softly. "Hopefully, my sister hasn't been too irritated by the interruptions to whatever your devious plans were for the evening. She should not be forced into participating, but you deserve the kind of night you would like as well."

She felt a slight pang of guilt. She knew in the more logical parts of her mind that he was correct, but she still felt bad for abandoning her friend. Surely, if Lord Lumley hadn't appeared, the pair would have absconded off to the garden for a while and only returned once Penelope reminded Eloise that she was needed in the ballroom to gather information for her column. Still, were it not for the sight of her friend's glum face in between each dance, she would have said without hesitation that this was the best night she'd had since the start of her debut.

Penelope sighed with an overdramatic flare, glancing around the room. "Well, dancing can be amusing, I suppose."

"Then I shall endeavor to make sure your dance card is full every event."

Penelope shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "It is not so bad, being on the edge of the dance floor. I always get the first glass of lemonade. I know already who all the best dancers are just from watching. I can always tell when a suitor is serious about courtship just by how he looks when a young lady dances with another. The wall even affords me the chance to hear what the footmen say in secret. I do not have to worry about tripping over my feet, or someone like Cressida laughing at the style of my dress, or whether the gentleman dancing with me is only doing so out of pity."

Benedict's expression softened. "Pen—"

"The truth of it is that no one truly notices me," Penelope continued, her voice soft. "I suppose that is what I like. When you're invisible, you have all the amusement you want without any of the expectations popularity brings."

As the music swelled around them, Penelope felt a bittersweet pang in her chest. She knew that Benedict, with his kind eyes and gentle manner, would not laugh at her confession the way a few others might. But she also knew that their worlds as a man and woman — or even as a Bridgerton and Featherington — were vastly different, and that moments like these were fleeting.

"Penelope," Benedict said quietly, "you are far from invisible. And anyone who fails to see that is a fool."

Penelope looked up at him, her heart aching with a mixture of gratitude and longing. "Thank you," she said softly.

The dance continued, the music weaving a tapestry of unspoken words between them. As the final notes played, Penelope found herself wishing that the night would never end. But she knew that all too soon, the magic would fade, and she would return to her place on the edge of the ballroom, watching from the shadows.

For now, though, she allowed herself to bask in the moment, savoring the warmth of Benedict's hand in hers and the gentle smile on his lips. As they came to a stop, he bowed gracefully, and she curtsied, her heart full.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Featherington," Benedict said, his voice tinged with genuine warmth.

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton," Penelope replied, her smile matching his.

As they parted ways, Penelope felt a renewed sense of hope and strength. Though she might be a wallflower, she knew that she had the power to create her own happiness, to find joy in the little moments, and to cherish the connections she had with those who truly saw her.

And as the night continued, she promised herself that she would hold onto that feeling, no matter what the future held.

Capitol R Rake - Eloise

Chapter Notes

With this chapter we are through episode 1! We've reached a good place to rest, and updates for this fic will be temporarily paused while I finish up one of my shorter in progress fics. Then it's back to regularly scheduled programming!

-~-

If there was one thing that Eloise despised more than being paraded around before the facetious eyes of the ton, it was the fact that her brothers did not appear to be as keenly aware of such things as they might have been if they were born women. The ballroom glittered with an opulence that only the finest of the ton could muster. Chandeliers hung heavy with crystal, casting refracted rainbows across the marble floor. It was stifling and awful, and her only consolation leading up to the evening was that fact that she would have the company of her dear friend to keep her from throwing herself from the balcony.

At least, that is what she had expected. The reality was that her brothers had stolen away her only solace — first Anthony by acting as Penelope's attentive escort instead of letting her and Eloise abscond off together, then Benedict by apparently using his roguish connections to keep her redheaded friend on the dance floor rather than at Eloise's side.

Once the devil himself had finally returned Penelope where she belonged, Eloise was finally able to share all of the tidbits of gossip she'd been gathering while the other woman had been swept away on the dance floor. Penelope listened attentively, occasionally interjecting with her own observations that reinforced what Eloise had found, and Eloise noted with pleasant surprise that seemed so much more at home now than in years past, her nervous energy transforming into a genuine enthusiasm. She wondered if she herself would ever find such joy in these gatherings, but dismissed it. She would hold no grudge against her best friend for engaging in a full night on the dance floor if it meant she did not have to suffer the same.

Their conversation was interrupted as the murmurs around the room grew louder. Queen Charlotte, resplendent as usual in her regal attire and elaborately styled hair pieces, took her place at the head of the room.

"Your presence is noted," she announced. "And your queen most appreciative. Allow it to now be my honor to present to you the season's diamond. Miss Edwina Sharma."

Gasps and mutters rippled through the crowd as the young woman stepped forward, her beauty and grace undeniable. Eloise observed the reactions with a detached curiosity, her mind already drifting to other matters — she was interested in the mysterious Sharma family, as many were, but she could learn just as well about them after the inevitable swarming of gentleman to Miss Edwina.

She caught sight of her brother, Benedict, standing beside Anthony. Benedict's artistic temperament made him a more interesting companion at these events, but she wondered what his motives were

for the evening. She had been and continued to be torn between irritation and amusement at Penelope's continued departure to dance, understanding that her friend needed to seize the opportunities that had been denied to her last season.

That did not make the bubbling of abandonment sting any less.

Benedict's voice, soft but clear, reached her ears as he spoke to their brother, Anthony. "You look at her the way I look at a finished painting, Brother."

Anthony's response was equally contemplative. "Every man needs a muse, does he not?"

Eloise stifled a laugh. The notion of Anthony, ever the pragmatist, waxing poetic about a muse was absurdly out of character. Yet, here he was, evidently with his sights narrowly set on Miss Edwina. Any further contemplation on the matter interrupted by Queen Charlotte's imperious voice as Anthony marked forward to greet the debutant with their mother in tow and Eloise close behind with Penelope.

"Viscount Bridgerton. Have you yet met my new incomparable?" Her Majesty asked.

Anthony bowed. "I am most grateful for the introduction, Your Majesty. I only hope I shall be afforded the pleasure of a dance."

Eloise's eyes flitted to Penelope and raised an eyebrow as their gazes met, Penelope just shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. Eloise knew her friend was noting Anthony's attentions for Edwina, just as she was, but they'd both heard his declarations for weeks, and knew that it likely wasn't a sudden deep-forming attachment.

"Well?" Eloise whispered to her partner in crime.

Penelope glanced toward the dance floor where Anthony had just swept Edwina off for a dance of their own. "She is every bit as graceful as they say, but..." She hesitated.

"But what?"

"Did you see her sister?" Penelope's eyes flicked to the edge of the room, where the elder Kate Sharma stood, her expression one of barely concealed disapproval.

Eloise nodded. "Yes, I did. She did not seem pleased with our brother's attentions to her sister."

Penelope bit her lip, her brow furrowing. "It's more than displeasure, Eloise. She looks as though preparing to pounce in at any moment, as if she doesn't trust Anthony."

Eloise tilted her head, contemplating Penelope's observation. "You might be right. There is certainly an air of protectiveness about her."

Penelope sighed softly. "And can you blame her? The gossip about your brother's past indiscretions is hardly a secret. She might see him as a threat to her sister's virtue."

Eloise felt a pang of defensiveness for her brother but couldn't entirely dismiss Penelope's point. Anthony had indeed been a rake, but he was also capable of great loyalty and honor. "Perhaps she doesn't know the full story. Anthony is serious about finding a wife this season."

Penelope nodded slowly. "True, but convincing her of that will be another matter entirely."

The pair looked over as they suddenly heard the diamond, Edwina, exclaim,"Here she is now. Kate!"

Lady Danbury, who had been observing the scene with keen interest, approached. "Ah, Lord Bridgerton. I see you've met Miss Edwina. This is..."

"Her sister," Anthony supplied, his eyes settling on Kate.

"Miss Sharma, my lord," Kate corrected, her tone cool and measured.

Anthony's gaze lingered on Kate, taking in her resolute stance and the fire in her eyes. "Miss Sharma," he repeated, with a slight bow. The formality of his gesture seemed almost a challenge, as if he recognized a worthy adversary in her.

Edwina, apparently the peacemaker, intervened. "The Viscount Bridgerton is a most excellent dancer. Perhaps I may learn a thing or two from you, my lord."

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly. "Would you join me in the retiring room, Sister?"

Without waiting for a response, she took Edwina's arm and led her away. Eloise watched them go, her mind whirring. There was more to this story, she was sure of it.

Their mother appeared at Anthony's side seemingly out of nowhere. "She is a lovely diamond, dearest."

Anthony's response was immediate and resolute. "Indeed. She is who I shall marry."

Eloise's eyebrows shot up. It was one thing to admire a lady, quite another to declare one's intention to marry so publicly and so seen. She exchanged a glance with Penelope, who looked equally surprised. Anthony's determination was unmistakable, but Eloise wondered how much of it was duty and how much of it was sheer stubbornness.

Penelope's voice broke through her thoughts. "Do you think he truly means it?"

Eloise considered for a moment. "With Anthony, it is hard to tell. He is a man of duty as much as he is of desire."

"And the sister?"

Eloise smiled wryly. "She will be a formidable obstacle, I'm sure. She clearly has her sister's best interests at heart, and I doubt she will be easily swayed by Anthony's charms."

Penelope nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It will be an interesting season."

Eloise couldn't help but agree. The dynamics at play promised a season rife with intrigue and drama. She just hoped that amidst all the maneuvering and matchmaking, her family would remain intact. The Bridgertons were no strangers to scandal, but Eloise hoped they could avoid any major upheavals this time.

The night wore on as it was want to do, and Eloise found herself drawn to the periphery of the room, seeking solace from the cacophony of the ballroom in an apparent bid to become a wallflower herself. Penelope joined her, the two of them finding comfort in their shared silence. They watched as Anthony continued to dance, his focus unwavering on Edwina even as he took other partners to the floor while Kate watched from a distance, her protective gaze never faltering.

Eloise turned to Penelope. "Promise me one thing." "What is it?"

"Whatever happens this season, we will remain true to ourselves. No matter the pressures or expectations."

Penelope's smile was reassuring, her eyes full of soft affection. "Of course I promise, El."

The season ahead would be a test, not just for her family, but for her own resolve. And she intended to face it head-on, with Penelope by her side.

Off To The Races - Violet

Chapter Notes

And we're back! After a pirate themed interlude, it's time to continue this beast!

I think that I'm going to maintain a similar rhythm and work on smaller AU fics in between episodes, but we have at least 19 chapters in my outline for this fic before that break (and that's not counting if I decide to add anything else into what I've already outlined).

Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently! Without further ado~

-~-

Violet took a long sip of her tea, savoring the delicate blend of spices and herbs that Lady Danbury's cook had prepared — Lady Mary's influence, no doubt. The Danbury house was always a place of warmth and good company, a sanctuary where one could escape the pressures of the ton, if only for a short while. Violet found herself particularly grateful for the visit after the events of the Queen's Ball, as already the season had begun to whirl into its usual frenzy.

Lady Danbury, ever sharp-eyed, leaned back in her chair with a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It seems that I may be seeing the Viscount here during the calling hour sometime soon?"

Violet nodded, setting her cup down. "Indeed. I must say, He was quite impressed with the younger Miss Sharma. She carries herself with a grace beyond her years. And Kate—well, she seems formidable in her own right. Lady Mary has raised them well."

"Formidable is one word for it," Lady Danbury chuckled. "That young woman thought I wouldn't notice one of my horses missing for a morning ride. I admit, I am quite looking forward to her reaction when she learns I am aware of all the goes on under my roof."

Violet laughed good-naturedly before settling into a quiet, fond smile. "Anthony, too, enjoys riding in the mornings. It's something he inherited from his father, I think. Edmund always found solace in those early mornings, a moment of peace before the day's responsibilities set in."

Lady Danbury's gaze softened. "I suspect it's the same for Kate. There's something about the quiet of the dawn that draws in those more burdened souls."

The conversation drifted for a moment, both women lost in their thoughts. Then, Violet's expression brightened as she considered another young lady who had become a central figure in her family's life this season.

"Of course, there is also Penelope we must consider," Violet began, her voice warm with affection. "I've noticed," Violet began, her voice measured as she adjusted her teacup. "The young Marquis of Ashdown has shown an inclination toward conversation with her. He's called on Eloise several times now, but each time he shows more interest in Miss Featherington instead than the last."

Lady Danbury's eyebrows shot up, her expression curious. "The Marquis of Ashdown? Now that is intriguing. I wasn't aware he had shown any particular preference thus far this season."

"It's subtle," Violet admitted. "Perhaps a mere youth's infatuation, but I've seen it. There's a quiet attentiveness in the way he engages in conversation with her, though admittedly she seems to handle the burden of navigating its topics. Were it not for her redirection, I'm certain he would have ended up on the floor with Hyacinth and Gregory the other day."

Lady Danbury leaned back in her chair, considering this new piece of information. "That could be promising for Miss Featherington... or perhaps not. His family is rather particular about alliances. The Featherington name, with all its recent scandals, might prove to be an insurmountable deterrent."

"That is my concern as well," Violet sighed. "While she has the added support of the Bridgerton name behind her this season, it's difficult to escape the shadow of her family's recent past. I fear it may be too much for a young, influenceable man like Lord Prout to overcome, especially if his family has a say in the matter."

"True," Lady Danbury agreed, her tone contemplative. "The ton is not always kind to those with blemished reputations, no matter how undeserved. Still, the heart can be a stubborn thing. If his interest in Penelope is genuine, he may yet find a way to reconcile it."

Violet smiled wistfully. "I hope so. Penelope deserves a love who sees her for who she truly is, beyond her unfortunate circumstances."

"Don't we all?" Lady Danbury quipped with a grin before continuing more firmly than before . "But we must be realistic, Violet. This season will test her, as it will test all of us. We can only offer our support to those most affected — those still on the marriage mart."

Violet nodded, the weight of the upcoming season pressing on her once more. "You're right, of course. We can only do so much. The rest— well, it's in the hands of fate now, I suppose." She paused. "You know, despite the unusual circumstances that led to her staying with us, I'm truly glad she and Eloise have each other's support, especially with it being Eloise's first season. Penelope has integrated herself into our home so well — better than I expected, if I am to be honest."

Lady Danbury raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprised, Violet. Surely, you didn't think she would be out of place. That girl had always spent more time under your roof than her own."

"Not out of place," Violet clarified, "but perhaps more reserved with the rest of the family. She has been a dear friend to Eloise for so long that I thought they would remain quite fully arm-in-arm his season, a pair unto themselves, but Penelope seems to have also found her footing with Fran, Hyacinth, Gregory — even Benedict and Anthony. Not that any of us would have excluded her, but there's been... tension between her and Eloise, of late."

"Ah," Lady Danbury nodded, as if everything suddenly made sense. "Perhaps that closeness is shining a light on the differences in each of them, differences that friendship kept at a distance might have allowed to remain covered."

Violet considered this, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "You may be right, Agatha. Eloise has always been headstrong, determined to forge her own path, often at the expense of fitting in with society's expectations. Penelope, on the other hand, has been more inclined to observe quietly, less likely to push against even the illest fitting gown, so to speak. I wonder if living under the same roof has caused them to clash in ways they hadn't before."

"Proximity can do that," Lady Danbury agreed. "It's one thing to meet occasionally and share confidences, another entirely to live in each other's pockets, day in and day out."

Violet sighed, a touch of worry creeping into her voice. "I do hope they find their balance again. They're so dear to each other. It would break my heart to see their friendship suffer."

"They'll find their way," Lady Danbury assured her, her tone firm. "But what of the other families in the ton? I hear the Gunningworths have taken up residence in Penelope's old home."

"Yes," Violet said, her lips tightening slightly. "The oldest daughter, Miss Rosamund Reiling made quite the spectacle at the Queen's ball, approaching Benedict without so much as a maid in tow, let alone her mother, to make the introduction. It was quite bold, to say the least."

Lady Danbury wasn't surprised. "Araminta was much the same at that age. She always had a knack for skirting the boundaries of propriety, just enough to catch the eye without causing a scandal. It seems her daughter has inherited that particular talent."

Violet hummed in discontentment. "It's one thing to be bold, but there's a certain decorum one must maintain. I'm not sure how the rest of the season will unfold for her, but I suspect she won't be lacking in determination."

"Determination can be a double-edged sword," Lady Danbury remarked, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "It can cut through obstacles, but it can also cut one's own path to ruin if not wielded carefully."

Both woman nodded in agreement, and a comfortable silence settled between them as they sipped their tea as they separately contemplating the season ahead. Finally, Violet spoke again, her voice filled with the trepidation she felt deep within.

"This season feels different, Agatha. There are so many new faces, new dynamics at play. I can't shake the feeling that it will be a challenging one, for all of us."

Lady Danbury reached out, placing a reassuring hand on Violet's arm. "We've faced challenging seasons before, Violet, and we've come through them stronger and with quite the matches made, I should thing. This one will be no different. We'll support each other, as we always have."

Violet smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Thank you, Agatha. Your friendship means the world to me."

"And yours to me, Violet," Lady Danbury replied, a rare softness in her tone. "Now, let's finish our tea before the rest of the world comes knocking at our doors. We'll need all the strength we can muster to face what's to come."

With that, the two women returned to their cups, the bond between them as strong as ever, ready to face whatever challenges the season might bring.

Off To The Races - Benedict

-~-

Benedict sat in the drawing room, pencil in hand, absently sketching the figures of Francesca and Penelope on the sofa across from him. His mother sat beside them, embroidering with the quiet concentration of someone who had perfected the art of balancing domestic tranquility and the chaos of raising a large family. He'd gotten used to this familiar scene over the years, though today, it was slightly altered by the presence of Penelope. She fit into their household so seamlessly these days that he often forgot she was technically a guest—except for moments like these, where she inadvertently drew his focus.

He shaded the delicate folds of Penelope's dress in his sketch, his thoughts drifting to his earlier conversation with Anthony as he layered charcoal over the paper. His brother had been preparing to call on Edwina Sharma, continuing his farce of a courtship. Benedict hadn't been able to resist pointing out how little success Anthony was likely to have in getting past the elder sister, Kate. The woman was sharp and guarded — he had seen as much even in their brief interactions.

Anthony, of course, had scoffed at his concerns. "Kate Sharma is not my target, Benedict," he had said, his tone dry and business-like. "I'll charm the younger sister, and soon, she'll be the new viscountess. Simple as that."

Benedict had only smirked. "Perhaps you should be more concerned about charming the elder sister. Something tells me she won't be so easy to outmaneuver."

In truth, he was looking forward to watching Anthony's frustration mount as Kate inevitably blocked his every advance. He could already picture the irritated furrow in his brother's brow. He would tease Anthony mercilessly, of course. No one in the family took Anthony's overly pragmatic approach to marriage seriously. How could they? It was such a stark contrast to the emotional depth he usually hid beneath the surface. But then again, Anthony was not one for admitting to feelings in even the best of circumstances, especially not ones of affection.

Benedict's focus shifted back to the current conversation happening in front of him between Francesca and Penelope, their soft voices mingling with the quiet rustle of Violet's embroidery.

"I suppose next season will be my turn," Francesca said, her voice tinged with the uncertainty she rarely allowed anyone to hear. "I've hardly any idea what I'm doing Daphne was the diamond, and Eloise wants nothing to do with the marriage mart. I have no examples of a happy medium between the two."

"You'll be marvelous regardless," Penelope assured her, holding his sister's hand in her lap. "I'm certain of it."

Francesca offered a nervous smile in response. "I do not need or even wish for a love match," she admitted, and Benedict looked up at her words. "I'll be content with simply seeking someone kind and appropriate, like what Anthony seeks."

Benedict couldn't find it in him to be surprised at her revelation. Francesca was probably the most like his oldest brother out of all their siblings, but where Anthony had trained himself to fill the demanding presence required of his station, Fran had been able to settle into her quiet demeanor while the louder siblings drew away prying eyes.

Violet's expression softened upon hearing such a familiar sentiment from an unfamiliar origin, however. "Oh, dearest," she said, setting her embroidery aside. "You deserve more than just an appropriate match. What you must find, my dear, is happiness."

Benedict's pencil paused on the paper as Violet then turned to Penelope.

"Penelope, assist me here. Francesca could find such a thing in a good match, could she not?"

Penelope nodded, though her hesitation was obvious to Benedict. "I believe she could. Someone like..." she hesitated, biting her lip. "Someone like... Colin!"

Benedict blinked, his hand stilling. 'Colin?' he thought, his gaze snapping to Penelope, who seemed to realize that everyone was looking at her with confusion moment too late.

"Colin?" he repeated, his voice betraying his surprise. "Our brother?"

Penelope's cheeks flushed a deep red, barely masking her vibrating excitement. "No, not Coli—" she stammered. "Colin!" She gestured wildly towards the door, and in that exact moment, the real Colin stepped through the open door and into the drawing room, grinning from ear to ear.

"Glad to see things haven't changed," he said, his voice full of amusement.

"Brother!" Francesca and Benedict both exclaimed at once, rising from their seats in unison. Their surprise was echoed by their mother, who looked genuinely shocked at her son's sudden appearance.

"Colin!" Violet said, beaming as she stood. "I did not expect you to return so soon, dearest."

Colin strode into the room as if he had never left, his eyes sweeping over the group before landing on Penelope. His smile broadened. "Ah, Pen! It's so lovely to see you've settled in."

Benedict's eyes narrowed slightly as Colin pulled Penelope in for a side hug. The gesture, though familiar and harmless, wasn't technically appropriate given their lack of familial relation and irritated him more than it should have. His mother, unsurprisingly, said nothing to correct the lapse in propriety. Even she seemed to have become accustomed to Penelope's place in their family's dynamics.

'But still,' Benedict thought, his jaw tightening. 'must Colin be so casual?'

His thoughts then immediately jumped to Colin's letter, the warmth and intimacy with which his brother had apparently written to Penelope during his travels. Watching the way Colin greeted her, that same sense of unease that bubbled up while he read his brother's words off the page stirred within him again in this very moment. His next words came out more biting than he intended.

"I believe we must get you to the doctor post-haste," Benedict said, eyeing his brother's face. "This strange, fuzzy growth on your chin is no doubt some kind of disease."

Colin's hand flew to his chin, his fingers brushing over his travel-worn beard. "Ah, yes, well, it does take some getting used to."

Francesca smirked. "And you seem to have taken to the sun as well."

Penelope, however, smiled softly from her spot by his side. "I think he looks distinguished," she said, her voice quieter than even Fran's.

Benedict shot a glance at her, suppressing a scowl. 'Of course, she thinks he looks distinguished.'

Colin chuckled, his eyes gleaming with humor. "I see I've missed all the family ribbing," he said, shaking his head. "Where, may I ask, is our intrepid viscount and the rest of my siblings?"

As if summoned by the question, Anthony strolled into the room. His eyes immediately lit up when he saw Colin.

"Colin! You are returned." He clapped his younger brother on the shoulder. "Even better. Family," Anthony said, raising his voice, "I should like you all to ready yourselves for the races today."

The races? Benedict exchanged a look with Francesca, but Anthony was already summoning Mrs. Wilson to gather Gregory, Hyacinth, and Eloise.

"We will be attending, united as one," he explained, and Benedict couldn't help the small grin that tugged at his lips. If Anthony was dragging them all to the races, it had to be for a specific reason, and he was willing to bet that reason had to do with the Diamond he was attempting to court.

His mirth over his brother's machinations cooled as her watched Penelope and Colin exchange another easy smile between each other, a flicker of something darker settled in his chest.

Whatever it was, he didn't intend to examine it too closely. At least, not today.

Off To The Races - Benedict

-~-

Benedict stood just outside the carriage upon their arrival to the racing ground, offering his hand to help Eloise and Penelope disembark. His thoughts, however, were more on the women he assisted than on the races themselves. The grandeur of the event was lost on him; he cared little for horses or the show of wealth and prestige that always accompanied such affairs, preferring the more casual crowds of a boxing match or other such gathering. Yet, his brother had been clear — they were all to attend, and even Benedict couldn't argue against him when he stubbornly set his mind on something.

At least not without time to prepare a counter offer.

As Eloise hopped down, her expression already as bored as he felt, he noticed how Penelope hesitated for a fraction of a second before placing her gloved hand in his. The poor young woman was probably nervous being out in public so soon after the Queen's ball, and he squeezed her fingers gently as he helped her out. Their eyes met and the appreciation in her gaze caused his chest to tighten. The only downside what that he still couldn't shake the prickling discomfort that had started that morning when Colin returned.

The three of them fell into step, Penelope walking beside him while Eloise immediately began muttering about the absurdity of horse racing.

"Why do people bother with this nonsense?" Eloise asked, wrinkling her nose a looking at Penelope pointedly. "There are far more interesting things to discuss—like the fact that Lady Montrose's son has disappeared, and not one person has been able to figure out where he's gone."

Benedict chuckled under his breath. "Maybe he ran off to avoid these sorts of social engagements."

Eloise shot him a glare, though it was softened by her smirk. "Don't be absurd. He wouldn't be missed at all if he had done that. No, I suspect something much more interesting is at play."

Before Benedict could comment about his sister's interest in idle gossip, a familiar voice cut through the chatter of the crowd.

"Mr. Bridgerton!"

He turned and stifled a groan as Rosamund Reiling approached with quick, determined steps. Her gown was resplendent — probably new for the occasion, he imagined — its vibrant green making her stand out. She carried herself with a confidence that bordered on entitlement, and Benedict could already tell what sort of conversation awaited.

"Miss Reiling," he greeted, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Rosamund smiled brightly, her eyes briefly scanning over Eloise and Penelope before zeroing in on Benedict again. "I didn't expect to see you here," she said, her voice lilting in an obvious attempt to sound charming. "Though I must say, the races are quite the spectacle this year! I've heard talk of one horse, Bartholomew, being the favorite — what are your thoughts?"

Benedict raised a brow. "I've no particular opinion on racing, to be honest."

Rosamund blinked, her smile faltering slightly before she recovered. "Ah, well, I suppose not everyone can appreciate the intricacies of horse breeding. Did you know that—"

"No one cares," Eloise interrupted, her voice deadpan. "Well, perhaps someone does, but I highly doubt Benedict does. He can hardly tell the difference between a horse and a mule."

Benedict's lips twitched as Rosamund's eyes flickered with annoyance, though she tried to keep her expression polite. "That's hardly fair, Miss Bridgerton," she said with a small laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Racing is quite a refined sport."

"And yet here you are, trying to make conversation with a man who would rather be sketching in the corner," Eloise countered, her tone biting in the way only she could get away with.

Benedict cleared his throat. "Thank you for your insights, Miss Rosamund, but I do believe we're needed elsewhere."

Her disappointment was thinly veiled as she offered him another strained smile. "Of course. Enjoy your day."

Benedict didn't bother to watch her leave, instead turning to Eloise with a raised brow. "I suppose I owe you a boon now."

"You absolutely do," Eloise said, her tone matter-of-fact.

Penelope laughed softly beside them, and Benedict's mood lifted at the sound. "Always straight to the point, Eloise," Penelope said.

"Someone has to be," Eloise replied with a dramatic sigh. "Otherwise, this family would be swamped by endless trivialities."

As they moved further along the spectator stands, the sound of hooves pounding against the dirt track filled the air, mixed with the crowd's cheers. Benedict's mind wandered again, his thoughts drifting to the storm of emotions swirling inside him ever since Colin had returned.

Speaking of the devil.

"Pen! There you are!"Colin's voice rang out over the din, and Benedict's shoulders tensed involuntarily. His brother's cheerful grin was unmistakable as he approached with long strides.

Penelope turned, her face brightening at the sight of him. "Oh, Colin!" she exclaimed, chuckling softly.

Benedict's jaw tightened, his annoyance returning in full force. Must she truly look so pleased that Colin appeared?

"We didn't get much of a chance to speak this morning," his brother pouted.

Penelope's grin widened, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. "We did. Did you not, in fact, hear me say, 'Colin!' But, then again, it was nothing of note."

Colin's eyes softened. "You know what I meant."

Benedict felt the irritation rising again and knew that if he stayed much longer, he'd say something he'd regret. His relationship with Colin had always been one of easy camaraderie, but now—now, there was something about the way his brother's attention lingered on Penelope that unsettled him.

"I'll leave you two to catch up," Benedict said, stepping back before Penelope or Colin could protest. "I'm sure you have much to discuss."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode away, ignoring the dull ache that had settled in his chest.

Eloise fell into step beside him, her sharp eyes studying him as they walked. "You're acting strange."

Benedict sighed. "I'm not."

"You are. And it has something to do with Penelope, doesn't it?"

Benedict's steps faltered for just a moment before he forced himself to keep moving. "Don't be ridiculous, Eloise."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself. But it's obvious, you know."

He opened his mouth to argue but found himself at a loss for words.

Off To The Races - Penelope

-~-

Penelope watched out of the corner of her eyes as Benedict and Eloise walked away, her chest tightening in their absence. Most of her attention, however, was aimed in Colin's direction. His bright smile was comfortably familiar — even the mischievous glint wasn't unusual for his countenance.

"I had wanted to hear more about your travels," she said, her voice steady, only holding a hint of curiosity that came more from habit than true longing to know. She had, after all, been in regular correspondence with him the entire time he was traveling.

Colin's grinning lips softened into an affectionate smile. "I would not have found myself surprised to learn you had become bored of my rambling by now. I admit that my letters were mostly about myself, and you read and replied to more than anyone else."

She couldn't help but smile at the truth of it. She had always been the one to respond promptly, keeping the lines of correspondence flowing, even when the letters from his end had dwindled in questions for her rather than merely answering questions from her. "I suppose I did, though there's always much more to say than one can put onto the page."

Colin paused, his expression shifting ever so slightly as he glanced at her. There was a tenderness in his gaze that she didn't often see there if she had to hazard a guess, there was also a little bit of guilt. "Pen, how have you been? I mean, truly. Since you've been with my family, after... everything that happened with yours."

Penelope felt her throat tighten at his question, her mind racing to come up with an answer that wouldn't betray the complicated mixture of emotions she felt daily. It felt like too intimate an inquiry to discuss publicly, but she did not want him to think she was avoiding the topic either. "I've been well enough," she replied carefully. "It's different than what I am used to, but they've been very kind to me. And you? How was it, truly, traveling all that time away from your family?"

Her attempt at deflection didn't go unnoticed. Colin's brow furrowed slightly as he reached out and touched her elbow, the gesture gentle but insistent. "You didn't truly answer my question. How have 'you' been, Penelope? Are you adjusting to the season?"

Adjusting. It was such an easy word to say but so difficult to embody. She forced a smile, even as her mind flashed with images of the social events, the endless chatter, the eyes watching her every move. It was embarrassing to be so easily seen through, but that was part of what made her

friendship with Colin so dear to her. Very few people would even notice her, much less see through any kind of facade.

"Adjusting," she concluded. "Yes, I suppose. It's a bit overwhelming at times, but your mother and Eloise have been wonderful. I've been... well, just taking it one day at a time."

Colin's expression softened, his hand slipping from her arm, though the warmth of his touch lingered. "I should have asked more about your wellbeing in my letters" he said quietly.

Penelope's heart gave a painful twist at the reminder. "You had plenty to write about already, Colin," she said, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself. "Scaling mountains and falconry with the Turks."

That brought back the grin she was more used to seeing on his face. "It was quite exhilarating, yes."

"Also lonely, perhaps?"

He shrugged lightly, a nonchalant gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Mmm. I was never on my own, though."

Her heart sank a little at that. She hadn't thought of it before, but now the idea that Colin had found companionship on his travels, someone else to share his adventures with, especially someone whom he did not bother to tell her about before, left a bitter taste in her mouth. She looked away, trying to maintain her composure. "I see. You met someone..."

Before Colin could respond, Eloise's voice rang out over the noise of the crowd. "Pen! Colin! Anthony demands our presence in the stands!"

Penelope inwardly sighed in relief at the interruption, grateful for the reprieve from what could have turned into a much more uncomfortable conversation. She turned back to Colin with a small smile, and together they followed Eloise toward the stands where the rest of the Bridgerton family had gathered.

The noise of the crowd grew louder as they made their way up the steps, and Penelope felt a sense of unease settle over her. There was a reason that, when not dancing, she actually preferred the perimeter of a room. She wasn't one for large crowds or the excitement of horse racing, but she was determined to blend in — to not stand out more than she already did as the poor-as-a-church-mouse Featherington girl who had been graciously taken in by the Bridgertons.

As they reached the stands, Penelope found herself jostled by the eager spectators. She stumbled slightly, and before she could catch herself, a firm hand grasped her upper arm and steadied her. She looked up and found that it was Benedict who'd prevented her from an embarrassing fall, his hand still holding her securely.

"Careful," he said, his voice low. There was an unmistakable warmth in his tone that matched the slight upward tilt of his mouth and, unusually, made her heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," she murmured, her cheeks flushing as she righted herself.

His hand lingered for just a moment longer before he released her arm, his fingers briefly grazing the skin down to her elbow. It was difficult under the circumstances not to notice how much taller he was than her, how solid and steady he felt compared to the chaotic energy of the crowd around them. She swallowed hard, forcing herself instead to turn and focus on the race ahead rather than the nervous, fluttering feeling in her chest.

Penelope was not naive to her own emotions, and it just wouldn't do to develop unrequited feelings for yet a Bridgerton.

In the stands, Anthony was already engaged in an animated conversation with Kate Sharma, both of them leaning forward as they made their bets on the horses. Penelope watched as the Viscount pointed toward one of the horses on the track, his eyes gleaming with the same competitive energy that Kate mirrored in return.

Penelope couldn't help but smile at their banter, and as she watched them, an idea began to form in her mind. This interaction, this lively exchange between Anthony and Kate, would make for a perfect entry in the next issue of Whistledown. The way they challenged each other with such ease, the unspoken tension between them that seemed to be absent in his interactions with Edwina— it was precisely the kind of material her readers would love.

She made a mental note to write about it later, her thoughts already spinning with how she could frame the narrative. Of course, she would have to be careful not to give away too much, but there was something intriguing about the dynamic between Anthony and Kate that she couldn't ignore.

Another thing she could not seem to ignore despite her best efforts was Benedict looming nearby. As the race began, Penelope's attention flickered between the thundering horses and the people around her, but her thoughts kept drifting back to him — to the warmth of his hand as he steadied her, to the mirth in his eyes when he looked at her. She chastised herself each time she glanced over, telling herself that she needed to put useless things away. She would instead focus on the task at hand — observing, writing, and, above all, blending into the background where she felt most comfortable.

Off To The Races - Eloise

-~-

Eloise sat back in the plush cushions of their tent, barely containing her grin as she flipped open the latest edition of Lady Whistledown. The day was pleasantly warm, the sky a pale blue, and the soft breeze that drifted through the promenade brought with it the pleasant murmur of families and couples making their way along Primrose Hill. None of that, however, was nearly as thrilling as the article she had in her hands. She cleared her throat dramatically, drawing the attention of her gathered family, who, for the most part, were reclining in various stages of relaxation around the tent.

"'It appears that Viscount Bridgerton's unexpected competitive streak has found an equal match in none other than Miss Kate Sharma, whose spirited demeanor and sharp wit were on full display during the races,'" Eloise began, her voice dripping with the same kind of glee she knew her brother would find insufferable. "'The two were observed exchanging heated barbs as they placed their bets, and one might wonder if their tempers are as well-matched as their interests.'"

Anthony, seated across from her, growled, "Idle gossip that no one takes seriously."

"Oh, but they do," Eloise replied, looking up from the paper to give him a teasing grin. "Especially when she writes things like this." She cleared her throat dramatically. "'While many gentlemen of the ton seek a quiet and demure lady for their future viscountess, such as this season's diamond, Miss Edwina Sharma, perhaps the Viscount Bridgerton ought to reconsider such preferences in favor of a more spirited companion, like her sister.'"

"Preposterous," Anthony muttered, though there was a slight red tinge creeping up his neck that did not go unnoticed by Eloise.

She glanced knowingly at Penelope, who had been quietly observing from her seat near Hyacinth, and quirked an eyebrow.

"Perhaps she means spirited in the sense of..." Penelope hid her grin behind a convenient teacup. "...lively competition? After all, you did make quite the show of your wagers." Her words were said innocently enough, but there was a twinkle in her eye that told Eloise she was enjoying the teasing as much as the rest of them. She was, after all, the authoress, so she would certainly know what Lady Whistledown's intention had been.

"Quite right, Miss Penelope," Benedict chimed in, leaning in her directionwith an amused grin. "Who would've thought our dear brother would find someone to keep up with him?"

Anthony scowled at his younger brother, but before he could retort, Hyacinth tugged at Penelope's sleeve, drawing her attention away. "Penelope, will you play a game with me? Gregory and I are starting one, and it's no fun if he always wins."

Penelope smiled warmly at the young girl, patting her hand. "Of course, I'll join you. I'm sure we can make it fairer."

As she stood to follow Hyacinth, Benedict's gaze lingered on her a moment too long, his smile softening slightly. Eloise caught the look, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Her brother had been acting odd lately, especially where Penelope was concerned.

She wasn't an idiot — Benedict was her favorite brother but he was also certainly no stranger to rakish thoughts. Those were fleeting fancies, amusing distractions from the more serious business of life, that was all that this could be, she told herself. Still, the way he kept glancing at Penelope with that strange fondness made Eloise uneasy.

No. Whatever he was thinking, it couldn't be an attachment. She wouldn't allow it to be.

She was resolved, then and there, to protect her best friend. Penelope deserved better than to be another of Benedict's passing whims. She was too precious for that. Eloise would have to be more vigilant in keeping Benedict's attentions elsewhere, however she could manage it.

"Penelope, you must come sit next to me after your game," Eloise called after her, trying to hide the slight edge in her voice. "We've much to discuss about this week's Whistledown."

Penelope gave her a bemused smile as she was dragged away by Hyacinth and Gregory, but Eloise felt a pang of something unpleasant twist in her chest. It was bad enough when Colin had occasionally stolen Penelope's attention during their years of friendship, but now it seemed as though she was having to compete with nearly all her siblings in addition to the intrepid suitors of the season for her time. And worse still, Penelope was letting it happen.

Eloise scowled at that thought, biting the inside of her cheek. It wasn't Penelope's fault, she reminded herself, not really, but she hated that Penelope was slipping through her fingers, and a tiny part of her couldn't help but feel a little betrayed. They were supposed to be best friends, and

best friends were meant to stick together, not be swayed by the charms of brothers or the demands of suitors.

When the game between Gregory, Hyacinth, and Penelope finally ended, Eloise was relieved to see the redhead return to her side, her cheeks flushed from playing with the younger Bridgertons. "I fear that it is quite true that Gregory may have been cheating."

Gregory piped up in mock outrage. "I have done no such thing!"

Eloise smirked, but before she could engage in any more banter, Penelope glanced at the sun, now lower in the sky, and sighed. "I think I may take a short walk before the promenade ends," she said, rising from her seat. "Just to clear my head."

Eloise's stomach dropped at the suggestion, especially when she saw the way Benedict perked up at the idea, his body tensing as if he were about to stand as well.

Not on her watch.

Without missing a beat, she leaned forward, calling out before he could make a move. "Benedict, since you're just lounging there, perhaps you could apprise me of that sketch you promised me the other day? You know the one of the birds nest in the garden?"

Benedict blinked, clearly taken aback by her sudden demand, but Eloise raised her eyebrows pointedly, daring him to refuse. To his credit, he only hesitated briefly before sighing and leaning back into his chair, though he did give Penelope one last lingering look before turning his attention to Eloise.

"I suppose I could," he muttered, his disappointment barely concealed. Eloise shot him a smug smile. Crisis averted.

As Penelope wandered off, Sophie trailing behind her, Eloise felt that strange mixture of relief and jealousy once again wash over her. At least she had kept Benedict from following her, but it

gnawed at her that she even had to think about it. It wasn't just Benedict she was protecting Penelope from — it was her own family, the entire ton too if she were to prevent her best friend but being sucked into the marriage mart, and Eloise wasn't sure what to make of that realization that, if she were not there to help, Penelope might very well end up stuck in the dreadful life of catering to her husbands every whim and being forced to carry baby after baby.

She exhaled slowly, watching as Penelope disappeared down the path. Maybe she was being a little unfair, expecting Penelope to remain exclusively hers. But that didn't mean she knew how to stop feeling that way.

Off To The Races - Penelope

-~-

Penelope stepped away from the bustling Bridgerton brood, grateful for a moment of solitude with the late afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the promenade. The laughter of families and couples filled the air, but here, essencially alone with just Sophie by her side, she could finally breathe fully. It wasn't that she didn't adore the Bridgertons — she did, more than anything — but sometimes, being surrounded by their energy and noise was overwhelming. They were a large family, and their presence was impossible to ignore. It was especially overwhelming for someone like Penelope, who had spent years perfecting the art of blending into the background.

Away from the tent and most of the watchful eyes of the ton, she could pretend, if only for a moment, that she was safely invisible again. It was a strange kind of comfort, being able to fade into the periphery, unnoticed and unremarked upon. She wasn't sure why she craved it so much now, especially when she had spent so many years wishing to be seen.

She shook her head, as it was no use lying to herself. She knew exactly why she largely missed the anonymity of being a wallflower — because the attention she now received was tainted with the shadow of her family's failure, save that from a select few.

As she and Sophie wandered further from the crowded promenade, Penelope was able to relax even further. She could hear the rustle of the leaves in the trees, the soft murmur of the wind, and the distant hum of conversation fading into the background. For a moment, it was just her and the quiet.

Until it wasn't.

"Miss Featherington!"

The voice startled her, and Penelope turned to see a couple approaching from the path behind her. It took her a moment to recognize them, but as they drew closer, their identities clicked into place. Henry and Lucy Granville. She had seen the handsome pair at a few events but had never spoken to them directly — her mother wouldn't have dared associate with 'lesser' members of the to . They were the kind of couple that drew attention, not because they were particularly scandalous but because they exuded an air of knowing something the rest of the ton didn't.

Penelope froze, unsure why they would be speaking to her, but as they approached with friendly smiles, she pushed her uncertainty aside and offered a polite curtsy. "Mr. and Mrs. Granville," she greeted them, trying not to sound as caught off guard as she felt. "What a lovely surprise."

"Indeed it is," Lucy replied warmly, her eyes alight with curiosity as she looked Penelope over. "I was just telling Henry that perhaps you could use a friendly face and decided it was time we made your acquaintance. It's such a rare treat to see you out and about. I'm sure that the Bridgertons keep you quite busy."

There was a teasing lilt in her voice, but it wasn't unkind, and Penelope smiled, feeling herself relax slightly. "They are certainly a lively group," she admitted, glancing back in the direction of the tent, though it was no longer in sight. "I've but two sisters, so It's nice to have a moment away, as much I am grateful for their patronage."

"Well, I dare say that there are few more deserving of it," Henry added, his smile easy and disarming. He had the kind of charm that seemed effortless, the same kind Penelope had once only attributed to Colin Bridgerton.

"Ah, but what is a new acquaintanceship if not a time to form bonds through similarities?" Lucy quipped. "My husband here spends much of his time covered in oil and canvas. Have you any hobbies or interests that occupy your time?"

The question was innocent enough, but there was a glint in Lucy's eyes that made Penelope pause. It felt like more than idle curiosity. She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, another voice interrupted.

"I didn't realize the Mr and Mrs Granville would be about town today," Benedict voice rumbled through her spine as he stepped up beside her, his presence a sudden and tangible weight on her senses. His tone was light, but Penelope could detect the slight tension in his posture, the way his eyes flicked between Henry and Lucy with an unspoken wariness.

Penelope glanced up at him, surprised by his appearance but more intrigued by his reaction. He didn't seem particularly angry, just uncomfortable.

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her smile widening as she gave Benedict a knowing look. "Ah, Benedict. Always so quick to swoop in and save the day."

"It's a habit of his," Penelope instinctively responded to the light teasing, though she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface. The way Lucy's smile deepened, the

way Henry's gaze flicked between her and Benedict — the three of them all knew each other, she realized. And not just in passing. There was something else here, something unspoken.

Eloise had previously mentioned something about Benedict and late-night salons that she had been upset not to be allowed to attend, and there had been rumors last season about his involvement with a certain dressmaker. His activities hadn't been the cause of any harm, so Penelope hadn't given it much thought at the time, but watching the silent exchange between the Granvilles and Benedict now, she couldn't help but wonder about the details that she herself had previously dismissed.

Henry chuckled, clapping Benedict on the shoulder with a friendly air that did little to mask the underlying tension. "Don't worry, old friend. We weren't planning on keeping Miss Featherington from you for too long. Just making polite conversation, as one does."

Benedict's smile was tight, and Penelope could feel the unease rolling off him in waves. She had seen him tense before, but this was different. This was protective. And while a part of her appreciated the sentiment, another part of her — the part that had spent years being insultingly coddled by her mother, by society, by everyone around her — bristled at the idea.

She wasn't a child. She didn't need to be shielded from everything.

Lucy must have sensed the same thing because she leaned forward slightly, her smile turning conspiratorial. "You should come by for tea sometime, Miss Featherington. I would love to get to know you better. I'm sure we could find plenty to talk about."

Penelope blinked, caught off guard by the invitation. Tea with the Granvilles — well, Lucy at least? It wasn't exactly the kind of social call her mother would approve of, but that almost made it all the more appealing, didn't it?

"I would love that," she replied before Benedict could interject. "Thank you for the invitation."

Lucy's smile widened, and Penelope could feel Benedict tense beside her. "Wonderful," Lucy said, her voice lilting with amusement. "I'll send a note with the details. I'm sure it will be a delightful afternoon."

"Indeed," Benedict muttered, though there was no enthusiasm in his voice. He looked down at Penelope, his brow furrowed with a mixture of frustration and concern. "Perhaps we should be getting back," he suggested, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Penelope, however, wasn't ready to leave just yet. There was something about the Granvilles that intrigued her, something that made her want to know more. They weren't like the rest of the ton. They didn't adhere to the same rigid rules and expectations. They lived outside the boundaries of propriety, and Penelope couldn't help but find that fascinating.

But she could also see the tension in Benedict's jaw, the tightness in his shoulders, and knew better than to push him further. For now, at least.

"Of course," she said, giving Lucy and Henry a polite nod. "I look forward to visiting with you."

As she followed Benedict back toward the Bridgerton tent, she couldn't help but glance up at him, noting the way his expression had darkened. He wasn't pleased by the turn of events, but for now, he said nothing.

That, perhaps, was the most telling thing of all.

Off To The Races - John

-~-

John adjusted his — admittedly much looser than normal, now that he was escorting her in more casual wear — collar as he waited down the street from a small, dimly lit print shop. His breath curled into the cool evening air, but he hardly noticed. He was much used to nights like this, waiting for Miss Penelope to complete discreet errand, and tonight was nothing out of the ordinary — she'd had disappeared into the shop some moments ago, carrying a small parcel under her arm, presumably another of her Whistledown pamphlets.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, keeping a watchful eye on the empty street. As much as John respected Miss Penelope's secret for what it was, these ventures still left him restless, especially in such a quiet corner of town.

The faint clatter of a carriage down the road broke his reverie, but it was the quiet shuffle of footsteps behind him that made him turn. A young woman approached, dressed in a modest maid's uniform. At first, she didn't seem familiar, but then recognition hit him.

It was her. The maid from the Queen's ball.

He had nearly forgotten the brief but strange encounter. She had stumbled, almost falling as her employers walked ahead, and John had reached out just in time to catch her. The event was so fleeting that he had thought little of it afterward, but now, here she was again.

For a moment, she walked past him, oblivious, but then her steps slowed, her brow furrowing, and she turned slightly, her gaze catching on his face as recognition slowly dawned on her as well. "Wait..."

John offered a polite nod, having half expected her to walk away with nary a glance his direction, but her eyes lit up as if the memory finally clicked into place.

"You," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're the one who helped me at the Queen's ball, aren't you?"

John's own smile was tentative. "Yes, miss. I didn't think you'd remember."

"How could I forget?" she said, shaking her head lightly. "I was about to make a complete fool of myself, and you saved me from toppling headfirst into my ladies. Thank you for that."

"There's no need to thank me, really. Anyone would have done the same." "Perhaps," she replied, her mouth twisting in a wry smile.

John didn't quite know what to say, so he simply nodded, grateful for the dim light that hid the slight flush creeping up his neck.

An awkward silence settled between them, the quiet of the street only amplifying the distance between the world they lived in and the society they served. John cleared his throat, searching for something to say that might break the tension, when she suddenly spoke again.

"Forgive me, I didn't even introduce myself properly. My name's Rae," she said, offering her hand in a gesture that felt surprisingly formal for a maid.

John took her hand briefly and brought it to his lips as though she were the highest of ranks, his grip firm but careful. "John."

She smiled again, this time a little more warmly with flushed cheeks as though they were sharing a secret in this quiet moment away from their duties.

"What brings you out so late anyway?" Rae asked, tilting her head in curiosity. "I wouldn't think a footman for a fine family like the Bridgertons would have errands at this hour."

John hesitated, glancing toward the print shop. He couldn't exactly tell her the truth, not without risking Miss Penelope's carefully guarded secret. "One of my lords sent me out," he lied smoothly, keeping his tone light. "Nothing too urgent, but it needed to be done before nothing light."

"Of course," Rae said, though there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes, as if she suspected there was more to the story than he was letting on. But she didn't press further. Instead, she glanced

up at the sky, where the stars were peeking through the inky blue. "I suppose it's always something with families like ours, isn't it?"

John nodded, unsure what else to add. He had never found it easy to speak with those outside his immediate circle, and yet something about Rae made him want to continue the conversation.

She looked back at him, her expression softening. "Well, I won't keep you, John. I'm on my way back to the Gunningworth household myself, and I'd rather not run into any trouble on the streets."

John inclined his head, wishing he could escort her without giving away Miss Penelope's secret. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Rae."

"The pleasure was mine. I'm happy to have gotten the chance to properly thank you," she said, offering him a small, genuine smile before she straightened her already immaculate cloak and turned to walk away. "Take care, John."

John watched her retreating figure for a moment longer, a strange sense of disappointment settling in his chest as she disappeared into the shadowy street.

The clatter of the shop door startled him from his thoughts, and he turned just in time to see Miss Penelope step out, her face hidden beneath the hood of her cloak. She glanced around briefly before spotting him and walking briskly to his side.

"Ready to go?" she asked, her voice low but urgent, as it always was when she finished her negotiations to the print master.

John nodded, offering her his arm as they made their way back toward the hired hack. They rode mostly in silence, the streets of London passing by in a blur of lamplight and shadow, John found his thoughts drifting back to Rae.

It was strange how a single encounter, brief and seemingly insignificant, could linger in one's mind. But as the carriage rolled through the night, John couldn't help but wonder if he might see her again soon. She did, after all, serve the family who lived right across the street from his own employers. Perhaps fate might smile on him.

Off To The Races - Penelope

Penelope would rather be anywhere but sitting in the Bridgerton drawing room.

To say that the unexpected visit from Miss Reiling had caught her off guard would be an understatement. As soon as Rosamund had stepped through the door, all vibrant smiles and false cheer, Penelope knew this visit was not for social pleasantries. There was something almost gleeful in the way Rosamund had swiftly mentioned her new home. Penelope had barely managed to hide her discomfort, the sense of intrusion settling in as heavy as the news itself.

She tried her best to remain polite as Rosamund prattled on, but every word was like a thorn pressing deeper into her chest. The Featherington house — her family's home that, despite its certainly over-the-top decor, was still the place she'd grown up in — was being dismantled, repainted, and altered beyond recognition.

"We have to change nearly everything," Rosamund said with a dramatic wave of her hand, as if discussing some horrid ordeal. "The colors are just simply atrocious! I can't imagine how anyone could stand such gaudy tastes."

Penelope clenched her hands in her lap, her knuckles turning white beneath her gloves. She could feel the blood rushing to her face, both from embarrassment and anger. It was no secret that her family had fallen from grace, their financial ruin complete after her father's reckless gambling, but to sit here and listen to Rosamund mock them? It was unbearable.

The only thing keeping Penelope from lashing out was the fact that she couldn't be certain whether Rosamund knew who had lived there prior to her own family and was being purposefully malicious, or whether she was merely trying to come up with a topic that might engage the already reluctant Penelope in conversation.

With most of the Bridgerton family out attending various engagements, there was no one to help deflect Rosamund's needling comments. Penelope had never been more aware of the absence of Eloise or one of the other Bridgertons, whose usual charm and ease would have smoothed over the conversation.

"Of course," Rosamund continued, oblivious to the tension in the room, "we've already started redecorating, something much more modern, refined. The drawing room alone was such an eyesore, I couldn't wait to have it repainted." She smiled, clearly pleased with her insult disguised as an observation.

Penelope forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sure it looks lovely now."

At that moment, the door to the drawing room opened, and Sophie stepped inside with a tray of tea. Penelope had alerted one of the other servants to have it prepared. Sophie's eyes fell on Rosamund, and for the briefest of moments, she froze, her grip tightening around the tray. There was a flicker of recognition in her expression, but she quickly masked it, lowering her gaze as she set the tea down on the table.

"Tea is served," Sophie said quietly, her voice steady, though Penelope noticed the way her hands trembled slightly as she poured.

Rosamund barely spared her a glance, allowing only for a raised brow and a catty smirk. She waved Sophie away without a word of thanks, as if she were nothing more than a ghost in the room.

Sophie gave Penelope a small, apologetic smile before excusing herself and retreating from the room. Penelope watched her leave, wishing she could escape as easily. But no, she was stuck here, trapped in this conversation that was quickly becoming unbearable.

It was only just as Sophie crossed the threshold of the door that Rosamund quipped, "I must say, it's so hard to find good help these days."

Penelope couldn't take it anymore. She stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the floor.

"Excuse me," Penelope said, her voice tight with emotion. "I am quite suddenly feeling a bit fatigued."

Before the catty woman could respond, Penelope hurried out of the room, her vision blurring as she made her way down the hall. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to escape, to breathe, to collect herself before she broke down entirely.

As she turned a corner, she nearly collided with Benedict.

"Penelope?" he said, his voice soft with concern. He placed a steadying hand on her arm, his touch gentle yet firm. "What's wrong?"

Penelope looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat. She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling, how to put into words the mixture of anger, sadness, and helplessness swirling inside her. Not to mention how embarrassing it was to be caught in such a state of distress, though it could be worse — she could have run into the Viscount himself.

"It's nothing," she said, her voice trembling. "I just needed some air."

Benedict frowned, his dark eyes searching hers. "That's not nothing," he said quietly. "Tell me what happened."

Penelope swallowed hard, her throat tight. "Miss Reiling is visiting. She was talking about the house. My home. She doesn't even know it used to be mine, and she was—" Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip to keep from crying.

Benedict's expression softened, and without a word, he gently guided her away from the hallway and into a small alcove near the staircase, away from prying eyes. He didn't speak, just let her breathe, his presence solid and reassuring.

"I know it's incredibly silly," Penelope finally said after a few moments, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never even liked the decorations Mama insisted on, but it was still home. And now it's just gone."

"It's not silly," Benedict said softly. "You're right. That was your home, you have every right to be upset."

Penelope looked down, her hands twisting in her skirts. "I don't even know why it bothers me so much. It's just that everything's changed so quickly. My family, the house, my life. I appreciate everyone here being so kind to me, but I feel a bit like an imposter — like the ruined Featherington girl everyone whispers about when they think I cannot hear, and even when they know I can."

Benedict tilted her chin up gently, his gaze steady. "You're still you, Penelope. No matter where you live or what happens, that doesn't change."

Penelope met his eyes, and for a moment, the weight on her chest lifted just slightly. It seemed that Benedict had a knack for making her feel seen, for reminding her that she was more than just the girl in the background. She was a woman whose feelings and thoughts were valid, worthy of space. It was no wonder he was so beloved by his siblings.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Benedict smiled softly, the knuckle of his index finger still resting lightly beneath her chin. "Anytime."

For a brief moment, they stood there in the alcove, just breathing. The quiet of the house wrapped around them like a cocoon, and Penelope's heart beat a little steadier, the storm inside her calming just enough for her to breathe again.

"Shall I escort you back?" Benedict asked, his tone light but his eyes full of understanding.

Penelope hesitated, the thought of returning to Rosamund's endless chatter nearly unbearable. But she couldn't hide forever. "I suppose I should," she said with a sigh.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "I'll be your faithful sword and shield."

He offered her his arm, and together, they made their way back down the hall. As they approached the drawing room, Penelope steeled herself, preparing to face whatever barbs Rosamund had left to throw. But with Benedict by her side, the weight on her shoulders felt just a little lighter.

Off To The Races - Benedict

Chapter Notes

I made a slight edit to the previous chapter, removing Eloise from the scene. I didn't want to ditch it altogether, but it didn't make sense for her character that she wouldn't lash out to at Rosamund in those circumstances.

-~-

Benedict was wary as he guided Penelope back to the drawing room despite his forced air of casual ease. His thoughts were like a storm, swirling with worries about Penelope, his own sister, and Miss Reiling's increasing disregard for propriety that seemed to grow more precarious by the day.

As they neared the doorway, Benedict shot Penelope a sideways glance. Her face was composed, but he knew her well enough to see the faint redness around her eyes and the careful control in the set of her mouth. Rosamund's cruel words about the Featherington house still hung heavy in the air, and Benedict felt a fresh surge of anger toward the woman who had caused Penelope so much discomfort.

He steeled himself as they stepped back into the drawing room. Rosamund's voice greeted them before they even crossed the threshold, still prattling on as if her presence were a gift to all.

"Oh, you're back!" Miss Reiling chirped, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Benedict. "Mr. Bridgerton," she greeted, completely ignoring Penelope. "I was just sharing how we plan to redecorate the library. All those ghastly bookshelves will be replaced with something more modern. I heard you had an interest in books as well?"

Benedict's jaw clenched, but he forced a smile. "How innovative," he said, his voice smooth but clipped. "I'm sure it will be quite the transformation." He intentionally avoided her inquiry, a subtle refusal to engage in what he knew would be an exhausting conversation.

Penelope quietly took her seat, sitting as far from Rosamund as she could manage without appearing too obvious. Benedict, meanwhile, positioned himself directly across from Rosamund, determined to shield Penelope from further torment.

As he settled into his chair, he caught a glimpse of Penelope's face—tight-lipped, her eyes focused on the teacup in front of her, as though willing herself to remain composed. His own resolve hardened. Rosamund wouldn't be allowed to continue her cruel commentary unchecked, not with him sitting there.

But even as he prepared to deflect Rosamund's inevitable barbs, Benedict's mind drifted back to the park just the other day, when Henry and Lucy Granville had similarly unexpectedly approached Penelope, though with much different intentions.

Henry and Lucy, of course, were friends of his — though he sometimes questioned what it was that he contributed toward their friendship, and now they had taken a keen interest in Penelope, which concerned him far more than he'd like to admit.

Penelope was in a vulnerable position. Her family's reputation was tarnished, her prospects were uncertain, and with the Granvilles pulling her into their orbit, it would only complicate things further. The last thing she needed was more scandal or impropriety attached to her name.

Then there were the letters. Colin's letters to Penelope, filled with stories of his travels and unsurprisingly affectionate musings on life. Benedict, however, knew his brother too well. Colin was a man who gave his attention freely, and it made Benedict uneasy. Penelope's heart, he suspected, was more fragile than either she or Colin realized.

Why, though, was he so invested in Penelope's future? Her marriageability? It was a question that he quickly dismissed, pushing it into the recesses of his thoughts. He was fully aware that he was attracted to Penelope, but it was not something he could act or dwell on, and he wasn't about to sit here and dissect his emotions. Not now anyway, and certainly not with Rosamund's voice droning on in the background.

Rosamund, oblivious to the tension, continued with her monologue. "—and, of course, it's simply impossible to find anyone who knows how to properly manage a household these days," she said, casting a glance at Penelope. "Don't you think, Mr. Bridgerton?"

Benedict blinked, realizing she had been speaking directly to him. "Pardon?" he asked, his tone polite but distant.

"I was saying," Rosamund repeated with an exaggerated smile, "that it must be so difficult for someone like Penelope, after all the, ahem, unfortunate circumstances surrounding her family. It's admirable that you and your family have been so kind to her."

Benedict's irritation flared, though he kept his expression neutral. The comment, wrapped in false sympathy, was nothing short of an insult. He glanced at Penelope, who was now sitting rigid, her gaze fixed on her lap.

Before he could respond, the door to the drawing room swung open, and Anthony strode in, his presence as commanding as always. Without so much as a glance at Rosamund, he turned to Benedict.

"Benedict," Anthony said, his tone sharp, "you need to come with me. Now."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, surprised by his brother's abruptness. "Is something wrong?"

Anthony's expression was tight with frustration rather than concern. "Colin and I are going to fence, and we need a third. I won't take no for an answer."

Benedict hesitated, glancing between Anthony, Penelope, and Rosamund. The last thing he wanted was to leave Penelope alone with Rosamund, but Penelope caught his eye, offering a subtle nod of reassurance.

"I suppose I can't refuse," Benedict said with a sigh, rising from his chair.

"Oh, are you leaving?" Rosamund asked, disappointment dripping from her voice. "What a shame. I was hoping we could all enjoy more tea."

"As you can see, I'm afraid that I'm needed elsewhere," Benedict replied, his tone brisk.

Rosamund's smile faltered momentarily, but she quickly recovered. "Well, I suppose it's time for me to take my leave as well."

Anthony wasted no time. "I'll see you out," he said curtly, already stepping toward the door. Rosamund, sensing her welcome had worn thin, gathered her things and followed him out.

As they exited the room, Benedict turned back to Penelope, his expression softening. "I'll return soon," he promised.

Penelope offered him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Benedict."

He nodded before following Anthony into the hall. As they walked, Benedict's thoughts lingered on Penelope, on how carefully she'd concealed her hurt behind a composed exterior. And though he knew that he shouldn't be, he also knew he was more invested in her wellbeing than he had ever been.

Off To The Races - Benedict

Chapter Notes

It's always hard for me to write chapters that more closely alight with canon, so I end up making a bunch of small changes so that it still feels parallel instead of regurgitated. Anyway, this scene was awful to write for that exact reason.

-~-

Benedict forced his body into the rhythm of fencing, trying to channel his restlessness into the movements. The conversation between him and Anthony seemed trivial in comparison to the storm of thoughts whirling in his mind. Despite the physical exertion, his thoughts remained fixed on Penelope.

Rosamund's words had left a bitter taste in his mouth, and seeing Penelope's forced composure had been nearly unbearable. He replayed the moment in his mind, the subtle tremble in Penelope's fingers as she lifted her teacup, the tightness around her eyes. If it had been any other woman, perhaps he would've simply dismissed it, as so many others did. But Penelope—Penelope was different.

Anthony's voice broke through his thoughts. "She is pompous, arrogant, and quite sure she knows best in every situation."

"Who?" Colin asked, his tone distracted as he adjusted his fencing gear.

"Kate Sharma, who else?" Anthony replied, his irritation palpable. "I cannot seem to shake her meddling presence."

Benedict glanced at his brother with amusement, though his mind was still on Penelope. "Sounds familiar. After all, you're convinced you know best in every situation."

Anthony didn't appreciate the jab and swung his blade with more force than necessary. Benedict parried easily, but the sheer energy in the movement brought him back to the present.

"Less talking, more fencing, Brother," Anthony muttered, eyes narrowed.

Benedict sighed but complied, the repetitive clash of blades offering him a brief respite from his thoughts. Colin stood on the sidelines, watching the exchange with mild amusement, his arms folded across his chest.

"Do you know why I win every time?" Anthony asked as he landed another well-aimed strike.

"Because every time you lose, you claim we cheated," Benedict shot back, deflecting the strike but feeling the sting of Anthony's words on a deeper level than usual.

Anthony grunted. "Because I know my duties. My purposes. And how to obtain them."

His words hung in the air, a sharp contrast to the casual banter that usually filled their fencing matches. It was clear Anthony was not only talking about the duel.

"When I make Miss Edwina my viscountess," Anthony continued, "things will fall into place. She is well-suited. She wishes for children. She'll make a perfectly agreeable wife."

Benedict's chest tightened at the mention of marriage and suitability. He spared a glance toward Colin, wondering what his younger brother thought about all this talk of duty and arranged futures. Colin's face was neutral, though Benedict knew better. He was likely planning his next escape disguised as a grand tour already.

"You've dismissed every other lady in town," Benedict said with a wry smile, though there was an edge to his voice. His blade clashed with Anthony's, but his thoughts were still on Penelope. And Colin.

Colin stepped forward, catching the shift in Benedict's tone. "You take too much upon yourself, Brother," Colin said to Anthony, his voice softer than usual. "Perhaps your life might be easier if you pursued someone with a less disagreeable sister."

Anthony huffed in frustration, but before he could respond, Benedict spoke up, his tone more serious now. "Speaking of disagreeable sisters, Rosamund Reiling insulted Penelope today. In my presence, right in to her face."

Anthony's blade faltered, and Colin straightened, his gaze sharpening. "Is that so?"

Benedict nodded, his grip tightening on his sword as he remembered the encounter. "She disguised it as concern, but we both know it was a jab at Miss Penelope's family. I could see how much it affected her, though she tried to hide it."

Colin's usual lighthearted demeanor vanished, his brow furrowing. "And what did Pen do?"

"She handled it with her usual grace," Benedict said, his voice low. "But she was clearly hurt. I was ready to throw Miss Reiling out myself."

Colin's expression darkened, and for a moment, Benedict was struck by the intensity in his brother's eyes. "You should've told me sooner. That sort of behavior can't go unchecked."

Benedict exhaled, glad that Colin was taking this seriously but also wary of what that might mean. The truth was, he didn't want Colin near Penelope — not because he didn't trust Colin, but because he didn't trust Colin enough. His brother had a way of charming everyone, and Penelope was already deeply in love with him. Benedict suspected, however, that her heart would become too fragile for his flighty tendencies, and Benedict wasn't about to let his brother's flirtations hurt her.

Anthony, oblivious to the undercurrents in Benedict's thoughts, lunged forward with renewed vigor. "I shall alert the servants that we should be conveniently busy should she decide to call again. Yah!"

Benedict narrowly dodged the strike, stepping back as the tension in the room thickened. Colin's protectiveness toward Penelope didn't sit well with him, but he knew it wasn't his place to interfere. Penelope had her own mind, her own choices to make, and if she were to choose Colin—

He deflected another strike from Anthony, his frustration mounting. "What honor," he muttered, his voice flat.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for the bracing exertion," Anthony said, breathing heavily but clearly satisfied with his performance as he stepped back. "Now it's time for me to secure my final victory for the day. Wish me luck."

Benedict sheathed his sword, watching as Anthony strode away with his usual confidence.

"We'll need to discuss how to handle Miss Reiling," Colin said quietly, his voice now devoid of its usual playfulness. "Pen doesn't deserve that kind of treatment."

He wanted to protect Penelope. He'd always wanted to protect her. But now things were shifting out of his control, and Benedict hated feeling out of control.

As Anthony left the room, Benedict and Colin exchanged a long look. "I'll see to it that Miss Reiling is dealt with. No need for you to interfere," Benedict finally said, his tone measured.

Colin nodded, but there was a look on his face — a hint of suspicion that had Benedict wishing to hide from his gaze. He didn't say anything though, and for that, Benedict was grateful.

That was, until Benedict turned, preparing to leave. Before he did, Colin spoke up. "Just be careful," he said, his voice low.

Benedict raised an eyebrow, though his heart thumped loudly in his ears. "Careful? About what?" "Pen," Colin said, tentatively. "She's been through a lot. She doesn't need any more heartbreak." Benedict's eyes narrowed slightly in turn. "I am aware, Brother."

The implied "more than you' thing between them on the silence.

Colin nodded after a moment, though the unease in Benedict's chest remained. As he left the garden, his mind was still on Penelope, on how vulnerable she had looked, and on how much he wished he could do something — anything — to shield her from the world's cruelty.

But in the end, it wasn't his decision. Not entirely. And that was what unsettled him the most.

Off To The Races - Eloise

-~-

Penelope's quill scratched against her parchment, filling the quiet library with the familiar rhythmic sound. Eloise, by contrast, was seated nearby with a book in her lap and starting unseeingly at the page. Her eyes occasionally flicked to Penelope, who sat hunched over her writing at the desk, her brows furrowed in concentration.

Penelope's expression had been shifting for the better part of an hour — sometimes tightlipped, sometimes wincing, and other times simply pained. Eloise sighed inwardly, growing more and more irritated as she watched her best friend write. She didn't need to ask who Penelope was writing to. With Colin returned, it had been obvious the moment Pen sat down and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Only Portia Featherington could inspire that particular look of discomfort.

Eloise forced herself to return her attention to her book, but she couldn't focus. Every flicker of emotion that crossed Penelope's face sent a fresh wave of frustration rolling through her. It wasn't that she wanted to pry — well, not exactly — but she hated being left out. Pen was obviously upset, and Eloise didn't like it when her best friend held things back from her, especially when they were things that clearly caused her distress.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Eloise snapped her book shut and tossed it aside. "Must you frown so deeply while you write?" she asked, her tone sharp despite her attempt to sound casual.

Penelope looked up, startled, the quill pausing midsentence. "Oh, I didn't realize— am I bothering you?"

"Not bothering, no," Eloise replied, waving a hand dismissively. "But it's impossible to ignore that there is clearly something dreadful being etched into that page. I don't suppose you'd care to share?"

Penelope offered a small, apologetic smile but shook her head. "It's nothing to cause you worry, El. Just, well, family matters, I suppose."

"Family matters?" Eloise echoed, her voice rising with incredulity. "Pen, you look as though you're drafting a formal letter of surrender. How bad could it be?"

She laughed softly, though the sound was strained. "You know how my mother can be. She's concerned, to put it mildly."

Eloise snorted. "Concerned about what? That you haven't snagged a rich husband yet? Because I'm fairly certain that an advantageous match is the only thing your mother ever concerns herself with."

Penelope's smile faltered, and she glanced back down at her letter, her fingers gripping the quill a little too tightly. Eloise frowned, a surge of protectiveness swelling in her chest. "If you're not going to tell me what's in the letter, at least tell give me something that I may actually address to ease your worries. I do not wish my best friend to be ill-at-ease."

She hesitated, her eyes darting toward Eloise before returning to the letter. "It's not the letter," she said quietly. "At least, not solely the letter."

Eloise raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then what is it?"

There was a long pause before Penelope spoke again. "Rosamund visited the other day while everyone was elsewhere," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "She may have made a few callous remarks."

Eloise sat up straighter, her eyes narrowing. "Rosamund Reiling? She's a horror from what I've heard, and her mother is not much better. What on earth was she doing at our house?"

"She called unannounced," Penelope explained, her voice soft. "I didn't realize it was her until I'd entered the drawing room"

Eloise's irritation flared. Rosamund Reiling was insufferable, all too eager to flaunt her wealth and connections while looking down her nose at anyone she deemed unworthy of her attention. The idea of her sitting in the Bridgerton drawing room, no doubt preening and prattling on about her latest social endeavors, made Eloise's skin crawl, and to know that Pen had to face that alone made guilty nausea bubble up in the pit of her stomach.

"What did she say?" Eloise demanded, her voice tight with barely concealed anger. "What did she do?"

Penelope hesitated again, her gaze flickering down to her lap. "She made some remarks about my home. Her home now, I suppose."

Eloise's hands clenched into fists. "That vile woman," she spat. "How dare she?"

"It's alright, Eloise," Penelope said quickly, though her voice wavered. "I'm getting used to it."

"Used to it?" Eloise snapped, her voice rising in indignation. "Pen, you shouldn't have to be used to people treating you badly. You're worth ten of that entire family, and you know it."

She offered a small, tired smile in response but said nothing. Eloise, still fuming, stood abruptly and began to pace. "I wish I'd been there," she muttered. "I would've told her exactly where she could shove her insults."

"Benedict assisted," Penelope revealed softly. "Not the whole time, but he helped when he returned before everyone else."

Eloise froze mid-step, turning to face Penelope. "Benedict?"

Penelope nodded, her expression softening. "He was very kind. He defended me, even when I didn't expect him to."

Eloise's brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into her mind. "Benedict?" she repeated, her tone more cautious now.

"Yes, Benedict," Penelope said, a hint of confusion in her voice. "Must we keep repeating his name back and forth? Why do you sound so surprised?"

Eloise resumed her pacing, her thoughts swirling. She didn't like this. She didn't like Benedict getting involved with Penelope's affairs. She knew all her brothers too well to fully trust them around anyone not related by blood.

"Penelope," Eloise said slowly, her tone careful, "you should be careful." Penelope blinked, taken aback. "Careful? Why? I thought you loved Benedict."

"I do," Eloise replied quickly. "He's my brother. But that's not the point."

"Then what is the point?" Penelope asked, her voice mildly frustrated but curious.

Eloise hesitated, unsure how to explain. She didn't want to worry Penelope unnecessarily, but at the same time, she couldn't ignore the feeling of unease that had settled in her chest ever since Benedict had begun paying more attention to Penelope's affairs.

"It's because I love them that I know their flaws, Pen" Eloise said finally. "Benedict— he's charming, yes, but he's also rather unpredictable. He gets caught up in things, and then just as quickly, he moves on. I don't want you to get hurt."

Penelope's expression softened, and she smiled faintly. "Eloise, I appreciate your concern, truly, but if this is about me developing some kind of feelings for your brother, you need not worry. I see him as a friendly at most. He was only trying to help."

"I know that," Eloise said quickly, though her stomach twisted at the words. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't be cautious. He is altogether too charming for his own good."

Penelope tilted her head, her eyes warm with affection. "You don't need to worry about me, Eloise. I know how to take care of myself."

Eloise nodded, though her mind remained restless. Something about this whole situation didn't sit right with her, but for now, she had no choice but to trust Penelope's judgment.

As she resumed her seat, Eloise glanced at the letter still resting on the table in front of Penelope. "And maybe," she added, her tone lighter now, "you'll tell me what your mother wrote that's so

dreadful?"

Penelope laughed, the tension between them easing. "Perhaps once the season is over," she teased, her eyes twinkling.

But even as they returned to their quiet routine, Eloise couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in the back of her mind. She only hoped that, when the time came, Penelope wouldn't need protecting from Benedict — or worse, from herself.

Off To The Races - Benedict

-~-

Benedict paced in front of the small, well-appointed shop, its narrow windows offering a glimpse of the satins and sashes within. He hadn't planned on visiting Genevieve that day, but he'd had much on his mind in the days following the casual fencing match with Anthony. He now found himself restless. The last time he'd seen Gen was when he ran into her at Bridgerton House, and while he knew their brief fling had ended, he still regarded her as a friend—or something close to it.

Finally gathering his nerve, Benedict pushed open the door, the familiar chime announcing his arrival.

"Ah, Monsieur Bridgerton," Genevieve called from behind the counter, her French accent still as intoxicating as ever, even with the hidden knowledge that it was fake. She barely looked up from the gown she was working on, her needle flying deftly through the fabric in the time between customers. "What brings you to my humble establishment today? Surely, not in search of a gown for the next ball?"

Benedict smirked but shook his head, leaning casually against the counter. "Not today. I've come for the company, actually."

Genevieve raised an eyebrow, finally glancing up from her work. Her voice slipped back into its natural inflection as she quipped, "The company? Forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical."

"I'm serious," He insisted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't come here to rekindle anything. Just to talk."

She gave him a long, appraising look before turning her attention back to the gown. "That's a first. And why, pray tell, have you decided to grace me with your conversational company?"

Benedict let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I suppose I've realized I don't have many friends."

Gen paused mid-stitch, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I find that hard to believe. A Bridgerton without friends? The ton must be in shambles."

He rolled his eyes, but her words hit a little too close to home. "I'm not talking about acquaintances or people who attend parties with me. I mean real friends — people I can confide in."

Genevieve nodded slowly, though she didn't look entirely convinced. "And you've decided that I, of all people, am among the few?"

"Well, you're certainly not interested in me for my title or fortune," he joked, though the words came out more serious than he intended. "I appreciate that."

She tilted her head, her expression softening slightly. "That, I can believe. But still, you don't strike me as the type who's ever lacked for companionship."

Benedict gave a noncommittal shrug. "Let's just say, it's been a strange season."

Genevieve hummed in agreement and set her needlework down. "Very well. You have my attention. What's been troubling you?"

He hesitated, unsure of where to start. "Honestly? Everything and nothing. It's my art, mostly. I've felt... stuck. I can't seem to get past this block I've been having for the last few months. No matter what I paint or sketch, it feels hollow."

Genevieve regarded him with a thoughtful expression. "Have you been too caught up in society to focus? Or perhaps too distracted by certain individuals?"

Benedict frowned, unsure if she was implying something. "Speak plainly, Gen."

Genevieve waved a hand dismissively. "You are not affliction by the usual distractions of gentlemen? Balls, parties, women, and the like?"

He chuckled, though it was more devoid of humor then even he expected. "It's not that. At least, not entirely."

She leaned forward on the counter, her keen eyes studying his face. "Then what is it? What, or who, has been occupying your thoughts, Dear Benedict?"

He opened his mouth to deny any 'who' but paused. Penelope's face flashed in his mind. There was no use in denying that he had, indeed, not been able to stop thinking about her lately, though he had no intention of mentioning that to his former lover.

"It's not someone," he said quickly, though her knowing smirk told him she wasn't buying it.

"Is that so?" she asked, her voice lilting with amusement. "Then perhaps you should visit someone who can offer better advice on your creative block. Or perhaps you need some structure to motivate you. Have you considered the Royal Academy?"

Benedict blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. "The academy?"

Genevieve nodded. "Henry hates it, of course. He thinks that it trains the soul out of the artist when the skills could just as easily be learned elsewhere, but perhaps a formal education in art might be exactly what you need. You should ask him about it.

He hesitated, unsure how to respond. He respected Henry's work, admired his talent, but the idea of attending an academy felt intimidating — terrifying, even. Besides, there was something else holding him back.

"I'm not sure," Benedict said slowly. "Speaking with Henry may be complicated."

Gen quirked an eyebrow. "Is it actually complicated, or are you simply reluctant to address the Granvilles' friendly attention toward your Miss Featherington."

His breath caught at the mention of Penelope. "She's not— I mean, she's not mine."

Genevieve's smile widened, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "No? You certainly seem awfully invested in her affairs."

"I'm not," he insisted, though his voice sounded less convincing than he would've liked. "I'm just concerned. She's been going through a difficult time, and—"

Genevieve held up a hand, cutting him off. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, darling. I know how these things work."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And how exactly do you know about Penelope to begin with?"

Genevieve's laughter was soft and musical. "Benedict, dear, gossip travels faster than the wind in this town. You'd be surprised how much I hear through my shop."

He ran a hand through his hair, feeling suddenly exposed. "I didn't come here to talk about Penelope."

"No," Genevieve agreed, her smile playful. "I disagree. either way though, I think you came here to talk about what's been weighing on your mind, whether you intended to or not."

Benedict sighed, leaning against the counter. "I'm not even sure what's been weighing on my mind."

Genevieve tilted her head, her eyes softening. "Then perhaps it's time you figure it out. Go visit Henry, consider the academy, and perhaps you'll find more clarity there."

He met her gaze, her words settling in his mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe a change of scenery, a shift in his focus, would help him find the clarity he needed.

With a nod, he pushed off the counter, straightening his coat. "I'll think about it," he said, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, genuine affection peeking out from underneath her teasing demeanor. "Take care, Benedict."

As he left the shop, he couldn't help but wonder if she was right — if the thing that troubled him most wasn't his art, but the feelings he was quite purposefully leaving in acknowledged. Feelings that, no matter how hard he tried to deny, always seemed to lead him back to Penelope.

Off To The Races - Violet

-~-

Violet stood before the gilded mirror in her dressing room, carefully smoothing out the last wrinkle in her gown. The eligible amongst her family had been invited to Lady Danbury's soirée, and while her evening as their chaperone promised to be filled with lively conversation and music, Violet's thoughts were elsewhere. She had spent the better part of the afternoon making sure that Eloise, Penelope, and Colin were all prepared while quietly hoping that this event might offer some clarity on their roles in the marriage mart.

Eloise had made her opinions on making a match very clear, and yet Violet couldn't help but cling to the hope that her headstrong daughter might find someone with whom she connected, despite her disdain for the entire institution. Eloise had yet to show any interest in suitors, but Violet knew her daughter well enough to suspect that she might find herself in a conventional situation that would lead to love. The trick, of course, was finding someone who could match Eloise's sharp wit and independent spirit — a challenge in their world of prescribed roles and expectations.

As she gathered her gloves from the dressing table, Violet's thoughts shifted to Penelope. The young Featherington had always been a fixture in their home, especially with her close friendship with Eloise. However, Violet had begun to notice something peculiar since she'd joined the family for this season. It wasn't just Colin's and Eloise's attention that Penelope seemed to draw — it was Benedict's as well. The thought almost brought a faint smile to her lips. She adored Penelope and had often wondered if Colin might eventually realize that the perfect match for him had been right under his nose all along. But now, with Benedict's increasing involvement in Penelope's affairs, Violet couldn't help but wonder if this new dynamic might be the very thing that spurred Colin to confront his own feelings. Her only worry would be the possibility of bothering brothers coming to conflict if Benedict also developed deeper feelings for the young woman.

Still, the thought of any of her sons being drawn to Penelope didn't sit poorly with Violet. In fact, she found herself quietly approving of the idea. Penelope was kind, intelligent, and fiercely loyal — a perfect match for either of her boys. And if it was indeed Benedict who felt more drawn to her, well, Violet could hardly complain, as the result of a new Bridgerton remained the same.

She sighed softly, fastening her gloves and moving to her bedroom. She was grateful, at least, that the rift between Eloise and Penelope seemed to be mending. The tension between the two girls over the last few months had been troubling, and she couldn't shake the memory of her conversation with Lady Danbury — how her dear friend had noted that the strain in their relationship might be a permanent fixture if they couldn't find a way to balance their individual desires with their friendship. That thought weighed the most heavily on Violet's mind. She could see how much both girls cared for one another, but she also knew how difficult it could be to maintain friendships when personal ambitions or ideologies clashed.

A soft knock on the door drew her from her reverie.

"Come in," she called, turning to see Eloise and Penelope enter, both dressed in elegant gowns that suited the occasion.

"Are you ready, Mother?" Eloise asked, though her tone suggested she was less than thrilled about the evening ahead.

Violet smiled warmly, smoothing a stray lock of Eloise's hair. "Almost. I was just about to check on Colin. He's been slow to get ready tonight."

Penelope laughed softly, and Violet's heart warmed at the sight of the two girls standing together again. They had been inseparable for so long, and Violet hoped that whatever had caused their recent strain was behind them for good.

As if on cue, Colin appeared in the open doorway, dressed smartly in his evening attire. He flashed his usual charming grin. "I'm ready, Mother. No need to worry."

Violet raised an eyebrow, amused. "Good to see you're on time for once."

Before she could say more, Anthony popped in the door frame behind Colin, a frown tugging at his brow. He was in shirtsleeves, clearly unprepared for an evening out, and he glanced between his family members with a quizzical expression.

"I was unaware there was a ball this evening," he remarked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"It's not a ball, dear. It's a soirée," Violet corrected. "Did you not receive your invitation from the Danbury footman?"

Anthony's frown deepened. "The soirée is at Danbury House?"

Violet nodded, watching as Anthony's expression darkened further. He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"And Miss Sharma accuses me of playing games," he muttered under his breath.

Violet couldn't help but chuckle, though she quickly composed herself. She expected as much, though she wouldn't tell her oldest that."Can you blame her?"

Anthony's eyes snapped to hers, clearly perplexed. "What?"

"She is looking out for her sister," she explained, her voice soft but firm. "She hopes to find her a love match. And with you so forthright in your disdain for such a thing..." Violet trailed off, inhaling deeply before continuing. "Perhaps Miss Edwina's other suitors will choose their words more wisely tonight. Some are even reading poetry, I hear."

Anthony scoffed lightly, though the tightness around his jaw suggested he wasn't as unaffected by the chastisement as he pretended to be.

"There is a lesson here for you somewhere, Anthony," Violet added. "I only hope that this time you will finally learn it."

Anthony said nothing, his expression unreadable, but Violet could see the tension in his posture. He was conflicted, that much was clear, though she knew better than to press the matter further. He would find his way, in time — she was nothing if not confident in the capability for growth in each of her children.

With a final glance at her eldest son, Violet turned to Eloise, Penelope, and Colin, offering a warm smile. "Come along now. We do not want to be late."

They made their way downstairs together, and Violet couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. The season was turning out to be interesting, if anything. And while her thoughts were often preoccupied with her children's futures, she trusted that, in the end, everything would fall into place. It always did, in one way or another.

Off To The Races - Benedict

Chapter Notes

I had to look up the etymology of the word 'automatic' for this scene, so that was interesting~

-~-

Benedict stood just outside the entrance of White's, the familiar facade of the gentleman's club somehow feeling more imposing than usual. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he hesitated, briefly considering turning on his heel and leaving. He had never been one to feel intimidated by society's grand institutions, but today was different. Today, he was meeting Henry Granville, and while the topic of his artistic endeavors didn't worry him, his plan to casually address the Granville's interest in Penelope had his stomach completely in knots.

He took a deep breath, adjusting his coat before stepping inside. The warm, smoky air of the club greeted him as he entered, and immediately, he spotted Henry seated in a far corner, waving him over with a wide grin.

"Benedict!" Henry's voice rang out, friendly and welcoming. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way."

Benedict smiled tightly, making his way toward the table. "No, just metaphorically lost in the maze of my thoughts."

Henry chuckled as the second-eldest Bridgerton sat down across from him. "You always been the brooding caricature of an artist, haven't you? Come now, have a drink on me." He waved over a waiter, ordering two glasses of whisky.

The glasses arrived promptly, and Henry slid one across the table to Benedict, raising his own in a casual salute. "To your success, whatever shape it may take."

Benedict lifted his glass but hesitated before taking a sip. His mind was racing, and while he appreciated Henry's easy demeanor, he couldn't shake the nerves that had followed him all the way here.

"So," Henry began as he leaned back in his chair, his voice shifting to a more serious tone. "You're considering the academy."

Benedict nodded slowly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I've been thinking about it, yes. I've felt, well, stuck lately. My inspiration feels so singular and stilted, and I thought that perhaps a structured environment might help me break through whatever block I've been facing."

Henry raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "The Royal Academy, then? The height of structure and technique. I can't say I'm a fan of formal training myself — spent most of my years avoiding it, actually — but it's not without its merits if that's what you're looking for."

Benedict frowned. "You don't think it could help?"

Henry took a thoughtful sip of his drink before replying. "That's not what I mean. It could, but it's not a guarantee. Some artists thrive under strict discipline, while others, like myself, find it suffocating. It's about what works for you. The academy will teach you technique, discipline, and craft, but it won't teach you passion or vision. It won't automatically gift you with a muse. That has to come from within."

Benedict stared into his glass, mulling over Henry's words. He admired Henry's work, the way he could convey so much emotion with just a few brushstrokes, and yet he wondered if that had come from natural talent or hard-earned skill. "But you think I should try?"

Henry leaned forward, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "What I think doesn't matter, Benedict. What matters is what you think. If you believe that the academy will help you find what you're looking for, then by all means, pursue it. Do not shackle yourself to the opinions of someone else where there is no singular correct answer to be found."

Benedict nodded, feeling a little more at ease. In their acquaintance, Henry had always been straightforward with him and was never one to sugarcoat things. It was part of what Benedict appreciated about the man. Still, the academy wasn't the only thing on his mind today, and he did not know if he would find comfort in that tendency as he pursued his next line of questioning.

Benedict shifted uncomfortably in his seat before clearing his throat. "There's... another thing I wanted to ask you about."

Henry raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the shift in Benedict's tone. The glean in his gaze gave the impression that he already knew what the younger man wish to speak of, but would still require him to approach the topic for himself.

"Go on."

Benedict hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "You and Lady Granville... I was surprised to see your interest in Penelope Featherington."

Henry's expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Ah, yes. Miss Featherington. That was not a question, but I shall take pity on you nonetheless."He took a long sip of his whiskey, seeming to enjoy drawing out Benedict's nerves. "To be frank, she seems quite the resilient young woman, doesn't she? You and I both know that I find that to be a respectable trait, and Lucy feels for the girl's situation. She does not seem to have much support in the tone outside of your brood of Bridgerton's. We simply thought that perhaps she could use a friend."

Benedict's stomach twisted slightly at Henry's easy praise. He took another sip of his drink before speaking again. "I'm not questioning your intentions, of course. It's just... well, I'm concerned about how things might be perceived by others. Penelope is—"

Henry cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Benedict, if you're worried about propriety, I assure you, we have no improper intentions. Lucy and I have simply taken an interest in supporting her. We do not plan to hoist her by her stockings and toss her into the next salon. It is all very proper."

Benedict nodded slowly, though Henry's words did little to ease the knot in his chest.

Henry, ever perceptive, leaned forward, his gaze scrutinizing the younger man's face. "If you would honor me with honesty, Benedict — I could not imagine you approaching me in this manner were it any other young lady in the ton we spoke with. Is it really propriety you're worried about? Or is it something else?"

Benedict froze, the unspoken question hanging between them like a weight. He opened his mouth to respond, to deny it, to brush it off as nothing—but before he could say anything, a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Ben!"

Benedict turned to see his eldest brother, striding toward their table, his expression a mix of exasperation and mild annoyance.

"I've been looking for you," Anthony said as he reached them. His gaze flicked briefly to Henry, then back to his brother. "We need to talk."

Benedict frowned, confused. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Anthony replied, crossing his arms. "It is important."

Benedict glanced at Henry, who simply raised his glass in a gesture of resignation. "Familial duty calls, I suppose."

With a sigh, Benedict stood, setting his glass down on the table. "Thank you, Henry. I'll think about what you said."

Henry smiled, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Do that, but Benedict? Don't let your thoughts get too tangled on the matter. Sometimes the simplest answer is the right one."

He nodded, though his mind was anything but untangled as he followed Anthony out of the club.

Off To The Races - Benedict

Chapter Notes

We're approaching the climax of the episode! Some significant changes and rearranging are coming up, and you're probably going to wonder what the heck I'm thinking, but we can figure out that part together

-~-

Benedict stumbled slightly as Anthony tugged him out of White's and onto the cobblestone street . The cool evening air hit his face, a sharp contrast to the smoky warmth of the club, but it did little to clear the fog of frustration building in his mind. He shot his brother an exasperated look as he straightened his coat.

"Would you care to explain what that was about?" Benedict asked, narrowing his eyes. "Henry and I were in the middle of a conversation, and you just—"

Anthony waved him off, his own frustration apparent in the way his hands flexed at his sides. "Whatever the two of you were discussing can wait. I need your help."

Benedict crossed his arms, glaring at his older brother. "Help with what exactly? And why did it have to involve dragging me out into the street like I'm some unruly child?"

Anthony glanced up and down the street, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. He stepped closer to Benedict, lowering his voice. "I need you to teach me how to read this."

He held out the small book of poetry with a specific page marked by a piece of ribbon, and Benedict's initial irritation melted into amused bewilderment. "Read? You know how to read, Anthony. Or have all those ledgers you've spent years pouring over been a lie?"

Anthony scowled, pushing the book into Benedict's chest. "This is different. I need to read this nonsense convincingly."

Benedict looked down at the book, recognizing the name on the cover immediately. "Byron? Why, in God's name, are you trying to recite Byron?"

His elder brother didn't even have the wits to look embarrassed as he responded simply, "Miss Sharma seems to have a fondness for poetry. I thought it might make a favorable impression if I could offer something more than talk of estate management."

Benedict let out a small, incredulous laugh. "Anthony Bridgerton, attempting to woo a lady with poetry. Truly, this season is full of surprises." He shook his head, flipping through the pages of the

book. "But Byron? Of all poets, you choose Byron? Is this some elaborate joke?"

"Isn't everyone supposed to love Byron?" Anthony asked, the defensiveness creeping back into his tone.

Benedict made a face. "Not everyone, and certainly not me. I'd hardly call him the pinnacle of romantic poetry. Cynical, dramatic, self-absorbed — yes. Romantic? No." He paused on the page Anthony had marked, skimming the awfully familiar lines. "Ah, here it is. 'There is a pleasure in the pathless woods...'"

Anthony nodded. "That's the one. How does one make it sound good?"

Benedict snorted, shaking his head. "I'm afraid that's not possible. That poem is the opposite of good."

"Nonsense," Anthony said, his frustration growing. "I thought you were supposed to enjoy poetry. Shouldn't this be your area of expertise?"

"Oh, poetry, yes. Byron, no," Benedict replied, a grin tugging at his lips. "Many in our year at Cambridge thought my poetry far superior to his."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "And does that mean your poetry is more or less deceitful?"

Ben was shocked at he brother's blatant misinterpretation. "Deceitful? Poetry is the opposite, brother. It's the art of revealing precious truth through words. Byron merely enjoys creating illusions with pretty words."

Anthony's expression softened into something resembling genuine curiosity. "So, what's the alternative? If not Byron, what would you suggest? I trust your opinion on the matter."

Benedict tilted his head thoughtfully, his gaze drifting away from the street and into the depths of his own thoughts. Images flooded his mind — soft red hair illuminated by sunlight, ink-stained

fingers gently skimming parchment, and eyes that held the secrets of the universe locked inside their gaze. His chest tightened, and before he knew it, he was speaking aloud.

"What is it, truly, to admire a woman?" His voice was softer, almost reverent. "To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty, so much so that all your defenses crumble. That you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her. To honor her being, not just with words, but with your actions."

He trailed off, the words hanging in the air between them. When he fully came back to himself, he looked up to find Anthony staring at him with brows furrowed, as though trying to discern the meaning behind Benedict's sudden eloquence.

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze studying Benedict with this newfound scrutiny before simply saying , "You should apply yourself more often, Brother."

Benedict waved a hand dismissively, uncomfortable with the praise. "Don't be ridiculous. I've never had any desire to be a poet."

"Perhaps not, but those words..." Anthony trailed off, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Benedict's heart skipped a beat, but before he could answer, Anthony's attention was drawn elsewhere. A carriage pulled up beside them, and Anthony glanced back at his brother. "Danbury's soirée. You should come."

Benedict hesitated. "What makes you think I'd want to go?"

Anthony's laughed returned. "Nothing, but mother, Colin, Eloise, and Miss Penelope are all there, and if anything it will at least give you the chance to see me make a fool of myself."

Benedict tensed, his earlier conversation with Henry echoing in his mind. He exhaled slowly, straightening his jacket. "Very well. For your sake, of course."

"Of course," Anthony echoed, the smirk never leaving his face as they both climbed into the carriage.

As they made their way through the streets, Benedict couldn't help but feel that the night ahead would be more complicated than he had anticipated.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Off To The Races - Penelope

-~-

Penelope had long since learned the art of wearing a mask. It was necessary, after all, when one inhabited the fringes of society, always the unnoticed wallflower or, worse, the subject of whispered ridicule. She had become adept at keeping her face composed, her voice light, and her heart protected. But tonight, that mask felt precariously close to slipping.

She had made her polite introduction to Miss Edwina Sharma, the newest belle of the ton, whose radiant beauty and grace had captivated every eligible gentleman in the room. Of course, Penelope wasn't surprised by that, as the young woman seemed to be the epitome of genuine kindness. What man could possibly resist such charm?

As she wandered through the candlelit crowds of the Danbury drawing room, Penelope once again caught sight of Colin, standing by a window and looking out into the night. His shoulders were relaxed, yet there was an air of distraction about him, as though his thoughts were elsewhere, far beyond the confines of Lady Danbury's soirée. She hesitated, unsure if he would like the company.

Before she could decide, Colin himself turned and caught sight of her. He smiled — a soft, familiar smile that she had longed for on so many occasions. Against her better judgment, Penelope found herself walking over to him, her feet seemingly carrying her of their own accord.

"Penelope," he greeted her warmly. "Enjoying the evening?"

She managed a smile, though it felt brittle in the face of the man whom she'd nursed feelings for so long for. "As much as one can, I suppose. I've just had the pleasure of being introduced to Miss Sharma."

Colin raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Miss Sharma. She's rather the perfect choice for the queen's diamond, is she not?"

"Yes," Penelope replied, her voice careful. "She certainly seems to have captured the attention of more than one gentleman tonight."

Colin chuckled, though there was something distant in the sound. "It's only natural. She's new to London, and the ton always loves a mystery. Especially one that comes wrapped in such a lovely package."

Penelope's heart gave a painful twist at his words, but she kept her expression neutral. "So much interest shown in a young lady whom none of us really know," she mused aloud, her gaze drifting toward the ballroom doors.

Colin glanced at her, something thoughtful flickering behind his eyes. "I get the impression that you're not particularly fond of mysteries."

"No," she said quietly, "I've never had the patience for them. I've always been the sort to turn to the final chapter first."

Colin tilted his head, studying her with an unreadable expression. "Is there not some appeal to the excitement in leaving things unknown? In the thrill of discovery?"

"Perhaps for some," Penelope replied, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. "But I prefer clarity over riddles. Speaking of mysteries," she added, her tone deliberately lighter, "you must tell me the name of the young lady you met while out of the country."

Colin's eyes flickered with surprise, then amusement. "What can you mean by that?"

"You mentioned at the races," she reminded him, "that you were never lonely during your travels. I only assumed that you had someone keeping you company." She pursed her lips before quickly adding, "Never mind."

Colin cleared his throat, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're right, Pen. I wasn't exactly lonely. But it wasn't a woman who kept me company."

Penelope blinked, confusion washing over her. "Then who?"

"I finally had a real conversation with someone I'd known for a very long time." Colin said, almost as though the realization still surprised him. "And after everything that happened with Miss Thompson, I realized I'd never truly known that person at all. Myself."

"Yourself?" Penelope echoed, her brow furrowing.

He nodded, his gaze distant. "It took me some time to clear my head after all that nonsense. I was so distracted, chasing after things that didn't matter. But your letters, your encouragements, they helped me see myself more clearly." His voice softened. "If you could see me as someone worth believing in, then maybe I could believe in myself too."

Penelope's breath caught in her throat. Her letters. The words she had written in the quiet of the library, never expecting him to read them with such seriousness. She had tried to encourage him, yes, but she had never imagined her words would hold such weight.

"I had to clear my head," Colin continued, "and so I swore off women, love, all of it. I needed to understand myself before stepping back into this world."

"You've sworn off women, then?" Penelope asked, her voice more strained than she intended.

"For the time being, yes."

Penelope's heart twisted painfully as she forced a small smile. "I am a woman," she reminded him.

Colin smiled at her, that familiar, affectionate smile that never failed to make her feel both seen and unseen all at once. "You are Pen. You do not count. You're my friend."

Her smile faltered, but only for a heartbeat before she quickly masked it. "Of course," she replied lightly. "Your friend. How good to hear that."

Colin, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort, shifted his weight and added, "Benedict and Anthony feel the same, you know. The family has practically adopted you as an extra sister, though one that breaks our naming conventions. I do not think Mother minds very much though."

Penelope's stomach dropped at his words, a deep ache spreading through her chest. She had long been close with the Bridgertons, and she cherished the bond she shared with their family. But to be

lumped in as yet another 'sister' — a safe, platonic, untouchable figure — stung far more than she could have anticipated.

A sister. A friend. Someone who would never truly be seen.

Colin, still lost in his own thoughts, didn't notice her inner turmoil. He simply smiled again, completely unaware of the pain his words had caused. "I think I see Eloise up to her usual mischief," he said with a grin. "We should catch up later."

Penelope nodded, watching as he turned and strode back toward the the crowd, leaving her standing alone at the edge of the room where she seemed to belong. His words echoed in her mind, growing louder with every passing second.

'You do not count.'

She had known it for years, of course. Known that Colin saw her as his friend and nothing more. But to hear it spoken so casually, as though it were a simple, undeniable fact, made the reality of it all the harder to bear.

And then there was what he had said about Benedict and Anthony — how the two seemed to have adopted her as a sister, just like the rest of the Bridgertons. As if being a sister to them was the highest honor she could aspire to. But what about being seen as a woman? As someone who could be loved, desired, chosen? It was exactly what had caused her hurt near the start of the season when Eloise had implied there was no possibility of Anthony considering her as a marriage partner, and it wasn't as though Penelope would have been seriously interested in the prospect anyway.

Carefully, she swallowed against the lump in her throat and blinked back the sting of tears. She would not cry over this. Not tonight. Not for Colin Bridgerton. Not for the man who couldn't see her for who she truly was.

But the pain was there, sharp and undeniable, settling in her chest as she stood in the quiet of the corridor. She was Penelope Featherington, forever on the outside looking in. Always the poor girl with the ruined reputation, never a woman.

With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to rejoin the gathering. The night was far from over, and she still had her mask to wear. But as she walked back into the fray, the weight of Colin's words clung to her like a shadow she couldn't shake.

Chapter End Notes

I cannot tell you what happens in the next chapter, but I can tell you I am so excited to share it that it's definitely going to be posted by the end of today.

Off To The Races - Benedict

Chapter Notes

Frothing at the mouth with excitement for this little piece of drama~

-~- Benedict Bridgerton was going to kill his brother.

Not immediately, of course. There were witnesses — far too many of them milling about the Danbury drawing room. And Penelope Featherington, the unfortunate victim of Colin's careless remarks, had already retreated to the far side of the room, where she stood, composed as ever. But Benedict had heard it all.

The words 'You do not count' echoed in his mind, their casual cruelty gnawing at him with a ferocity he could scarcely contain. How could Colin, of all people, be so blind? So thoughtless? Penelope might not have reacted, might have donned that same mask she always wore in public, but Benedict had seen the flicker of hurt in her eyes.

He was already planning how he would take Colin aside when Anthony, standing beside him, muttered something about the older Sharma sister, Kate, and started moving toward where the crowd what watching another gentleman recite poetry to the younger Miss Edwina. Benedict's attention remained firmly on his younger brother, who was now headed the opposite direction towards Eloise. His hand shot out, however, gripping Colin's arm tightly before he could get far.

"We need to talk," Benedict said, his voice low and tightly controlled.

Colin blinked in surprise, but Benedict didn't give him a chance to protest. With a firm tug, he steered Colin out of the drawing room and into the dimly lit hallway, away from the noise and bustle of the soirée.

"What the hell was that?" Benedict demanded the moment they were alone. Colin frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Benedict stepped closer, his temper simmering just beneath the surface. "What you said to Penelope. 'You do not count'? Do you even hear yourself?"

Colin's expression flickered with realization, but he shrugged it off, as if it were nothing. "Benedict, she's my friend. You're overreacting."

"Overreacting?" Benedict repeated, incredulous. "Do you have any idea how you sounded? You've hurt her."

Colin looked taken aback, but he quickly recovered. "That wasn't my intention. Penelope knows I didn't mean it like that."

"Does she?" Benedict countered, his voice rising. "Because from where I was standing, it sounded an awful lot like you were dismissing her. As if she's not even worth considering as a woman."

Colin shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Benedict's gaze. "That's not—"

Benedict didn't let him finish. "Do you even realize what Penelope's been through? What she faces every day in the ton? She's treated like a joke, like she doesn't belong. And now you're telling her, your supposed friend, that she 'doesn't count' in a room full of people who could overhear you?" He shook his head, anger building with every word. "You've always been selfishly oblivious, Colin, but this— this is a new low."

Colin stiffened at that, bristling. "Penelope and I have a friendship, Benedict. She knows that's all it is."

"You call that friendship?" Benedict scoffed. "You think the ton will see it that way?"Colin opened his mouth to argue, but Benedict cut him off again. "I know about the letters, Colin. You think they won't start whispering that you've been taking liberties, that you're ruining her already damaged reputation if they find out?"

Colin froze. "What?"

"The letters," Benedict repeated. "The ones you sent her while you were traveling. The ones she responded to when you hadn't heard back from a single one of us. I read one of them."

Colin's face paled. "You what?"

"I didn't mean to at first, but I do not regret it," Benedict continued, his voice hard. "And if I didn't know any better, I'd think there was something more between you two from that alone."

Colin shook his head, an incredulous laugh escaping him. "Benedict, you've completely lost your mind. I would never dream of courting Penelope. Not in your wildest fantasies."

Benedict's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his anger flaring again. "If I ever find out that Penelope overheard you say that tonight, if she knows just how lowly you think of her, you'd best avoid being in the same room with me ever again. I mean it, Colin."

Colin looked genuinely taken aback by the vehemence in Benedict's tone, but he didn't speak. Benedict took a step closer, his voice deadly quiet.

"It doesn't matter if you do not wish to court her," he said. "You must still treat her as a woman, one deserving of respect, because that is what she is. A beautiful, intelligent, loving woman whose prospects were destroyed by her family — meanwhile, you seem intent on whittling down the few that might remain with your thoughtless actions."

Colin's jaw tightened, but Benedict pressed on. "The ton doesn't care about your friendship, Colin. They care about appearances. And if they find out that you've been corresponding with Penelope — writing her letters, treating her as though she's beneath you in public while sharing your deepest thoughts in private, they will talk. And what do you think they'll say? That you're courting her? Or that you're toying with her?"

Colin flinched. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Benedict shot back. "Because it sounds to me your thinking only of yourself even now, Col, and Penelope deserves better than that. She deserves better than you."

Colin's face darkened, but before he could respond, Benedict continued yet again. "If Penelope were truly one of our sisters, Anthony would have demanded satisfaction by now. And frankly, I think he'd be right to."

"You think I'm ruining her reputation?" Colin asked, completely missing the point as his voice shook with anger.

Benedict didn't hesitate. "I think you're blind to the consequences of your actions. You must start to consider the ramifications outside of your own little world, lest you entrap her in a loveless marriage like Miss Thompson— Lady Crane nearly inflicted upon you."

The silence between them was thick, charged with unspoken tension. Colin's expression was a mixture of frustration and disbelief, but Benedict didn't care. He was done with this conversation, done with his brother's selfishness.

Without another word, Benedict turned on his heel and stormed back into the drawing room. His heart was pounding in his chest, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He needed to calm down, needed to regain control of his emotions before he did something even more reckless.

But when he stepped back into the room and saw Penelope, standing by the window, her mask firmly in place, the anger flared anew.

She didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve any of it.

Benedict forced himself to take a deep breath, to smooth the fury from his features as he crossed the room to where Penelope stood. He wouldn't let Colin ruin this night for her. Not if he could help it.

"Penelope," he said quietly as he approached her. "Are you quite well?"

She turned to him, her eyes bright with unshed tears, though she quickly blinked them away and pretended nothing was wrong. "I'm having a lovely time, Benedict, just a bit overwhelmed. Thank you."

But Benedict wasn't convinced. He could see the hurt beneath the surface, the pain that Colin's words had caused. The fact that she immediately hid it only made Benedict's chest tighten further. He wanted to say something more, to comfort her, but the words stuck in his throat.

Instead, he offered her his arm, a silent invitation to rejoin the gathering. Penelope hesitated for a moment, then nodded and took his arm.

"I'm surprised to see you here," she commented casually, not quite looking at him. It was obvious that she still distracted by Colin's words, as she accepted his explanation of merely following Anthony's lead without comment or curiosity.

'You do not count'.

Colin may be an idiot, but Benedict would ensure that Penelope was never made to feel like she didn't count again. Not if he could help it.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Off To The Races - Penelope

-~-

Penelope had been prepared to stand by the window and brood while gazing out at the illuminated gardens of Lady Danbury's estate for the remainder of the evening. Despite the clear night and the beauty of the setting, she felt anything but tranquil. Colin's dismissive remark still echoed in her mind, stirring a mix of hurt and frustration. She had made every effort to keep her composure, but she suspected the events of tonight would stay with her for the remainder of the season, if not for long after.

As she'd continued to stare outside, the sound of footsteps approaching had drawn her attention. She was surprised to look up and see Benedict, his expression carefully schooled but with a tension she could easily discern. She hadn't even realized he was attending the event, but he made a beeline for her, and Penelope braced herself for their encounter.

"Penelope," he had greeted her quietly, his voice gentle but obviously concerned, "are you quite well?"

Embarrassed that her distress was so obvious, she'd forced a smile that she hoped would convince both him and herself that she was fine. "I'm having a lovely time, Benedict, just a bit overwhelmed. Thank you."

Benedict's eyes searched hers, as if trying to gauge the truth behind her words. The concern in his gaze softened her resolve, and she felt a pang of gratitude. She had always admired Benedict for his sincerity and kindness, and in this moment, she was especially grateful for his presence.

"Did you arrive with Anthony, then?" she began, her voice quiet enough that he had to lean in slightly to hear her, "I saw that he was making at attempt at reciting poetry. He wasn't the most convincing of poets, and it was quite a spectacle."

Benedict's lips quirked in a rueful smile. "I can imagine. Anthony and poetry don't always mix well, and if it went anything like his attempt earlier tonight, then I cannot possibly imagine Miss Edwina or her sister being further endeared to him."

Penelope nodded, her gaze shifting back to the garden. "Yes, it was quite a spectacle. Eventually, he gave up and offered a simple speech instead. It was surprisingly heartfelt, considering he's not known for his romantic inclinations. He spoke about how despite his lack of poetic finesse, he had come to appreciate Miss Edwina's genuine character."

Benedict raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"Despite his initial missteps," Penelope said, her smile feeling genuine for the first time since he'd joined her, "he managed to endear himself to Miss Edwina. His speech was sincere, and it was clear that despite the awkwardness, he genuinely respects her."

Benedict's expression softened, and he placed a hand over hers on his arm. "That's good to hear. I'm glad he could convey something meaningful."

Penelope opened her mouth to response, but the conversation was abruptly interrupted by a familiar, high-pitched voice. Penelope turned to see Rosamund approaching them with a too-bright smile.

"Penelope, how lovely to see you," Rosamund began, her tone dripping with insincerity. "I just wanted to apologize for the other day. I did not realize that it was your family that had resided in my new home before, and I did not mean to offend you in any way."

Penelope stiffened, her smile faltering. It was obvious that Rosamund's apology was a mere formality, a pretext for her to insert herself into the conversation with Benedict. Penelope had been dreading this moment, the pretense of politeness masking a more calculating intent. Rosamund had been far too eager to engage her, and it was clear that her interest was less about genuine apology and more about impressing Benedict.

"Oh, there's no need for that, though I am grateful for your thoughtfulness," Penelope said, trying to sound gracious despite her discomfort.

Rosamund's eyes flicked over to Benedict, her smile widening. "Well, I simply had to ensure that everything was perfectly amiable between us. You must know that I value your opinion very much."

Benedict's expression tightened, and Penelope could sense his growing irritation. He subtly shifted his stance, using his body to create a barrier between her and Rosamund. His hand, still resting on Penelope's arm, shifted slightly as if to offer more comfort, but without thinking, Penelope placed her free hand on his wrist instead, a silent gesture of mutual support and gratitude.

"I'm sure Penelope appreciates your concern, Miss Reiling," Benedict said, his voice curt but polite. "But I'm afraid we were just discussing the evening's events."

Rosamund, however, seemed determined to dominate the conversation. "Oh, but Benedict, I must say, your attentiveness to Miss Featherington is simply charming. It's such a rarity to find a man who is so generous to those below his station."

Benedict's eyes narrowed, but Eloise — who had been making her rounds through the room — now joined their little group. Her eyes flicked from Rosamund to Benedict, and she took in the scene with a raised eyebrow. "You're still here?" She asked in a deadpan manner that would have been funny if it were not under such tense and public circumstances. "I was under the impression that you were engaged elsewhere, Miss Reiling."

Rosamund's smile faltered slightly, but she recovered quickly. "I merely wanted to extend my apologies and express my admiration."

"Admirable as it is," Eloise tone was now dripping with open sarcasm, "Perhaps you'd prefer to latch yourself onto another family for your entertainment this evening?"

Rosamund's eyes widened, and she quickly glanced at Benedict, but his gaze remained firmly on Penelope. The, quite frankly, welcome shift in the conversation made it clear that Rosamund's presence was no longer wanted.

Even still, she tried to regain her footing before making her exit. "Well, I suppose I must be going," she said carefully. "I'm so pleased to have cleared the air with Miss Featherington"

"Indeed," Eloise said, her tone clearly indicating she was not interested in prolonging the conversation. "We'll be just fine without your presence. Enjoy the rest of the evening."

Rosamund's face turned an intriguing shade of red, but she at least managed a tight smile before walking away, for which Penelope must give her credit.

The night had begun with promise, but it seemed that challenges were inevitable. Penelope knew she would have to navigate the social intricacies with care, but she was grateful to have Benedict and Eloise as her unflinching Allies. she felt a genuine sense of solace. She, of all people, knew

that there were many in this world full of calculated appearances and hidden agendas, and these moments of genuine connection were more precious than ever.

Chapter End Notes

We're close to the end of Episode 2 with just a couple scenes left! As before, I'll be taking a brief break to work on a shorter 'Intermission' AU fic so that I do not have so many WIPs, but this time I wanted to get some feedback on which fic y'all would be most interest in reading more of. Below are the fics I'm considering:

"After the End" (In Progress) Zombie AU Penelope/Benedict

10k-20k words anticipated Spice Planned: None to Mild

"Through the Woods" (In Progress) Historical Fantasy AU Penelope/Benedict/Genevieve 20k-30k words anticipated

Spice Planned: None to Mild

"Romance & Rouge" (In Progress) Brothel AU

Penelope/Benedict

10k-20k word anticipated

Spice Planned: Mild to Moderate

"A Bit of Family Business" (In Progress) Contract Killer/Dark Ben AU Penelope/Benedict

20K-40K words anticipated

Spice Planned:

[Miscellaneous unposted One Shots]

Multiple themes/AUs, including modern, fantasy, etc. Penelope/Benedict

1k-5k each (4-5 fics)

Spice Planned: None to PWP

Since I'm a writer who wings it, these estimates are VERY MUCH estimates because sometimes plot develops without my prior planning. It makes my writing fun, but notably very inconsistent and influenced by the whims of my impulses.

Off To The Races - Penelope

Chapter Notes

Shout out to Yerin Ha as Sophie Baek!

-~-

Penelope sat at the vanity in her room at Bridgerton House absently running a brush through her hair while recounting the events of the evening to Sophie. She had spent the first few minutes reflecting on Lady Danbury's party, her mind whirling with the many moments of awkwardness and frustration, but now her words were centered on Rosamund Reiling and the unbearable interaction they'd shared.

"And then," Penelope sighed, her tone thick with exasperation, "she had the audacity to pretend to apologize. As if even a child could not see that it was all a charade to ingratiate herself with Benedict. I knew what she was doing the moment she walked over."

Sophie was methodically folding Penelope's gown, but her silence spoke volumes. After becoming comfortable with one another, normally she would have allowed herself a quip or at least chuckled at the absurdity of some of the gossip Penelope shared, but tonight, there was no such reaction.

Penelope set down the brush, watching the maid for a moment, a frown tugging at the corners of her lips. "You're awfully quiet," she noted simply. "I know that Rosamund's schemes were unpleasant and that you and I have grown to tolerate, if not like one another, but I shouldn't think we were so attached that such injustices against me would affect you quite this much."

Sophie paused, her back still turned to Penelope as she carefully placed the gown on the dresser. When she finally turned around, her expression was tight, her eyes clouded with something Penelope couldn't quite place. "I'm sorry, Miss," Sophie said quietly, her voice lacking its usual vibrancy. "Your story just has me caught up old memories I'd rather not think about."

Penelope's brow furrowed in concern as she rose from her seat and approached Sophie. "What kind of memories? Sophie, if something's bothering you, I can to help. I would like to help."

Sophie hesitated, her hands twisting the fabric of the nightgown she had just laid out for Penelope. Finally, with a deep breath, she spoke. "I used to work for Rosamund's family... for the Gunningworth estate. Well, I say 'work,' but it was more like being under their absolute control. Araminta and her daughters did not particularly like me due to reasons beyond my control, and they treated me like I was beneath them, not just a servant but something lesser."

Penelope's eyes widened in surprise, the revelation catching her off guard. "You worked for them?" she repeated, her voice filled with both sympathy and incredulity.

Sophie nodded, her expression tight as she folded her arms across her chest, as if trying to protect herself from the memories she was dredging up. "Yes. Rosamund, Posey, and Araminta. I looked after them for years. Posey wasn't so bad, to be honest — she was almost kind, in her own way, but she married a man in the country last year, and Rosamund... Rosamund could be downright cruel when she wanted to be. I was little more than an afterthought to her at best, and someone to torture and belittle at worst."

Penelope's heart clenched at the thought. She had always known Rosamund to be unpleasant, but hearing Sophie describe her treatment with such quiet bitterness was another reminder of just how vile some members of the ton could be, even to those who worked tirelessly for them.

"I had no idea," Penelope said softly, her voice filled with genuine regret. "I'm so sorry. It must have been awful to be around them for so long."

Sophie shrugged, though her expression remained somber. "It was what it was. I eventually found my way out and left that life behind. But hearing how she acted tonight, pretending to apologize as if she's this perfect lady, it just brought back all those memories. She hasn't changed. Not one bit."

Penelope watched Sophie for a moment, her heart aching for her maid, who had endured far more than she had ever let on. "You do not have to deal with her anymore," Penelope reminded her gently. "You're not under her thumb. And you're certainly not beneath her."

A small, wry smile touched Sophie's lips. "No, I'm not," she agreed, her voice steadier now. "And thank God for that."

Penelope stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch Sophie's arm in a gesture of comfort. "If it helps at all, I hope you know that you're not just a servant in this household." Her lips quirked just at the corners as she held back a mirthful smile. "And you must admit, even if you were, the Bridgerton's treat their servants quite well.

Sophie's gaze softened, and she dipped her head in gratitude. "Thank you, miss. That means so much.."

The room fell into a comfortable silence as Sophie resumed tidying up, her movements more relaxed now that she had shared her story. Penelope, however, couldn't help but reflect on how much they had in common. Both of them had been underestimated, both had faced people who believed they were lesser, and both had persevered. She wouldn't say as much out loud, as the

differences in their station would make the comparison seem inconsiderate, but she hoped to maybe be able to call Sophie a friend sometime soon.

After a moment, the maid in question hesitated again, her hand pausing over the folded gown. "Miss Penelope, there's something else you should know."

Penelope looked up, curious but patient as she waited for the other woman to continue.

"When I first started working for you, I gave the name Sophie Beckett," Sophie said, her voice carefully measured. "But that's not my real name. It's Sophie Baek."

Penelope blinked in surprise, the revelation unexpected but somehow fitting. "Baek?" she repeated softly. "Then why did you give a different name?"

She sighed, her eyes flicking away as if she were embarrassed by the admission. "I needed to protect myself. I was worried that if Araminta or Rosamund found out I was looking for employment elsewhere, they'd do everything in their power to ruin my job prospects. I didn't want them to know where I'd ended up. So I used a fake last name — one I thought would be close enough to the truth but still give me some distance."

Penelope absorbed the information quietly, a soft smile forming on her lips as she realized just how much trust Sophie had placed in her by revealing this secret. "Sophie Baek," she repeated, testing the name. "It's a lovely name. And I'm flattered that you trust me enough to tell me this."

Sophie smiled faintly, though there was a touch of relief in her expression. "Thank you."

Penelope let out a soft chuckle, though there was little actually humor in it as she shook her head in disbelief. "The irony of it all," she mused. "You want to such lengths to escape from them, and yet here you are, working directly across the street from that horrid family."

Sophie laughed lightly, the tension of the evening finally lifting. "Yes, I suppose it is rather ironic, isn't it? I did not know they'd taken up residence there when I came seeking employment."

Penelope smiled warmly at her, the bond between them feeling stronger than ever. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you ended up here, Sophie. By whatever name you choose."

"Thank you, Miss," Sophie replied softly, her smile genuine now. "And I'm glad to be here too."

As Penelope finally settled into bed, her heart felt lighter, not just from unburdening her own troubles, but from knowing that she wasn't alone. Sophie's quiet strength and honesty had given her a renewed sense of resilience — something she would hold onto in the days to come.

Off To The Races - Penelope

-~-

Loose curls lapped over Penelope's shoulders as she sat curled in one of the library's oversized armchairs. Across from her, Eloise Bridgerton rifled through a stack of letters and pamphlets, her brow furrowed in concentration. The waning daylight cast long shadows across the room, lending it an unusual warmth, but Penelope couldn't shake the cold that had settled deep in her bones as of late.

"The attention," Penelope began, subdued. "It is more than what I thought it would be. I never used to think that being overlooked was a complete curse, but I also never thought I would miss it so completely."

Eloise glanced up from her papers, her sharp eyes catching the tension in Penelope's tone. "What do you mean?" she asked, setting the stack aside.

Penelope sighed, pressing a hand to her temple as she tried to find the words. "Ever since the start of the season, people have been whispering. It is not as though I have been fueling any rumors about myself in Lady Whistledown, and yet it still feels like I have eyes on me everywhere I go. The only reason I'm even out in society this season is because your family took pity on me. My comings and goings cannot be that interesting."

Eloise hummed, considering Penelope's words.

"It's not just whispers anymore." The redhead continued. "The looks people give me... And those who do bother to offer me a kind words are seemingly only doing so because they want to ingratiate themselves with your family. It's humiliating."

Eloise's lips twisted in a scowl. "How dare they. After all you've done for them—"

"They don't know what I've done for them," Penelope interrupted, her tone sharper than intended. "And they never will. Lady Whistledown has always been a shield, but now it feels like it's crumbling, and I'm left standing in the middle of the battlefield with no protection."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Eloise's eyes held a rare softness, her usually quick wit tempered by a gentler understanding. She reached across the table and placed a hand on Penelope's arm. "You're not alone, you know. And as for those vultures circling you — let them think what they like. We know the truth."

Penelope managed a small smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's kind of you to say that, but it doesn't change the way society sees me. Or the fact that my prospects are more dismal than ever."

Eloise leaned back in her chair, her hands moving restlessly as if searching for something to distract her. Finally, she pulled out a pamphlet from her pile of papers and tossed it onto the table in front of them. "I found this at the horse races, by the way" she said. "And I could tell right away it was printed at the same shop you use for Whistledown. The paper stock, the font—especially the smudged letter 'k'. I couldn't seem to find a good time to bring it up, but now seems as fitting as ever. We might want to consider rotating printers before more people start to notice."

Penelope stared at the pamphlet, her stomach twisting with anxiety. Eloise wasn't wrong—she had been using the same printer for Lady Whistledown for far too long, and while it had once been an advantage, now it was becoming a liability. If someone were to connect the dots, she would be doubly ruined, and the Bridgerton's would go down with her.

Penelope muttered, rubbing her temples as the weight of her situation pressed down on her. "It's too late now — changing printers would raise suspicions."

Eloise tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Then maybe you don't need to change printers. What if you just made a few subtle changes to the design? Something small, like the replacing the stamp for the letter 'k'. It wouldn't be noticeable to most, but it might be enough to throw off anyone who's paying too much attention."

Penelope nodded slowly, feeling a flicker of hope amidst her worry. "That could work. At least for now. It's a good idea."she sunk back into the chair, her head lolling to the side in a rather unladylike manner, but her shoulders had been aching from the tension of everything going on. "Rosamund has been surprisingly quiet lately," she said idly. "I suppose she's finally realized we're not going to help her get to Benedict."

Eloise shot Penelope a sharp look, one eyebrow raised. "We cannot be certain that is all it is, Pen. If I have learned nothing else from entering society, it is that women like her do not stop once they want something, and for whatever insane reason, she wants my brother."

Penelope shifted uncomfortably under Eloise's gaze, her heart thudding in her chest. She didn't wish to acknowledge that Rosamund's attempts bothered her as much as they did, or why she felt

such a strange sense of possessiveness when it came to Benedict.

"I do not like her," Penelope stated, avoiding her friend's eyes. "She's always scheming, and I can't stand the thought of her trying to worm her way into your family."

Eloise studied her for a moment longer, then shrugged, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Well, she can try all she wants, but Benedict won't fall for it. And neither will the rest of us."

Before Penelope could respond, the door to the library creaked open, and Sophie entered, carrying a tray of tea. Her movements were quiet and graceful as she approached the table, placing the tray down with practiced precision.

"Tea, Miss Featherington," Sophie said softly, her voice polite but subdued. She made to leave, but Penelope caught her arm gently.

"Sophie, wait," Penelope said, glancing between her and Eloise. "Why don't you join us for a bit?" Sophie hesitated, clearly unsure. "I wouldn't want to intrude, Miss."

Eloise waved a hand dismissively, already pouring tea for all of them. "Oh, nonsense. Sit with us. It's not an intrusion at all."

Penelope smiled warmly, patting the seat beside her. "Please, Sophie. You've been on your feet all day. Take a break."

Sophie's uncertainty wavered as she glanced between them, but finally, she relented, sitting down gingerly in the chair across from Eloise. She accepted the cup of tea that was offered, her fingers curling around the delicate porcelain as she took a tentative sip.

For a moment, the three women sat in a companionable silence, the soft clinking of teacups the only sound in the room. Penelope felt a strange sense of peace settle over her—something she hadn't felt in days. Here, in the Bridgerton library, surrounded by people who truly cared for her, the weight of her father's mistakes seemed a little lighter.

As they sipped their tea, Eloise spoke up again, her tone casual but curious. "Sophie, what do you think of all this attention Penelope's been receiving? You must have noticed how people have been treating her."

Sophie glanced at Penelope, her expression thoughtful. "I have noticed," she said quietly. "But I feel that most of it is undeserved. People can be very cruel when they think they can gain something from it."

Penelope's chest tightened at Sophie's words, and she gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you. That means a lot."

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, Penelope couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of determination. The attention she was receiving might be negative, but she wasn't going to let it break her. Not with friends like Eloise, Benedict, and now Sophie by her side.

Off To The Races - John

Chapter Notes

Last chapter of episode two! I decided to just power my way through writing tonight so it may not be my strongest, lol~ I'm keeping an eye on what fic people seem to prefer for intermission, and will probably start posting before the end of the week! Once that's done, we'll be back for Episode 3 at Aubrey Hall!

-~-

John moved cautiously through the bustling Bloomsbury market, his eyes scanning the stalls for Penelope Featherington. He was dressed in his Bridgerton livery, unable to change into something more subtle while technically working, even if it was chaperoning the young Featherington woman on another illicit errand. It was a dark blue uniform that stood out even amidst the colorful chaos of the market, but despite the attention he drew, his focus was solely on his task to ensure that Penelope made her purchase discreetly.

He spotted her, just a short distance away, huddled at a stall cluttered with various printing supplies. Penelope, dressed in one of the Bridgerton maid uniforms, was speaking earnestly with the shopkeeper, her faux Irish accent steady with a note of determination.

"—A new letter 'K' for a Stanhope press," Penelope said, her voice carrying a firmness that belied her anxious glances around.

The shopkeeper, a portly man with a gruff demeanor, eyed her with suspicion. "That will be ten pence."

Penelope's brows pulled together tightly. "I'll give you five." "Five's a special rate for repeat customers."

Penelope leaned in slightly, her tone lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Trust me, friend, I'd exasperate you coming back any more than once. Now give me the discount to keep me away, and we'll both be happier."

John, standing a few feet away, was about to step forward when something caught his eye. Across the market, he spotted Rae, the Gunningworth maid he had spoken with previously. She was at a different stall, her attention focused on some household goods, but the familiarity of her presence was enough to distract him. He watched her for a moment, trying to place the details in his memory.

As he observed Rae, a sudden, sharp exclamation from Penelope jolted him from his thoughts.

"John! We must leave immediately!"

John's head whipped around, his eyes wide as he saw Genevieve Delacroix standing a few steps away from Penelope, her gaze fixed intently on her. The realization hit him like a cold wave.

"Miss Delacroix," John muttered under his breath, his heart pounding.

Without any further hesitation, Penelope clutched the package containing the letter 'K' and made a quick, nervous exit from the stall. John fell into step beside her as they maneuvered through the crowded market, their pace quickening.

They reached the edge of the market and immediately hailed a hired hack. John helped Penelope into the carriage and quickly followed, shutting the door behind them with a sense of urgency. The hack jolted into motion, rolling away from the crowded market and heading towards the Bridgerton home.

Penelope let out a shaky breath, her eyes darting nervously as she glanced out the window. "Well, this certainly makes things more complicated."

John settled into the seat opposite her, his expression serious. "I'm sorry, Miss Featherington. I got distracted, and I didn't notice the seamstress until it was too late."

Penelope gave him a small, appreciative nod. "It's not your fault. I should have been more vigilant. We need to be extra careful from now on."

John glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He felt comfortable enough to point out, "you know, Miss Featherington, I was thinking about your comment earlier. You mentioned how I stand out in my Bridgerton uniform, but it seems you caught someone's attention just as much."

Penelope's lips quirked in a wry smile. "It's true. It seems my attempts at discretion are not as effective as I hoped."

The hack continued its steady progress, and for a moment, the tension in the carriage seemed to ease. Penelope allowed herself to relax slightly, comforted by John's presence and the familiarity of the Bridgerton household coming into view.

As the carriage approached the the far street near Bridgerton home, John glanced out the window, the sight of the grand estate bringing a sense of relief. The ordeal of the market was behind them, but the challenges of the season loomed ahead.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside the Bridgerton estate, and John opened the door for Penelope. As she stepped out, he followed, ready to resume his duties — including helping her sneak in the back through the servants entrance where Eloise waited for them — and stand loyally at the side of the Bridgerton's through whatever challenges the season might bring.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Benedict

Chapter Notes

Aaaaaaaaand we're back! Thanks for everyone who joined me on our little intermission fic, A Bit of Family Business~ I know it was a VERY different vibe that this story (because, you know, obsession and murder and all that) but now we're back on the sweety cutie pie train!

-~-

Benedict sat on the edge of Anthony's desk, staring at the papers strewn before him—estates to manage, bills to pay, endless lists of things to approve or delegate. The weight of Bridgerton responsibilities never ceased, even as they prepared to head to Aubrey Hall for what was meant to be a respite, and Benedict did not envy his brother for his duties.

Anthony, seated behind the desk, signed off on yet another document with a grim expression. Benedict admired his brother's efficiency, but today, his mind was elsewhere.

"We'll leave for Aubrey Hall on Friday," Anthony commented, not looking up. "Everything's in order, and we should have about a week to regroup before Mother's ball, and then the Season picks up again."

Benedict leaned back, feigning nonchalance. "Aubrey Hall should do us all some good. A change of scenery, fresh air. Perhaps a newly engaged viscount for Mother to fawn over..."

Anthony nodded, though his focus remained on his work, even as his jaw clenched at Benedict's teasing. "Precisely. It'll allow us all some time to clear our heads." He paused, his quill hovering over the page. "And perhaps settle Colin's restless energy. He's been entirely too flighty as of late. Frankly, it's growing tiresome."

Benedict hummed in agreement, but a different thought tugged at him. He had been mulling it over for days now, unsure how to approach the topic. He decided it was time.

"Speaking of our wayward brother," Benedict began slowly, "have we considered that perhaps Colin and Penelope might not eventually find each other as we have always assumed?"

Anthony's writing hand stilled. His head snapped up, and his gaze was sharp as it landed on Benedict. "And what brings this up?"

Benedict shrugged, trying to appear casual though his heart thudded faster. "Merely a thought. As her sponsor, Mother has been doing her best to support her—and while I imagine it would be prudent to secure her a match sooner rather than later, given her circumstances, I can't help but feel there's been a lack of urgency assigned to the task." He swallowed awkwardly. "It seems to me that we have a limited time to complete our goal, and yet Colin doesn't seem quite ready to settle down anytime soon. Nor does he seem to regard Penelope as anything more than a friend."

Anthony leaned back in his chair, studying his brother carefully. "If I'm to be truthful, I don't know that Penelope will be able to find an appropriate match in society who could overlook everything that has happened. Even with an enticing dowry, I doubt someone suitable would step forward, so it wouldn't matter if Colin's not ready at this very moment. I'm certain that once he realizes his feelings—because he will—he won't care whether she is a fresh debutante or a spinster well on the shelf. They would have my full support either way."

Benedict frowned. They'd all been saying for years that Colin would come around, but it still felt too uncertain, too passive, and the one who would pay the price if the pieces didn't fall exactly into place as they expected would be Penelope.

"Yes, but..." Benedict hesitated, then pushed forward. "Is that what she deserves? To have to wait for a man who refuses to see her until he's good and ready? Even if she's been there the entire time, right in front of him?" His voice hardened. "It seems cruel to knowingly inflict that kind of loneliness and rejection upon someone we claim to hold dear."

Anthony's gaze sharpened. "It's not an act out of malice, brother."

"I didn't say it was. But it doesn't change the fact that it's happening, does it?" Benedict countered. "She's smart, Anthony, and she's kind and clever in ways most people don't seem to even notice her long enough to appreciate."

Anthony was silent, watching his brother with a thoughtful expression. Then he spoke quietly. "You care deeply for her, don't you?"

Benedict froze. The question hovered in the air, unspoken feelings stirring beneath the surface. Did he care for Penelope? Of course, he did. She was a dear friend, practically part of the family. But the warmth in his chest, the protectiveness he felt whenever her name was mentioned, suggested something deeper—something he still wasn't ready to admit, especially while arguing about her match with his other brother.

Benedict cleared his throat, avoiding Anthony's scrutiny. "I care for all our friends. But that's not the point, is it? The point is that we're asking Penelope to put her life on hold for someone who we don't even know for certain will ever come around."

Anthony's gaze narrowed, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "So, what would you suggest, then? That we allow her to settle for the first man who shows interest? Risk marrying someone who could leave her destitute?"

Benedict shook his head. "No, of course not. I just... I wish we could do better for her. I know you don't see the merit in love matches for yourself, but that's what she deserves. She deserves someone who sees her. Someone who doesn't need years to figure out how he feels."

Anthony exhaled, rubbing his temples as if the weight of this conversation were suddenly too much. "You're right. She does deserve that, and were it in our power to produce a suitable love match, I would not hesitate to support her, Colin's unrealized feelings be damned."

Benedict nodded, his chest tightening at the way his brother seemed to dismiss the notion so easily. He wasn't even sure what else he had expected Anthony to say. There was no obvious solution, but the thought of Penelope waiting year after year for Colin to stumble into love with her? It gnawed at him with a sickening ferocity.

Anthony's gaze continued to linger on Benedict, and the younger brother could feel the scrutiny like a weight pressing down on him. "You seem rather invested in this, Benedict. More than usual."

"She's become a friend," Benedict said, a little too quickly. "A good friend."

"Indeed." Anthony's tone was careful now, almost probing. "But you've never shown this level of concern over the prospects of your other siblings."

"Penelope is different." Benedict felt the words escape before he could stop them, and he winced inwardly, hoping Anthony wouldn't pry further. "Her situation is different. And frankly, I think we owe it to her to ensure she doesn't waste her time waiting for something that might never happen."

Anthony studied him for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't respond right away. His brow furrowed, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. Finally, he sighed. "Very well. But if I may offer a word of advice—be careful. Colin may not see what's in front of him yet, but that doesn't mean he won't eventually. And when he does, things might become... complicated. Your friendly interventions may not be appreciated."

Benedict nodded stiffly, though his stomach churned at the implication. "Of course."

The conversation drifted to other matters, but the weight of what had been left unsaid lingered in the air between them. As Benedict rose to leave, Anthony's parting words followed him out the door, echoing in his mind.

Be careful.

If only it were that simple.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

-~-

Penelope sat at the edge of the drawing room sofa, her teacup resting delicately on the saucer in her lap. Across from her, Colin was in the middle of recounting some lighthearted tale about his latest travels, his face bright with amusement as he filled her in on the details he hadn't included in his letters over the off-season.

Penelope was barely listening.

Sophie sat nearby, ever the diligent chaperone, but there was an unmistakable tension in her posture that Penelope couldn't quite ignore despite her efforts to focus on anything else. After the two had bonded, Penelope knew well enough why her maid now harbored a distaste for the younger Bridgerton brother. She had, after all, listened to Penelope's woes and was aware of Colin's offhand comment about swearing off women, but that Penelope did not count as a woman to be sworn off.

The memory made the redhead's stomach churn, but she pushed it aside. Colin hadn't meant it to be cruel. He'd likely not even thought much of it at all, but the words had still burrowed deep into her heart and lodged there like a painful thorn. Sophie clearly hadn't forgiven him on Penelope's behalf either, and the maid's cold glances in Colin's direction were growing more frequent as the afternoon wore on.

"...and so I told him, there's no way you'll find a proper tea in the middle of the desert, but he insisted! Of course, it wasn't long before he regretted it," Colin chuckled, but his voice faltered slightly as his gaze flickered to Sophie, who hadn't cracked a smile. In fact, she looked as if she'd rather be anywhere but here, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Penelope's heart gave a small twist of sympathy for him. He was trying; she could at least see that. She imagined that being so obviously disliked for seemingly no reason was unnerving for him. Colin was always good at making others laugh, at charming his way through any situation with that disarming grin of his. But now, as she watched him struggle to win Sophie over, something felt different.

"How lovely," Penelope said absently, realizing she hadn't responded to Colin's story at all. Her voice sounded distant, even to her own ears. She took a small sip of her tea, hoping to soothe the awkwardness that clung to the air like a heavy mist.

Colin gave her a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You seem distracted," he observed gently, his gaze lingering on her with that familiar concern. "Something on your mind?"

Penelope hesitated, her fingers tightening around the porcelain cup. There were a thousand things on her mind, none of which she could share with him. The trip to Aubrey Hall was fast approaching, and with it the very real possibility of her identity as Lady Whistledown being exposed if she couldn't find a way to continue publishing while away — after all, wouldn't it be odd for her to suddenly go silent coincidentally at the same time as their departure? But how could she explain that to Colin? That she wasn't simply stressed about a country retreat but about protecting a secret that could ruin her life—and the lives of those she cared about?

"No, no. Just a bit tired, I suppose," she said, offering him a strained smile.

Sophie shot her a glance, her lips pressed into a thin line. Colin, as well, didn't seem entirely convinced. He leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowing in that endearing way that used to make Penelope's heart skip a beat. "If you're not feeling well, perhaps we should call it an early afternoon. I wouldn't want to—"

"No, please," Penelope interjected quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the very notion. "I'm fine, truly. It's just, well, the matchmaking of the Season can be rather taxing, can it not?"

Colin's expression softened, and for a brief moment, Penelope saw something akin to guilt flash across his features. "Yes, I suppose it can," he agreed, though his tone was quiet, reflective.

Sophie's voice broke the silence, her words clipped as she addressed Colin. "Miss Featherington is very resilient."

The chill in her tone was impossible to miss, and Colin visibly stiffened. He offered Sophie a tentative smile, as though trying once more to win her favor. "I've no doubt. Resilient is an understatement when it comes to Pen."

Penelope flinched at the casual nickname, though she hid it behind another sip of tea. Colin had always been so familiar with her, so comfortable in their friendship. And while she had once basked in that closeness, now, his warmth only felt like salt in a fresh wound.

Sophie, apparently having decided to engage in a one-sided battle with Colin, merely nodded, her expression cool and unimpressed. "Yes, well. Miss Featherington's resilience is hardly in question."

Colin's confused gaze flicked back to Penelope, searching her face as though trying to understand the tension that had settled in the room. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," he said softly, and there was an uncharacteristic uncertainty in his voice that made Penelope's heart ache.

He was trying so hard to be kind, to be the friend he had always been to her. But Sophie wasn't wrong. Colin's persistence in so aggressively maintaining their friendship, despite how deeply his words had wounded her, was almost cruel in its obliviousness. Yet, as Penelope considered it more, she realized the pain she'd felt wasn't as sharp as she'd expected. Yes, it had hurt to hear Colin dismiss her as a romantic prospect, but the hurt wasn't rooted in Colin himself. It was more about the sentiment in general, the rejection she had feared for so long finally being made real. The sting of it was more a reflection of her own insecurities than Colin's slight.

They spoke quietly for the next ten minutes before Penelope feigned a headache, suggesting she may try and rest.

As Colin offered his well-wishes and rose to leave, he cast one last glance at Sophie, who had already stood to escort him out. "I'll see to it that the family is aware Pen will be resting so she is not disturbed," he said, his tone polite but no longer as light as it had been at the beginning of the afternoon.

Sophie said nothing, only dipping her head in a curt nod.

Penelope watched him go, her heart heavy with all the things she couldn't say, all the feelings she couldn't express. Once the door clicked shut, she let out a long, shaky breath and set her teacup down with trembling hands.

Sophie crossed the room in silence, her expression softening as she approached Penelope. "He doesn't deserve your kindness, Miss Penelope."

Penelope looked up at her, the beginnings of an actual headache forming behind her eyes. "Perhaps," she said, her voice soft. "But you must remembere that it is mine to give."

Sophie's brow furrowed, but Penelope quickly added, "I just— I don't want you to be so harsh around him, Sophie. He's not a bad man, and I don't want you getting into trouble on my account."

Sophie's mouth opened as if to protest, but Penelope cut her off with a gentle smile. "I appreciate your loyalty, I truly do, but we must be careful. I've been the subject of enough scandal this season as it is."

Sophie pressed her lips together in a tight line, her frustration evident, but she nodded. "I understand."

As Penelope stared at the closed door, her mind raced ahead to Aubrey Hall, to Lady Whistledown, to all the secrets she was desperately trying to keep from unraveling. She could feel the weight of it pressing down on her chest, but for now, at least, she wasn't alone.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - John

-~-

John stood stiffly outside of Madame Delacroix's modiste, his eyes flicking warily back and forth across the crowded street. It was mid-morning, but the daylight felt too harsh, too exposing for an errand of this nature. Escorting both Eloise and Penelope to see Genevieve Delacroix, especially after Penelope's recent run-in with her at Bloomsbury market, made him uneasy. They were drawing attention, the kind that lingered too long for comfort.

Sophie stood a few feet away, ever vigilant, her gaze scanning the storefronts. She didn't know the real reason for their visit, believing it to be a simple fitting before the journey to Aubrey Hall. The truth about Penelope's secret life as Lady Whistledown was something John himself still wrestled with. He didn't entirely agree with keeping Sophie in the dark—who seemed to hold the same Penelope as he did for Eloise—but he kept his misgivings to himself. They were all walking a precarious line, and the fewer people involved, the better.

"Everything will be fine," Penelope had said earlier, her voice light but strained. John hadn't believed her then, and he certainly didn't now.

Inside the shop, Eloise and Penelope were still dealing with Madame Delacroix. Meanwhile, Sophie shifted next to him, breaking the silence. "Odd, isn't it?" she murmured, her voice low. "To come without Lady Bridgerton?"

John nodded, avoiding her eyes. "Miss Bridgerton's eager to update her wardrobe."

Sophie didn't respond, but John could feel her suspicion. Eloise Bridgerton, eager about fashion? They both knew better.

Movement caught his eye across the street. Rosamund Reiling and her mother, Araminta Gunningworth, approached. Their presence was impossible to ignore, with Rosamund's chin lifted in that haughty way of hers while Araminta looked as indifferent as ever. However, it wasn't them who made John's pulse quicken—it was Rae, trailing behind them, a step removed from their cold airs of superiority.

Sophie muttered something under her breath, her tone tightening as she noticed them too.

John glanced at her, noting the tension in her stance. Sophie might have been accustomed to the scorn of families like the Gunningworths, but it didn't make their disdain any easier to bear.

Araminta paused at the shop's entrance, eyeing it with a critical squint before waving Rae off to wait outside. Rae, obedient and discreet, bowed her head low and stepped to the side. When her gaze landed on John, a small, knowing smile flickered across her face.

"John," she greeted him, her voice soft, but with a hint of dry humor beneath the surface. "Keeping busy, I see."

John chuckled, the tension easing a little at the familiar exchange. "Always. The Bridgertons like to keep me on my toes, as I'm sure your household does as well."

Rae tilted her head, her smile deepening ever so slightly. "I'd imagine so. Must be nice, though, having so many to serve. Never dull."

John quirked a brow at her comment, catching the subtle irony in her tone. "If by not dull, you mean chaotic, then yes, it's never dull."

Rae's eyes twinkled, though she said nothing more, merely nodding. A quiet presence, but there was always something sharp about her, something understated but not to be underestimated. John found himself looking forward to these brief encounters with Rae. She had a way of saying little, but conveying much—a refreshing contrast to the overt posturing of others in her position.

Before John could reply, the shop door opened, and Eloise and Penelope emerged, both looking relieved. Eloise cast a quick glance around the street before turning to John and Sophie. "We're done here," she said briskly.

John stepped forward, opening the carriage door as the women approached. Behind them, Madame Delacroix stood in the doorway, her sharp eyes tracking their departure. "I'll have the alterations ready before your trip," she called, her voice professional, but John caught the faintest hint of amusement in her tone.

"Thank you, Madame," Penelope replied with a polite smile. "And do send my regards to Mrs Granville. She speaks highly of your work."

John noticed the brief smirk on Genevieve's lips before she retreated into the shop.

As the group climbed into the carriage, John resumed his place beside the driver, though his thoughts remained unsettled. Rae's brief appearance, Sophie's unease, the quiet tension swirling around Eloise and Penelope—it all weighed heavily on him.

The trip had gone smoothly, but John had a sinking feeling that the days ahead, especially with the journey to Aubrey Hall looming, would be anything but easy. Even the simplest of errands, like this one, seemed to ripple with far-reaching consequences.

Rae's presence, though brief, had provided a small respite. Their exchange, marked by that dry humor of hers, was a reminder that not everything about his role was steeped in anxiety. John appreciated her subtlety, the way she could read between the lines without asking too much. It was an unspoken connection, one forged through mutual understanding of their places in the world. They may have been servants, but they both knew how to observe, how to navigate the intricacies of those they served.

He cast another glance at the Gunningworth carriage as it disappeared down the street, his thoughts drifting back to Rae. He wondered about her—what her life was like behind closed doors, away from Araminta and Rosamund. She seemed so composed, so self-possessed in a way that belied the powerlessness most servants felt under the control of families like the Gunningworths. Maybe he'd ask her about it the next time they crossed paths, if the chance arose.

Sophie, however, remained an enigma. He could sense the weight of her silence, the way her suspicion had deepened. She wasn't privy to everything, but she didn't seem the type to be easily fooled. John caught her glancing at him now and then, a question in her eyes she never voiced. He wasn't sure what she suspected—perhaps nothing beyond the oddity of their errand—but it made him uneasy all the same.

But for now, he had a job to do. As the Bridgerton carriage rumbled along, heading back toward Mayfair, John couldn't shake the feeling that this trip was just the beginning of something bigger. Too many loose threads, too many players involved in secrets and schemes. And with the journey to Aubrey Hall fast approaching, the stakes were only getting higher.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Benedict

Chapter Notes

New Fic Cover Photo, who dis?

-~-

Benedict sat with his sketchpad resting idly on his lap as the Bridgerton family carriage trundled down the well-worn path to Aubrey Hall. The rhythmic clatter of horse hooves and the creak of wheels provided a comfortingly familiar, if monotonous, backdrop to his thoughts, though it was otherwise difficult to remain dwelling on them while, across from him, Colin and Gregory were engaged in a series of lively debates. Anthony, the lucky bastard, did not appear to be nearly as preoccupied, despite his unusually introspective countenance, as he still had time to occasionally glanced up from his book to interject a dry comment.

"Do you reckon they talk about us in their carriage?" Gregory mused aloud, trying to hide the earnestness of his inquiry. "Penelope and Eloise always seem to have their heads together, plotting something."

Colin chuckled, ruffling Gregory's hair, much to the younger brother's chagrin. "I'd wager they do, Greg. And I'm sure Miss Penelope has plenty to say, especially about your moon-eyed admiration. Can't quite keep it a secret, can you?"

Benedict's gaze shifted from his idle sketching to the brothers. The mention of Penelope's name tightened something in his chest.

Anthony looked up, his eyes sharp. "Gregory may find himself with more competition than he expects this season," he said cryptically.

Benedict frowned, the tip of his charcoal pausing against the paper. He knew Anthony referred to Colin, whose obliviousness to Penelope's merits as more than a friend was a source of frustration. Ready to defend Penelope's honor, Benedict opened his mouth, only to catch Anthony's gaze instead fixed upon him with an all-too-knowing look.

Silence claimed him, the words dying on his parched lips as he reconsidered his position while Colin and Gregory continued their banter, oblivious to the undercurrents flowing between the older Bridgerton brothers.

Benedict's thoughts wandered back to their earlier conversation in Anthony's study. His brother's words echoed in his mind, a warning to tread carefully around the delicate subject of Penelope's affections. 'Be careful,' Anthony had said. The implication was clear: Benedict's friendly attachment to Penelope was becoming noticeable as something more, and not just to him.

He turned his gaze outside, watching the scenery change as they neared Aubrey Hall. The lush greenery and expansive views were perfect for painting, a passion that usually allowed him to escape the complexities of his feelings. Yet, as he contemplated the peaceful landscape, his thoughts remained stubbornly fixated on Penelope.

Benedict admitted to himself, if only in the privacy of his own mind, that his feelings for Penelope might have begun to extend beyond simple friendship and latent attraction. There was a warmth, a pull towards her that went deeper, something he had not planned nor wished for. It was complicated, unwelcome in its intensity, and entirely inconvenient given the family's expectations for Colin and Penelope.

He sighed, setting the sketchpad aside. The idea of settling down wasn't entirely abhorrent to him, but acknowledging any romantic feelings towards Penelope felt like a betrayal of an unspoken agreement among the Bridgertons—that Colin would be the one for her. And yet, Benedict couldn't help but still feel that waiting for Colin to recognize Penelope's worth was both cruel and unfair to her.

As the carriage rolled on, the conversation drifted to plans for their stay at Aubrey Hall. Gregory was looking forward to the outdoor activities, Colin to the break from London's social whirl, and Anthony seemed content to simply have a few days of respite from his duties.

Benedict, meanwhile, planned to use the time to focus on his art. Perhaps in doing so, he could quiet the tumultuous feelings inside him, focusing instead on landscapes and still lifes rather than the complexities of human emotions. Yet, he knew the sight of Penelope, so vibrant and alive, would be a far more compelling subject than any pastoral scene.

Benedict was not Colin. The challenge was not merely in acknowledging his feelings but in managing them discreetly amidst the family dynamics. It would require all the restraint he could muster, but Benedict would do his best to remain a true friend to Penelope rather than give her mixed messages of affectionate overtures that he could not follow through on, but Benedict also wasn't entirely sure what that looked like. But ready or not, Aubrey Hall awaited, and with it, all the complexities of the heart that Benedict had hoped to leave behind in London.

As the carriage drew closer to Aubrey Hall, the conversation dwindled into a comfortable silence, allowing Benedict's thoughts to drift once again back to the woman consuming them. Benedict opened his sketchbook again, his fingers tracing the rough texture of the paper, a blank canvas awaiting his touch. He thought about painting her—not the polite, reserved young woman who appeared at balls, but the fiery woman capable of sharp wit but also endless compassion. Yet, sketching her in the way he saw her felt dangerously close to revealing his own concealed sentiments.

That door must remain shut at all costs, no matter the light leaking through.

A low chuckle from Colin drew Benedict's attention briefly. "Imagine the trouble we'll get into without the distractions of the city," he mused, excitement lacing his words.

"Yes, the country does have its unique charms," Benedict replied, his voice neutral, but his mind acutely aware that one of the charms on this particular trip also presented a constant test of his self- control.

He wondered what Penelope truly thought about coming to Aubrey Hall. Was she looking forward to the escape, or did she feel the weight of the family's expectations on her shoulders as he did?

The carriage slowed, its wheels crunching over the gravel drive of Aubrey Hall. The sight of the stately home brought a mix of relief and apprehension. This retreat could be a respite or a complication, depending on the turn of events.

As they disembarked, the crisp country air filled Benedict's lungs, refreshing yet chilling as he spotted Penelope among the others, greeting them with her usual smile that seemed to hold a hint of mischief. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, it felt as though she could see straight through to his conflicted heart.

As they moved towards the house, Benedict felt the inevitable draw to stay by Penelope's side, yet he also felt the need to keep a distance, to not let his gaze linger too long. Each moment around her was a delicate dance of maintaining friendship while guarding the deeper, more vulnerable parts of his heart.

Inside, he would find his easel and paints, the tools that allowed him to express what words could not. Perhaps through his art, he could process his tangled feelings, finding clarity in the strokes of his brush. For now, at least, it would be his solace and his escape.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

-~-

Penelope ascended the grand staircase of Aubrey Hall, her footsteps soft against the steps as the dim light from what sconces remained lit flickered along the walls. The day had been unbearably long—a blur of carriages and ceaseless chatter that left her feeling like a worn-out book forgotten on a high shelf, far from the life of a young woman in the peak of her second Season.

She'd just left the library after writing a brief response to her mother's latest letter. The contents had been predictable, a thinly veiled list of duties and disappointments, and the unspoken message rang clear: Penelope's priority was to remain in securing matches for her sisters. As for her own prospects, her mother quite firmly indicated that Penelope wasn't worth the trouble.

As she reached the final steps, a soft sigh left her lips. The sting of Colin's recent casual dismissal still ached and was yet another sharp reminder of her supposed insignificance. Still, she could almost hear Eloise's indignant voice insisting that she was loved, but Penelope did not know how she could possibly explain that it wasn't the kind of love she longed for. The affection of friends and family was different from the passionate, romantic love that she craved, the love she that everything around her could not stop reminding her that she didn't deserve.

So lost in her thoughts, she nearly walked straight into Benedict as he emerged from his room. His surprised gaze immediately softened into one of concern as he took in her troubled expression.

"Penelope," he greeted her. "Are you quite well?".

"Yes, just a bit worn from the journey," she replied, the lie slipping out as easily as ever. She offered a polite smile, one that she knew didn't reach her eyes but hoped would by masked by the dimming candlelight, and she hoped he wouldn't press her further.

Benedict, however, didn't seem convinced of her little charade. "You don't have to tell me anything if you do not want to," he said softly after a long pause, "but I've been told I'm a good listener, probably the best you'll find while stuck out here with us, discounting my mother, of course."

Something in his tone, the quiet sincerity barely behind his attempt to distract from it with humor, made Penelope's heart warm. "Thank you, Benedict," she said, touched by his offer.

She wondered when it had become so natural for them to refer to each other by their Christian names.

She nodded her thanks then moved to walk past him, making it no more than a few steps before he called out to her again. "Penelope, wait." His voice faltered, as if he were about to say something he wasn't entirely sure of. "I've applied to the Royal Academy recently, and, well, you are not allowed to reveal my weakness to anyone, namely Eloise, but I admit that I've been, uh, anxious about it."

Penelope turned back to him, surprise flickering across her face. Benedict was always so composed, his talent for art so natural that it had never occurred to her he might feel anything but confident.

Seeing her curiosity, he hurried on. "That is to say, I was wondering if you would by willing to sit for a portrait? My siblings do not much have the patience for it, and it would help me with my practice. You wouldn't have to do anything special. Just be yourself and not have to worry about pretending for a while."

He paused, suddenly flustered. "That was not the best choice of words, perhaps, and I hope you do not think it an insult. I thought it could be nice for both of us—"

Penelope let out a soft laugh, cutting off his nervous and unexpected rambling. "I'd be honored, truly."

His face lit up with relief. "Really? That's wonderful! Maybe after the Sharmas arrive but before the ball? Everyone else will preoccupied, I'm sure, and so long as we are not stationed in the midst of mother's planning, we should have plenty of time before the rest of the ton joins us."

"That sounds perfect," she agreed, her mood lifting slightly.

With a smile, they bid each other goodnight again, and as Penelope continued down the hall to her room, a spark of excitement stirred within her. To be seen—truly seen—by someone like Benedict, not as the world saw her but as something worthy of being immortalized on canvas, was a small but comforting thought.

When she entered her room, Sophie was lounging in one of the chairs by the fire, her hair halfway down from its careful arrangement and her shoes discarded by the hearth. She glanced up as Penelope walked in, a knowing look in her eye.

With a resigned sigh, for Sophie most certainly say the pair of them in the hall, Penelope recounted her encounter with Benedict—from his concern to his request for her to sit for a portrait. Sophie laughed softly, shaking her head.

"Bless that boy, he's probably had that on him mind for ages."

Penelope settled into her chair, disbelieving but willing to humor her new friend. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so. Artists paint what inspires them, and clearly that's you," Sophie said with a teasing grin.

Penelope blushed. "He said it was just for practice."

"Sure, but he doesn't need practice, not in the frivolous way you're implying. I'd be willing to bet a month's wages that he's a natural and was just trying not to make you uncomfortable."

Penelope sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "It's nice that someone sees me, I suppose, even if it is for practicing portraiture."

Sophie laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You deserve more than to wait around for someone to notice you. Colin might be a good man, as you say, but he's immature and blind when it comes to you. Maybe it's time to let someone else—someone who actually sees you, as you say—take a closer look."

Penelope blinked, Sophie's words settling over her like a revelation. "That's not what I—"

Sophie cut off her protest with a sly smile. "But this isn't just about Colin or Benedict. It's about you, Pen. You're worth more than waiting for someone else's attention, and you're powerful enough to demand it for yourself."

Penelope smiled, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. "Where did you come from, Sophie."

Sophie winked as she tucked Penelope into bed. "Oh, just across the street from Bridgerton House, same as you."

As Sophie left the room, Penelope lay in bed, her words replaying in her mind. Smiling softly, she let the peaceful quiet of Aubrey Hall soothe her to sleep, her heart a bit more steady than before.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Benedict

-~-

Benedict leaned against the doorway of the drawing room, watching as Simon and Daphne entered. Their arrival caught the immediate attention from the family, only made that much more exciting by the fact that Daphne carried baby August in her arms. The tiny boy waved his hands aimlessly, as if greeting the room's occupants with his own sense of importance.

"Oh, I am so pleased you were able to come," Violet exclaimed, her face alight with the joy of seeing her eldest daughter. She rose from her seat to approach Daphne, though her eyes were firmly on the baby in her arms.

"As if I would allow dear Augie to miss out on watching his mother win this little family tradition," Daphne said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Second year in a row, if I might add."

Benedict rolled his eyes, though he couldn't hide his grin. "Charming words from a duchess." She shot him a mischievous look. "A duchess who is still a Bridgerton."

Francesca, who had been sitting beside Penelope and Eloise, also rose to greet the new arrival. "Oh, come and see the baby, Eloise."

Eloise didn't look up from her book, resting in her lap with her usual air of disinterest. "Why? Has he changed since I saw him last?"

Fran sighed, but she moved toward Daphne without any argument nonetheless. "He's grown at least an inch, haven't you, Augie?"

Colin, who'd been loitering near one of the window, hopped into the playful ribbing with a laugh, "Do not mind your Auntie Eloise. She's too busy reading to notice anything else, as usual."

Eloise shot him a sidelong glance. "Is it not nap time? Perhaps Uncle Colin will lull you to sleep with his many tales from his travels."

Colin chuckled, shaking his head. "Yes, I seem to be missing the peace and solitude of the Greek isles already."

The affectionate laughter in the room had an ease to it that Benedict found comforting, but his attention still flickered to Penelope, who sat quietly beside Eloise. She looked amused by the exchange but was notably more subdued than usual, a shadow of thoughtfulness crossing her face. His gaze lingered a moment longer before Francesca's voice brought him back to the present.

"Benedict, come see Augie! You've barely had a chance to say hello."

Benedict pushed away from the doorway and approached Daphne, greeting both her and Simon with a warm hug. "It's good to see you both doing well," he said before turning to the baby. "And you, little man."

Baby August stared at him with wide eyes, as if studying his uncle with great seriousness, before cooing softly. The simple sound brought smiles from nearly everyone present.

Daphne smiled fondly at the child in her arms. "He's getting bigger every day. It's a marvel, really."

"Quite the opposite of a marvel," Eloise interjected with a teasing smile. "It is simply what babies do, Daphne."

"Which you would know all about, I'm sure," Colin quipped from his spot by the window, prompting more laughter.

As the conversation meandered on, talk soon turned to children—a subject that came up naturally with a baby in the room.

"I suppose now is the time to ask," Francesca said, glancing between the small group that had formed of her, Eloise, Penelope, and Be edict. "Do any of you want children?."

Eloise scoffed. "I, for one, shell never be forced to endure being with child. It's far too much work, and there's no freedom. Penelope and I have already agreed we'll run our own home as spinsters,

unencumbered by husbands or offspring."

Benedict raised an eyebrow at Penelope, who sat silently through Eloise's declaration. She smiled politely but didn't respond. He was surprised that Eloise's bulling over Penelope's actual thoughts on the matter hadn't been resolved, but supposed he was no expert on the intricacies of female friendship. Still, he would not force any opinions to be heard and gave Penelope a sympathetic nod, catching her eye to silently acknowledge that he understood she felt differently.

Francesca chimed in with her own thoughts. "I'd like children. Not right away, of course, but someday."

Eloise immediately began listing off reasons why Francesca shouldn't want children, ranging from the trials of pregnancy to the loss of personal time. "You'll be stuck at home all day," she argued, "and you'll never have a moment to yourself!"

As Francesca and Eloise continued their spirited debate, Benedict noticed Penelope's thoughtful expression did not soothe itself. She seemed to be listening intently, yet her silence spoke volumes. He wondered if she ever dreamed of having children or if, like Eloise, she actually preferred the freedom of a life unburdened by family expectations.

He imagined that, given her family situation and subsequent relationship with his family, her thoughts might be mixed on the matter.

Eventually, the conversation circled back around "What about you, Benedict?" Francesca asked, curiosity in her voice. "Would you want children?"

Benedict paused for a moment, considering his answer. "I suppose I would," he said slowly, "though not immediately. A couple of little ones running around My Cottage someday wouldn't be so bad." He smiled, imagining the scene. "But ultimately, it would depend on what my wife wanted. I'd support whatever she felt was best."

He, as the only one with knowledge on sex and childbirth, kept silent on why he would give his wife leave to decide the matter, figuring they were already walking a tightrope as it was, having such a conversation as is. He was lucky that mother or Anthony had not wandered over yet to overhear them.

Eloise rolled her eyes. "How very diplomatic of you, Brother." Benedict chuckled, unbothered by her sarcasm. "It's the truth."

Penelope, by contrast, seemed to mull over his words and glanced at him thoughtfully, as if they gave her something important to weigh in her mind, but she said nothing. Still, he had to turn away as he flushed at the possible idea that she could be considering what children with him would be like. She likely wasn't, but idea would not release him from it's grip and his mind conjured the image Penelope holding a tiny newborn with tufts of red hair and green eyes that his father had passed along to him.

Before the conversation could continue, or worse, before Benedict'a mind could spiral into further inappropriate imagery, Simon interrupted form where he stood by the window with Anthony. "I see the carriage," he announced. "The Sharmas and Lady Danbury are nearly arrived."

The room stirred with excitement at the news, and everyone began to rise from their seats, preparing to greet their guests. Daphne handed baby August to Violet, who cooed at her grandson before passing him to the nursemaid.

As they all gathered in the main hall, Benedict found himself standing beside Penelope once again. He glanced at her, wondering what she thought of Anthony's new romantic pursuit, and if it reminded her of the one love she had held onto for so long. But before he could even consider asking such a familiar and in appropriate question, the sound of the carriage pulling up outside captured everyone's attention, and the guests of honor arrived, bringing with them the potential for even more change.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

Chapter Notes

Every time I write a chapter using bits from actual scenes in the show without any super major changes, I become incredibly frustrated with how clunky they feel

-~-

Penelope stood at the edge of the main hall, her hands clasped tightly before her as she watched the carriage pull up through the door leading outside. The arrival of the Sharmas and Lady Danbury had been eagerly anticipated, but even through the excitement Penelope found her thoughts still lingering on the conversation that had just taken earlier in the drawing room. The topic of children had caught her off guard, and Benedict's willingness to defer to his future wife on such an important matter intrigued her. She had always assumed men—especially men like Benedict— would have their minds made up on these things. But Benedict had said he'd leave the decision to his wife, and that thought gnawed at her, pulling her focus away from the arrival of their guests.

It was frustrating, maddening even, how little she actually knew about pregnancy and children. For all the conversations she had overheard in ballrooms and parties, it seemed no one ever spoke plainly about it. Everything was wrapped in innuendo, half-spoken thoughts exchanged with knowing glances, and Penelope—despite being so skilled at piecing together gossip—felt like she was always missing a crucial part of the puzzle. The more she thought about Benedict's comment, the more she realized there was an entire world of experience she had no grasp on, and it left her feeling ill-equipped to understand his true meaning. How could she ever understand his perspective, or anyone's perspective on a future family, when she didn't even know what she might want for herself or how to achieve it?

Benedict, lingering nearby, appeared just as preoccupied and Penelope felt, though his eyes occasionally drifted toward her. She could feel the weight of his presence, not oppressive but constant, like he was somehow tethered to her in these moments of anticipation. Like the other evening, she found herself wondering when it had become so normal for him to stay so close by her side? Was it as comforting to him as it was to her? Did even realized he was doing it.

The clatter of hooves and the soft bark of a dog snapped her attention back to the scene unfolding before her. The Sharmas and Lady Danbury were descending from the carriage, their arrival marked by a flurry of greetings.

Lady Danbury, ever imposing yet warmly familiar, called out as she strode forward. "Now, the only reason to endure such a journey is to see my great-godson. Hello."

Lady Bridgerton smiled in return. "Well, it is a joy to see you as well, Lady Danbury."

Lady Sharma followed behind, and Penelope could feel the collective gaze of the family turning toward her and her daughters. "Oh, Lady Bridgerton," she greeted the older woman as she dipped her head toward Violet. "Thank you for having us. This is my daughter Edwina, you remember."

Violet greeted them warmly, "Lovely to see you. I do."

"And, of course, Kate, my eldest," Lady Mary added, as Kate approached, her posture regal and strong.

Penelope watched, intrigued as Kate wandered slightly away from the group to view the house, and Anthony seemed to only have eyes for her rather than the woman he intended to propose to. He was quick to take the opportunity to needle Kate, his eyes dancing with challenge as he approached. "Ah, you're smiling."

Kate gave a long-suffering sigh. "I was smiling at the view, which you are now blocking." Anthony chuckled, unperturbed. "I see my plan to win you over is already working."

Her gaze was steely, though even Penelope could see that there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Since your schemes to manipulate me are now out in the open, I suppose it would be an improvement, indeed."

Yes, this was quite an interesting development.

The arrival was largely filled with light banter and introductions, particularly when Daphne mistook Kate for Edwina in a blunder quickly forgiven. As Anthony introduced Miss Edwina to Aubrey Hall, Penelope couldn't help but notice the way everyone seemed to fit into their roles with such ease. The exchanges flowed naturally, full of good humor and veiled challenges, as was typical for the Bridgertons. Meanwhile, she still stood on the edge, as was usual.

"Miss Penelope," Benedict's voice broke through her reverie, and she realized he was at her side once again, offering his arm.

Penelope blinked and looked up at him, her mind catching up with the present. "Mr. Bridgerton," she replied softly, placing her hand lightly on his arm as he began to escort her inside.

They walked toward the entrance, the chatter of the guests faded as they trailed behind. Eloise's sharp gaze followed them, suspicion in her eyes and Penelope caught the look out of the corner of her eye and felt a familiar twinge of guilt.

"You seemed quiet this afternoon," Benedict observed as they walked, drawing her attention back with a voice low enough to remain between them.

Penelope glanced up at him, light of the open door now behind them casting shadows across the planes of his face. "I was just thinking," she admitted.

His expression restrained but curious. "Anything in particular?"

She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to delve into the subject of their earlier conversation. But Benedict had always been easy to talk to, and perhaps that was why she finally found herself speaking. "About children," she said quietly. "And what you said earlier."

His brow furrowed slightly, and the lightness in his tone took on a distinctly strained quality. "I didn't realize my answer would give you pause."

"It wasn't what you said so much as how you said it," Penelope replied, choosing her words carefully. "I've never known a man to leave the decision of children up to his wife."

Benedict smiled softly, his eyes warm. "You have not seen many love matches up close, I presume. I've seen too many women forced into things they did not want, but my mother was never one of them, and I would never do that to someone I love."

Penelope's heart skipped a beat at his inadvertent confession of wanting a love match. The sincerity behind it made her chest tighten, reminding her of Sophie's declaration that perhaps she should look elsewhere for happiness, and for a moment she completely lost the ability to speak.

"Not many men would have such a stance," she finally managed, forcibly reminding herself that it would not do her any good to presume anyone's feelings. Benedict was her friend.

"Then not many men are worth your time," Benedict said, his eyes catching hers, completely destroying her previous mental logic. He seemed to come back to himself quickly though, and looked away with a forced bark of laughter.

Before she could respond, the hall doors swung open, and the group moved inside, their voices rising with renewed excitement as they prepared for the evening ahead. Benedict released her arm, giving her a soft smile before moving to join his brothers, leaving Penelope standing near the entrance with a flutter in her chest.

As she made her way further into the house, her thoughts continued to drift. Could there ever be a world where someone like Benedict truly saw her—not just as a friend, but as something more? She glanced back toward him as he moved through the room, his laugh mingling with his brothers'.

Eloise appeared at her side, her eyes sharp as ever. "What was that about?" Penelope started, surprised by Eloise's sudden appearance. "What do you mean?"

"You and Benedict," Eloise said, her tone laced with suspicion. "You two have been spending a lot of time together. I did warn you not to entertain his frivolous attentions, did I not?"

Penelope gave her a small, nervous smile. "He was just being kind, Eloise. Nothing more."

But as Eloise continued to watch her with narrowed eyes, Penelope couldn't help but wonder if there was more to it after all.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Eloise

-~-

Eloise was thoroughly and completely bored as she wandered the halls of their country home. She had no idea why it took everyone so long to change dresses for a game of pall-mall. Why anyone needed a special outfit for a game involving wooden balls, mallets, and a lot of shouting was beyond her. She herself had dressed quickly, tossing on a simple gown that would surely do the job, and was now left waiting for what felt like an eternity. Even the idea of besting her brothers, an activity that usually gave her great joy, had lost some of its thrill in the face of this endless preparation.

With a long sigh, she continued her wandering, aimlessly trailing her fingers along the wooden banisters as she went. She loved Aubrey Hall, she really did, and while normally she would relish the quiet so that she might finally be able to read in peace, it was not the same when total domination over her brothers awaited her in the field of batter, yet the rest of the household was busy in their rooms and caught up in a flurry of ribbons and hairpins, leaving her alone with her thoughts, which was a dangerous prospect. Eloise Bridgerton was not someone who enjoyed sitting still, and she her thoughts would become torturous to hold in for too long if she did not have someone to speak them to.

As she passed Daphne's old rooms, she noticed the door slightly ajar and heard the soft cooing of an infant. Peeking inside, she saw her older soster leaning over a cradle, gently soothing baby August as he drifted off to sleep. Eloise paused, leaning against the doorframe, and crossed her arms.

"Isn't that what the staff is for?" she asked, making her presence known.

Daphne glanced over her shoulder, her expression one of amused indulgence. "You'd be surprised how much joy I take in it, Eloise. I am his mother, after all."

Eloise raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the room. "Seems like a waste of time if you ask me, considering you have an entire household of perfectly capable people to do it for you."

Daphne turned fully to face her, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "A waste of time? You've never been a mother, so I wouldn't expect you to understand. But I assure you, it's hardly a waste."

"I'll take your word for it," Eloise replied, waving her hand dismissively. "Still, I can't imagine why you'd prefer this over, say, reading a book or doing something useful."

Daphne chuckled softly, shaking her head. "One day, Eloise, you'll understand. Or perhaps you won't. Either way, I can't say I'm surprised of your opinion."She glanced back at the crib, making sure Auggie was fully settled before quietly stepping away. "So, how did you find yourself all the way over bother me while Penelope is so near to handle you? I would have thought the two of you would be inseparable, as always."

At the mention of her best friend, Eloise let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Penelope is rather occupied these days."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, her interest clearly piqued. "Oh? And what exactly does that mean?"

Eloise huffed again, this time more dramatically. "First, Colin stole her away with his ceaseless letter writing, and now it's Benedict who aims to keep her from me. I can't escape it. They're all constantly vying for her attention, and where does that leave me? Wandering these halls like some kind of forgotten ghost."

Daphne, clearly more intrigued than she let on, turned fully to face her sister. "Benedict? I wasn't aware they were spending so much time together."

Eloise, always quick to turn frustration into a rant, threw her hands up. "Oh, you have no idea! He's forever lingering by her side, offering his arm, making her laugh. It's getting rather unbearable, actually. I've told him to stop, but does he listen? No. Of course not. Why should anyone listen to me?"

Daphne's lips twitched, as if she were trying to hold back a smile. "I see. And what does Penelope think of all this attention?"

Eloise rolled her eyes again, pacing the room now. "Penelope does what she always does—smiles politely and pretends not to notice. But I notice. And it's ridiculous. Penelope has enough to worry about this season without Benedict's frivolous attentions."

"Frivolous?" Daphne echoed, her voice soft with curiosity. "What makes you so sure his attentions are frivolous?"

Eloise stopped in her tracks, turning to face her sister. "What else could they be? Benedict is hardly the serious type. He's constantly flitting from one thing to the next—one hobby, one woman, one grand idea. And now, apparently, it's Penelope. I won't let her be just another one of his passing fancies."

Daphne considered this for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "You're very protective of Penelope. But perhaps Benedict's attentions aren't as frivolous as you think. Have you considered that?"

Eloise snorted, waving off the suggestion. "Please. Benedict can make new friends wherever he pleases, and he should not have leave of mine as well, especially when his version of friendship could lead to scandal for both of them. I've warned them both, but of course, they never listen."

Daphne smiled knowingly, her eyes glinting with something Eloise didn't quite catch. "And what exactly did you warn them about?"

"That they're being foolish, obviously," Eloise replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Penelope deserves better than to be distracted by Benedict's antics while mother is looking for any excuse to find us matched."

Daphne's interest deepened, though she kept her voice light. "And what does Benedict say when you confront him?"

"Oh, he just laughs and brushes me off. Typical Benedict. Always thinking he knows better." Eloise crossed her arms again, glaring out the window. "And Penelope... well, she's always been too polite to speak her mind. But I know her, and it must wear on her to have to constantly indulge him."

Daphne leaned back against the wall, her arms folded as she observed her sister. "And you think that's all there is to it? Just Benedict being Benedict?"

"What else would there be?" Eloise shot back, her frustration growing. "I know my brothers, and I know Penelope. There's nothing more to it."

Daphne's smile remained, though now there was a touch of amusement in it. "You've always been very good at observing others, Eloise, but sometimes even you miss things."

Eloise scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Daphne replied with a small shrug. "Just an observation."

Before Eloise could press her further, there was a light knock at the door. A maid entered, bowing her head respectfully. "My ladies, everyone is gathering on the lawn for the game."

Daphne nodded, giving the maid a polite smile before turning back to Eloise. "Well, I suppose we should join the others. It seems I'll have to keep an eye on two brothers rather than one."

Eloise snorted, completely misinterpreting the comment. "I'd worry about Anthony first. Benedict barely takes the game seriously."

Daphne merely smiled, her amusement evident as they left the room together and made their way toward the lawn. Eloise, blissfully oblivious, marched ahead, her thoughts already focused on the game to come. As for Benedict and Penelope? Well, she'd warned them both. What more could she do? She knew her brothers far too well to be surprised by their antics. Or at least, that's what she told herself.

But as they stepped out into the sunshine, Daphne's knowing smile lingered in the back of her mind, a tiny seed of doubt taking root.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Violet

-~-

Under the softened shade of the sun tent, Violet Bridgerton settled herself into a comfortable chair and arranged her skirts with practiced elegance. Her movements were automatic, her hands gliding across the fabric as if by instinct, but her mind was already scanning the scene before her and cataloging every detail for future reflection. Across from her, Lady Danbury leaned back with far less concern for propriety, her cane resting casually at her side like a seasoned general surveying her troops. While Violet couldn't help but admire the veneer of irreverence, she had no doubt that her friend's eyes were taking in the surrounding activity just as keenly.

"Ah, Pall Mall," Agatha hummed, her voice tinged with amusement. "It is always a treat to watch your young Bridgertons tear into each other like wolves. You've raised quite the competitive bunch, Lady Bridgerton."

Violet chuckled softly, though she felt a rush of warmth at the compliment. Her children, as chaotic as they could be, were her pride. "Indeed, they do seem to relish the chance to set aside society's expectations—if only for so long as to resist throw the winner of their little game into the lake."

A moment of shared understanding passed between them, and Violet's gaze drifted back to the lawn. No matter how much time passed, Pall Mall always brought all of her children back to their younger selves, as if the years between had evaporated. The competitive spirit that erupted during these matches was inevitable, but so was the reinforcement of bond that had always held them together.

Lady Mary Sharma approached the two older women, her grace and elegance palpable. Yet, even as she sat beside Violet with a smile, the Viscountess noticed a telltale stiffness in her posture. There was an undercurrent of unease there, understandable given the complexities of introducing her daughters into a new society following her own scandal.

"This game is taken quite seriously, I see," Mary said, her tone a mix of curiosity and mild concern.

Violet smiled warmly as she patted Mary's hand reassuringly. "Oh, quite seriously, I'm afraid. But it's all in good fun. You'll see soon enough."

Mary's lips curved into a small smile, though the uncertainty in her eyes remained.

Agatha, meanwhile, was always ready to stir the pot and tapped her cane lightly on the ground while leaning forward with a knowing glint in her eye. "Your Miss Kate Sharma has spirit. She'll be a duck in water. Edwina, however... well, I'm certain they will spare her from their rivalries."

Violet's eyes flicked to Mary, whose fingers tightened just slightly around her skirts at the remark. Mary remained composed, but Violet saw the protective edge in the slight shift of her demeanor. She remembered that feeling all too well—the urge to shield one's children from even the slightest criticism, even if she quietly agreed with Agatha's assessment.

Before anyone could respond, Daphne arrived. "Auggie is sleeping soundly," she said with a bright smile, seating herself beside her mother. "And I've explained the rules to the younger Miss Sharmas. Though I'm afraid they still might not have a full idea of what they're in for."

Violet's heart softened at the sight of her daughter. How naturally Daphne had taken to her roles as both Dutchess and mother. "That's very kind of you, Daphne. I'm sure they appreciated the help."

Daphne grinned, though there was a playful gleam in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure they did. Kate has that look about her—ready to win at any cost."

As Daphne spoke, Violet's attention wandered toward the house, where the rest of the family and guests were making their way onto the lawn. While the others greeted as they passed, Penelope instead lingered near the edge of the sun tent with an expression caught between hesitation and resignation.

Violet's heart swelled with affection for the redhead. She had watched the young woman grow up, so often overlooked by society. It had always been quietly assumed that she and Colin would eventually marry. It made perfect sense, after all. The two had been friends for years, and their bond had always been strong. Colin was fond of her, and she of him, though Violet still sometimes wondered if Penelope's feelings ran deeper than Colin's.

But with the events of last season and the progress of this one, Violet had begun to question that assumption. Colin seemed as content as ever in his friendship with Penelope, despite the woman's dire circumstance, and she worried that it would take losing her for him to realizing she was even something that could be lost.

"Penelope, my dear," Violet called out, her voice warm as she beckoned her closer. "Why aren't you joining the others?"

Penelope hesitated before approaching, her hands nervously smoothing her skirts. "There aren't enough mallets for everyone. I thought it might be best if I refrain from joining so that no one else need lose the opportunity."

Violet frowned slightly, sensing Penelope's familiar reluctance to assert herself. It was something Violet had observed for years, that shrinking in the face of others' expectations, the way Penelope seemed to fold inward to avoid taking up space. It was a habit she had always hoped Penelope would one day break free from.

Agatha, as always, cut through the matter with her usual bluntness. "Nonsense, child. What's a shared mallet between family?"

Violet nodded in agreement, though her thoughts lingered on Penelope's quiet hesitations. "You are as much welcome to play as anyone, Penelope. We will make room."

Just as Penelope opened her mouth to protest, Violet's second oldest child appeared with his usual easy charm and eyes twinkling with amusement as they landed on the group of women.

"You keep the rest of us waiting in agony,"he joked. "Is there a problem?"

Penelope shifted, clearly uncomfortable under his attention. "No problem, really. Just a matter of mallets. I was just telling the Viscountess that I thought I it best for me to sit out so that everyone else could play."

Benedict's grin widened, a touch of mischief in his expression. "Oh, that is a matter most easily solved."

Violet watched closely as her son stepped forward, his gaze lingering on Penelope with a warmth she hadn't expected. There was something more there, something beyond his usual teasing and lightheartedness. Violet's gaze narrowed slightly as she observed the ease with which her son leaned in toward the young woman, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"It'll be far more fun helping you beat my siblings than if I did it myself."

Penelope's cheeks flushed, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. Violet's heart stirred with the possibility. Could it be? Could Benedict, of all her sons, be the one to see Penelope as more than a dear friend of the family?

"It's settled, then," Violet said with a smile, though her mind was already turning over the implications of what she'd just witnessed. "Off you go. We'll be watching."

As Benedict and Penelope made their way toward the lawn, Lady Mary leaned closer, her voice lowered but tinged with curiosity. "It seems your son has taken quite a liking to Miss Featherington."

Violet's smile deepened, her thoughts swirling. "Yes, perhaps more than I initially thought."

She had always liked the idea of Penelope marrying into the family, but Colin, for all his affection for Penelope, had never shown the sort of interest that Benedict was now appeared to be displaying. Perhaps it was time to reconsider long-held assumptions. Perhaps, just perhaps, Benedict had seen something his younger brother had not.

Daphne rose then, her eyes flicking with that familiar glint of mischief that always put Violet on alert. "Well, I suppose it's time for me to rejoin the fray."

She paused, her gaze sliding toward her mother with a knowing smile. "We mustn't let our fondness for Miss Featherington affect the game, of course, not with Benedict there to steer her in the competition. Even Eloise had just noted earlier today about how well the two get on. I should think they will make for a fine team."

Violet chuckled softly, her mind still turning over the subtle shifts in her family's dynamics. "Ah, Eloise. Always so perceptive in some matters, yet so blind in others. Mothers see far more than their children think."

As Daphne strode off, Violet's gaze followed her before switching to the pair in question. "Oh yes," she murmured to herself. "Mothers see far more than their children think."

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

-~-

The Pall Mall match was usually a carefree affair, where the Bridgerton siblings reveled in their rivalries and lighthearted taunts, but today there appeared to be some additional underlying tension. Penelope could feel it—a subtle crack in the easy banter, a quiet discord that hummed beneath their usual jests. She had noticed it during their time in town, but it had followed them to the country, clinging to the edges of every conversation. The countryside had always been a sanctuary for the Bridgertons, a place where the troubles of the ton were left behind, but now, even here, something felt amiss.

Perhaps it was Benedict's proximity since their arrival that made her particularly aware of the strain in his smile above the others. He had been hovering closer than usual, and his jokes and teasing seeming slightly forced. It wasn't like him, and Penelope couldn't quite put her finger on why. As they reached her turn, Colin joined them, his usual easygoing demeanor masking a keenness that only siblings could wield effectively.

"Are the demands of the day affecting your guidance of Pen's game, Brother?" Colin asked, his tone light but laced with a sharp curiosity that made Penelope glance between the two brothers.

"Not a chance," Benedict replied, too quickly. His eyes flicked to Penelope, then back to Colin, the movement quick but noticeable.

She caught the look, but its meaning eluded her. It wasn't unusual for Benedict to glance at her during their time together this season—he had done it often enough—but there was something different in his gaze today. It lingered, weighted with something she couldn't quite place. She had become more aware of him since her conversation with Sophie, and that awareness made her heart beat a little faster whenever he was near. But this? This felt different.

Colin, however, was undeterred by his brother's evasiveness. He gave a small, knowing smile as if piecing together something unspoken. "Your head is clearly elsewhere," he pressed, his tone teasing but his eyes sharp with observation. "Otherwise, you never would have let Pen give me such an easy shot."

Penelope glanced at the ground, feeling a slight warmth creep up her neck. The way Colin spoke about her with such familiarity and affection still made her heart flutter, though the nerves were no longer soaked in the same unconditional affection. She no longer held out the same hope that his attention would shift into something more. That dream, she had begun to realize, was just that—a dream.

Funnily enough, it did not continue to bother her as much as she thought it would have.

Benedict's expression faltered, just for a moment, before he recovered with his usual charm. "I will admit," he said slowly, as if weighing his words with care, "my thoughts are far from the field. I've applied to become a student of art at the Royal Academy Schools."

Penelope's heart gave a small twist of confusion. Why was he mentioning this now? He had already told her—confided in her about his aspirations and the fears that came with them. Did Colin not know? She found herself glancing between the two brothers, wondering if this was news to Colin but already knowing the answer.

Benedict had told her but not his family, she realized. A quiet warmth bloomed in her chest. The fact that he had shared this part of himself with her first felt intimate, like a secret tethered only to them.

Colin raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. "Congratulations," he said, his tone genuine, though his curiosity remained piqued. "But why do I feel like that is only half of what's on your mind?"

Penelope's pulse quickened. Colin wasn't just making casual conversation anymore—he was digging. She shifted, her eyes darting between them, unsure whether to intervene or let the moment unfold. But before she could make a decision, Colin added, "Perhaps you ought to take a break, Ben. Eloise and I can keep Pen company just as well."

Benedict's expression darkened, and Penelope's breath caught in her throat. She had expected a playful retort, a joke at Colin's expense. Instead, there was a flare of something more—something raw and unspoken in the way Benedict's jaw tightened. It wasn't anger, not exactly. It was frustration, a tension that had been simmering just beneath the surface since they had arrived at Aubrey Hall.

"Perhaps you ought to mind your own business," Benedict muttered, his tone light enough to pass as a jest but sharp enough to draw a subtle wince from Colin.

Colin raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. Penelope could see the confusion flicker across his face, followed by a brief moment of concern then knowing before he turned to her with a smile—a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do not worry," he assured her, trying to ease the sudden tension in the air. "Just brotherly arguing."

Penelope nodded slowly, but she wasn't convinced. The tightness in Benedict's posture, the way his eyes flashed with something he was trying to keep hidden—it all felt wrong. This wasn't the Benedict she was used to. Something had shifted between him and Colin, something more than a simple sibling rivalry.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Benedict's gaze flickered past her, landing on someone else. Penelope followed his line of sight and saw Daphne standing across the lawn, watching them. Her brow was raised in a way Penelope had come to dread—Daphne's sharp eyes missed nothing. Her expression wasn't one of suspicion, but rather of quiet, almost amused observation, as though she had already deciphered the tension between the two brothers and was merely waiting for them to catch up to her conclusion.

Without a word, Benedict turned to Penelope and offered her his arm, his tone light again, though the strain had not fully left his voice. "Shall we move on to the next wicket, Miss Penelope? I'm sure we could still end my dear sister's winning streak."

Penelope blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but nodded as she took his arm. "Of course."

As they walked together across the lawn, the silence between them was heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Penelope's mind raced with questions—about Benedict's strange mood, about the tension between him and Colin—but she didn't know how to voice them. Was it her place to ask? Should she let him be, or was this the moment to offer the kind of friendship he had given her so many times before?

When they neared the next wicket, Penelope finally spoke, unable to keep her curiosity at bay any longer. "Benedict," she began carefully, her voice soft, "are you alright?"

He glanced down at her, his expression momentarily unreadable before he smiled. But the smile didn't reach his eyes. It was the same strained smile she had seen earlier, and it made her heart ache. "Of course," he replied, though his voice lacked conviction. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Penelope hesitated, biting her lip as she searched for the right words. "It's just... it seems like there's been more on your mind lately than just the Royal Academy."

For a moment, she thought he might brush her off, the same way he had done with Colin. But instead, Benedict sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as if he had been holding onto the tension for too long and was finally letting go.

"There is," he admitted quietly, his voice so low that she had to lean in to hear him. "But it's not something I can discuss right now."

Penelope's heart sank at his words, but she nodded in understanding. Whatever was bothering him, it went far deeper than his art or his family's expectations. It was something he wasn't ready to share, and that was alright. She could wait.

"Alright," she said softly, offering him a small smile. "But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. Just like you've been there for me."

Benedict's eyes softened at her words, and for a moment, the weight seemed to lift. He squeezed her arm gently, his smile this time more genuine, more real. "Thank you."

As they reached the wicket, Benedict stepped aside, gesturing for her to take her turn. Penelope took a deep breath, trying to refocus on the game, but the tension from their conversation still hung in the air, making her feel as if they were teetering on the edge of something unknown.

She swung the mallet, the ball striking cleanly, but her mind was still spinning with thoughts of Benedict and the growing strain between him and Colin. Whatever was happening between them, it wasn't just about Pall Mall or even the Royal Academy. It was something more, something that seemed to center around her.

Penelope bit her lip, glancing over at Benedict as he watched her. There was something in his eyes that hinted at a deeper connection between them, one she had only just started allowing herself to even consider, but she pushed the thought aside. Whatever was bothering Benedict, it would reveal itself in time. She would focus on the game.

For now.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Benedict

-~-

There were only a few days between the Pall Mall game, won once again by Daphne, and the arrival of the additional guests for his mother's Hearts and Flowers Ball, and Benedict wanted to use what little time he had available to start the painting he had been looking forward to since the idea came to him. The room Benedict had chosen for Penelope's portrait was not the grandest in Aubrey Hall, nor was it as public as the sitting rooms where the Bridgertons often gathered for tea. Instead, they settled into an unused nursery that was tucked away at the far end of the house, a place of quiet that had been long abandoned once the younger Bridgertons had outgrown it. The faded wallpaper still carried echoes of their childhoods, but now the space was little more than an an unused room filled with old toys and a grand view of the lawn below.

It was perfect for painting, with natural light streaming in and casting soft shadows along the edges of the space. Benedict had arranged a chair for Penelope by the window, her dark green gown contrasting with the pale surroundings and backlighting that turned the silhouette of her hair into a halo of warm flames. She sat comfortably with her hands resting delicately in her lap, her gaze steady as she awaited his instructions.

Sophie, ever dutiful, sat by the door, her posture as straight as a governess's. She watched the two with what Benedict thought was mischievous mirth, though her eyes occasionally wandered to the view beyond the window. Benedict had grown accustomed to Sophie's presence since she'd joined the staff as Penelope's maid, though he had to admit that she wasn't the usual chaperone for this sort of sitting. Still, it suited him just fine.

He began with slow, broad strokes, mapping out the lines of Penelope's figure on the canvas. His focus should have been entirely on his work—on the curve of her neck, the way the light softened her profile—but instead, his mind kept drifting. He couldn't stop thinking about the game earlier, about Colin's barbs that had landed just a little too close to home.

Colin, of all people, seemed to have picked up on the very thing Benedict had been trying to ignore —the way his feelings toward Penelope had started to shift. It was frustrating and confusing, because one would think that any perceived competition would have Colin realizing just how wonderful Penelope truly was, and yet he seemed to be the one poking fun at Benedict's tender feelings rather than the other way around.

For so long, she had been the friend of his younger brother and sister. Now, Benedict was the one blessed with her attention, but he still craved more. It wasn't just her friendship or her sharp wit, but the way she made him feel grounded, even when his own thoughts were scattered. The way she looked at him—no pretense, no expectations, just quiet understanding.

"Benedict," her soft voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. She had turned her head slightly, watching him with a curious expression. "You're awfully quiet, that cannot be a good sign."

He blinked, realizing he had been standing still, the brush hovering just above the canvas, unmoving. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile. "Just concentrating," he said, though the lie sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Sophie glanced over, but said nothing, her eyes darting back to the window as if that would be enough privacy to grant him the courage to speak his mind.

Penelope didn't seem convinced either, but she let it pass. She turned her gaze back toward the window, allowing him to resume his work in silence. But as Benedict returned to his strokes, he couldn't help but notice the shift in his own mood. The fact that Penelope had noticed his altered demeanor yet again calmed him, but it also unsettled him.

It wasn't as though Benedict had intended for these feelings of attraction to develop—they had simply crept up on him, slowly, until one day he could no longer deny that there was something more than mere friendly concern. But what was he supposed to do with that realization?

Did he even have a right to feel anything for her?

The thought gnawed at him, even as he tried to push it aside. One by one, his family was noticing his attentions, of that he was certain, and none of them were the type to let things go, especially when there was a mystery to unravel. The more Benedict evaded his questions, the more they would dig, and I t wouldn't be long before they reached the conclusion he tried to hide.

"You still haven't mentioned how the painting is coming along," Penelope said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet once more. Her tone was light, but there was an underlying nervousness there. "Am I proving a difficult subject?"

Benedict paused, glancing at her. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're not difficult at all," he replied softly. "It's just... I'm not sure I'm doing you justice."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he immediately regretted the words. It was too revealing, too close to admitting just how much he had been thinking about her lately, but before he could backtrack, she gave him a small, tentative smile.

"I'm sure that it is quite the opposite. To be seen through your eyes is an honor," she said quietly, her voice gentle but sincere.

He swallowed, the weight of her trust in him pressing against his chest. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply look at her—not as a subject for his art, but as Penelope, the woman who had come to mean more to him than he had ever anticipated.

The quiet stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like the calm before a storm—before something would inevitably shift, and nothing would be quite the same again.

Sophie shifted in her seat, her movements drawing Benedict's attention back to the room. He cleared his throat, attempting to dispel the sudden tension that had settled in the air.

"How are you enjoying Aubrey Hall?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation into safer territory.

Penelope's smile brightened slightly, and she leaned back in her chair. "It is lovely, as always," she replied. "I confess that it is an exceedingly nice to be away from town, even if only for a little while... to have a break from everything."

He nodded, understanding more than she probably realized. It seemed that for both of them, the countryside had always been an escape. He wondered if the reasons behind their thoughts on the matter would similarly align.

"I imagine the company helps," Sophie cut in with a knowing glance at Penelope, her voice light and teasing. Benedict wasn't entirely sure if she was referring to the Bridgertons or to him specifically, but either way, her comment didn't go unnoticed.

Penelope blushed faintly, but she gave a small laugh. "The Bridgertons always make everything more interesting," she said diplomatically, though her eyes flickered to Benedict for a brief moment before she turned her attention back to Sophie.

Benedict's grip on the brush tightened. Interesting. Was that all he was? Was that all she saw in him —a source of amusement, someone to fill the quiet moments?

He told himself it didn't matter, but that did not stop the inkling of a thought that his own heart was becoming more entangled with each passing stroke.

Whatever was brewing between them, it was only a matter of time before it reached its breaking point. For now, he would paint. For now, he would let the silence stretch between them, knowing that soon enough, he would have to face the truth one way or another.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

-~-

Penelope settled into the same chair by the window with her hands resting lightly in her lap the exact same as before, the soft rustle of her gown the only sound in the room. It was the second day of her portrait sitting with Benedict, and she once again found herself back in the unused nursery. She was feeling more comfortable than she had the day before, and there was even a small part of her that wanted to arrange herself back into the familiar pose incorrectly so that Benedict might come over to adjust her. Sophie, however, had taken her seat by the door once again, and while this time she had a book in hand, her eyes still wandered between the pages and the scene before her.

Benedict stood a few feet away, his easel positioned just so, with the light streaming in from the tall windows, catching the soft angles of Penelope's face once again. He had already begun painting, filling in the general image from the day before with more minute details that would bring it to life. The experience was a lot more difficult to sit still through than she expected though.

Perhaps it was the intensity of his gaze when he looked at her.

Penelope tried not to linger on it too much. She reminded herself that it was likely just his focus on the portrait—Benedict took his art very seriously, after all. And yet, there was something different, something lingering between them. The quiet, while comfortable, felt loaded, as though there was more to say but neither of them knew how to begin.

It was a mere hour into that day's nerve wracking session when the door suddenly creaked open and Colin stepped inside. His entrance was casual, unhurried, as if he had wandered in by accident, but the lack of surprise that crossed his face when he saw the three of them told a different story.

"Ah, here you are," Colin said, his usual easygoing tone filling the room. "I've been looking for you, Ben."

Benedict's hand stilled on the canvas, and he didn't turn right away. Penelope could see the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched for a brief moment before he forced himself to relax.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment," Benedict replied, his voice carefully controlled, though there was an edge to it that hadn't been there before.

Colin raised an eyebrow, glancing between Benedict, Penelope, and Sophie as if assessing the situation. His gaze lingered on Penelope for a beat longer than necessary, and she felt a faint warmth creeping up her neck, more from embarrassment than anything else. She gave him a small, polite smile, hoping to ease the tension she could already feel building.

"I can see that," Colin said, his tone light. "I didn't realize this was a formal affair. I'll admit, I'm rather surprised to find you and Pen locked away in here. I thought you'd be out enjoying the grounds like everyone else. Is mother aware?"."

Penelope's smile wavered for a moment before she spoke, ignoring his pointed question. "It is a lovely day, to be sure, but Benedict asked me to sit for him, and I was happy to oblige. It is a peaceful way to spend the afternoon, and I do not have to worry about the sun's affect on my pallor.

Colin's expression shifted, his intrigued smirk deepening. "Is that so?"

Benedict didn't look up, but his voice was firm when he spoke. "Yes, well, not all of us feel the need to be outdoors constantly, Colin. Some of us actually have work to do."

There was a sharpness to his words that startled Penelope, and she glanced between the brothers, unsure of what had prompted the sudden change in tone. Colin, for his part, seemed unperturbed. He gave a small chuckle, stepping further into the room and leaning casually against the wall.

"Work, you say?" Colin's grin widened, though there was something calculating in his eyes now. "Funny, I always thought your 'work' was more about the finding of inspiration rather than the actual application of it. Has dear Pen sparked something in you, brother?"

Benedict's hand stilled once more, and this time, he set the brush down with deliberate care. "I don't recall asking for your commentary, Colin," he said, his voice low.

Sophie, who had been observing the exchange with a growing frown, finally spoke up, her tone cool and clipped. "Perhaps, Mr. Bridgerton, it would be best if you left your brother to his task. I'm sure you would not wish to interrupt his concentration any further."

Colin glanced at her, his eyebrows rising slightly at the unexpected reproach. "Of course, Miss Sophie," he said, his tone polite but with a hint of mild frustration finally peeking through.

Penelope shifted in her chair, feeling the need to step in before things became more uncomfortable. "You're, of course, also welcome to stay if you would like," she offered, her voice soft but steady. "I'm sure Benedict would not truly mind."

Benedict's eyes flicked to hers, and there was something in his gaze that made her pause— something conflicted, as though he wasn't sure whether to be grateful for her attempt at smoothing things over with his brother or irritated by it.

"I appreciate the offer, Pen," Colin said, his smile warming slightly at her words. "But I don't think Benedict is in the mood for additional company at the moment." He shot a glance at his the man in question, his grin widening. "Am I right?"

Benedict's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Penelope thought he might snap. But instead, he merely nodded once, sharply. "Yes, well, some of us prefer a quiet atmosphere as we work."

The tension in the room was almost unbearable now, and Penelope felt her pulse quicken. She glanced at Sophie, who gave her a small, knowing look, as if to say she had expected this all along.

Colin seemed to sense the shift as well, and his grin faltered slightly. "Very well," he said, pushing off the wall and straightening his jacket. "I'll leave you to it, then." His eyes flicked to Penelope once more before he turned toward the door. "Miss Featherington, Sophie—enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

"Thank you, Colin," Penelope replied, offering him a polite smile, though the air in the room still felt thick.

Colin left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. The moment he was gone, the tension eased, though it did not disappear entirely. Benedict let out a slow breath, his hands flexing at his sides as if trying to release the frustration he'd been holding back.

Sophie, ever perceptive, stood from her chair, smoothing her skirts. "I'll give you two a moment," she said lightly, though there was a knowing glint in her eyes. "But just a brief one."

Penelope blinked, surprised by her sudden departure. "Sophie, you don't have to—"

"Oh, I know," Sophie said with a small smile. "But I think you and Mr. Bridgerton could manage without me hovering for a few minutes without ravaging you, don't you?"

Penelope flushed a deep umber, glancing at Benedict, who was now staring at his canvas with an unreadable expression. She wasn't sure what to say, but Sophie's smile was already fading as she made her way toward the door.

"I'll be just outside the door if you need me," Sophie added before slipping out, leaving them alone.

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Penelope could feel the weight of Benedict's gaze on her now, though she couldn't quite bring herself to meet it.

"Sorry about that," Benedict said after a moment, his voice softer now. "Colin has a knack for getting under my skin when he feels like it."

Penelope gave a small laugh, though it was more to fill the silence than out of genuine amusement. "It's alright," she said quietly. "Brothers are meant to do that, are they not?"

He didn't respond right away, his attention still on the painting in front of him. When he finally spoke again, his tone was more serious. "It's just that he does not seem to understand."

Penelope's brow furrowed slightly. "Understand what?"

Benedict hesitated, his fingers curling around the edge of his easel. "What I'm trying to do here. With the painting... with everything."

She watched him carefully, sensing the weight behind his words, though she wasn't sure she fully understood either. "You are merely perfecting your craft," she said softly, hoping the words that she would greatly prefer to be saying resonated through. "And you will."

His gaze finally lifted to meet hers, and for a moment, there was a raw edge in his eyes, something vulnerable that made her heart ache. "It's more than that," he said quietly, though he didn't elaborate.

Penelope wanted to ask, wanted to press him further, but something in his expression stopped her. Instead, she simply nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile.

And in that moment, as they sat in the quiet, it felt as though it was okay that there were things still unsaid—things that lingered just beneath the surface. They were merely waiting for the right time to be acknowledged, to be spoken. For now, they remained silent, both of them content to let the moment stretch between them.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

-~-

Benedict stood back from the canvas, surveying his work with a critical eye. The broad strokes had taken keen shape over the past two days, and now the finer details were coming to life—the delicate curve of Penelope's neck, the soft fall of her hair catching the afternoon light, the thoughtful expression that reflected the barely concealed depths within the pool of her eyes. His gaze lingered on her lips, seeing a n his mind the way they parted when she smiled. He wasn't finished, not entirely, but the portrait had come far enough for now. He could complete it later, once he had the privacy and time to focus without the distraction of her being close enough to touch.

He was all too aware of the effect her presence had on him, and his hands twitch with the desire to reach out and tuck a stray curl behind her ear or rest his fingers against the soft skin of her wrist.

Penelope, still seated by the window, shifted slightly in her chair, and he forced his gaze back to the canvas. She had been remarkably patient throughout both sessions, sitting still as he worked, though he could see the subtle restlessness in her hands. Her fingers, delicate and pale, flexed over the fabric of her gown, and he found himself imagining what it would be like to feel her skin beneath his own touch. His heart quickened at the thought, a warmth pooling in his chest that he had no right to feel.

"There," he said at last, slightly breathless as he set his brush down and stepped away from the easel. "I think that's enough for today."

Penelope looked up at him, and their eyes met for a moment longer than was appropriate. "May I see it?" She asked.

He hesitated, glancing at the canvas before shaking his head with a smile."Not yet," he said, his voice soft but firm. "I'll show you the completed piece once it's done."

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, and he had to resist the urge to reach out and brush away the faint frown that formed. Instead, he stood there, watching her with a hunger that he knew he couldn't fully conceal. "Very well," she said quietly, her voice like a whisper of the wind that sent a shiver down his spine. "I'll look forward to seeing the final result."

He swallowed hard, his gaze following her every movement as she stood from the chair. The way her hands moved, the gentle press of her fingers against the line of her shoulder as she stretched her stiff neck, made him ache in a way he hadn't expected. He wasn't used to feeling this way, wasn't

accustomed to wanting someone that he simply could not have. He told himself to be rational, to hold back, but his resolve felt as though it was being chipped apart piece by piece.

Sophie moved to gather the few things Penelope had brought with her, while Benedict began cleaning his brushes, though his attention was still fixed on Penelope. He realized just how much he had enjoyed simply having her close, even if it was only for the sake of the painting.

As they made their way toward the door, Benedict held it open for Penelope and Sophie to pass through. Penelope's arm grazed his wrist as she brushed past him, and a jolt of heat shot through him. He clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself. The sounds of the household preparing for the upcoming Hearts and Flowers Ball echoed faintly from the floors below, but all he could focus on was where her skin had touched his, the scent of her lingering in the air as she moved ahead.

Just as they started down the corridor, they encountered Daphne, who was making her way toward them with her usual graceful stride.

"Miss Penelope, Sophie," Daphne greeted them with a nod before turning to Benedict. "Brother. I've been meaning to find you. It seems you've been rather busy."

Penelope returned the smile, though Benedict could see her glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He wondered if she had noticed the tension that had settled between them, the way his heart had raced every time she was near. "Yes, Benedict's been kind enough to offer to paint my portrait. I fear I may have taken up too much of his time."

"Not at all," Benedict said quickly, too quickly. His voice felt strained as he caught Daphne's knowing gaze, the way her eyes flicked between him and Penelope as though she could see right through him. He couldn't stop himself from looking at Penelope again, the way the light made her eyes glow warmly. He swallowed hard, forcing his attention back to Daphne.

"I'm sure it will come out beautifully," Daphne said, her tone light but edged with the same curiosity that made Benedict's heart skip. "I've been quite busy with the ball preparations. It feels like there's always something to be done."

Penelope nodded politely. "I can only imagine. You must have your hands full."

Daphne smiled, though her eyes lingered on Benedict, clearly seeing more than he wanted her to. "Yes, well, it's all coming together. But I did want to speak with Benedict for a moment, if you don't mind."

Penelope glanced between them, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Of course. I'll leave you to it," she said, her voice demure and formal. Sophie nodded in agreement, her smile brief before they turned to go.

Benedict watched them walk away, his eyes trailing after Penelope. The way she moved, the way her gown swayed and barely slid over the curve her hips with each step, made the yearning in him tighten. He could still feel the warmth of her presence, the way she had looked at him with such trust. He wanted to reach out, to stop her, to tell her—

"Benedict," Daphne's voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality. She wasted no time, her smile fading to something more serious as she regarded him with a raised brow. "You and Penelope seem to have grown rather close lately."

Benedict's pulse quickened again, though he tried to keep his voice steady. "We've always been friendly."

"Friendly," Daphne repeated, her brow arching higher. "That's an interesting way to put it. From where I'm standing, there appears to be more than just friendship."

Benedict felt a flush rise to his cheeks, though this time it wasn't embarrassment but the raw ache of wanting Penelope and not knowing how to admit it, even to himself. He tried to focus on the conversation, but all he could think about was how much he wanted to be near her again, to feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her laughter.

"We are friends," he reasserted.

Daphne crossed her arms, her gaze never leaving his face. "Is that what you're telling everyone else, or is it also what you're telling yourself?"

Benedict opened his mouth to respond, but the truth stuck in his throat. How could he explain that Penelope had become more than just a friend, that every moment he spent with her left him

wanting more? How could he admit that the thought of Colin standing in the way of what he wanted made him feel the sharp sting of jealousy?

Sensing his hesitation, Daphne's expression softened, though her sharp gaze never wavered. "Benedict," she said gently, "I know you. I can see the way you look at her."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. His mind was filled with images of Penelope—of her sitting quietly as he painted, of her walking beside him, her arm brushing his as they talked. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?" Daphne's tone was calm, but there was a challenge in her words. "What's holding you back? If you care for her, then why not court her properly?"

He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of everything he had been holding back—his fear, his desire, his uncertainty. The truth was, he wanted her, wanted to be more than just her friend. But saying that aloud made it too real, too dangerous.

"Colin is on the cusp of realizing his feelings."

Daphne shook her head, her voice gentle but firm. "You're assuming Colin even has feelings to realize. Have you spoken to him about this? Or are you making assumption based on nothing more than jealousy?"

Benedict bristled at the word, but deep down, he knew it wasn't far from the truth. The thought of Colin claiming Penelope, of her laughter and smiles being for him, made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

"I'm not jealous," he said, but even to his own ears, it sounded like a lie.

Daphne raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Do not put her in an impossible position, Benedict. Mother has noticed the state of you as well, and I could never forgive you if she were forced into the same situation I was last season."

Benedict stiffened at her words. The implications were sharp, a reminder of how Daphne's marriage had come to pass, how the scandal had forced her hand. He would never want that for Penelope. He would never do anything to make her life more difficult.

But still, the desire remained. The thought of someone else stepping in, taking her from him, gnawed at him. He couldn't deny that.

He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of Daphne's words settle over him. "I'll talk to Colin," he said quietly, though the thought filled him with unease.

"Good." Daphne gave him a pointed look, her expression softening only slightly. "And make sure you're honest with yourself, Benedict. Don't deny what you feel just because it's inconvenient."

Benedict nodded, watching as Daphne turned and walked away, her words echoing in his mind. He grimaced at the implication. He held a great amount of affection and attraction for the redheaded woman, but Daphne spoke as if it were most assuredly love.

It couldn't be, could it?

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Benedict

-~-

Benedict's mind raced as he made his way through the corridors of Aubrey Hall while trying to figure out how to approach the conversation he knew was coming. He'd already spent far too much time pacing the nursery after Daphne confronted him, but delaying the inevitable did not soothe him in any capacity.

When he finally managed to track down Colin, he found him laughing as Gregory tried to imitate his dramatic manner of gesturing during a storytelling session. The carefree atmosphere around them made Benedict hesitate for a moment. Could he really break into this with his tangled mess of emotions?

But there was no avoiding it. He needed to know where Colin stood—and where he himself stood as well.

"Col," Benedict called, his voice tense, catching the attention of all three siblings.

Colin glanced over, his laughter dying down as he saw the seriousness in Benedict's expression. "Ah, Ben! You look as though you've seen a ghost." He grinned, barely concealing the flicker of concern in his eyes. "Come to steal me away?"

Benedict nodded. "I need to talk to you. Privately."

Colin raised an eyebrow, standing and ruffling Gregory's hair before heading toward Benedict. "Sounds ominous," he murmured under his breath, though he followed without question.

They made their way back to the nursery, the room where Penelope's portrait still sat drying on the easel, unfinished but glaringly vivid as they entered. Benedict wished he'd have thought to turn it away from the door, the weight of the painting's presence only deepened his unease, a constant reminder of the woman at the center of everything.

Colin glanced at the canvas as he pulled over the chair that Sophie had sat in earlier and settled at the table still filled with long cooled tea, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You've done an impressive job with her likeness," he said, his voice softening. "You've really captured her, Ben."

Benedict's chest tightened. He swallowed hard, trying to shake off the tension gnawing at him. "Thanks," he muttered, though his mind was too scattered to appreciate the compliment. Instead, he began pacing the room again, unsure of how to begin.

Colin watched him with growing amusement. "Are you going to tell me what is on your mind, or should I make a game of guessing?" His grin widened. "If it's about your application to the Royal Academy, you do not need to be so nervous. We all know you'll get in."

Benedict stopped pacing, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's not about the Academy. Not entirely." He hesitated, glancing at Colin before sighing. "It's about Penelope."

At that, Colin's grin faded, replaced by a look of curiosity. "Ah, Pen." He gestured for Benedict to sit down. "Alright, I'm listening."

Benedict dropped into a chair opposite his brother, his mind racing as he tried to organize his thoughts. "I've been trying to figure out..." he began, trailing off with a voice low. "I've been thinking—wondering if maybe you were finally realizing something."

Colin raised an eyebrow. "Realizing what, exactly?"

Benedict swallowed, the words thick in his throat. "That you have feelings for her."

Colin blinked, clearly taken aback. "Feelings?" His voice held genuine confusion. "For Penelope?" Benedict frowned. "Have you not realized how much she means to you? That you care for her?"

Colin let out a soft chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. "Ben, you've got it all wrong." He leaned forward, his expression more serious now. "I've been pushing you because it's so obvious that you're the one with feelings for her."

Benedict's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

Colin nodded, his gaze unwavering. "It's painfully obvious. I can see it in the way you look at her." He smiled faintly. "I didn't realize you thought I was just jealous."

Benedict felt his heart race, his mind struggling to keep up with this sudden shift in perspective. "But I thought you—" He paused, searching Colin's face. "You truly don't have feelings for her?"

Colin shook his head, his tone soft but firm. "I did not lie when we spoke before, Ben. I've always cared for Penelope, deeply. She's a dear friend that I truly treasure, and I would never want to see her hurt. I regret not considering how my actions may have put her reputation at risk, and if circumstances demanded it, I would marry her to protect her—but it would not be a love match." He sighed. "It would be out of duty, not passion."

Benedict sat there, stunned. Everything he had assumed about Colin and Penelope—everything he had feared—had been wrong. "You don't love her?"

Colin shook his head. "Not in the way you think. I've always seen her as a friend, someone who deserves more than what I could offer. But you..." He trailed off, giving Benedict a knowing look. "You are different."

Benedict's heart pounded in his chest. "Different how?"

Colin scoffs mildly at his brother's purposeful obliviousness. "You're in love with her, Ben."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and his heart lurched at Colin's words, his mind spinning.

"No, I'm not," Benedict shot back, his voice sharper than he intended.

Colin raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Ben, you've been painting her for days. You look at her like she's the only person in the room. You're, frankly unreasonably, protective of her. If that's mere fondness, then I'd be quite intrigued to see what you look like when you are in love."

Benedict shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. "It's not that simple. And besides, what would you know about love?" His voice held a bitter edge as he continued. "You thought you were in love with Marina last season, did you not? And we all saw how that turned out."

Colin's smile faded"Ignoring the implication that Penelope is somehow attempting to entrap you, you and I both know that was different, Ben."

"Was it?" Benedict's tone was sharper than he intended, but the memories of Colin's entanglement with Marina still stung. "You were ready to throw everything away for her—your reputation, your future—and you thought it was love. But it wasn't. She was using you."

Colin flinched, and Benedict immediately regretted the harshness of his words, but the point remained. "How can you claim to know what love is when you've been wrong before?"

Colin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're right," he admitted quietly. "I made a mistake with Marina. I let myself believe in something that wasn't real because I wanted it to be real. I wanted to save her. But that doesn't mean I don't know what I'm seeing now."

Benedict crossed his arms, still not entirely convinced. "And what are you seeing?"

"I'm seeing you, Ben. The way you're acting now isn't the same as what I went through with Marina. You're not trying to save Penelope. You're not caught up in some grand scheme." Colin's gaze softened. "Her family circumstances aside, you care about her for who she is, not because you want to fix something. And that's why it's different."

Benedict's chest tightened at Colin's words. He didn't want to believe it—didn't want to admit that Colin could be right. Because if he did, everything would change.

Sensing Benedict's unease, Colin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small leather pouch, tossing it onto the table. "Look, if you need to clear your head, this might help."

Benedict eyed the pouch warily. "What's this?"

Colin leaned back, his grin returning. "Something I picked up during my travels. Worldly travelers use it to clear their minds, transcend ordinary anxieties. It's a remedy of sorts."

Benedict sniffed the pouch and wrinkled his nose. "It smells awful."

Colin chuckled. "It only takes a small dose. Mix it with tea, and it'll help you see things more clearly."

Benedict looked at the tea sitting on the small table nearby—cold, leftover from his painting session earlier that day. It had been sitting there for hours, untouched. The idea of mixing the powder with it made him grimace, but the thought of escaping the confusion and tension gnawing at him was too tempting.

He emptied the entire contents of the pouch into the cold tea and, with a deep breath, downed the concoction in one go.

"Hells and the devil," Benedict groaned, grimacing as the awful taste hit his tongue. The tea was cold and bitter, the powder making it nearly unbearable. "That's awful."

Colin chuckled, shaking his head. "That was a bit more than I'd recommend for a first dose."

Benedict frowned, his vision starting to blur at the edges. "What do you mean, 'more than recommended?'"

Colin grinned, watching his brother with amusement. "You might want to sit down, Ben. This is going to be interesting."

As the world around him started to soften and blur, Benedict felt a strange warmth spreading through his chest. His thoughts grew hazy, the sharp edges of reality fading as his mind began to drift. The sensation was disorienting, but there was an odd sense of calm beneath it all.

In the haze, an image of Penelope flickered—her laugh, her smile, the way her eyes seemed to hold so much more than she ever let on. Benedict closed his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him. The

doubts, the confusion—they all seemed to melt away, leaving only the warmth of his affection for her.

For the first time in weeks, Benedict allowed himself to simply feel, without question, without hesitation.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

-~-

Penelope sat in front of the dressing mirror, her hands clasped lightly in her lap as Sophie worked to pin the final curls of her hair into place. Despite the seemingly casual atmosphere, Penelope knew there was a great deal at stake for her. Aubrey Hall had always been a sanctuary for the Bridgertons, and now, as their guest for the season, it was becoming hers as well, but only as long as she could navigate the delicate tensions that threatened to snap quickly into a vice.

Sophie hummed quietly as she secured Penelope's hair with deft and gentle fingers. "There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "You look perfect. Not that you don't always, of course."

Penelope gave a soft smile, glancing at her reflection. "Thank you, Sophie. I must admit that I am quite enjoying the stylings you've chosen for me. It is one less thing to worry about in the long list of things that could possibly go wrong."

Sophie arched a brow playfully. "That's why I'm here, isn't it? To keep you from falling apart at the seams before the machinations of the ton overwhelm you."

Penelope chuckled softly, though the slight tension in her shoulders remained. "It does seem as though I'm the center of attention more than usual. I cannot say that I am a fan."

Sophie's eyes narrowed slightly, her expression shifting from amusement to mild frustration. "Colin has certainly taken aim your direction," she muttered, adjusting the lace on Penelope's sleeve. "He's been hovering around you for days now. I don't know what he's trying to accomplish, getting in the way, but it's becoming rather tiresome."

Penelope sighed, her smile fading slightly. "He can be quite persistent when he sets his mind to something, though I admit that I cannot even begin to guess what his goal is at this particular moment."

Sophie scoffed lightly. "Persistent is putting it kindly. It's as though he's not used to someone disliking him, and he won't stop until he changes their mind. It's annoying, but..." She paused, her tone softening as she frowned. "I'm beginning to suspect he's not malicious in his overt attentions, merely stupid."

A laugh bubbled up from Penelope's chest, surprising even herself. She turned to Sophie, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, even I could have told you that. Well, maybe not before this

particular season, but certainly now that I have taken the time to realize just how elevated my view of him has been for all of these years."

Sophie's lips curved into a small smile, but there was still a touch of concern in her gaze. "It doesn't bother you, though? His hovering, his sudden need to gain approval?"

Penelope shook her head lightly. "No, not anymore. There was a time when I would have read too much into it, but now... I do not expect or even hope for anything from Colin, and I think that has made it easier to tolerate his presence and to truly start thinking of him as my friend and not a fantasy."

Sophie regarded her for a moment before nodding slowly. "You've grown, Miss Penelope, even just in our short acquaintance and certainly more than I think anyone realizes."

Penelope looked down at her hands, feeling the weight of Sophie's words. "Thank you," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of bittersweet acceptance. She had changed, in more ways than she could express, and though it hurt at times to acknowledge that the girl who once harbored foolish hopes for Colin Bridgerton no longer existed, it was also freeing in its own way.

Before either of them could say more, there was a knock at the door. It opened a moment later, and Eloise strolled in, her sharp gaze immediately finding Penelope. "There you are! I've been waiting for ages."

Penelope smiled, standing as Eloise approached. "I didn't think it was that long."

"Well, it felt like it," Eloise replied with a dramatic sigh. "I've been starved of your company, and now that you're finally free from Benedict's endless pestering to help him practice his paints, we can spend time together properly. At least before the rest of the ton arrives tomorrow and you're whisked away by God knows who."

Penelope laughed softly, shaking her head. "I'll always make time for you, Eloise. You know that."

Eloise grinned, looping her arm through Penelope's. "Good. Because once those vultures arrive tomorrow, I'll be lucky if I can have a conversation with you that doesn't involve my mother trying to match us with every unmarried man or some other nonsense."

Penelope's smile faltered slightly, but she quickly recovered, nodding in agreement. "I'm sure it will be a whirlwind, but we shall survive."

Sophie watched them with a fond smile, her hands on her hips. "You two go on and enjoy dinner. I'll finish tidying up here."

Penelope nodded gratefully, squeezing Sophie's hand before allowing Eloise to lead her out of the room. As they made their way down the grand staircase, Penelope couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within her. The dinner ahead would be just the beginning—tomorrow, the rest of the ton would arrive, and with them, a new set of challenges and a fresh wave of gossip.

For now, though, she had Eloise by her side, and that was enough to make this particular evening, at least, seem a little less daunting.

As they neared the dining room, Penelope could hear the faint sounds of laughter and conversation from within, the warmth of the gathering Bridgerton family already palpable even before they entered. It was a reminder of why she had always been drawn to this house—to this family. Despite the challenges she was facing, Aubrey Hall had a way of making her feel like she belonged, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

For that, Penelope was deeply grateful.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

-~-

Dinner at Aubrey Hall began with the usual warm atmosphere, though Penelope could sense a heightened energy thrumming beneath the surface. Seated next to Eloise and across from Benedict, she had done her best to blend into the conversation, letting the easy flow of polite chatter move around her. The Bridgertons and the Sharmas exchanged pleasantries, with Lady Danbury adding her sharp observations here and there. Penelope, meanwhile, kept her focus on the food, quietly grateful for the comfortable silence she'd managed to carve out for herself.

It didn't last long.

"This room is exceptionally well-lit," Benedict said suddenly, his voice unusually dreamy as he looked around the dining room. "Have you noticed, Col? The twinkle of the candles... it's as if we sit among the stars."

Penelope stilled, staring at Benedict's awe-filled face. His gaze was unfocused, a far-off look clouding his normally sharp eyes, and there was a peculiar slowness to his words that demanded her attention. His words had a dazed quality to them as well, one that didn't quite match the light conversation taking place at the table.

Colin, seated by his side, grinned. "I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece," he said, clearly trying to steer the conversation in a more grounded direction.

Eloise, on the other hand, furrowed her brow and leaned toward Benedict. "What is wrong with you?" she asked bluntly, more entertained than concerned. Her words were tinged with suspicion, and Penelope couldn't help but wonder the same. Benedict's behavior was unusual, to say the least.

Before anyone could press further, Daphne interjected smoothly, her attention turning toward Edwina Sharma. "Are you enjoying your time here, Miss Edwina?"

Edwina smiled brightly, ever the perfect guest. "I am, very much. The buzz of the city is thrilling indeed, but I quite enjoy the peace of the country."

"As do I," Anthony added, glancing between Edwina and Kate. "Though I dare say, it is not quite so peaceful with my entire family in residence."

Edwina giggled softly, exchanging a knowing look with her sister. "I understand, my lord. Certainly, I cannot compare my family with your seven brothers and sisters, but my sister and I were known to be a handful growing up too."

"I can imagine," Anthony replied, his tone thoughtful as his eyes darted to the older Sharma sister for a fraction of a moment.

Edwina's expression softened. "But Kate has always had my best interests at heart. She bears a heavy responsibility for our family."

Daphne seized the moment, a teasing glint in her eye as she turned toward her eldest brother. "That sounds remarkably similar to you, Anthony. Much familial responsibility to bear, indeed."

The conversation seemed to settle into a pleasant rhythm again, but just as Penelope started to relax, she felt a weighty stare settle on her once again. She glanced up, her heart skipping a beat when she realized that Benedict's gaze was fixed solely on her. His eyes were wide, intense, and filled with a kind of reverence that made her throat tighten.

Before she could react, Benedict spoke again, his voice filled with awe. "Penelope."

The sudden mention of her name brought the table to a halt, all eyes now turning toward Benedict as he continued, undeterred by the startled silence. "Penelope... my muse."

Her heart lurched in her chest, her face flushing with heat. The room, which had been alive with conversation just moments ago, fell utterly silent. All eyes were now on her and Benedict, and she wished for nothing more than to disappear into the floor.

Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat delicately, her expression a mixture of surprise and mild concern. "Benedict, dear, I do believe that you may be alarming our guests."

Benedict, however, seemed oblivious to the awkwardness now settling over the table. His gaze remained on Penelope, unwavering. "You inspire me," he murmured, likely not even realizing that his words heavy with emotion had even been spoken aloud. "I could create anything from your visage alone."

Across the table, Lady Danbury raised a brow, her fan fluttering as she observed the scene with a sharp glint in her eye. "How... touching," she said dryly, though there was a note of curiosity in her tone. "It seems your artistic pursuits have taken quite a personal turn, Mr. Bridgerton."

Penelope wanted to respond, to say something, anything that might ease the tension building in the room, but her throat had closed up entirely. She could only stare at Benedict in disbelief, her hands trembling in her lap.

Seeing the awkward turn, Colin jumped in with a forced chuckle. "Ah, well, you know Benedict— always waxing poetic about something or other. He has a flair for the dramatic, does he not?"

Violet nodded quickly, her smile tight as she tried to steer the conversation away from the unsettling declaration. "Indeed. Benedict has always had a creative spirit. Perhaps we should raise a toast to that." She lifted her glass, her voice a touch too bright. "To art, and to inspiration."

Anthony, sensing the need for further distraction, cleared his throat and stood, glass in hand. "A toast," he began, his voice warm and full of the ease that came with practiced elegance. "My sincere gratitude to the Sharmas for joining us. It has been splendid having you here to witness what is now my second annual loss at Pall Mall."

The laughter around the table was polite, though Penelope recognized that sense of anticipation growing, the atmosphere thickening. Anthony's eyes flicked briefly to Kate before returning to Edwina, and his voice softened as he continued, "But more than just the games, it has been a privilege to truly make your acquaintance these past few days."

Penelope noticed the way his gaze lingered continued to stray, his tone paradoxically becoming more thoughtful, almost reverent. The rest of the family sat quietly, waiting, as though they knew something significant was about to unfold. Even Violet looked as though she were holding her breath.

Penelope shifted slightly in her seat, her heart skipping a beat. Was Anthony meant to propose? It certainly seemed that way. The entire table seemed to hold its breath in unison.

Anthony cleared his throat, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze shifted—away from Edwina and again onto her sister, Kate. The moment was brief, but Penelope still saw the sharpness in his eyes

and the intensity that flickered in his expression when he looked at Kate was was simply not present as he watched Edwina.

Penelope's mind raced. Why would he look at Kate in such a way during a moment that should have been focused entirely on Edwina? It didn't make sense. But then again, there was something in the way Anthony's whole demeanor changed when Kate was around.

Still, all eyes remained on Edwina, and Anthony, too, seemed to steady himself. He opened his mouth again, his voice taking on a tone of formality as he said, "In fact, there is a question I should like to ask you."

Penelope's breath caught. This was it. He was going to propose.

The room seemed to go still, and Edwina's cheeks flushed prettily, her eyes bright with expectation. Even Kate, seated beside her sister, straightened slightly, her gaze focused intently on Anthony.

But then, Anthony's expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes. He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. After a long pause, his lips curved into a smile—one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I would like to ask you... to please refrain from telling anyone back in London about my loss at Pall Mall. I fear the harm to my reputation would simply be too great."

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Penelope blinked, completely taken aback. Anthony had been about to propose—everyone had been waiting for it—but instead, he had made an awkward joke, asking Edwina to keep his Pall Mall loss a secret?

The rest of the table seemed equally bewildered. Edwina's smile wavered, her confusion visible even as she tried to maintain her composure. "Of course," she replied with a light laugh, though there was an undeniable awkwardness to her response. "Your secret is safe with me, my lord."

Violet forced a smile, her eyes wide with surprise, and quickly raised her glass. "To pleasant days ahead," she said, her tone a little too bright as she tried to steer the evening back on track.

"To pleasant days," the others echoed, though the unease in the room remained palpable.

Penelope took a sip of her wine, her mind spinning. She had been certain Anthony was about to propose—so had everyone else at the table. But something had stopped him at the last moment. And it hadn't just been nerves. Penelope replayed the moment in her mind, remembering the brief flicker of his gaze toward Kate, the sharp intensity that had passed between them.

It hadn't been Edwina who held his attention at that crucial moment. It had been her sister.

Penelope's eyes flicked to Kate, who sat quietly, her expression carefully composed. But there was a tension in her posture, a rigidness to the way she held herself, as though she, too, had sensed something in Anthony's gaze that she wasn't quite ready to confront.

As the conversation moved on, with Anthony deftly redirecting the attention away from his strange outburst, Penelope couldn't help but wonder what, exactly, had passed between him and Kate. And more importantly, why had Anthony stopped himself from proposing to Edwina at the very last moment?

And then, of course, there was still Benedict's strange behavior and the warm flush it brought to her cheeks.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Eloise

-~-

After the strange dinner at Aubrey Hall, Eloise caught up with Penelope as they made their way back to their rooms. The air was crisp with lingering awkwardness, but Eloise was in no mood to let the night's peculiarities slip by unnoticed.

"Pen," Eloise called out, quickening her pace until she was beside her friend. "I've been meaning to ask—what in heaven's name is going on between you and Benedict?"

Penelope's countenance was as calm as ever calm, but Eloise couldn't help but catch a puzzled, almost panicked look in her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"You've been spending an awful lot of time together recently," Eloise said, her tone suspicious and mildly frustrated. "And his behavior at dinner—what was that? Calling you his muse, of all things? I thought he was going to swoon right there. It was far beyond the bounds of propriety, even for Benedict. Is there something I'm missing?"

Penelope let out a quiet laugh, though it was strained. "Believe me, I am as confused as you are. Your brother has been rather preoccupied as of late, to say the least of it, but if there's something between us, I'm certainly not aware of it. I assumed his strange behavior at dinner had something to do with whatever was otherwise affecting his senses."

"Well, he was certainly affected by something," Eloise muttered, glancing back toward the dining room. "It was mildly amusing, I'll give you that, but still, something isn't right." She pursed her lips, then gave a decisive nod. "I'm going to confront him. I can't just let this strange behavior go without finding out what's really going on."

Eloise gave a sharp nod and, without waiting for a response from her best friend, turned and headed off toward the west wing of the house, where she knew Benedict and Colin were likely still lingering. Penelope watched her go, feeling a mixture of relief and something else—something more complicated—settling in her chest.

Eloise found Benedict and Colin exactly where she expected—in the makeshift nursery-turned-art studio that Benedict had claimed for himself during their stay at Aubrey Hall. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the candles scattered across the tables, casting a warm glow over the half-finished painting of Penelope that Benedict had been working on.

Colin was seated nearby, laughing as Benedict stumbled over his words while reading a letter, clearly caught up in some celebratory moment.

"You are a fatwit," Colin muttered with a chuckle, shaking his head.

Eloise raised an eyebrow as she stepped inside, her gaze flicking between the two brothers. "Colin. Benedict," she greeted the pair, stepping closer to the table.

Benedict, who had been holding the letter as though it were the Holy Grail, glanced up at her, his eyes wide and filled with excitement. "I have a place!" he muttered, a hint of disbelief in his voice as he repeated the words again. "I have a place!"

Colin raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said they were not the arbiters of taste."

Benedict ignored him, his face breaking into a wide grin. "They must see great promise in my work!" he shouted, jumping up from his seat. "The Royal Schools have accepted me as a student!" He laughed, a sound so filled with joy that even Eloise couldn't help but smile. "I got in!"

Benedict's excitement was contagious, and even Colin seemed genuinely pleased, though he couldn't resist poking fun. "Oh, how delightful," Colin drawled, exchanging an amused look with Eloise.

Benedict, too caught up in his joy to care, leaned out the window, shouting into the night air, "You shall all bear witness to my talents!"

Colin chuckled, pulling him back inside. "Shh, it's the middle of the night! You'll wake the entire household."

From her spot, Eloise smiled. "He will be as insufferable now as you are," she said, turning to Colin. "If I have to hear one more tale of your extraordinary adventures from Greece... Tell me, Brother, if you loved it there so much, why did you ever return home?"

Colin shrugged, a lazy smile on his lips. "Even paradise can become tiresome after a while."

Eloise narrowed her eyes. "Have you quite lost your mind?" Colin simply grinned, deflecting as always. "Perhaps."

Before she could press him further, Eloise's attention shifted to the painting in the corner of the room. It was of Penelope, and though it was still unfinished, the likeness was unmistakable. There was something about the way Benedict had captured her—her expression, her eyes—that made Eloise pause.

She turned back to Benedict, who was now reading the letter again, his grin still plastered across his face. "Benedict," she began slowly, "you were rather... expressive at dinner tonight."

Benedict, still in his celebratory daze, blinked at her. "Was I?" "You called Penelope your muse. In front of everyone."

Colin, clearly enjoying the situation, leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Yes, Ben, now that she's brought it up, do you care to explain that little outburst?"

Benedict's face flushed slightly, though whether from embarrassment or the lingering effects of the strange tea he'd consumed earlier, Eloise couldn't be sure. "I was merely being honest."

Eloise crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "Honest? About what, exactly?"

Benedict hesitated, his gaze flicking to the painting of Penelope once more. "About how she inspires me."

Colin snorted, clearly not taking any of this seriously. "Inspires you, or makes you lose all sense of propriety?"

Eloise shot him a look. "Hush, Colin." She turned back to Benedict, her tone softening. "Ben, you've been spending a lot of time with Penelope lately. Are you... do you have an attachment to her?"

Benedict's face flushed deeper, and he looked away, avoiding Eloise's piercing gaze. "I don't know," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... she's different. She sees me. And I don't know what to do with that."

Colin's teasing grin faltered slightly, his expression becoming more serious. "It's no use," he said to Eloise before responding to their brother more loudly. "Well, whatever it is, you'd better figure it out before you say something you can't take back."

But as Eloise looked between her brothers, she couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to become far more complicated than she realized.

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Penelope

Chapter Notes

Thanks to everyone for sticking with me on this, even while I lack the energy to be as responsive as usual! We only have one chapter left for this episode and then we go on another little AU interlude adventure. Not sure which other fic I'll be focusing on yet though, so that's very up in the air.

-~-

Penelope lay in bed, the heavy silence of Aubrey Hall enveloping her as she stared at the ceiling. Sleep eluded her, no matter how many times she closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to quiet. The events at dinner had left her unsettled, and Benedict's strange behavior continued to swirl in her thoughts.

She turned onto her side, pulling the covers up to her chin, but then a sound from the hallway made her pause. It was faint, the creak of floorboards, but enough to spark her curiosity. She listened intently, her breath catching slightly as she heard soft footsteps moving further down the hall.

Her mind raced. Perhaps it was just one of the maids, or maybe someone else restless like herself. Penelope hesitated, biting her lip. She knew she should stay in bed, but the mystery gnawed at her.

Curiosity finally got the better of her. She slipped out of bed, her bare feet touching the cool floor as she quietly padded to the door. Slowly, she opened it just enough to peek through the crack, and her heart gave a small leap as she spotted Anthony down the hallway.

Her breath quickened. What was Anthony doing up at this hour? Her mind flashed back to dinner, to the moment when he had seemed ready to propose to Edwina, only to falter. Then there had been that glance—quick but unmistakable—toward Kate. Penelope had been wondering if there something more going on?

Without thinking, she slipped out into the hallway, keeping her steps light as she followed at a distance. Anthony moved with purpose, his tall figure cutting a determined line through the shadows. He stopped at the door to the library, which was slightly ajar, a dim light shining through the crack. Penelope's heart thudded in her chest. What was he doing in the library so late?

Before she could move closer, a hand caught her arm, and she jumped in surprise, only to find herself face-to-face with Benedict.

He was grinning, his eyes glassy and unfocused, still very obviously under the influence of whatever had affected him earlier.

"Benedict!" she whispered, trying to pull her arm away. "What are you doing?"

But Benedict didn't seem to be paying attention to her words. His grip was gentle but firm, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and breathy. "Penelope," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, "your skin... I want to paint it with my fingertips."

Penelope's pulse raced, not entirely from fear but from the sudden intensity of his presence. His thumb traced along her exposed collarbone, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. "Benedict, stop," she whispered, glancing nervously toward the library door. "Anthony is nearby. He'll get the wrong impression if he sees us."

But Benedict didn't seem to hear her. He was focused entirely on her, his green eyes tracing every curve and contour of her face. His other hand moved to cup her cheek, and he pressed his body closer, crowding her against the wall.

Penelope's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't entirely sure what to do— whether to push him away or try to reason with him. "Benedict, you're not yourself," she whispered urgently. "Please, we need to—"

Before she could finish, the library door creaked open. Her heart lurched, and she quickly pulled Benedict around the corner and deeper into the shadows. The sudden movement pressed her body against his, and they both stilled with her back against the wall and his chest against hers.

Benedict made a soft, incoherent noise, his nose brushing along her jaw as he inhaled deeply. "Penelope," he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure, "you smell like... like the sweetest dreams."

Penelope felt her face flush as a mixture of embarrassment and unexpected warmth washed over her. Part of her wanted to push him away, to demand answers, but another part was dangerously intrigued by his nearness. She could feel the heat of his body, the weight of his hand resting at her waist, and for a fleeting moment she wondered what would happen if she didn't stop him from following his line of thoughts and where it might eventually lead them.

But then reality came crashing back. Anthony was just a few feet away, and if he spotted them like this, it would cause a scandal neither of them could escape from. She glanced down the hall, her mind racing, when suddenly, another figure appeared.

"Sophie!" Penelope whispered in relief.

Even as she said her maid's name, Anthony's footsteps were fading in the opposite direction.

Sophie approached swiftly, her eyes widening as she took in the scene. "What on earth is going on here?" she asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and alarm.

Penelope hushed her. "Sophie, I need your help," she whispered, keeping her voice low. "Benedict is—well, he's not himself."

Sophie's eyes narrowed slightly as she stepped closer, her tone soft but firm. "Mr Bridgerton, it's late, and Miss Penelope will her rest if she is to—."

Benedict's head lolled slightly, his eyes fluttering as he leaned further into Penelope. "Rest with me," he murmured, his lips grazing her temple.

Penelope's heart pounded in her chest, and she shot Sophie a pleading look. "Please, help me get him to his room."

Sophie nodded, gently tugging on Benedict's arm. "Come now, let's get you to bed. You'll need to be in top form for the arrival of tomorrow's guests."

Benedict, surprisingly compliant, allowed Sophie to guide him away, though he cast one last languid look over his shoulder at Penelope. "Goodnight, my muse," he whispered, his voice thick with adoration.

Penelope watched them go, her heart racing as she pressed a hand to her chest. She couldn't believe what had just happened.

Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, she turned back toward her room, but Sophie's voice stopped her.

"Don't worry," she said softly. "I'll get Colin and make sure he keeps an eye on him for the rest of the night. Clearly, whatever condition your Mr Bridgerton is in is his fault."

Penelope nodded gratefully, though her mind was still spinning. "Thank you, Sophie. I appreciate it."

As Sophie led Benedict down the hall, Penelope finally returned to her room, her heart still racing as she slipped back into bed. She stared at the ceiling, her mind replaying the encounter over and over again. The way Benedict had touched her, the softness of his voice, the intensity in his eyes— it all left her feeling conflicted.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that she finally drifted off to sleep, her thoughts still swirling with confusion and an undeniable sense of intrigue.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

A Bee in Your Bonnet - Violet

-~-

Violet Bridgerton sat at her writing desk the following morning, a teacup resting beside her as she flipped through invitations for upcoming social events. The sun had just begun to rise over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow through the windows of Aubrey Hall, and she was grateful for the quiet moments before the household fully awoke.

Yet despite the serene morning, her thoughts were anything but peaceful.

The previous night's dinner lingered heavily in her mind. Benedict's bizarre behavior, the awkwardness surrounding Anthony's almost-proposal to Edwina, and the subtle tension since the family had arrive in the country that had left her unsettled.

Violet leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing as she mentally sifted through the clues. She was no fool, and after raising eight children, she could recognize the signs of budding feelings even when her offspring seemed oblivious to their own emotions.

Her thoughts naturally turned to Benedict. She had always known her second son to be creative and free-spirited, but his behavior around Penelope in recent weeks had been more focused. He had danced with her at nearly every ball, whether her realized it or bot, and he sought out her company during gatherings. His tendencies were both more and less obvious with her staying under their roof, but he he seemed completely unable to keep himself away from her.

A frown tugged at Violet's lips as she considered the situation more carefully. If Benedict's behavior had been this obvious to her, surely others had noticed as well. Yet, she had heard no whispers from the ton about their increasing closeness, and that, in itself, was strange.

Perhaps the only reason no one was gossiping about her son and Penelope was because the Bridgerton family was sponsoring and hosting her for the season. Everyone likely assumed that Benedict was simply being a polite host, showing proper attention to their guest. Violet knew better. She had seen the way Benedict's gaze lingered on Penelope, the way his eyes lit up when she laughed, and how he seemed drawn to her even when they weren't in the same room.

It wasn't just propriety guiding him. It was something more.

Violet sighed softly, picking up her tea and taking a slow sip. She had always liked Penelope. The girl was kind, intelligent, and, despite her shyness, she had a wit about her that few people took the

time to notice. There was no doubt in Violet's mind that Penelope would make a fine match for one of her sons.

The part that gave her pause was whether it was possible for Penelope to have feelings for Benedict as well. Violet had witnessed Penelope's blushes, the way she seemed to come alive in her son's presence, not to mention the precious night's outburst, when Benedict had called her his "muse". The room had gone silent, yes, but the look in Penelope's eyes had been unmistakable. There had been confusion, certainly, but also the barest hint of an affection she hadn't been able to hide.

Setting her teacup down, Violet's gaze drifted toward the window as her mind moved to Anthony and the other matter that had weighed on her heart as of late.

Edwina Sharma was a lovely young woman—charming, intelligent, and undoubtedly a good match for any gentleman in many ways, but last night, as Anthony's toast had drawn every eye to Edwina in anticipation of a proposal, Violet had noticed something curious. Anthony had hesitated. He had faltered, and in that brief moment of uncertainty, his eyes had shifted away from Edwina and onto her sister, Kate.

Violet pressed her lips together, a knowing look crossing her features. Anthony had always been the responsible one, the dutiful eldest son who put the needs of the family above his own. But there was something about the way he looked at Kate Sharma that made Violet wonder if perhaps his heart had other ideas. The tension between them hadn't gone unnoticed, either. While their exchanges were civil enough, there was an undercurrent that the Viscountess worried about.

It was a delicate situation, and one Violet would have to navigate carefully. Anthony was determined to marry Edwina, but if his heart was being pulled in another direction, that would complicate matters considerably.

Even Colin had begun to trail around Penelope's maid like a lovesick puppy, much to Sophie's obvious chagrin.

Violet's smile faded slightly as she considered the implications. Colin was not the type to take romantic matters lightly, and if he was developing feeling for the young woman, that could present an entirely different set of challenges.

The Viscountess sighed again, setting her teacup aside and folding her hands in her lap. There were so many emotions swirling around her children, so many unspoken feelings and unacknowledged

desires. It was as if the house itself was buzzing with the undercurrents of what was to come.

Her children were growing, and soon, they would all be making choices that would shape the rest of their lives. As a mother, Violet knew she could only guide them, but ultimately, their hearts would lead them where they were meant to go.

Still, she couldn't help but hope that, in the end, love would win out.

With a soft sigh, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her gown. She had much to do in preparation for the day ahead, and she would need to keep her wits about her if she were to help navigate the growing complexities within her family.

Something was stirring, and while Violet could not predict the future, she had a feeling that whatever it was, it would not be easily contained.

And perhaps, she mused with a small smile, that wasn't such a bad thing after all. Chapter End Notes

The last section for chapter 3! We'll be taking a li'l break to work on a shorter AU fic then coming back to this once it's finished! See you all then!

Victory - Penelope

-~-

The library at Aubrey Hall was a sanctuary of calm amidst the flurry of preparations for the Hearts and Flowers Ball. Penelope sat at the large oak desk, a half-written letter to her mother lying in front of her. Her quill hovered over the parchment, but her mind was elsewhere. Eloise lounged in an armchair nearby, one leg draped over the side as she held a piece of paper listing the evening's guests, waving it around dramatically

"So, we have Cowper, Goring, Finch, Stowell, even that Marquis of Ashdown, and he's barely out of leading strings. Mother has truly invited every family of the ton, surely in hopes of pawning us off on them."

Penelope glanced up, feigning nonchalance. "Is that so?"

Eloise leaning forward conspiratorially. "Don't play coy. You remember that Marquis, Lord Prout, don't you? Mother is probably hoping to match the two of you. Since you simpered over him at the start of the season."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "You mean when you abandoned your guest, and I had to entertain him so he would not think your family terribly impolite?"

Eloise grinned unapologetically. "Exactly! You handled it brilliantly, by the way."

Penelope sighed. "While Lord Prout may not be the most eligible bachelor due to his youth, a match with him would still offer security, El. I could do worse. Not that he would ever actually be interested in someone like me, with my family's scandal attached to my name."

Eloise scoffed, waving off the idea. "Oh, please. You and I both know neither of us are interested in such matches. We'll be perfectly happy as spinsters together, won't we?"

Penelope's lips twitched in a faint smile. "That was the plan, wasn't it?"

"Precisely," Eloise declared. "Honestly, society's obsession with trapping women in marriage is exhausting. Why must we always be paraded about like prize cattle?"

Penelope chuckled softly, though she was starting to feel a bit exhausted herself with Eloise's constant assertions on the matter. She was fully aware of her friend's feelings in the marriage mart, but it was from a place of safety that she was able to speak on the matter. "It's not just society," Pen sighed. "My mother's letters have been relentless, demanding updates on my sisters' prospects."

Eloise's brow furrowed. "You've not written back?"

Penelope shook her head. "Not since we arrived. What could I say? I can't give her the progress she wants, even if I tried."

"Good," Eloise said firmly. "Don't let her pressure you into anything. You're more than her ambitions for your sisters."

Penelope smiled, though her thoughts remained heavy. Her gaze drifted to the letter on the desk, the ink drying slowly. She couldn't help but think about her mother's expectations, and how far removed they were from her own desires.

Eloise, oblivious to Penelope's inner turmoil, continued. "Oh, but you'll never guess who is missing from mother's machinations! The Gunningworth family is not on the invitation list. Isn't that delightful?"

Penelope's smile returned, a genuine one this time. "Not surprising. Miss Reiling has been far too busy trying to attach herself to Benedict."

Eloise snorted. "Her attempts are so obvious, it's almost painful to watch. Poor Benedict."

Penelope's smile faltered slightly as thoughts of Benedict filled her mind. His recent attention had been both comforting and confusing. She had always admired him, but with these new feelings came guilt.

Was she simply transferring her long-held affections for Colin to Benedict? The idea felt wrong, like a betrayal of her own heart. And yet, Benedict's presence had a way of making her feel seen in a way Colin never had.

"Pen?" Eloise's voice broke through her thoughts. "You've gone quiet." Penelope shook her head, offering a small smile. "Just lost in thought."

Eloise eyed her curiously but didn't press further. Instead, she launched into another of her rants. "Mark my words, Mother will try to force me into some insufferable match despite my protests. It's maddening!"

Penelope laughed softly. "You'll manage to outwit her, as always."

"Of course I will," Eloise said confidently. "And it's a relief to know that no matter what happens, you'll always be by my side."

Penelope's heart warmed at the sincerity in Eloise's voice. "Always, Eloise. No matter what."

Eloise grinned, leaning back in her chair. "Good. Who knows? Perhaps we'll even find some amusement in all the madness."

Penelope chuckled, feeling lighter despite the complexities of her thoughts. Whatever the next days held, she knew she could face it with Eloise by her side. The world outside might be filled with expectations and pressures, but here, in this quiet moment, there was solace in their shared bond.

Victory - Benedict

-~-

Benedict tilted his head to get a slightly different look at the still life he'd been painting, his easel angled toward the soft morning light filtering through the window. He had positioned himself perfectly, hoping the natural illumination would lend depth and life to the vibrant red-and-green apple he'd selected as his subject. The quiet, the solitude—it was what he often craved, a rare escape from the demands of family and society. Here, he could lose himself in his work, in the quiet joy of translating the real into the imagined, layer by layer, brushstroke by brushstroke.

As he leaned closer, eyes narrowed in concentration, he felt a connection to the canvas that was both soothing and exhilarating. This apple, in its simplicity, had become a vessel for his emotions —a way to communicate things he couldn't say aloud, not even to himself. Painting felt, at times, like his only means of expression, an artful subterfuge to reveal truths without uttering a single word. He didn't have to worry about appearances or expectations here. It was just him and the canvas, his only concern the way light danced across the apple's glossy surface.

The serenity shattered with a sudden, loud crunch. The sound jarred him, pulling him from his reverie. Benedict turned, a frown creasing his brow, and there, sitting in an armchair with all the casual entitlement of an elder brother, was Anthony—chewing thoughtfully, the very apple Benedict had been painting held in his hand.

Benedict's jaw tightened, annoyance flashing through him as he forced his tone to remain calm. "I was painting that," he said, struggling to suppress the irritation that threatened to edge his words.

Anthony barely looked up, shrugging as he took another bite, entirely unfazed by his brother's displeasure. "You ought to have put it somewhere safer, then," he replied dryly, as though the notion of respecting Benedict's work hadn't even crossed his mind.

Benedict's eyes flicked from the half-eaten apple back to his canvas, feeling a strange sense of loss for the subject that was now tainted by his brother's indifference. It wasn't just the apple—it was the morning, the solitude, the connection he'd been nurturing. All of it, interrupted. His fingers itched to pick up his brush again, to reclaim that calm, but Anthony's presence loomed too large, filling the room with its uninvited weight.

But before he could find the words to tell his brother to leave, Anthony spoke again, his voice unusually introspective. "Do you think all of this was a mistake?" he asked, gaze distant. "This business of inviting the Sharmas out early? It has made the whole affair so fraught with difficulty."

Benedict's lips quirked into a wry smile, and he set his brush down with deliberate care. "The whole marriage-mart business seems entirely too difficult to me," he replied, unable to resist the jab. "But if one must participate in it, why not do it somewhere else?"

Anthony scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair, as though seeking solace in his own authority. "And you'd know all about the difficulties of the marriage mart," he said with a pointed look, "given the amount of time you've been spending with Miss Featherington at balls."

Benedict's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Penelope, though he kept his expression carefully neutral. "Are you truly remarking on the amount of time I've spent with Penelope?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "That seems quite hypocritical, Brother."

The faintest hint of color crept into Anthony's face—a rare vulnerability, quickly masked, but Benedict didn't miss it. So there was, indeed. something there, some undercurrent Anthony would rather keep hidden.

Suddenly, Benedict was nervous. "Has Daphne spoken with you?" he asked, attempting a casual tone that felt forced even to his own ears.

Anthony's expression flickered, a subtle shift that betrayed his discomfort. "Why?" he shot back, a bit too quickly. "Has she said something to you?"

Now Benedict's curiosity was truly piqued. He tilted his head, his gaze sharpening as he studied Anthony's face. There was a crack there, something deeper, more personal. "Why do you ask so quickly, brother?" Benedict murmured, his voice soft but probing. "What could Daphne have to say about you that I do not already know?"

Anthony shifted, glancing toward the window, as if hoping to find an answer there. For a moment, Benedict wondered if his brother would deflect again, the way he so often did when confronted with matters of the heart. But finally, with a long, reluctant sigh, Anthony spoke.

"I may..." He paused, reluctant to voice the words. "...have developed a certain inclination toward... the elder Miss Sharma."

A slow, knowing smile spread across Benedict's face, though he fought to keep it in check. "I see," he said, drawing out the words, savoring Anthony's rare admission. "That actually makes a great deal of sense."

Anthony's mouth tightened, his features taut with discomfort. "Does it?" he muttered, a touch defensively. "Because it certainly doesn't feel sensible. I am to marry her sister."

Benedict shook his head, exasperation mingling with a strange amusement. Leave it to Anthony to find himself ensnared in such a predicament. "Well," he replied, "you cannot marry her sister now."

Anthony bristled, his posture straightening in reflexive defiance. "I must."

The statement was so absolute, so immovable, that Benedict felt a spark of frustration ignite within him. How could Anthony cling so stubbornly to duty, even at the expense of his own happiness and the reputation of a young woman if he were unable to hold his feeling tight enough?

And yet, as Benedict gazed at him, he felt a pang of sympathy. It wasn't so different from his own dilemma—one borne of loyalty, of duty, of unspoken expectations.

"You would be so cruel as to marry one sister while harboring feelings for another?" Benedict challenged, folding his arms as he held his brother's gaze. There was no malice in the question, only a raw, unfiltered honesty. They were both dancing around their own truths, both trapped by their reluctance to confront what lay beneath.

Anthony's eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation breaking through his guarded demeanor. "And you would be so cruel as to chase after a woman your brother has feelings for?"

The words struck a nerve, a sharp, stinging reminder of the lines Benedict hadn't dared to cross, the boundaries he hadn't yet been able to breach.

After a long pause, Benedict drew a steadying breath, his voice low, controlled. "Colin does not have feelings for Penelope."

Anthony's eyes narrowed, skepticism etched into his features. "Of course he does."

"No," Benedict replied firmly. "He doesn't. He and I... spoke about it. He only views her as a friend." He met Anthony's gaze, willing him to see the truth in his eyes. "And I believe him."

The room fell silent, Anthony's gaze lingering on him, probing, as if searching for any sign of deceit. But Benedict held steady, his expression unwavering. Whatever Colin felt, or didn't feel, Benedict trusted his brother's honesty. And in that trust, he found a sliver of hope, a glimmer of permission he hadn't allowed himself before.

"So," Anthony said finally, his tone softer, almost thoughtful. "You've no reservations, then? About... Penelope?"

Benedict hesitated, the question forcing him to confront the depth of his own feelings. He could deny it, could brush it aside as a fleeting attraction. But the truth lingered, undeniable and persistent, a steady pulse he couldn't ignore. "No," he murmured, his voice resolute. "No reservations at all."

Anthony's face softened, a rare, understanding smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. In that moment, Benedict felt a shift between them, a quiet acknowledgment of the roads they both might soon travel.

"Well, then," Anthony said, his voice a touch lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. "It seems we both have situations to consider."

Benedict chuckled, the tension easing as he picked up his brush once more.

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!