The moment Penelope reached the sanctuary of her bedchamber, she turned the key in the lock with trembling fingers, ensuring her solitude. She rested her back against the solid door, the cold wood grounding her as she tried to make sense of her racing heart and the unfamiliar heat rising to her cheeks.
Her hand instinctively drifted to the spot on her cheek where Anthony's lips had grazed her skin. The memory of it was seared into her mind – the brush of warmth, the deliberate softness of the gesture, and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air between them.
Anthony Bridgerton had kissed her.
The thought repeated itself over and over, as though her mind refused to accept the improbable truth. Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount, an influential and one of the wealthiest lords in London, had kissed her. The same Anthony Bridgerton who was admired, envied and desired by nearly every eligible lady of the ton.
And yet, he had kissed her; Penelope Featherington. The perennial wallflower, the girl perpetually overshadowed by her family's scandals and her own garish wardrobe.
Her fingers pressed lightly against her cheek again as though to confirm the sensation, and she let out a small, incredulous laugh. "What a preposterous thing." She murmured to herself.
Her emotions warred within her. Irritation bubbled up at Anthony's audacity, his teasing nature so evident in that smirk he always wore when he thought he had bested her. How dare he use their pretense of courtship to toy with her so? But then, another part of her – one she scarcely dared to acknowledge – thrilled at the memory. The kiss, brief though it was, had awakened something entirely new in her, a giddy realization that she had been noticed, desired, even if only in jest.
She exhaled deeply, shaking her head as if to dislodge the thought entirely. "If he thinks he can leave me flustered so easily, he is sorely mistaken." She muttered under her breath.
Straightening her spine, Penelope resolved to turn the tables on Anthony. The idea of wiping that infuriating smirk off his face brought a spark of determination to her eyes. Yes, she would find a way to make him rue his teasing.
Her scheming was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "My lady, may I come in?" Came the voice of her maid, Rae.
Penelope sighed, her moment of solitude slipping away. She unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing Rae to enter. The maid gave her a questioning look but said nothing as she began her nightly routine of unfastening Penelope's gown and loosening her corset.
As the tight stays were released, Penelope felt her shoulders relax, but her mind remained restless, her thoughts circling back to Anthony. Sliding onto the edge of her bed, she allowed a small, mischievous smile to creep onto her lips.
"Let us see how the Viscount enjoys playing this game." She whispered, her voice low and determined. For the first time that evening, she felt a semblance of control return to her.
—-
The ballroom was already abuzz with lively chatter and the strains of violins when Penelope Featherington entered with her family, her lemon-colored gowns now a thing of the past. Instead, she wore a gown of soft lavender, its delicate embroidery bringing out the luster of her auburn curls and the brightness of her blue eyes. The transformation, though subtle, was enough to catch the eyes of the ton.
True to her nature, Penelope had planned to cling to the fringes of the room, observing rather than participating, to gain gossip that would be drafted on her next Whistledown column. Her arrival ahead of the Bridgertons offered her the rare luxury of slipping into her role as a wallflower without the overbearing presence of Anthony. Yet, her strategy was foiled as gentleman after gentleman approached, bowing low and engaging her in pleasant conversation.
Lord Hensley was the first, commenting on the elegance of her gown. Sir Ralston followed, keen to discuss the latest play at Drury Lane, and then came Lord Remington, his polished manners and easy charm drawing out Penelope's warm laughter.
For Penelope, it was both flattering and bewildering. She had spent years being overlooked, a fixture against the walls, yet now, with just a touch of refinement in her attire and the lingering association with the Bridgertons, she found herself the center of attention.
Half an hour passed, and the Bridgertongs made their entrance, their arrival causing a ripple of whispers and turned heads. Anthony, flanked by his mother Violet, Benedict, and Eloise, wore his usual air of authority and grace, though his gaze was sharp, scanning the room instinctively.
After the requisite courtesies to the hosts, the group was intercepted by Lady Danbury, her cane tapping rhythmically against the polished floor. Her sharp eyes gleamed with mischief as she greeted them.
"Ah, Lord Bridgerton, always the epitome of punctuality." She drawled, her words dripping with irony. "It seems you've left your intended to fend for herself this evening."
Anthony, his brow furrowing, replied with practiced politeness. "Good evening, Lady Danbury. Miss Featherington is quite capable of navigating society. I see no cause for concern."
"Capable, indeed." Lady Danbury retorted, her smile widening. "She's attracting more suitors than a debutante at her first ball. A wise man might consider that leaving her unguarded is a gamble."
Violet, intrigued, leaned closer. "Penelope? Drawing suitors?"
"Quite the flock." Lady Danbury confirmed, her tone teasing. "She looks radiant this evening, does she not? It's no wonder the gentlemen are flocking to her. A shame you arrive so late, Viscount. They've had the field to themselves."
Anthony's jaw tightened. Without another word, he excused himself, his stride purposeful as he moved through the throng in search of Penelope.
It did not take long to find her. The vibrant hue of her curls was unmistakable, and there she stood by the refreshment table, her smile lighting up the space around her. The sight brought Anthony a moment of relief, but it was short-lived. His eyes narrowed as he saw Lord Remington leaning slightly toward Penelope, his expression animated as he spoke. Worse still, Penelope appeared utterly engaged, her laughter ringing out softly as she responded.
Anthony's frown deepened, his steps quickening as he made his way to the pair. He interrupted their exchange with a clipped. "Lord Remington." His voice polite but firm.
Remington straightened, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Ah, Viscount Bridgerton. A pleasure."
"The pleasure is mine." Anthony replied, his tone betraying little pleasure at all. "I trust you will excuse us. I must steal Miss Featherington for a dance."
Penelope blinked, startled, but before she could protest, Anthony offered his arm, his expression leaving no room for refusal.
As they moved toward the dance floor, Penelope looked up at him, her brow arching. "That was rather abrupt, my lord."
Anthony glanced down at her, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I was unaware you had grown so… popular."
She could not help the slight smirk that tugged her lips. "Is it so surprising that I might enjoy a conversation or two?"
Anthony stopped abruptly, turning to face her. His dark eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, his usual mask of control faltered. "It is surprising." He admitted, his voice low. "How much I disliked seeing it."
Penelope's breath hitched, but she quickly schooled her expression . "Perhaps you should have arrived earlier, my lord."
Anthony's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Perhaps I should have." He conceded, leading her into the dance.