The morning had proven particularly taxing for Anthony Bridgerton, as the House of Lords found itself embroiled in endless debate over proposed legislation. The usual decorum of the august chamber had given way to heated arguments among the peers, their voices echoing off the ornate walls as they wrestled with matters of state.
Such pressing duties had, much to Anthony's chagrin, prevented him from paying his customary morning call to Penelope Featherington. He had, at least, dispatched his most reliable footman with a carefully penned note expressing his regrets.
As the afternoon waned, having finally balanced his ledgers and addressed the mountain of correspondence that had accumulated upon his desk, Anthony made his way to the drawing room where his family had gathered for tea.
"I see that you have finally come up for air." Violet remarked, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she set aside her embroidery with a knowing smile.
"I have indeed, mother." Anthony replied with a half-smile. "And I intend to make good use of my reprieve. I shall be calling upon Miss Featherington."
At this, Violet's smile widened, her satisfaction evident. "How very devoted of you, my dear. It pleases me beyond words to see how attentively you court her."
Benedict, seated by the window with a paintbrush idly twirling between his fingers, chuckled. "Attentively? Mother, let us not undersell our dear Viscount's efforts. It is rather more akin to a man determined to secure the last ticket to Vauxhall on a summer's eve. An unrelenting pursuit."
Anthony shot his brother a pointed look, though his irritation was tempered by the good-natured jest.
"Persistence." He corrected. "A virtue, I should think."
Eloise, who had thus far remained silent, lounging with a book in hand, turned a page before speaking, her voice carrying an air of disinterest. "If that is the case, then you shall be most displeased to find that Penelope will not receive you."
Anthony's brow furrowed at this unexpected remark. "Whatever do you mean?"
Without lifting her gaze from the text before her, Eloise replied matter-of-factly. "I mean that Penelope is probably not at home. She should be at the orphanage by now."
Silence fell over the room.
Violet's lips parted slightly, curiosity flickering across her expression. "The orphanage?"
Anthony turned fully to face his sister. "And how, pray, do you come by this information?" His tone was measured, but there was an unmistakable edge of interest.
Eloise, at last, deigned to glance up from her book. "Because, brother dear, contrary to what you may think, I am still the longest acquaintance Pen has. And I have known for some time that Penelope has made a habit of volunteering at the orphanage on this particular day of the week. She assists the sisters, spends time with the children, and –" She made a vague gesture with her hand – "generally does charitable things that would make mother swoon with delight."
Violet, as if on cue, let out a soft gasp, her hand coming to rest over her heart. "How wonderful." She breathed, a genuine warmth suffusing her features. "I have always known Penelope to be kind-hearted, but this… this is truly remarkable."
Benedict, having momentarily ceased his teasing, nodded in agreement. "Most Viscountesses only begin their charitable works once they have secured their title. And yet here she is, already tending to those in need without expectation or obligation." He glanced at his elder brother. "It seems you have chosen wisely, Anthony."
Anthony, though he had yet to speak, found himself deeply moved by this revelation. He had always known Penelope to be considerate, her kindness extending far beyond mere politeness or societal expectation. But to know that she devoted her time to those less fortunate – without spectacle, without seeking recognition – only deepened the growing admiration he held for her.
His mother watched him keenly, noting the flicker of emotion that passed through his expression. "She will make a fine Viscountess." Violet murmured.
Anthony exhaled softly, as if centering himself. "Yes." He agreed. "She will."
Despite the knowledge that Penelope was not at home, he was not deterred.
With a determined stride, he made his way to retrieve his coat, ignoring Benedict's knowing smirk as he did so.
The Featherington estate stood as grand and ostentatious as ever, its gilded embellishments glinting in the daylight as Anthony stepped from his carriage and strode up the marble steps.
Briarly, the Featherington butler, answered his knock with his usual composed demeanor, though there was a brief flicker of surprise at the sight of the Viscount.
"Good day, my lord."
"Good day, Briarly." Anthony returned with a polite nod. "I have come to call upon Miss Featherington."
Briarly hesitated for the briefest moment before inclining his head. "I regret to inform you, my lord, that Miss Penelope is not presently at home. She is expected to return later this evening."
Anthony, having anticipated this answer, remained unruffled. He adjusted the cuff of his glove before asking. "She is at the orphanage, then?"
The butler's expression did not betray his surprise, though Anthony did not miss the faint flicker of it in his eyes. "Indeed, my lord." Briarly confirmed, his voice carefully neutral.
Anthony gave a satisfied nod. "I see. Thank you, Briarly."
As the butler made to close the door, Anthony turned back toward his waiting carriage and instructed his coachman. "To the orphanage."
And with that, the Viscount of Bridgerton set off once more, his resolve to see Penelope Featherington stronger than ever.
—-
The scent of freshly baked bread and the lingering aroma of lavender filled the air as Anthony Bridgerton stepped past the threshold of the modest orphanage. The walls, though plain and unadorned, radiated a warmth that did not stem from finery or grandeur but rather from the very essence of those who dwelled within. It was a stark contrast to the gilded halls of Mayfair, yet there was something profoundly humbling about the place.
His presence did not go unnoticed. A small cluster of children – some clutching threadbare dolls, others with wooden toys – stood near the doorway, their wide, curious eyes fixed upon him. The sisters, clad in their simple habits, exchanged brief glances, whispering amongst themselves at the sight of a gentleman so finely dressed standing at their door.
Anthony had, of course, made generous donations to charitable institutions in the past. As Viscount, it was his duty to do so. Yet, to stand here in person, to be regarded as an unfamiliar face despite his contributions, struck him with an unexpected sense of humility.
A senior nun, her face lined with wisdom and kindness, stepped forward. "My lord." She greeted cautiously, her hands clasped before her. "May we be of service to you?"
Anthony straightened, inclining his head politely. "I was given to understand that Miss Penelope Featherington is presently here." He stated with measured decorum.
At the mention of Penelope's name, the sisters exchanged knowing glances. Their eyes softened, and though their initial wariness did not abate, there was not a certain fondness in their demeanor.
The senior nun regarded him carefully. "Miss Featherington is dear to us all." She said with a gentle yet discerning gaze. "Might I inquire as to your purpose in seeking her out?"
Anthony did not take offense. If anything, he found himself admiring their protectiveness over Penelope. That they would not seek to guard her reputation, even against a man of his station, was a testament to the regard in which they held her.
With all the confidence befitting a man of his rank – but with an uncharacteristic softness lacing his words – Anthony spoke. "I am her suitor, ma'am. And soon, I shall be her husband."
A hush fell over the gathering of sisters. A few of the younger nuns let out hushed giggles, one even covering her mouth as if to stifle her amusement. The senior nun, though composed, allowed the corners of her lips to lift ever so slightly.
"Well then, my lord." She said, amusement barely concealed in her tone. "In that case, I see no reason to delay your meeting with Miss Featherington."
With that, she beckoned him to follow her through the stone corridors, where the sound of laughter echoed through the halls.
—-
Anthony had seen Penelope in many lights before.
He had seen her beneath the chandeliers of grand ballrooms, where the glow of a thousand candles illuminated the golden hues in her hair. He had seen her in the quiet drawing rooms of their respective homes, where the scent of tea and perfume clung to the air.
But here – bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun, her curls bounding with each movement, her smile unfettered and pure – she was unlike anything he had ever beheld.
The children clung to her skirts, their laughter ringing in the air as she twirled with them in a playful dance. A small boy clapped his hands in delight as Penelope crouched beside him, tucking a stray curl behind his ear with the gentleness of a mother.
Anthony felt something shift within him.
His heart, steady and measured even in the face of Parliament's fiercest debates, now pounded with an unfamiliar urgency. He swallowed thickly, unable to tear his gaze away.
She was beautiful.
No, beautiful was too small a word.
She wasradiant.
His reverie was interrupted as the senior nun called out. "Miss Featherington."
Penelope glanced up, and the moment her gaze landed upon Anthony, her lips parted in surprise. A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face before she quickly composed herself. She whispered something to the children before dusting off her skirts and making her way towards them.
As she reached them, she first offered a polite greeting to the sister before turning to Anthony. Her curtsy was graceful, her voice even. "My lord."
The nun, still watching the interaction with thinly veiled amusement, looked between the two before addressing Penelope directly. "The Viscount has introduced himself as your suitor, dear child. Is this claim to be believed?"
Penelope's gaze snapped to Anthony, a hint of reproach in her eyes. Yet, he only grinned in response – proud, unrepentant.
She inhaled softly, as if gathering her patience, before turning back to the sister with practiced composure. "Yes, sister." She confirmed. "Lord Bridgerton and I are… courting."
Satisfied, the nun gave a knowing nod. "Very well, my dear. I shall leave you to speak." With a final smile, she turned and disappeared down the hall, leaving the two alone.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, with a slight tilt of her head, Penelope murmured. "Must you always be so dramatic?"
Anthony smirked. "It is not drama, my lady. It is merely the truth."
She sighed, though there was no true irritation in it. "What brings you here?"
His smirk softened into something more earnest. "I came to see you."
Her lips parted slightly, taken aback by his frankness.
Before she could formulate a response, he gestured toward the playing children. "I had not known of your work here."
Penelope hesitated, then glanced toward the children fondly. "It is nothing of note." She said quietly. "Only something I have done for years."
Anthony studied her, the admiration in his gaze deepening. "It iseverythingof note."
A pink flush crept across her cheeks. She turned her gaze downward, seemingly unsure of what to say to such sincere praise.
Anthony took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You astound me, Penelope."
She looked up at him then, her crystal blue eyes searching his.
For a fleeting moment, the air between them felt charged – something unspoken lingering in the space where words failed.
The distant chime of the orphanage's clock shattered the moment, reminding them of their surroundings.
Clearing his throat, Anthony extended his arm. "May I escort you home?"
Penelope hesitated, then – ever so slowly – placed her gloved hand upon his offered arm.
As they walked through the orphanage halls together, Anthony could not help but feel that today, he had come to know Penelope Featherington in a way he never had before.
And perhaps, just perhaps – he had never been so enraptured in all his life.