Early February 1815

Featherington House, Mayfair

Penelope sat, as she did on most days, on the settee by the window that faced the Bridgerton house. In her hands, a book, barely opened past the title pages. Much as she wished to read, she could not bring herself to focus on One Thousand and One Nights (1). Penelope's mind was assuredly elsewhere.

Penelope's focus was not aided by the chittering of her sisters and their husbands, a no doubt pleasant conversation that she, as a single lady, had not been invited to participate in. Prudence seemed very content to brag about her wedding to the – untitled, as Penelope's mind so graciously reminded her—Mr. Harry Dankworth. The two had wed in October during the break between seasons and Prudence had been an absolute beast in the days leading up to the wedding.

"Unquestionably, our wedding was much more beautiful than yours." Prudence had decided, among a great many other things, that weddings were a competition that she must win and lord over her sisters.

Mr. Finch looked lovingly towards Phillipa; those two had a much more genial marriage, Penelope noted. While he had no title or any spectacular font of wealth, though he was not poorly off either, he seemed to positively worship the ground his wife walked upon. "I thought our wedding was rather fine, although I was far more focused on my splendid bride than the décor."

"Yes, they do say it is easier to impress older brides." It was one of the few times Phillipa had managed to get in an adequate comeback against Prudence, a fact which pleased her greatly.

Phillipa had never been a woman of impressive wit, or even a woman of moderate to average wit, and it used to eat at her greatly. Penelope could still remember the day, when they were all much younger and moderately less hostile towards one another, that Phillipa had come running into Penelope's room sobbing in her nightie.

"Oh Penny, what am I to do? I will never ma- I'll never mar-," Phillipa had broken down into tears on Penelope's bed before she could finish the sentence, but she did not need to. Penelope had overheard the row while she was meant to be quietly studying her French. It had been a nasty match between Prudence and Phillipa, which had resulted in the eldest sister taunting the middle over her lack of intelligence.

"You are a dullard! You don't know anything Phillipa, not a thing! Who shall want to marry you when your head is completely empty? No one, that is who! No one wants a wife who is too stupid to string a sentence together!" Prudence had, at the time, recently taken to calling her sisters by their full names in an attempt to sound more mature. At the very least it had made her more scathing.

Penelope had done her best to comfort her sister, but there was only so much she could do and Phillipa, caught up in her emotions, was nigh inconsolable. It had taken a pep-talk from their mother to dry her tears.

"Oh, Phillipa my dear, just because she is older does not mean you have to listen to everything your sister tells you." Portia had drawn Phillipa up into her lap and patted the spot next to her for Penelope. "Prudence doesn't fully understand the ways of marriage yet, you needn't take her word for everything while your happily married mama is here."

Phillipa still had tears in her eyes as she snuggled against her mother's bosom, so Portia continued, "Some men like an intelligent woman, but that isn't needed for a good match. In fact, most men prefer to be smarter than their wives!" She stroked Phillipa's hair, "You don't need to be a scholar, dear, what men truly want is a natural beauty. A lady with a lovely appearance will always be more desired than a lady with a lovely brain. Don't fret over your schooling too much, love, I know you will grow up to be a great beauty, and so long as you are beautiful and pleasant, it will not matter to a man whether or not you can do your arithmetic well."

Phillipa, finally, had ceased her crying and looked reverently up at her mother, "Truly, mama? It does not matter if I do poorly with my schooling?"

Portia smiled indulgently, "It doesn't matter one bit, dear, your husband can do all the thinking for you. Now, let us all go to bed, a restful night's sleep is important for beauty, I would know."

Penelope did not think when their mama had told them to let the men do the thinking, that Portia had planned that Prudence would marry a man so exceptionally stupid that he almost deserved an award for it. "If it would please you, my bride, I would wed you a second time. A third. As many as it takes to make you happy." Mr. Dankworth dutifully ignored the somewhat sour look on Prudence's face as he leaned ever closer to her.

Portia, at that very moment, entered with Varley in tow and placed her hands disapprovingly on her hips, "And spend our dearly departed Aunt Petunia's money in the process, Mr. Dankworth?"

"Thank goodness Aunt Petunia died, if she hadn't, we'd have nothing after Cousin Jack left so suddenly." It was a frank, almost callous statement, but Phillipa was not wrong. Tragic as the death was, it had been splendidly convenient. And, while she thought it disrespectful, Penelope could not entirely begrudge Phillipa for her blasé attitude. While Mr. Finch had not faulted his wife for her lacking intelligence, Aunt Petunia had taken it as a personal offence.

Still, she felt the need to defend her deceased aunt, who had always favoured Penelope of the three sisters, "I always liked Aunt Petunia, it is a shame to see her gone."

Prudence scoffed, "Of course you liked her; she was a tiresome spinster who always had her nose in a book."

"She was not tiresome. She just did not care for either of you." Although even Penelope had to admit that her aunt could err on the cantankerous side.

"Enough." Portia tutted, "Today we return to society in good standing, our finances in order and without any man telling us what to do. Let us enjoy this day!"

Mr. Dankworth and Mr. Finch shared a somewhat dubious look, they were men, and they rather fancied that they were, at the very least, in charge of their wives. If not also their mother-in-law and near-spinster sister-in-law as well. It was no matter to Portia, however, who jauntily made her way down the steps as Mrs. Varley followed close behind.

"If I may speak my mind ma'am," Varley began.

Portia sighed, "You always do, Varley." Though she made no efforts to stop the woman. Truly, the two of them had developed some kind of kinship, brought together through the shared interest in the success of the Featherington family.

"The Aunt Petunia story, no offence to the dead, but will anyone really believe that a spinster who never owned so much as a donkey cart would have a fortune to leave you?" Varley carried on in her northern clip. She looked about, as if to ward off eavesdroppers, though it was no secret to the rest of the staff that the Featheringtons had been prone to financial trouble as of late. All that she spotted was Prudence and Mr. Dankworth as they took turns peering into a looking glass to primp and preen for the afternoon event.

"For heaven's sake, no one in London knows how she lived. For all they know she could have been hiding jars of coin underneath the floorboards." Portia kept her face schooled as she whispered; she did not want her children to hear of the dubious means with which she had secured the money, and by extension, their futures.

"The truth has a way of rearing its ugly head. But pay no heed to me, I am but this household's most loyal servant and tender."

Portia gave Varley an unimpressed look as she shepherded her children out the door. These concerns were not new to her, she already knew the risks, but she had done what was necessary to secure a good life for her girls and could not afford to focus on such doubts. What she did need to focus on was the tasteful art of the promenade so that her girls could maintain their reputations.

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Early February 1815

Ambrose Gardens, Mayfair

Though not lush with florals and greenery as they would be in coming months, the Ambroses knew well how to make their topiary gardens appealing even in the frigidity of February's barely-spring weather. Privets and boxwoods had been neatly trimmed to form the splendid shapes of the garden; hedge walls, ankle high mazes, and fountain-like spirals adorned the grass lawn. What it lacked in flowers was more than made up with in fanciful shapes and artistry. The people of the ton milled about said artistry and filled the crisp air with the pleasant hum of conversation. If said conversation often included a mockery of the outdated (2) tastes of the Ambroses, then the family was sure to politely ignore it. The lady of the house had her pleasures and was firm in the belief that her gardener should maintain them. It was the first day of unarguably good weather, and the Ambroses had been delighted to host the first outdoor social event of the season, though nothing could compete with the stranglehold that Lady Danbury had on the much coveted first ball.

A string quartet played gentle lilting music from their raised wooden platform in the centre courtyard, some piece by Spohr (3) that had been published a few years prior. For those less musically inclined, two refreshment tables stood under canopies decorated in pink silk on either side of the open doors to the Ambrose House. Even more extravagantly adorned was the Queen's raised sitting area. The makeshift pagoda sat upon a platform of the finest cedar wood and had elegant Amaranthine (4) drapery. Notably, it lacked the Queen for whom so much effort had been made.

Anxious mamas strolled about the grounds and worried over the Queen's absence, "Where is she? Not to pick a diamond at the presentation is one thing, but to not appear at an event arranged in her honour is another thing altogether." One such mother worried to her companions as they strolled down the garden path.

"Did our girls this morning truly leave that much to be desired?" fussed another.

"I knew I should have gotten a different tutor for Annie, I told my husband as such but he did not see fit to spend the extra money. Now look, the Queen could not have been less interested in my girl." The first woman maintained her dignified expression, but her tone betrayed her annoyance. She scoffed, and turned her back to the card room windows, which offered clear sight of all the married men who had no desire to wander about the green with their wives.

"At least your girls had a fair chance. I do not mean to speak ill of the Queen, long may she reign, but I cannot help but feel that she disregarded my daughter entirely. I think she believes she is above delegating a match for a deaf debutante. You have all seen how she acted at the presentations." The third mother had dropped her voice to a low hush as she spoke, rightfully wary of insulting the Queen.

"Hmm, I would not claim to know the Queen's intentions, but I should not be surprised to find it were true, either. If our good Queen Charlotte truly did feel such a way, we can at least trust Lady Whistledown to speak the truth." The first woman patted her friend's shoulder placatingly.

"Well, I think the fault falls neither upon our girls, nor the Queen." The second said, "It has been a stressful off-season. All of our girls have seen how the closing politics have worn on their papas, I think they simply have distracted themselves with matters that are not a woman's concern."

"They do seem rather… preoccupied, but I do not think it is politics that is on their minds." The third surreptitiously gestured to a group of girls who had crowded around one Colin Bridgerton.

Colin did not shy away from the attention, but rather stood tall and proud amidst his crowd of admirers. They fluttered their lashes and fans as they demurely looked up at him.

"Do you find yourself back in town for any particular reason, my Lord? In search of something, or someone?" The girls tittered at the boldness of their fellow's question, but all seemed eager indeed for an answer.

"If you're asking if I came back to take a wife this season, I am afraid the answer may disappoint. Although, if there's one thing I've learned on my travels, it is forever to expect the unexpected." Truthfully, Colin had learned a great deal more on his travels than to merely adapt to changes. He had needed time away from his family, he found, to truly become someone noticeable. It was not easy to be the third son in the family. Gregory was the baby and so lived a life of leniency and ease, Anthony was the first and took upon his shoulders all the benefits and drawbacks of having a title. Even Benedict had his unique value, all the freedom he wanted, with the knowledge that he would forever remain Anthony's second. Two sons were an heir and a spare, as many people would joke, but what, then, did that make Colin? He had floundered as his siblings started to marry. The others, save for Eloise who did not count, did so very well under society's judgmental gaze, but Colin had always felt too inspected by it. Benedict's charm allowed him to play his eccentricities to his advantage, but Colin had no such luck and felt rather too docile and sensitive for the rakish expectations put upon the men of the ton. His time abroad had finally allowed him the distance to come into his own, and while the new personality felt a bit like an ill-fitting suit to Colin, high society certainly preferred the new him. He gave the ladies a polite smile as he relied on the learned charm that came so easily to his other brothers.

Elsewhere in the gardens, fashionably late, or perhaps simply normally late, the Featheringtons paraded in from garden entry. Penelope trailed behind and looked longingly at Colin. It seemed that every time she saw him, he was surrounded by eligible ladies, ready to vie for his affection. When she had heard him disrespect her at the Featherington ball last season, she had been devastated. Now, it seemed to her, Colin had fully adopted the caddish persona that all the other men of the ton carried. This was not the Colin that Penelope knew, not the sweet boy that took her teasing in stride and tried to boost her confidence when the other Featherington ladies tore it down. The new Colin seemed an entirely different man from the one that Penelope knew, and she could not help but to feel that the sudden personality switch was a betrayal of their friendship. The Colin that flirted with countless ladies and gallivanted about Europe was not someone who would spare Penelope even a shred of respect.

She turned from Colin, and met eyes with Eloise, who had frozen like a startled deer. She did not seem at all happy, but Penelope desired desperately to repair their friendship, and so approached regardless. "Eloise!"

"I do not wish to speak with you, Penelope." Eloise's words contained a biting iciness that only she seemed able to manage, it would have scared off someone less determined.

"But I wish to speak with you! I have not heard from you at all while we were away, must you really hold a grudge for so long?"

Eloise scoffed, "If you think this a mere grudge, then you do not understand me at all."

"Of course I understand, that is why I did what I did. It was the only way to keep you from harm!" Penelope struggled to keep her voice at an acceptable volume; with the Featherington's reputation on unstable ground, she knew who the ton would side with if others found they had argued. "Please, you and I are cut from the same cloth, I know you would not turn down the opportunities I have made for myself."

"What opportunities? The opportunity to ruin lives? I would do no such thing!"

"The chance to publish! I know you wish for your voice to be heard, just as I do. I have found a way to make people listen to me when they never do otherwise! You would not be so cross with me if you had found out before I was forced to publish about you. You would have been happy for me, delighted even. You are being spiteful." The conversation was not headed in the direction Penelope had wanted it to. They were supposed to be on the mend, but it did not feel as if very much was being mended.

"I am being spiteful? Me? Wuh- I- you-" Eloise's hands shook as she failed to articulate her thoughts.

Penelope's breath shuddered as she tried to calm herself, "Please, this is a foolish fight. We have always been so close, who else do we have?"

As the universe had a grand and cruel sense of humour, at that very moment Cressida spotted the two, and made a beeline for them. "Oh, look. If it isn't Penelope Featherington, back in a dress that exemplifies your qualities so well," her voice rang out cooly as she strode up to Penelope's side. "I dare say, for such a unremarkable chit-"

"Cressida!" Eloise's voice wasn't quite chastising, but it was awfully close to it. She looked frantically between the two, pulled in two directions by loyalty to an old friend and her still lingering resentment. Eloise was not fond of Penelope at that particular moment, nor did she expect to suddenly regain that fondness, but that did not mean she wanted to see her subject to Cressida's famous ability to tear down other women. Eloise cleared her throat pointedly.

Cressida smiled confusedly, but acquiesced and abandoned the insult, "Ah, Eloise! There you are, I have been searching all over this ghastly garden for you!"

"And I, you. Shall we go and get some lemonade? I cannot bear to be around Kate for so long. Dear sister that she is to me, I think I shall scream if I must once more hear about the joyous sanctimony of marriage. I should rather like to drown myself in the refreshments if it will save me from yet another lecture on the nature of love." Eloise's voice was tinged with something bitter. She was nothing less than happy for Kate and Anthony, truly, but love was not a topic she wished to discuss. For reasons she did not know, or rather did not want to admit, Eloise could only think of Theo whenever love was discussed. She missed him dearly, and the hurt only grew with each passing day. There were times with which she felt cross with herself, she was not supposed to be so easily rattled, and she could hardly call herself a feminist when so many of her waking, and sleeping, thoughts were plagued by longing for a man. That did not stop the longing from coming on, however. When Eloise was with Cressida, when she felt safe and heard and understood. With a friend, she did not think of Theo as often, though he was always there at the back of her mind. The return from London had only made her yearn for him more, and she felt ever tempted to sneak away and see him as she used to. But she could not, not anymore. She had promised to behave for the season, and she could not ruin Francesca's prospects with her frivolity. Theo would not want to see her anyway, so she was better off spending time with those who did want her around.

"Lemonade is a splendid idea, I myself am parched with thirst. Besides, I cannot have you drowning yourself in the punch bowl; it would be a waste of all that excellent tutoring I have provided you." Cressida did not spare Penelope a second glance as she linked arms with Eloise and veritably glided across the grounds to the refreshments table.

Penelope gaped as the two trotted away; how could Eloise befriend someone so wicked and cruel? This had to be some kind of petty revenge, why else would anyone willingly spend time with a witch such as Cressida? Spirits thoroughly trampled; she slunk off to hide by a particularly large and conical topiary.

Elouse and Cressida continued, arm in arm, to the table with drinks. "Is it not congenial to be back from the country? Away from all that draught and emptiness." There was a teasing lilt to Cressida's voice as she spoke.

"You do know others call that fresh air? There are those who would claim it as a cure for every ailment under the sun, such are its uplifting properties." Eloise picked up a glass of lemonade, and after brief deliberation, a tea cake as well.

"Of course, it is, they send all of us hysterical ladies out to the countryside so that we may preserve our delicate constitutions, but as we have established, I am resilient. Crowded and bustling as it is, London is where I am most at home. Though, I do not so much mind the country when I am not made to bask in the fresh air entirely on my lonesome. It is such a joy that I have befriended you, the season will be all the better now that I have you by my side." Cressida laughed, and there was a genuine spark of affection in her eyes as she spoke. Eloise found herself in agreement; Cressida had been splendidly pleasant company in the off-season, and Eloise felt relief at the thought that she would have someone at her side through the trials of another social season. In no rush to socialise just yet, the two girls made their way away from the crowds and into the hedge maze.

"You seemed rather cross with Penelope, earlier." Cressida began tentatively, "You really must learn to school your features better if you do not wish for people to gossip."

Eloise pursed her lips, "We had a falling out, that is all. Penelope is too eager to smooth things over, when I would rather we went our own ways."

"Then it is a good thing I came when I did. But I do not understand, you seemed upset by my arrival, should I not have intruded?"

"No, I am glad for your intervention, truly, but could you not have been less hostile?" They reached a fork in the hedge maze and chose to take the path on the left.

"I should think Penelope is deserving of a little hostility." Cressida had turned to the defensive.

"She is still… Penelope was a friend, once, I have no wish to see her torn apart."

"Fine. Next time I shall let you two duke it out in a proper row instead of wasting my kindness on your rescue." Cressida then sighed and shook her head, "Never mind, it is of no importance, let us speak of something else. You wrote the other day to recommend a book, did you not?"

Francesca had watched Eloise disappear with her new friend and envied their easy conversation before she returned her attention to the ladies in front of her. It would be horrifically rude to ignore them. The new debutantes had been eager to speak with each other, and while they tired her, Francesca found them to be a pleasant bunch. They were no more energetic than her own family, and Francesca was thankful to be included at all despite her reservedness.

"I've been dreaming of my future husband since I was a child. There are so many splendid qualities a husband could have, but mine should be handsome, romantic, intelligent." Miss Hartigan smiled at the other girls as she encouraged them to describe their ideal husbands.

"Do not forget well-bred and tall. I should very much like my husband to make me feel safe and protected." Miss Livingston giggled and blushed, and Francesca got the sense that security was not the only reason she wished for a tall husband.

Miss Malhotra mimed the flourish of a pen with the hand not holding her lemonade, "I have always imagined a man who writes poetry, a personal Lord Byron all of my own. But above all else, he should be someone who gives me butterflies just by looking at him."

The other girls sighed and nodded in agreement, though Francesca did not. She had never felt these butterflies, though she had admittedly met very few men that she was not related to. The debutantes turned to her, expectantly, and Francesca realised that they had asked for her thoughts on suitable husbands. She found that she had no strong opinions on the matter. Good looks did not mean much to her, nor did height, and she did not much care about which hobbies her husband might have, so long as he allowed her to pursue hers. She had waited too long in thought of suitable parameters, Francesca had to speak or else she would look a fool, "Someone… kind, I suppose." Francesca was not picky, there were surely attributes that might make a man more appealing than another, though she could not come up with any on the spot, but so long as her husband was kind, she would get along with him just fine.

The faces of the other debutantes fell ever so slightly; Francesca's answer had failed to entertain them, and she felt as if she should have at least pretended to be pickier. "Well, that is plain. You do not want someone who is unkind." Miss Livingston was right; kindness was something every lady wished for in a husband.

"No, of course not. I am simply… open to love, however it may find me." Francesca sipped her lemonade so that she did not have to elaborate further. She was confident that she could find happiness in any marriage, so long as the match was good. Why did there need to be such hemming and hawing about which types of men were the most appealing? Francesca looked over to the ladies of the house, and very suddenly wished she could go about ton and interview all the eligible suitors as Anthony had done with the debutantes last season. Then again, that was not how he found Kate, who at that very moment stood admiring the topiaries by herself.

Violet approached Kate with a teasing smile on her face, "One week returned from honeymoon, and already my son has left you to fend for yourself." Anthony had, indeed, elected to not attend the social gathering.

"Our time away means Anthony's stack of paperwork has grown nearly to the ceiling. With any luck he'll be caught up by the first ball." Kate chuckled, "Or so he says, I cannot find it in myself to believe that Benedict would neglect his duties so, even if his only motivator would be to avoid my husband's wrath so soon upon our return."

This made Violet laugh, "You'll find that Anthony's ire is a great motivator indeed for the young men of Bridgerton house, though no one is especially set on displeasing you either, dear. You make for quite the striking Viscountess." She paused as she led Kate to a better vantage point in the gardens, one where they could keep an eye on both Francesca and Eloise. "And it is a good thing you do, with two sisters out in society this season, we have much work on our plates indeed."

Kate raised an eyebrow, Francesca did not strike her as the type to bring in drama, and Eloise wished only to maintain a low profile this season. "Francesca seems rather composed, does she not? Quite practical, I do not think we shall have much trouble with her."

Violet smiled wryly, "She is, but practicality is the opposite of love. I do not want my daughter to approach marriage as if it is some sort of political alliance, she deserves true passion. Even without the Queen's favour, she will have many eyes on her. I am eager to see how she fares."

"And of Eloise? She does not seem any happier with the idea of marriage than she did last year. I am not fooled by her complacency; the fires of conviction still burn within her."

Violet pursed her lips as she watched Eloise bring Cressida over to Hyacinth and Gregory. The two youngest Bridgertons seemed rather pleased with her, perhaps because Cressida so indulgently listened to Hyacinth rave about her anticipation to debut. "I do not understand this new friendship in the slightest. Eloise and Penelope have been inseparable since they were girls, and now Eliose speaks nothing of her, and only of her readings with Cressida." She sighed, "But I spent enough time last season trying to assist her until my assistance nearly drove her to ruination. So, I shall not interfere, for now. At least Eloise is putting effort into her languages again, though I wish she'd have carried on with French instead of German."

Kate looked admiringly down at Violet, "You always see your children so clearly. I hope to be half the Viscountess you are. Not many are nearly so invested in their daughters' happiness as you."

"I am sure you will be even greater; you have had much practice with your sister. And you must forgive me, I will move into a dower house as soon as I find one. It is quite a task, and my attentions have been rather split as of late."

Kate turned fully to Violet and grasped her hands gently, "Do not worry, back in India, mothers stay in the home with the family long beyond their children's weddings. My mother still lives with Edwina, even though she has now married Lord Auckland (5), and his sister resides with them too. I am grateful to have you close."

And truly, she was. Viscountess was a weighty role to play, both in and out of the household. Kate loved her family dearly, and she was not unfamiliar with ordering the affairs of a house, but the Bridgertons were something else entirely. The Sharmas in India had a much quieter life than the Bridgertons, and not nearly the reputation. Her new siblings were well and familiar with scandal and frivolity, Kate knew that much after the year she'd spent with the family. To order them and secure both their happiness and lifelong stability was no small task. It was not the same as tutoring Edwina so that she might appeal to a suitor; each Bridgerton had more penchant for trouble in their little finger than Edwina had in her whole body. With a family as closely knit as the Bridgertons, Kate saw no need to sequester Violet away from society. She never had understood why so many women were threatened by their mothers in-law, Violet was nothing less than a delight.

"Lady Bridgerton," Lady Danbury bore a wide grin on her face as she approached the two women. Smartly dressed in a white coat and hat, she posed quite the business-like figure.

Of course, both ladies Bridgerton responded, and the three shared a good-natured chuckle over the confusion.

"Are we enjoying the festivities today?" Even when not on her property, Lady Danbury could not help but see to it that every event was a success.

"Very much, although the Queen's absence is… noted." Violet spared a somewhat nervous glance at the still empty sitting area.

"Yes," Agatha did not sound entirely pleased with the Queen, "I do think she finds herself somewhat reticent, after her instincts went astray last season. Ah-" she gave an approving nod towards Kate, "But of course, it all worked itself out in the end. I would not worry too much, the Queen is prone to her moods, it is not so unusual."

Kate gestured to a group of mothers that stood huddled together a couple yards away. They gripped their champagne flutes rather tightly. "Perhaps you should tell that to the other mamas, to ease the tension a bit."

The Queen was not the only person the ravenous mothers of the ton had their eye on, though. As Colin moved from one group of debutantes to the next, he could feel their gazes upon him, watching, assessing, wondering if he had affection for their daughters or if he was simply acting a rake. He could not say he enjoyed their attention, but it was a worthy price to pay for the adoration of the young ladies.

"My travels? I am afraid I cannot begin to share my travel adventures with you. If I did, you would swoon, and we cannot have that." He said to one such group of ladies. They laughed and hung on to every word he said, and Colin smirked at the air of mystery he had created around himself. He bid the ladies good day, and no sooner had he left did he find himself surrounded by another group.

"How is it possible that your dance cards for the season are not yet full of suitors? You are flowers in bloom, each one of you livens up these dull, cold, days." He had no intentions with any of these women, but they looked at him as if he was worth something, as if he was someone worth knowing. A little flirting could not hurt.

To yet another group, he put on his best and most rakish grin as he teasingly chastised the women who asked him about the goings on of his European tour, "My stories from abroad are not suitable for such tender young ladies. Were I to tell you even the tiniest adventure, well, I'd be forced to marry you." That particular line had gone over rather well.

Colin excused himself and was finally free from the droves of women he had been entertaining. He revelled in the attention, but found it exhausting at the same time. The ladies adored him, but not the real him. When he had been himself, quieter and more poetic, no one but Miss Thompson, now Mrs. Crane as he kept reminding himself, had been interested in him. It was the persona he put on that they loved, the persona that had made him so many new friends at the gentlemen's clubs. The people did not care for the Colin who had found passion in writing and storytelling, they loved the Colin whose flirtations were just on this side of shameless and who flaunted his experience like a badge of honour. To act for so long drained him, and he sought out the dear friend that always seemed to lift his spirits. With so many places to hide, though, finding Penelope would be rather the task.

Penelope watched her family safely from the sidelines, sequestered between a neatly pruned yew bush and a clear looking pond. She did not want anyone to notice her in her melancholy and had fallen back onto her usual nature. It was a party, after all, and as with all parties, there was gossip to be had.

The Featheringtons, sans Penelope who they had left to haunt the outskirts as she usually did, moved from group to group as Portia and Prudence solidified their version of Cousin Jack's flight from England.

"We woke up to find he had fled in the night. He did not even stop to take his beloved gun cabinet. Or me." Prudence's face pinched into one of contempt before it softened once more, "But I have found myself a far more honourable husband, isn't that right, Mr. Dankworth?" Mr. Dankworth smiled charmingly at the Lady and Lord Cowper but said nothing. It was for the best, Mr. Dankworth's charm was limited to his good looks and did not extend him the grace of any skill with words.

"Well," the way Lady Cowper spoke betrayed that she did not entirely believe the Featheringtons to be worthy of their titles, "Let us hope that whoever lays claim to be the next Lord Featherington has more scruples. Or does common thievery run in the family?"

"In fact, there shall be no more laying claim, as the last lord Featherington wrote a document bequeathing the estate to my girls. Just as soon as one of them produces an heir." Portia smiled wryly at Lady Cowper. It was not the thunderous victory she would have liked, but it was something.

Phillipa, from her place on Mr. Finch's arm, cocked her head, "Did he? That was terribly nice of Cousin Jack. Why would he do such a thing when he planned to run out on us?"

Prudence, too, gave her mother an incredulous look, "You did not tell us such a thing mother."

Portia grit her teeth, "Shall we get some refreshments, ladies? Perhaps something strong?" She did not think it mattered if she told her girls or not, two of them were married, they ought to have been doing as married people so enjoyed to do.

Penelope could hear the conversation well enough and felt no joy that one of her sisters would take charge of the house sometime in the next year. It was an unpleasant enough thought, that she did not notice Colin's approach until he spoke.

"Pen! It is good to see you." There was a twinge of relief in his voice, he was no doubt tired of his infinite devotees.

It had been a rotten day, and Penelope still could not forget the words she had heard Colin speak of her the season prior. Was he truly happy to see her or was she simply an excuse to get away from the crowds. He always met her at her hiding places, never called her out into the light. Was he so ashamed of their friendship? She was cold in her reply.

"Truly it has felt like years I've been absent instead of months." Colin wore the same sweet smile that he would so often bless her with during their period of friendship. Penelope felt as if he mocked her further with it. He did not even consider her woman enough to put on his debonair attitude.

"Much has certainly changed in that time." Penelope did not want to treat Colin with such coolness, but she could not take the heartbreak of his rejection a second time.

Colin, ever oblivious, looked down to his embroidered waistcoat and grinned, "A good deal, I know, but it was all the rage in Paris."

Penelope smiled politely and nodded, "You look quite distinguished, but then again, you always have." She did not wish to speak to him, why was now the only time he was incapable of reading social cues?

"When all is said and done, it is merely clothing. Whereas elsewhere, things seem to have fundamentally changed." He looked about incredulously, as if the entire world had shifted under his feet, "Am I mistaken, or was Eloise walking arm-in-arm with Cressida Cowper?"

"As you said, sometimes time moves rather quickly. If you'll excuse me, I must go now." Penelope made to leave as she spoke. To be forced to speak with Colin, who still made her heart ache and flutter in equal measure, was one thing. It was another thing to speak with Colin on why Eloise would choose to spend time with Cressida over herself. It was a betrayal of the highest order, and Penelope felt that Eloise was being needlessly cruel, not only with her refusal to speak to her, but also in her finding friendship elsewhere. She did not want to speak with Colin on it, and she could not, not without revealing her identity. The Featheringtons were taking their leave, and Penelope swiftly joined them before she had to converse more. She left so swiftly, that she entirely missed the look of pure disappointment and confusion that had graced Colin's features in her wake.

Phillipa pouted as she trailed behind her mama, "Why didn't you tell us sooner that one of us would be the new Lady Featherington?" There was a whine to her voice that she only used when she felt she had been especially wronged.

Portia huffed as she rushed through the gardens and back to the carriages, "What purpose would there be in telling either of you to make a son? You're both married women, must we tell a baker to bake?"

Penelope only found herself in a fouler mood as the day, and conversation, wore on. "Technically one of our sons would be the new Lord Featherington, one of us would simply be the heir's mama, not the lady of the house."

"One of us?" Prudence scoffed, "You think that you are part of this race? With what husband? Spinsters do not have children, and if you did, a bastard son would never be fit as Lord Featherington." She peered derisively at her sisters, "When I am the heir's mama, the first necessity will be ridding the house of you pests. I will not have a set of leeches draining the funds my son is to inherit."

Phillipa seemed to not hear her sister's subtle threat as she shouldered past with a skip in her step, "I should like to redecorate the house for the heir's arrival when Alby and I have him. The first thing to go should be mama's ghastly curtains, they simply suck the life out of a room." She turned to Penelope with a pleased smile, "Do not worry, I will let you keep your dusty books! Perhaps in the cloakroom, though, I cannot have guests thinking they are mine."

Penelope merely sneered, "Oh, lovely! I shall have all the space I need, for the cloakroom will never be anything but empty as I cannot possibly imagine anyone who would want to visit the either of you!" She stomped into the carriage, which would have been more satisfying if the carriage door was in any slamable.

"Neither of you will be inheriting anything if you do not get home and perform your wifely duties." Portia was thoroughly done with the squabbling.

"Can we not come over for pudding first? Your cook is so much better than ours. He does not make it nearly sweet enough." How Phillipa managed to maintain such a shapely figure with her great love for sweets was a mystery that had often vexed Penelope.

Lady Featherington crossed her arms, "No you cannot. It is your own fault for marrying men without title. Now, go!" She clapped her hands as she sent the wedded sisters off and smiled pityingly at Penelope, "I take comfort in knowing that you will always be here to take care of me. It is not easy for a mother to see all her children leave. You need not worry about marrying, we can keep each other company."

Penelope shuddered at the thought.

She tossed and turned and could not find any rest as she lay in bed that night. She could not spend her entire adult life at the whims of her mother, nor would she be happy to live off the means of her sisters. Assuming they would let her, Phillipa could be amiable but was flighty, and Prudence could hardly be convinced to spare a single penny for anyone but herself. She got up from bed and threw open her wardrobe, dozens of dresses in too-bright yellows, oranges, and greens stared back at her. She could not go on like this. Something had to be done.

Footnotes

1. A collection of folk tales from the middle east, curated in the Islamic golden age and progressively expanded on in the following centuries. Though the stories and overarching plot can vary by edition and translation, the general consensus is that the tales are stories told by Scheherazade to her husband the king, to keep him from killing her. The stories are a combination of myths, philosophy, poetry, and early forms of sci-fi. The first English edition appeared mysteriously on the doorstep of a publishing house in 1706. A better known Arabic to English translation was published in 1811 by Jonathan Scott.

2. Topiary gardens in this time were wildly out of fashion. English poet, Alexander Pope, mocked them so viciously in one of his 1713 essays that he pretty much single-handedly killed the art. Topiary gardens would have thus been about 100 years out of fashion, and more-so associated with the countryside working class. They did not regain popularity until the 1840's.

3. Louis (Ludewig) Spohr was a very popular German composer at this time. The piece I have in mind is Potpourri No.2, Op. 22 as it is written for a string quartet. after his death in 1859, he faded mostly into obscurity.

4. This is one of the more vibrant pink dyes of the time, named after the amaranth flower. It was super popular from 1810 onward, and reached peak popularity in the 1820s. As a dye, (Red No. 2), it's carcinogenic effects are still debated. The USA had it banned, but the UK still uses it as a food dye. It has a hex code of #E52B50.

5. Real Guy Alert! George Eden, Earl of Auckland, was a politician for the Whig (liberal) party at the time. He would live to become head of the royal navy, and then Governor-General of India (not yet though). He was also the heir to his father's Barony. In real 1815, he'd still be in parliament, but I've decided to play with some things and say he's actually doing politics in India in this canon. While Governor-General of India (1836-1842), he focused on funding for public education and industry expansion. He also declared war on Afghanistan, which was less cool and was also a complete military failure. At this point, he would be 31 (same age as Anthony), which is a socially acceptable age to marry a 19-ish Edwina. The mentioned sister is Emily Eden, a novelist best known for her accounts of the time she spent in India with her brother. The real George Eden never married.

Other notes: I feel like Colin probs has some major imposter syndrome, which feeds into the hero complex we all know he had. This will come into play later. I also wanted to make Phillipa a little nicer, because I love her. As much as I would love to have Pen and Eloise make up immediately, that would absolutely kill the pacing, so we must hold out and tolerate our girls suffer a it more of a bad case of bad at communication. Also, more Cressida! I love her, and think she needs a little more screen time with Eloise. Or screen time in general. I will say, I don't think I will end up changing much with Kate and Anthony's plotline. I'll try to flesh them out a bit, of course, but they're like a c-plot and I didn't really have any clear ideas on what else to do with them. Their bits are pretty fine anyway, so I'm not too pressed over it. I'm always worried about how I transition between 'perspectives' as it were. It's a lot easier for the show, which can jump-cut between people, places, and even times. I try my best to keep the rotating perspective the show has, while also maintaining some kind of smooth transition so no one gets whiplash.