Late February 1815

Kent Estate, Mayfair

Will lay alone in his new, opulently large, bed. The wooden frame of the four-poster bed was carved from what he guessed to be mahogany, based on the rich red-brown shine of the wood. The ticking (1) of the mattress had many more layers than what Will was used to, complete with feather-down upholstery, but he found himself ill-suited to the comfort. Layers upon layers of quilts and featherdown comforters kept him warm during winter's last hurrah. The trapped heat under the blankets was not the warmth he wished for, though. It had been just over a week since his family had moved into their new estate, and he still could not fall asleep without his wife by his side.

Will said nothing of his tumultuous thoughts; the man of the house could not complain about something so petty as an empty mattress. He and Alice had stumbled into a life of luxury and wealth they had previously only been allowed to observe. He would not dare to complain, not when he knew how lucky they all were. To do so would be so ungrateful that Will could not even think to raise issue without going red in the face with shame. It, too, would be a disgrace to Alice, who kept her chin up and bore the new pressures of acting Lady Kent with such dignity. Will knew his wife also had her concerns, but she dared not complain in the face of such luxury. Will's word was law, and he knew that if he expressed displeasure with their new station in life, he could easily convince the rest of the family to relinquish their title and return to the life of a simple club owner. He would not dream to rip away the security this world provided them for the paltry sum of his own preferences.

Though his children would not grow up to remember such struggles, Will could still recall the early days of their marriage when he and Alice were in a far more precarious position. The days when Will had not yet established himself as a reliable and competent boxer. Alice had to work then, pregnant with Nicky and scrubbing (2) at the garments of much richer ladies. Those had been the worst days; he would return home battered with barely any coin to show for it, as his beloved wife bravely suffered the hot water that scalded her hands as the harsh chemicals stung her nose. There had been several nights that she had spent heaving over the chamber pot, pregnant body rebelling against the fumes she was made to inhale. For years after her days as a laundress, her hands bore calluses that could rival those of any dock-worker. Will never wished for his wife to need to return to that life. Their own servants likely still lived that kind of life, and Will felt nothing less than a hypocrite for his less than perfectly pleased attitude.

Though every fibre of his being screamed at him to leave his chambers and go to the opposite room where his beloved wife resided, he turned the other way and extinguished his candle. This society had rules, and he must follow them if he wanted to keep his family in good graces. He tossed and turned and slept poorly for his ninth night in a row, entirely unaware that in the room across the hall, his wife did the same.

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Late February 1815

Madame Delacroix's, St. James's

Alice surveyed the space around her, the polished wooden walls, luxurious full-length mirrors, bolts upon bolts of fabric in every colour under the sun, and comfortable sitting chairs with ill-concealed awe. Madame Delacroix's store was both more and less luxurious than Alice had thought it would be. Though the fabrics and décor were nothing less than tasteful and in the latest fashion, the rooms were also scattered with errant bits and bobs. Unfolded lace tidbits, fabric scraps, and loose string could be found in every corner of the shop, if one knew to look for them. Alice has spent long enough in her many odd jobs to recognise such subtle chaos, and she smiled lightly at the mess. Where the wealthy ton ladies would notice naught more than their reflections, Alice had the eyes of a working woman, and she knew to appreciate the efforts of a sister.

She stood as still as possible in the centre pedestal of the room as Madame Delacroix fluttered about with her pins and needle and tailor's measuring string. Hung over the settees and chairs were the countless dresses from Lady Kent's expansive wardrobe, all in wait of alteration. Unable to move without disturbing Madame Delacroix's careful measurements, Alice had no other option but to look straight ahead at the mirror. She felt rather foolish and terribly vain, to stand and admire herself as another woman worked on her dresses.

The dress she wore was the only one she had been able to instantly recognise as a walking dress (3), and more importantly was the outfit that fit her best. Alice did not find the number especially flattering on her. The fit notwithstanding – Lady Kent had unsurprisingly been a better fed woman than Alice – the colour and styling left something to be desired. With its high lace collar, dismal black colour, and full-length sleeves, Alice felt that there must have been something odd about the dress, but could not quite place it. The only agreeable aspects were the delicate golden floral embroidery, and the tasteful ruffles (4). The black feathered bonnet, which Alice had assumed to be a matching set with the dress, pelisse (5), and wrist length gloves made her feel constricted and pompous. To say Alice did not care for the outfit would be an exceedingly polite wording of her true thoughts. Madame Delacroix, who had insisted that Alice called her Genevive, circled the new noblewoman and tutted disapprovingly.

"I have long marvelled at your shop through windows, Madame Delacroix, but it is another pleasure entirely to step inside." Despite her lack of love for her new dresses, Alice was delighted over her opportunity to have them altered and fitted by London's highest end modiste. A modiste from France, no less! Very prestigious indeed.

Genevive chuckled lightly and spoke in the breathy French accent the ton so adored her for, "Of late, there must be many new pleasures, I imagine."

"Over thirty new gowns, all in desperate need of alteration. I do hope I'm not putting you out by asking such a large task, you are the only modiste town who is capable of such a thing." Alice smiled hopefully at the seamstress who had already begun to fuss with her sleeves.

"Oui, the late Lady Kent was a woman with a… fuller figure than yours. Usually, I do not discourage my clients from embracing the avant-garde, but a woman of her great age and stature gains nothing from dressing like a maiden. I practically begged her to let me craft her something more fitting, I do not just make dresses for the young ladies of the ton, but she insisted on the newest fashions." Genevive shook her head and pulled at some of the fabric, so the dress fit tighter around Alice's chest. "I suppose it has worked out in the end, her dresses will look splendid on you, once I have altered them. Although, I did not know you were so close with the late Lady, it is honourable, indeed, for you to mourn her."

Alice froze, "Mourn her? I hardly say I knew the woman, Madame Delacroix."

"Please, just Genevieve. If I may ask, if you do not mourn this great-aunt, who do you wear her mourning gown for?" Genevive kept her tone soft; she did not want to embarrass Alice and had gotten the sense that the woman was not so aware of the social intricacies of dresses as she let on.

"This is a mourning dress?" Alice looked down, she should have known better, even the wealthy reserved black for mourning. She had sent away the lady's maids that had come to assist her that morning, unused to servants and entirely convinced she could dress herself like any competent adult. Perhaps, if she hadn't denied them, they might have been able to inform her of the faux pas. "You must excuse my foolishness, I had entirely overlooked such a thing, and only thought that this one fit me the best without alteration."

Genevive hummed, "Oui, it is as I thought. You are not to blame, Mrs. Mondrich, it is no fault of yours that you do not understand our ton fashions. How about this, while I make these much-needed alterations, we can discuss the wonders of high fashion."

Alice let out a deep breath of relief, "I would be ever so pleased, Genevieve, thank you. You have customers for life in the Mondriches."

Genevieve smiled, and gave Alice's hip a friendly pat, "It is not so easy, navigating the world of wealth. You are very lucky, Mrs. Mondrich, but I can tell where a lady's roots lie, from one working woman to another, I wish you the best."

Alice smiled weakly as Genevieve marked down the measurements she had taken. The new Lady Kent felt ill-prepared for her new role, but she would take any opportunity to learn so as to not make a fool of her family.

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The bell at the front door jingled merrily as three ladies stepped in. Violet, in her golden-embroidered pink pelisse, led her two out daughters through the door with a pleased grin on her face. She had been exceedingly joyous as of late, though neither Eloise nor Francesca seemed of mind to share in her glee. Violet did not let that bother her, she was used to these reactions from her daughters, and was more interested in the news Lady Danbury had brought. Francesca still had a chance to be the diamond, and Violet would stop at nothing to make sure her daughter grabbed the title. Eloise had thoroughly failed to impress the Queen last season, and Violet couldn't help but to wonder if her daughter might not have been more inclined towards proper society rather than political radicals had she managed to win the diamond title over Edwina.

"Girls, look at this lovely French blue satin! Certainly, this will catch the Queen's eye, do you not think?" The question was rhetoric, and Violet waited for no answer before she picked up the entire bolt and went to sit with the other women who waited for their turns with the modiste.

Eloise looked bemusedly at Francesca, confused by their mother's chipper mood. Just earlier she had fussed and fretted over the Queen's refusal to choose a diamond. Now, she acted as if Francesca was a foregone conclusion for the glittering title. Eloise supposed it didn't matter either way, so long as no one seriously tried to make her marry one of the insufferable upper-class men, she would endure all the season could throw at her. If anything, her mother's renewed vigour for Francesca's success would serve to keep the heat off Eloise's brow.

Eloise turned to Francesca to say as much, "I am so grateful now that mama has you to absorb her attention. Thanks to you, I can delay dealing with suitors for at least another year. Maybe even longer if you hold out as well, at least until Hyacinth comes of age and commands the attention she so deserves."

Francesca smiled, but shook her head at her sister's hopefulness, "I regret to disappoint you, but the prospect of marriage is the one aspect of the season that I welcome. I am eager to find a suitable match and be done with it before mother schemes to get the Queen interested in me."

Eloise's brow furrowed, no one else seemed to be under the impression that Queen Charlotte was in any way happy with the debutantes this season, "I thought the Queen was uninterested in the season's young ladies."

Francesca sighed, oh how she wished that were still true; it would save her a great deal of trouble if the Queen truly did not care for the dramatics of the social season any longer. Alas, such was not the case, and Francesca had the sinking feeling that it was not just her mother's schemes that she would have to endure, based on how excited Lady Danbury had also seemed. "Lady Danbury says, 'The Queen only wants to be dazzled'." Her Lady Danbury impression left something to be desired, Francesca never was one for vocal mimicry, but it got the point across.

Eloise winced in sympathy, she had had good luck last season insofar that Anthony, definitively Violet's favourite child even though she denied it, started his search for a wife and as such took much pressure off Eloise's shoulders. Both girls knew neither Colin nor Benedict were on the prowl for a spouse, so Francesca only had Eloise to serve as a distraction, and what a poor distraction she was. Short of downright ruining her sisters' prospects by publicly associating with liberals again, Eloise could do nothing to alleviate the heavy weight of Voilet's expectations from Francesca's shoulders. Even if she did decide to throw herself to the wolves and accept the cage of a man's affections, it would not in any way detract from Francesca's unique shine. Between the two of them, she was the favoured sister; many ton men had already decided Eloise wasn't worth the effort, not when someone so much more agreeable was also available.

Eloise wracked her brain for any way to ease some of the pressure her dear sister found herself almost crushed by. She remembered Cressida's wry smile as she called socialisation a game, and her laughter when she told Eloise that if one wants to hide effectively, one must know how to do so within the rules of society. Eloise spotted a trio of newly debuted ladies crowded around one of Genevieve's premade dresses and had a brilliant idea. "Come with me, Fran, I must teach you how to obfuscate yourself by uplifting your peers. Perhaps if there are others vying for the Queen's favour, it will not matter what mama is scheming." That Cressida had been the one to teach Eloise the strategy needed no mention, Francesca would already know that such an idea was the blonde's doing.

"Miss Hartigan, Miss Malhotra, Miss Eaton!" The two casually walked up to the three girls, and both Bridgertons gave their winningest smiles as the whole group curtsied to each other. Eloise suppressed the smile she felt itching to spread across her face; Cressida had hesitantly told her that she often looked more like a manic faerie than a put-together young lady. Eloise's toothy grins, apparently, gave others the impression that she had some hidden scheme and was up to no good. Maybe tat was true, but Cressida had at least taught her how to mask such intentions behind a much more palatable smile. "I have heard the most wonderful news, from Lady Danbury herself. It is, I believe, far more relevant to your prevue than it is mine."

Miss Eaton perked up, as did the other two, "From Lady Danbury? Whatever is it?"

Such was nothing but formality, as all the girls knew. Lady Danbury was the Queen's favourite court lady, and quite possibly her only friend. Any news from Lady Danbury that warranted such importance was surely from the Queen. Half of gossip, however, was acting as if one did not know the information at hand, even if the lady in question knew more than the gossiper herself. The three ladies, Eloise noted, were clever enough to look supremely pleased, which meant they had jumped to the right conclusion. Best to confirm it, though.

"We have heard," Eloise tilted her head to Francesca, who bashfully smiled and nodded, "that the Queen isn't completely through with you yet." She prodded Francesca in the back, hard, to encourage her to talk. Eloise had gone through her first season with only one friend, and had watched Daphne go without any at all. Even if they only came together this year, Eloise would not see her sister isolated from the other women her own age. Ingratiate them to each other, that was the plan. If Francesca had friends, or even acquaintances, outside the family, then she would have people to speak with no matter where she was, should she want them. At the very least, if the other ladies knew Francesca to be the kind, generous, egalitarian woman she was, they would be less likely to spread rumours about her.

"It is true. I heard Lady Danbury say so myself. I-" Francesca paused and then patted Eloise on the shoulder, she did not want to leave her sister out, "we thought it best to make such information public. The diamond should be titled fairly, and it would be horrendously unjust if only one of us had such splendid information." Francesca felt a genuine smile grace her face. She knew exactly what Eloise was doing, and while she was perfectly happy with her solitary lifestyle, she was grateful, nonetheless. This would serve to take the attention off both of them; Francesca could find a quiet, sensible suitor, and Eloise could avoid suitors entirely if it so pleased her.

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Late February 1815

Bridgerton House, Mayfair

The metal of the garden chairs was cold, even through Colin's trousers. He, Gregory, Benedict, and Hyacinth sat around a little round garden table, cards clutched firmly in hand. They had started their umpteenth game of speculation (6) that afternoon, and Hyacinth had thoroughly trounced her brothers in all previous rounds.

The role of dealer had rotated back around to Benedict who shuffled, cut the deck, dealt, and pulled that which would determine the trump suite; it was hearts this time. Benedict grumbled in disappointment when he saw that his only card in the trump suite was a four of hearts; Hyacinth had, two dealer turns in a row, drawn an ace and instantly won. His pockets had become rather light that afternoon, as had Colin's and Gregory's. Hyacinth had run out of room in her clutch and had started a pile of small change on her side of the table, next to her untouched lemonade glass. She staunchly refused to buy the trump card off Benedict, and he swore under his breath. He did not often play cards with his sisters for good reason; they all played the hard game and were each, in their own right, absolute terrors at the table. Daphne knew just how to misdirect her brothers with false bluffs, Francesca's poker face was as stony and immaculately cold as any gambler could wish for, Eloise's eyes were sharp and she could read her brothers like the books she so loved – she also had notoriously sticky fingers, and found much more joy at cheating card games than playing them properly– and Hyacinth was the worst of them all; a veritable mind reader, she could damn near sniff out the best hand, no tells to speak of, and had spectacular luck to boot. The little brat had learned near every swear word under the sun from Anthony's short temper in card games and took great pride in needling his sore ego. Anthony and Hyacinth had been banned from playing card games of any sort together since 1813.

It was Hyacinth's turn to reveal a card, and she paused to look at her hand of three. Colin, who had grown bored of his stealth strategy, flicked over one of his sister's carefully stacked coin piles and grinned, "Hesitating, Hyacinth? Lady luck cannot favour you forever, you shall have to return those coins soon enough."

Hyacinth glared at him, placed her cards face down on the table, and carefully restacked her farthings, before overturning a six of spades, not the trump suite. "I do not hesitate in anything, if I pause, know that it only portends your doom." Play passed to Colin.

"Perhaps," Benedict started as he eyed the new trump, a ten of hearts, "your hesitation might do us some good. We are being very thoroughly fleeced, shameful for men to be outwitted by their youngest sister, is it not?" Though he had no love for a lost game, Benedict did not take himself so seriously as Gregory, who wanted nothing more than to thrash Hyacinth at any competition that might come their way, for once. Mostly, Benedict played cards to enjoy the animosity of the other players. One could learn a good deal about a man simply from how he played cards. This extended to his family as well, and though Benedict knew all that there was to know about them, it always amused him to watch his brothers lose their heads. He was still on his campaign to lift the ban on Anthony-Hyacinth card games, if only because he found Anthony's red-faced frustration immensely amusing.

Colin turned from his siblings' conversation at just the right time to see a footman enter the garden. The man inclined his head to Colin, who stacked and placed down what remained of his hand. "I have just recalled something and must be on my way. Do not let my absence thwart your good mood."

Gregory huffed, "We shall have to restart the round now, I was winning! What could you have possibly remembered that requires your presence right at this moment?"

"I have remembered that my pockets do not appreciate this losing streak of mine." Colin turned out his pockets, to demonstrate his lack of coinage. He had, like an utter fool, brought fifty pence (7) in spare change to play with, and had lost all of it, almost entirely by Hyacinth's hand.

Benedict cackled, "Go then, brother, run away from the fearsome hand of your sister, and pray she does not drain us as she has you!"

Colin rolled his eyes as he left but did not grace Benedict with a retort. Penelope had arrived for another lesson, and Colin would not make himself late simply so he could argue with his brother.

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Penelope looked around nervously as she waited in the Bridgerton entryway. She idly worried at her lower lip as Rae milled about and chatted quietly with various Bridgerton servants. As if she were an owl, Penelope kept her head in constant motion and swivelled it to and fro in a perpetual lookout for Eloise. The two had not spoken a word since Cressida had torn Penelope's dress, and the redhead was not anxious to meet her former friend again, not in such a situation as she was. When she spotted Colin, she heaved a great sigh of relief, glad that they could leave the house.

"Penelope! I've been eagerly awaiting your next visit." He took in Penelope's appearance; her floral embroidered dress in sky blue, the tasteful drape of her matching shawl, the delicately jewelled turban (8) and the way Penelope's curls peeked out over her face. She looked rather striking in blue, he thought.

"As have I, but perhaps it would be better for me to meet you at the market instead of coming here first." Penelope looked about the room frantically, afraid that Eloise would round a corner at any moment and admonish her for meeting Colin.

"We are not going to the market this time." Colin gently took Penelope by the arm and started to walk her further into Bridgerton house, "we are going to the drawing room."

Penelope stumbled over her own feet, and seemed altogether reluctant to keep up "Uh, but why?" Rae followed behind the two and eyed Colin warily, with his hand on Penelope's arm, he toed the line of acceptable conduct, and she did not like how distressed her lady seemed to be.

"For your next lesson, of course." Colin said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world, as if Penelope had not lost the favour of the Bridgerton sibling that facilitated her free range of the house.

"Ah, Colin, but Eloise-"

"Is out for the afternoon at the modiste with our mother and Francesca."

"And the rest of your family?"

"Is out playing cards in the garden." Colin placed his hand on the small of Penelope's back and ushered her to the drawing room. "You've seen my family play Pall-Mall. You know how competitive we are. Hyacinth loves to win, Gregory hates to lose to her, while Benedict refuses to miss the spectacle. Trust me, not one of them will be leaving that table in the immediate future."

Penelope blushed as Colin pushed her along. His hand was warm against her back, and, though she tried to quell it, she felt a shiver of thrill go up her spine. Colin was strong, and his movements were forceful yet gentle as he corralled her into the room. Though it was not an unusual place for a man to have his hand whilst dancing with a lady, Penelope had not danced with many men and was unused to such contact. Part of her wished Colin would never let go, and she chastised herself over the improper train of thought her mind wished to explore. Now was not the time to find another aspect of Colin to infatuate herself with.

"You mentioned you were comfortable at Bridgerton house," Colin closed the doors behind them, and save for Rae, the two were entirely alone in the room, "so, we are going to practise here."

"I was comfortable at Bridgerton house. Previously." Penelope fluttered her hands around her face in a futile attempt to aid her point and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

Colin sighed, "We needed a place to be alone. Here, we can have peace and quiet and pretend we are at a ball."

"Have you gone mad?" Penelope was a gossip writer, and yet this was the single most scandalous thing she could have done. Alone in a room with a man, in his own abode no less, Rae barely counted as a chaperone in these kinds of situations.

"Imagine it with me, Pen." Colin sauntered over to the piano, "The quartet is by the pianoforte, preparing for the Parisian quadrille. Here, on the sofa, some mamas are debating the merits of the decoration. Across the room, gentlemen are asking a young lady to dance. And here, we have the lemonade table, which is where we shall begin."

Colin had moved erratically from one corner of the room to the other as he described what it was that should have been happening at the theoretical ball. It was a ridiculous enough display, that Penelope could not help but to smile and forget her worries of propriety. "Very well. Shall I pretend to flirt with the imaginary cellist?"

"No. With the dashing suitor you just met by the refreshments." Colin gestured to himself and lifted a cool glass of lemonade to his lips.

Penelope froze. She couldn't do this. Though Colin meant nothing by it, she felt resentment at his oblivious cruelty. He asked her to flirt with him as practice, entirely unaware of the feelings she harboured for him. She could not flirt with men she was uninterested in; how could she be expected to convincingly charm Colin without making a complete fool of herself? If she didn't know better, she might think Colin had done this on purpose, he had, as of late, acted in a way that almost made Penelope think he had interest in her.

"You?" she asked in disbelief.

"I am the perfect person to practise on. You don't have to be embarrassed; you know me. You know I shall not take any of your advances seriously and I shall not make fun of you if you trip over your own words. How can you learn to charm a man if you have no men to practise with?" Colin again failed to realise how his actions tormented Penelope.

"That is exactly why I will feel even more embarrassed; I know you. I cannot flirt with a man I have known my whole childhood; it is mortifying." Penelope placed down her glass of lemonade, perhaps a bit too heavily as the other glasses rattled with the force.

Colin sighed, and took Penelope's shaking hands in his own, "Pen, you cannot expect to find love without accepting a little bit of embarrassment. To be loved is to be known, and to be known is to accept the possibility of shame. How can anyone know you if you spend all your time in hiding?"

"Forgive me... It is only," Penelope shook her head, retracted her hands from Colin's, and brought them to her chest, "deep inside, I know I can be clever and amusing, but somehow, my character gets lost between my heart and mouth, and I find myself saying the wrong thing or, more likely, nothing at all. There is so much pressure to act as a proper lady ought, and I find myself more likely to cave that I am to rise to a challenge."

"Forget what is wrong or right. Imagine what you would want to say to me if I were a suitor without concerning yourself with how I might receive it. Think of me as a character from one of your novels, instead of a real man of consequence, if that helps." He smiled encouragingly at Penelope, "You must know, Pen, that the true trick to charm lies not in skill but in confidence. If you forever try to be someone who you are not, others will be able to tell. Someone who is their own person without fear of judgement and without shame of their eccentricities, that is the type of person who truly catches a man's eye."

Penelope thought on Colin's words. Was it truly that simple, did people really want honesty? There were still the laws of propriety to follow, but it didn't seem unlikely that her own forced attempts to act perfectly palatable had hindered her chances for romance. She ought to at least give it a try as Colin instructed.

Penelope thought, not for the first time, of what she might say to woo Colin. Much of it was trite, the type of things he had surely heard before from other ladies; titterings over his adventures and compliments on his chivalry. She stared into Colin's eyes, the sea of deep cerulean that was contained within them. Though he was indeed handsome, it was not his appearance that had drawn Penelope in. She knew what she would say, and before she could overthink the consequences of her sincerity, she spoke, "Your eyes... Are the most remarkable shade of blue; wine dark and endless how like the Greeks described their vast oceans. Yet, somehow, they shine with captured starlight when you are kind. As if the light stored within you breaks free and makes itself known to the world."

Colin gaped at her. He had received many a compliment over his appearance in his day, and his eyes were a frequent subject of affections. But Penelope's words were different. The way she spoke, it was as if she truly believed what she said, that she truly thought him worthy of such praise. Most did not remark on his kindness, and that Pen thought such an aspect of him noteworthy warmed his heart. She spoke as if she had spent years studying him, instead of a few moments searching his face for something to compliment. Colin suddenly felt rather jealous that some undeserving man of the ton would soon enough have Penelope's devotion all to himself.

Rae leant on a sitting chair and stifled a series of coughs in a plain handkerchief. She should have put a stop to this pretence the second it was suggested, she knew that well, but didn't have the heart to. It was obvious to her just how devoted the two were to each other, and it served as a splendid source of amusement to watch them dance around their feelings. Though, there were times, like with Penelope's attempted romancing, that shocked Rae simply by how often the two forgot all senses of normal behaviour around each other.

"I um- I might say something like that if you were a suitor. Or would that perhaps be too forward? I do not know if men appreciate such compliments." Penelope realised, suddenly, how reverent she had sounded. She hoped Colin simply thought her a splendid actor.

"Yes. Well, it was rather direct, but I cannot think of anyone who would not be flattered by such proclamations. Perhaps for a first meeting, though-" Colin's train of thought was cut off by the sound of Violet and Francesca's voices in the hallway.

Penelope looked panickedly to Colin, "Eloise is back."

"You can hide in my study." Colin grasped Penelope's hand, gestured for Rae to follow as he rushed out of the drawing room and down the hall to his modest sized study.

He left the room just as soon as the ladies entered it, off to keep watch so he could ensure the coast was clear for exit.

Penelope leaned her back against the doors and clutched her hand to her beating heart, "What on earth was I thinking? You cannot speak a word of this to anyone, Rae. I suffered a lapse in judgement, that is all, I did not think before I spoke."

Rae inclined her head in acknowledgement, "As you wish, Miss. You and I have spent the afternoon on an unsuccessful search for a new parasol. I know nothing of secret meetings with Bridgertons."

Penelope nodded thankfully, and slowly made her way around the room. A bridge table sat in the centre, atop a finely dyed oriental rug. Colin's desk sat in front of the window wall so that it had the most light. The curtains had been partially drawn over the windows and the room was bathed in a hazy sort of glow. The desk was messy, cluttered with ink-marked papers and broken pen nibs. Colin had forgotten to cap his inkwell, and Penelope winced as she thought of all that dried and wasted ink. A largeish book sat at the centre of the desk, spine flat and opened to the middle pages. Overcome with curiosity, Penelope walked over to see what it was that Colin had been reading. Since her falling out with Eloise, Penelope had found herself lacking a person to discuss her novels with. Perhaps she could cultivate a shared interest in literature with Colin.

I can now declare with great certainty that Paris has some of the most beautiful women in the world. How lucky I am to be surrounded by them, I marvel at their beauty amidst the aged buildings of Les Marais (9) , drink in their lilting conversations in the charming cafés along the Seine. There are times, when the city is still, and I am alone in the night-

Penelope gasped and looked away from the text. It was not a published novel, but rather Colin's own personal journal in which he had detailed his travels. Penelope knew that Colin, as most other men, was not unfamiliar with escorts and ladies of the evening. She did not know fully what entailed in such encounters but knew enough to feel the hot flush of titillation on her cheeks when she saw how the passage continued.

Penelope looked surreptitiously at Rae, who had pointedly turned her back to the rest of the room. The journal was not something suitable for a lady's eyes, and Penelope knew that she should not read it. Still… Colin wrote well, and his words, combined with a sense of morbid fascination, compelled her to pick up the journal and read anyway. It was as if Colin spoke to her from the pages.

In those moments alone, my fingers trace freckles from cheek to collarbone and I watch the way starlight dances across skin. Liquid silk are the ladies of Paris, smooth and without flaw. I revel in the musicality of their sighs, the softness of their voices, the sweet fragrance of their hair. I rise from my bed each night after the sun goes to rest and I wander the beautiful streets, in search of what, I do not know. I am never alone for long as the women of Paris find me, and I find them. There is sweetness like no other in their company, a heat that fills me, and them in turn. In the moments after, tangled bedsheets of cotton and satin with a muse or two at my side, I marvel at how one can feel such intimacy, but also such great distance. Though I spend my moments in pleasant company, never anything less than satisfied and doted upon, my soul reaches out to the world in a call for that one thing which I do not yet possess. In France, as it was everywhere else, the universe answers with silence, and I am alone.

"Miss." Rae began, and no sooner had she spoken that Colin came through the door.

Penelope jolted and scrambled to return the journal to its rightful place on the desk, but it was too late. Colin had already seen it in her hands, and his face bore an affronted expression.

"Pen," already, he sounded unhappy, "were you reading that?"

"No." Penelope hid her hands behind her back, as if the journal had left incriminating stains on her gloves, which it had not, "I did not mean to."

"You did not mean to pick up my personal journal and read it?" Colin approached with Penelope's forgotten shawl in hand. His stance was solid, and his strides were purposeful.

"No, I did mean to, but I should not have. Forgive me."

"No, you should not. Whatever you read was not meant for another's eye. Those are my own private thoughts, and they are not suitable for ladies such as yourself." Though he tried to mask it, his voice betrayed his anger. Colin's face had become pink in the cheeks, a perfect match for Penelope's. They both knew what she had read.

Colin reached over the desk to snatch up the journal so that Penelope could not sneak any more glances. In his swift movement, the corner of the journal clipped his inkwell and knocked it clean off his desk. The silver and glass well, small that it was, flew off the table with great velocity and promptly shattered against the skirting board (10). The room fell silent upon the impact. Both Penelope and Rae had flinched violently at the noise of the shattered glass, and Colin felt he had thoroughly made an ass of himself. Still annoyed, but not quite so livid, he moved over to the mess of glass and dried ink flakes to clean it up. He hadn't meant to scare Penelope. Frustration festered in his gut as he stewed and picked up glass shards. Penelope had no business routing through his personal effects like that. Colin knew most ladies enjoyed a good bit of gossip, but he had thought Penelope was above such things, he certainly hadn't thought she'd be a snoop.

Penelope skittishly made her way over to Colin, and in the brief moment of distraction that had resulted, he cut his hand on one of the glass pieces. He pulled in a sharp breath through his teeth and could not keep himself from swearing at the sudden pain. Almost instantly, blood welled up at the centre of his palm, and Colin dropped the glass he had picked up, now stained with both ink and blood, so as to not further cut himself.

Penelope kneeled down next to him, in complete disregard of her very nice dress, "Oh Colin, your hand!" Her voice wavered as she sounded near to tears.

"It is nothing." He waved Penelope away, not wanting her to also cut herself.

"It is most certainly not nothing, you stubborn fool!" In a display of particularly sharp ingenuity, Penelope pulled out her handkerchief, "Here, give me your hand."

Colin hesitated for a brief moment but gave in to Penelope's worried gaze. Tenderly, she dabbed at his hand and peered over the cut, intent on ensuring that no glass was stuck in the injury. She cradled his hand in her own soft ones and wrapped the kerchief around Colin's palms with a delicate but steady precision. Having tied off the makeshift bandage, Penelope stayed crouched next to Colin, his injured hand cradled in hers. Colin raised his head to meet her eyes properly and was breathtaken by the swell of emotion he saw there.

"Your writing... It is very good." She absently caressed his hand with her thumb, "I am sorry for reading what I should not have, truly. But once I had started, I could not bring myself to turn away, your prose is captivating, you know."

Abruptly, Colin stood up and turned away to place his journal back on the desk. Though he wanted to stay upset, he found himself inclined to preen under Penelope's praise. In that journal were his innermost thoughts, that Penelope had thought them worth reading at all was more than most others had offered him. "I ought to have this looked at." he gestured vaguely with his injured hand, "The coast is clear, you can leave without encountering Eloise."

Penelope nodded, "Right. I… I shall see you some other time?" She hoped she didn't seem too pushy and hoped even more that she had not offended Colin too much.

"You shall. I expect to see you exercise your charm at the next ball, Pen." Though he did not smile, Colin's voice had lost its angry edge.

Penelope looked once more at Colin, before she and Rae exited the study and made their way down the stairs. She had just made it to the door when she heard footsteps behind her. They were too light to be Colin, and in a fit of fright, Penelope rushed out the door. At best, it was simply a maid, but Penelope knew in her heart that it was not. She could hope she had not been spotted, but knew that, too, was wishful thinking.

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Eloise stood, shocked, in the entryway of her own home. She had been in the library when she'd heard something shatter from Colin's study above her. Like the good sister she was, she'd made her way out of the library to see if he was alright. Instead of Colin, though, she'd seen Penelope fleeing down the stairs, her lady's maid in tow. Penelope hadn't even stopped to acknowledge her, just rushed past and out of the house.

Curious.

Footnotes

1. Mattresses were many layers of thinner pads that were quilted together (this is called ticking). The layers vary, but a straw base layer (or cornhusk and horsehair) was standard, and other layers filled with cotton, wool, feathers, hair, and other things weren't uncommon. Feathers were the most expensive, as they were the softest and most labour intensive. The Mondriches def aren't used to this luxury, and as we all know, changing beds can really screw with how you sleep

2. Laundress is like the single worst job you can have as a lady. Pay was very bad, hours were long, and you worked with harsh chemicals. Lye was a mahor laundry chemical, and it is extremely basic. Pure lye like a laundress might work with will turn your skin to soap, lit. saponification. Urine was used as bleach, and the fumes of both lye and urine really fuck up your lungs. Fluid from a cow's gull bladder was used to maintain colours (take it from a chemist, biles have the worst possible stink). Horrible horrible work, especially if your pregnant. Alice would only work until she started showing, because even working women were sequestered once they started getting that baby bump

3. Aka promenade dress. These dresses were worn outside, for the purpose of being seen and noticed as fashionable. Real regency ladies had morning, walking/promenade/day, and evening/ball dresses. And would change accordingly. There were also specific dresses for riding horses called riding dresses

4. Ironically, the bits of the Kent dress that the show portrays as ugly would actually be the most in fashion at the time. This dress is very accurate to real regency fashions, one of the most accurate in the show. Google "1820 walking mourning dress" and you'll get a lot of results that look exactly like Alice's dress

refer to an outer coat like garment that spanned the length of the dress, or a type of day gown. Both were originally styled after the military pelisse jacket, but quickly became more personalized and less military. The dress pelisse bonnet combo was very common for walking dress outfits. Gloves are required. The Pelisse mostly died out in women's fashion once the Victorian era started, as the full bell skirt shape made full length coats really inconvenient

6. A banking type card game that appeared in the late 1700s and has since died. Mentioned notably in Jane Austen's Mansfield Park, and also in several Dickens novels. The goal is to have the highest trump card once players hands are revealed (bit like poker, but reliant on one card). Uses standard 52 deck. As described in fic, dealer reveals first of their 4 cards, if ace, insta win. If not, that card can be sold or kept. The point is to end with the highest card in the trump suite. You can sell your card(s) to other players, or keep them for yourself and hope it is the highest card. Turns rotate counterclockwise (left) of the dealer. Holder of the current trump card does not reveal their cards until all other hands have been revealed and they win. If no one has a trump card, the pot carries over to the next round. Rinse and repeat. Its like if poker and war had a lovechild

7. Seems like nothing now, but the modern equivalent would be about £56 worth of buying power. It's a fuckton to just throw around gambling with your family, but remember that the Bridgertons are mad loaded, and this really would be small change to them. Pennies (pence) had been a recent reintroduction to the British currency at the time. They had been discontinued for a while due to frequent clipping and reminting of the old silver pennies. Copper pennies were introduced to circulation mid-napoleonic wars. Colin likely gambled with a combination of farthings (.25 of a penny), halfpennies, and pennies. A single penny had the purchasing power if about £1.12

8. Not just for men in India! The English, and esp the rick, love their cultural appropriation, and an increased interest in both India and Turkey/Ottoman empire made turbans super popular as female headgear in the regency era. They wouldn't be as piled high or pulled tight as turbans we recognize, and would be a looser wrapping of fabric that allowed for hair to tastefully spill out, and accessories like feathers and wheat to be inserted in the folds. Reminder that colonization canonically exists in the Bridgerton universe

9. A now historic district of Paris, this area was v unfashionable in 1815. It used to house many nobility, but over the years they migrated to other sections of Paris. It was all but abandoned by aristocrats and fell into disrepair following the French revolution, and would remain that way until after WWII. One might sneak off to this area at night to have a clandestine randevauz, though.

10. A baseboard. These are wooden decorative boards that hides the seam between the wall and floor. They also protect the wall from foot induced damage.