Moonlight Dances
Summary: Anthony and Penelope dance together for the first time.
Mid – Late March 1815
If my calculations are correct, I may be able to buy—, her thoughts trail off.
The air is nippy, and Penelope wraps her golden-colored shawl tightly around her as a shiver runs down her spine, exhaling a puff of misty air. Despite the calendar saying it's mid-March, winter still has a firm grip on the weather. Penelope eagerly anticipates the arrival of true spring, yearning for the chance to finally showcase her collection of exquisite ball gowns in the warmer weather.
Exhaustion clings to her like a heavy cloak, wrapping around her shoulders and weighing her down with every passing moment. Once a beacon of excitement and promise, the Humlie Ball now drags on endlessly in her eyes, each twinkling chandelier light feeling more like a mockery than a celebration. The clock has struck past midnight, and with it, her energy dwindles, flickering like a candle in a drafty room. This marks her third season in the relentless cycle of balls and soirées, and she vows it will be her last.
The endless anticipation of being selected, of being desired, has worn her thin, fraying the edges of her spirit. She watches as other young women flit about, laughter bubbling from their lips, their eyes sparkling with hope and ambition. But for her, the thrill has long since faded, replaced by a heavy sense of resignation. She yearns for a different life—one nestled in the tranquil embrace of the countryside, surrounded by her beloved books, their pages whispering secrets of adventure and romance. She dreams of the solace of her writing, where her thoughts can flow freely, far removed from her mother's watchful gaze and the relentless pressures of society that seem to suffocate her.
The moment she understood that Colin would never view her as anything beyond a friend, a mere friend in a sea of eligible young ladies, she felt a profound shift within her. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the stark reality of her situation. The precious time she had squandered in his shadow, hoping for a glance, a smile, or a hint of something more, now felt like a cruel joke. She resolved then and there to leave it all behind—the glittering gowns, the endless chatter, the superficiality of it all.
In her mind, she could already picture the rolling hills of the countryside, the scent of wildflowers wafting through the air, and the sound of her pen scratching against paper as she poured her heart into stories that would never be judged by the standards of society. She envisioned a life where her worth was not measured by her ability to attract a suitor but by the depth of her thoughts and the richness of her imagination.
As she stands amid the swirling crowd, the music playing a lively tune that feels like a distant echo, she knows that this season will be the last time she allows herself to be swept away by the tide of expectation. She finds a place just for herself, secluded from the rest of the party. With a deep breath, she steals herself for the coming season.
"Can't a lady have a moment to herself—" Penelope was on the verge of yelling out loud when she was bumped into for the fifth time that night. Whirling around to face the offender, she suddenly faltered upon seeing that it was none other than Lord Anthony Bridgerton, causing her to stumble over her words.
"Oh, Lord Bridgerton, … what brings you out…mm…" she mummers, unable to meet his eyes.
"Miss Featherington," Lord Bridgerton states as intake in the slight that is Miss Featherington radiant in her attire. Her ballroom dress was a soft, pale golden yellow adorned with delicate, paper-thin yellow flowers. Her pristine white gloves contrasted elegantly with her gown. Adorning her head was a small golden tiara encrusted with small diamonds, perfectly complementing the matching dangling earrings that swayed gently with her every move.
Lord Bridgerton stands tall, holding a crystal-clear glass of effervescent champagne. The sweet aroma of the bubbly drink mingles with his rich cologne. He is impeccably dressed in a black and white formal waistcoat, and his hands are adorned with satin white gloves, adding a touch of sophistication to his ensemble.
They stand facing each other, their eyes locking in a moment of stillness. The gentle breeze weaves its way between them as they maintain their intense gaze. On the second floor of Lord Humlie's magnificent estate, a sprawling and opulent property above the bustling ballroom, a lofty walkway offers a space for guests to come together and socialize. Penelope found herself drawn to one of the balconies that overlooks the breathtaking grand lake situated at the rear of the estate.
The moon, a soft golden orb, hangs low on the horizon, casting a gentle glow that filters through the windowpanes and spills into the room. The flickering candlelight adds a touch of warmth, creating a play of shadows and light. As he stands with his back to the window, his features are partially obscured, leaving her to imagine the way his face is illuminated by the mix of candlelight and moonlight. She can only imagine what she looks like to him, illuminated by candlelight and obscured moonlight.
"You look…" Lord Bridgerton begins to state, trying to exude some authority, but fails.
"I was just…" Penelope begins to say sheepishly.
Both opened their mouths to speak at once, but when they realized they would be talking over each other, they closed their mouths again.
"Miss Featherington," Lord Bridgerton states, "It is a cold evening, isn't it?" Lord Bridgerton, she notices, seems a bit stiff. She had known the man for almost a decade but only as Eloise's elder brother. She had never interacted with him as Lord Bridgerton before, and she doubted that she would interact with him again after tonight.
"Yes," Penelope replied tensely, "It is." She shivers from the cold and hugs herself, trying to warm herself.
"I was just…" Lord Bridgerton states again, trying to start up a conversation.
"You look…" Penelope says.
Once again, they both attempted to speak simultaneously, but the cacophony of voices made them realize they were talking over each other. They exchanged a knowing glance and silently agreed to give the other person the floor. He appeared to be acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation, and with a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he made the decision to restart the conversation.
"Greetings, Miss Featherington," Anthony greeted her with a slight nod of his head. Only then did Penelope notice the glass in his hand and the slight glassiness in his eyes.
"Greeting, Lord Bridgerton." Penelope replies in greeting, "Escaping the ambitious mamas and the ravenous daughters?" She asked boldly.
Penelope notices a spark in his eyes and replies, "Mmmh," he answers.
After a few more awkward silences, the Lord speaks again. "Anthony," he states, raising the glass in his hand and taking a sip.
"What?" she questions in surprise as she reaches behind her to hold on to the balcony railings.
"Please, call me Anthony," Lord Bridgerton insisted, his warm smile aimed at her as he spoke softly. "Our families have a long history together, and I hope you feel comfortable enough to call me Anthony."
As she gazes upon the Lord's handsome face, she responds with a soft smile, "Then call me Penelope." Gracefully stepping away from the ornate railings, she gives the Lord a slight, elegant bow of her head.
Meeting her gaze, Anthony savors the name on his tongue, repeating, "Penelope," with a sense of reverence.
"Anthony," Penelope stated with a smile.
As he stepped beside her, a gentle breeze carried the scent of the blooming flowers from the gardens below, mingling with the cool, fresh spring air. Together, they gazed out over the vast, tranquil lake, its surface shimmering in the moonlight. The couple stood side by side, moments of peaceful silence enveloping them as they savored the serene beauty of the surroundings. Anthony raised his glass to his lips, savoring the last remnants of the drink before carefully placing the empty glass on the ground before them.
"It's a beautiful night," Anthony states quietly.
"It is," Penelope replies.
As they stood there, gazing into the expanse of the night, she felt as though time had slipped away from them, lost amidst the twinkling stars above. Far below, the fireflies wove intricate patterns in the darkness, their soft glow illuminating the swaying branches and the delicate, almost-blooming flowers. The gentle breeze carried the mesmerizing dance of light, creating a magical, enchanting display in the tranquil night.
"Do you like to dance?" Anthony asked as he turned his head towards her.
"I spent the evening watching people dance," Penelope replies, meeting his eyes.
"Do you enjoy dancing?" Anthony inquired. "I've never seen you dance except with Colin. He mentioned that you are quite a skilled dancer."
Penelope turns away and scoffs, almost seeming offended by the notion. She realizes that she isn't completely over Colin's comments from last season.
"A lady must be asked to dance, Lord Bridgerton," she exclaimed, her voice laced with irritation.
The ballroom below them was alive with laughter and music, the air thick with the scent of roses and candle wax, yet her heart felt heavy.
"No one wants to dance with an insipid wallflower. Who would want to dance with A Featherington?" Her words trailed off, tinged with a hint of melancholy as if she were lamenting her own fate and the fate of all those who felt unseen in a world that celebrated only the vibrant and the bold.
Penelope caught a glimpse of him from the side, surprised by her remark. Lord Bridgerton stood there, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering candlelight, his expression a mix of shock and sorrow. His dark hair fell slightly over his brow, and for a moment, she could see the conflict in his eyes.
"Do you like to dance?" Penelope asked quickly to divert the conversation. The less time she focused on herself, the better.
The dance had spilled out into the courtyard below. Penelope and Anthony could hear the music travel from inside the ballroom to the dance floor in the courtyard.
Penelope felt a pang of regret. She had not meant to cast a shadow over the evening, yet the truth of her own insecurities had slipped out unbidden. She had always been the one to linger at the edges of the dance floor, watching as others twirled and spun below, their laughter ringing like bells in her ears.
"Yes, when I am not in front of a crowd." Anthony, he answered low and close to her ears.
She pivoted toward the voice, her heart racing as she realized how near he stood. He was barely a foot away, their eyes locking for a fleeting moment. Penelope anticipated that he might close the distance between them as he had before. Memories of the previous season flooded her mind. Initially, she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination, a way to shield herself from the sting of Collins's words. Yet, even in her dreams that night, she couldn't shake the truth that her partnership with Lord Bridgerton was both her first and the only experience of its kind. She had never known anything else.
After the unexpected kiss, he quickly apologized, leaving her puzzled. She wondered if it was a mistake or if he had mistaken her for someone else. However, as he tenderly held onto her hand, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "You are delightful, Penelope. Do not let my brother tell you otherwise." She unintentionally shivered in the last days of summer at the comment as he whispered into her ear.
The kiss itself was brief and unexpectedly wet. She could taste the sweetness of sugar and lemon, then a tingle on her tongue, and something that slightly burned her throat. She wondered if it was alcohol that she was tasting on the Lord's lips or something else entirely.
Some nights, as she lay in bed, she couldn't help but ponder over whether the fleeting nature of their kiss had altered its impact. Would their embrace have sparked different emotions if they had held each other closer? Would she have relished it as much or found it overwhelming? Penelope had kept silent about the kiss she had shared with Anthony, reluctant to express how it had made her feel truly alive and how it had filled the void of never feeling truly desired.
"Stage fright, My Lord," Penelope replied, hoping to keep the exchange friendly but cordial, keeping both an eye on the partygoers below and the man beside her.
"No, and it's Anthony, remember," Anthony replied with a smirk.
"Of course, Anthony," Penelope smiled with a nod back at him.
Anthony leans forward, his fingertips gently gripping the cool metal of the balcony railings. The soft glow of the moonlight highlights the weariness in his eyes as he speaks. "I just wish to avoid the piercing stares of the judgmental mothers and their daughters," he explains, pausing to take a deep breath. "After my failed wedding, their scrutiny has only intensified. They've realized that Edwina called off the wedding, not me, and it's been a constant ordeal ever since."
Penelope let out a soft 'Mmm' in response. As she stood on the balcony, she could hear the members of the band fine-tuning their instruments, from the elegant strings to the soulful winds, all in preparation for the upcoming waltz dance.
She sighed, watching as everyone below in the courtyard found their partners for the dance. She must have sighed too loudly.
Anthony graciously extends his hand towards Penelope and asks, "Would you like to dance, Miss Featherington?" She hesitates, fully aware that she should refuse, but propriety dictates that a lady should never decline a dance without a valid excuse. As she contemplates her response, the thought crosses her mind that she could always feign the need for a chamber pot as a handy diversion.
"Yes," Penelope says after a moment, placing her gloved hand in his. While she had been asked to dance, Anthony also tended to continue their conversation when they were not dancing. She had never been asked to dance by another gentleman before.
"What does one do when they dance?" she asked as she was pulled in closer and got into a dance stance.
"They talk," Anthony responded in a subdued manner.
The enchanting strains of the waltz enveloped them, wrapping around their senses like a soft, silken shawl. As the music swelled, they floated into their places with an elegance that seemed almost ethereal. Each step brought a delightful warmth from his gloved hand, a gentle reminder of the connection they shared, as if the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in this moment. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a seamless blend of grace and rhythm as they danced the complex box step, a dance that required not just skill but an unspoken understanding between partners.
"Any plans for the season, My—, I mean Anthony." Penelope quickly corrected herself, wondering if he would try his hand at courting once more or take a season to reassess what he wanted.
"The plan is to be scandal-free this year," Anthony answered seriously. He twirled her before bringing her back to him again.
"Sounds difficult." Penelope quipped.
"It can be," Anthony replied with a smile. "And what are your plans?" She got the sense that Anthony Bridgeton, as serious as he might seem, had a softer side that not many outside his family got to see.
Even with the confined space of the opulent balcony, adorned with intricate wrought iron and draped in delicate fairy lights, they glided effortlessly, their movements fluid and unrestrained. The night air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming jasmine and roses, mingling with the soft notes of the music, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightened their senses. They swayed side to side and back again, each turn and dip executed with precision, embodying the very spirit of the waltz—a dance that spoke of romance, elegance, and a timeless connection.
As they twirled beneath the stars, the world beyond the balcony seemed to dissolve into a blur, the laughter and chatter of the party below fading into a distant hum. At that moment, it was just the two of them, lost in the music's rhythm and the night's magic. His eyes sparkled with delight, and she felt a rush of exhilaration with every spin, her heart racing in time with the tempo. The delicate fabric of her gown swirled around her, catching the light and adding to the enchantment of their dance.
"My plans…" she started, "My plans are to decide where I should live as a spinster." She felt the hand on her back stiffen, and his grip tightened around her hand.
A look of surprise spread across Anthony's face as he exclaimed, "A spinster? You can't be serious!" His tone conveyed genuine disbelief. "I am sure you will find a husband." As he spoke, she couldn't discern whether he was being sincere or not. She wondered if he was under the illusion that every debutant would find a husband or at least every debutant he knew would find a husband.
"Anthony," Penelope stated, as she was spun again, "Not one of the gentlemen of the Ton has ever asked me to dance."
"That can't be true," Anthony remarks. I have seen you dance with Colin and Benedict many times over the last few seasons." He gives her a soft smile. "Surely, there have been others."
"No, Anthony, there have been no others." Penelope states, "I have not received one proposal of courtship. No one wants me, and I'm in my third season without any prospects." she continues, her voice quivering with a deep sense of sadness.
She felt Anthony's firm yet gentle embrace as they glided across the floor, their movements seamlessly synchronized with the enchanting melody. In the midst of their graceful waltz, Anthony drew her closer, his confident gaze locking with hers.
"I have reached a decision," Penelope uttered. Each step and turn was executed with precision, evoking a sense of timeless elegance and grace. "It is time to move on. No one will miss me," she says with a sense of finality, looking just past his shoulder to see the dancers below.
"Eloise will miss you," Anthony states quickly as he looks at her.
She meets his eyes as they spin again. "We are no longer talking," she said, stepping away in time with the music.
With each passing moment, they became more attuned to one another, their movements instinctive and fluid, as if they were two parts of a harmonious whole. The music swelled, and they responded, their bodies weaving together in a tapestry of motion that was both intricate and beautiful. The balcony, with its breathtaking view of the moonlit garden below, became their own private stage, a sanctuary where they could express their joy and passion through the art of dance.
"Colin?" Anthony asks hopefully.
As the final notes of the waltz began to fade, they held each other close, savoring the lingering warmth of the moment. The world around them may have been bustling with life, but in that instant, they were suspended in time. They faced each other, locked in a dance embrace. She sensed his finger gently tracing her back. He tightened his grip as she attempted to pull away, drawing her closer.
"Colin has stated that he sees me no more than a friend," Penelope laments. The exact words he said last season are etched in her brain. She would have forgiven him if she had received an apology within a few days following the ball. However, as a few days turned into a few weeks and eventually into a few months, she realized that he had no intention of apologizing, or perhaps he realized he had nothing to apologize for.
"I apologize for my brother's behavior," he said, his tone apologetic. "He can be quite oblivious at times," Anthony stated with a gentle smile, acknowledging his brother's quirks. As he lowered his gaze, he noticed their intertwined hands and their stance, and with a slight sense of embarrassment, Anthony released her and took a step back.
"As much as I appreciate your apologies, I am afraid I cannot accept it," Penelope said.
"I understand." Anthony nodded and leaned against the balcony railings.
As he stood on the balcony, he gazed down at the other partygoers and observed how they eagerly made their way back indoors while a few others meandered off into the lush gardens. Together, he and Penelope savored the melodious tunes emanating from the band below as they embarked on another round of the quadrille. Penelope, compelled to reunite with Anthony, gracefully leaned over the railings, stealing a glimpse of the guests adorned in resplendent gowns and the gentlemen bedecked in their most dapper coats.
"Where will you live?" Anthony questioned.
"The countryside," she answered, "I have an aunt who lives in Lavenham. She would be able to help me buy a small cottage where I could live."
As she contemplates her plans upon settling in the countryside, she debates whether she should disclose the next part of her strategy to the Lord. After careful thought, she concludes that it may not significantly impact the situation either way.
"Perhaps I'll find a dance partner there," Penelope remarks with a hint of anticipation, observing his response to gauge if he catches the underlying implication.
"A dance partner?" Anthony raises an eyebrow at the statement.
"Yes," Penelope replies. She takes a moment to lick her lip before continuing, "My lady's maid has enlightened me on what happens in the marital bed. She indicated that I might want a dance partner once I'm declared a spinster."
"Marital bed?" Anthony is taken aback by shock. "Lady's maid?" he questions. "Wait, are you indicating that you intend to seek a bed partner after your departure?"
"Yes," she states with a sly smile. "Is that such a crime?"
"But you are a gentle bred lady." He argued. She watched as his grip on the railings tightened.
"No, I will be a spinster," she clarified, "Spinsters do not need to be chaperoned. They also do not need to be as considerate with their virtue as a lady would."
"Penelope, you still have time," Anthony continued, arguing, "And what will you become if you find yourself with child? What then?"
She sighed, looking back over at the partygoers, "The Featheringtons have lots of cousins, my Lord." She stated, "It would not be unusual for me to care for a child who just happens to be my 'cousin."
She observed him as he attempted and subsequently failed to comprehend her intricate plans. However, his understanding was inconsequential, as she had already decided that her mother had been taken care of by her father. With her Whistledown money, she foresaw the ability to sustain herself for the remainder of her life, provided she made shrewd investments.
"Anthony," Penelope said with a reassuring smile, noticing the concern on his face. "I don't think it would be such a heavy burden. In fact, I've already experienced my first kiss, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."
"Penelope, I-…" He started.
"You have already apologized," Penelope stated.
As they stood on the balcony, the cool breeze laced with the sound of distant music filled the air. She felt a sense of serenity wash over her as she contemplated making an appearance at the lively party below before attending to the printing of her column. With a gentle brush past her dance partner, she took a moment to survey the surroundings, allowing the ambiance to guide her as she made her way back into the house, carefully planning her approach to the evening's festivities.
As she looked back at Anthony, she noticed his fingers slowly releasing their grip on the railing as he backed away. It seemed like he was accepting the fact that the girl he had known for almost ten years would no longer be a part of his life soon. That she had given up on the idea of marriage and a partner and that children may not be in her future.
Anthony turned around to face Penelope, locking eyes with her. "If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to let me know," he said gently.
"Of course, My Lord," Penelope responded, inclining her head respectfully.
"Call me Anthony," he urged, his voice tinged with vulnerability as he longed for a more familiar connection with her.
She moved towards the balcony doors and stood in front of the doorway momentarily before turning back to Anthony. "Thank you for the dance, my Lord," Penelope uttered. She turned back around, ready to step through the door and back into the party.
"Would you like to dance next time?" Anthony says, causing her to stop and turn her head to look at him again.
After a moment of reflection, she realized that she would gladly dance again with Anthony Bridgerton. He truly was an exceptional dancer, after all. The way he moved across the floor was nothing short of mesmerizing. Each step seemed to flow effortlessly into the next as if he were gliding on air. His confidence radiated, drawing the attention of everyone around them, and she found herself captivated not just by his skill but by the way he made her feel—light, free, and utterly alive.
In the past, she had often hesitated to join the throngs of revelers, preferring to observe from the sidelines, but with Anthony, it was different. He had a way of making her feel as though they were the only two people in the room, as if the music swelled and pulsed just for them. The laughter and chatter of the crowd seemed to fade, and all that mattered was the rhythm of their movements, the warmth of his hand on her waist, and the spark of connection that ignited with every twirl and dip.
The thought of dancing with him again filled her with anticipation. She could already envision the elegant gowns swirling around them, the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off polished floors, and the enchanting melodies that would beckon them to the dance. It was a world where worries faded away, and all that remained was the intoxicating thrill of the dance and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them.
"Next time," she said, turning away and walking back into the ball.