Moonlight Dances (Part 2)
Summary: Another dance under moonlight.
Mid- April – Late April 1815
He arrives before his family does.
She watches him as he reaches his family's box. The play is set to start over the next half-hour. She has it all planned out. Penelope has planned to sneak out of the theater about ten or twenty minutes after the start of the play. It should take her only about twenty minutes carriage ride to get to the printers and back. By the time she gets back, intermission should be in full swing, and she'll be able to slip into the crowd and back into her seat before anyone notices she was even gone in the first place.
Penelope reclines comfortably in her seat, her posture relaxed yet poised, as she makes a conscious effort to display delight while watching "Romeo and Juliet" for the seventh time. The familiar lines and tragic love story unfold before her, and she can recite the dialogue in her sleep. While she appreciates the beauty of the play—the poetic language, the intense emotions, the star-crossed lovers—her heart truly belongs to "Hamlet." The complexity of the characters, the philosophical depth, and the haunting themes of madness and revenge resonate with her on a profound level.
As she watches Juliet's youthful passion and impulsive decisions, Penelope can't help but feel a twinge of discomfort. She adores romance novels, often losing herself in tales of love that transcend time and circumstance, yet the thought of a just-turned thirteen-year-old tying the knot with someone nearly eighteen leaves her feeling uneasy. The age difference, the naivety of youth, and the weight of such a commitment at such a tender age gnaw at her conscience.
In her mind, she imagines the consequences of such a union—how the complexities of adult relationships can so easily overshadow the innocence of childhood. She reflects on her own experiences, the lessons learned, and the heartaches endured, and she wonders if Juliet truly understands the gravity of her choices.
As the play progresses, Penelope finds herself lost in thought, contemplating the nature of love and the societal expectations that often accompany it. She appreciates the passion and fervor of young love, but she also recognizes the importance of maturity and self-discovery. In her heart, she hopes that the young audience members watching alongside her will take away more than just the romantic idealism of the story; she hopes they will understand the importance of patience, growth, and the wisdom that comes with time.
As Romeo meets Juliet and tries to seduce her while standing below her window, it's her cue to leave and deliver the manuscript. Penelope takes a quick look around her family's box to take note of where her mother is sitting. She leans over slightly to her mother, stating that she must use the chamber pot, and then goes to stand and leave before her mother can reply. She can see out of the corner of her eye that her mother waves her off as she leaves.
She rises to her feet with determination, leaving the opulent family box in the bustling main hallway of the theater. With a determined stride, she gracefully descends the grand staircase leading to the first floor. Despite the opulence surrounding her, she is too preoccupied to pause and appreciate the intricate golden guild work adorning the banister or the resplendent chandelier that serves as the focal point of the foyer. Penelope knows that the hired carriage driver is waiting just outside, a figure not known for patience from past encounters, despite her generous offerings. However, she is grateful that the driver has allowed her to conceal some items beneath the carriage seats to disguise herself as one of her own maids.
She strides halfway across the foyer when a hand suddenly grips her elbow, spinning her around. The sudden motion catches her off guard, and for a brief moment, she feels a rush of adrenaline. Her dress swirls around her in vibrant hues of burnt orange and gold, the fabric catching the light and shimmering like autumn leaves in the sun. She carries a matching fan on her right wrist in case she gets hot. Today, she chose not to debate her outfit, aware that it would only ignite a conflict with her mother, making her stand out even more among her family tonight.
The air is thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint aroma of the floral arrangements that adorn the room, but all she can focus on is the tightening knot in her stomach. She held her tongue against her mother's critiques about the color, the cut, or even the way her hair was styled. Each comment from her mother felt like a carefully aimed arrow designed to pierce through her confidence. The fewer objections she raised, the more she faded into the background, becoming a mere shadow among the vibrant personalities of her relatives.
As she turns to face the person who has interrupted her thoughts, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby mirror. The dress, now feels like a beacon, drawing attention she desperately wishes to avoid. She can see the way the fabric clings to her figure, accentuating her curves, and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if her mother would approve. Her hair was done in loose curls trailing down her back, with only a single golden pin adorning her head.
"Where are you headed?" Anthony asked in a hurried and harsh tone. She felt the warmth of his hand through her sleeve, her gloves ending just above her elbow.
She immediately caught sight of his dark brown eyes, their deep, warm gaze drawing her in. As she looked closer, she noticed that he was dressed impeccably in a formal black suit and tie, with cream-colored gloves, exuding a sense of understated elegance.
"It is none of your concern," Penelope replies harshly, trying desperately to free her elbow from his grip.
The shock of her harshness seemed to have dissipated for Anthony, as he didn't dismiss or appear surprised by her reaction. If anything, he gripped our elbow even harder and pulled her in closer. Anthony glanced over her shoulder and then back to her, his eyes darkening for a brief moment.
"You are a gentle lady of breeding in need of care," he replied in a hushed tone. The foyer itself was empty of guests but not empty of staff. Anthony looked over her shoulder again. His eyes widened in surprise before returning to hers.
"I am not your family nor your betrothed." Penelope began, "You have no responsibility towards me." She tried again to pull his arm from his grip, but he was remarkably stronger than she was.
"Penelope, you are a dear friend," Anthony said in response as he tried and failed to pull her back to the theater.
"Friend? Friend!" Penelope exclaimed in a breathy shout. Her voice barely contained. The nerve of the man standing before her was infuriating. How could he reduce their deep connection to just friendship? The thought ignited a fire within her; after all they had experienced together, she had hoped Anthony Bridgerton would recognize her as something far greater than a mere companion, even if their paths diverged in the future.
Her heart raced as she took a step closer, the distance between them feeling like an insurmountable chasm. Memories flooded her mind—moments of laughter shared over stolen glances, whispered secrets exchanged in the shadows of grand ballrooms, and the warmth of his hand brushing against hers during those fleeting, electric encounters. Each recollection stoked the embers of her frustration, transforming it into a blazing resolve.
"Do you kiss all your friends like you did not long ago?" Penelope managed to spit back at him through clenched teeth. She sees his face soften at her question, "I thought not."
As Penelope pivots on her heel, she firmly yanks her arm to wrest it from his grip, feeling a surge of determination as she tries and fails to break free. But his grip holds fast and stead, and she is seconds away from screaming at him.
"Let me go," Penelope states, clutching her fist to her sides.
"Give it," Anthony replies, lifting up the hand not currently wrapped around her in a 'come hither' motion.
"What?" Penelope questions, a little bit befuddled at the demand.
"The manuscript for the gossip sheet," he replied, motioning his hand again. "I will send one of my men to have it delivered," Anthony finally explained.
For a brief moment, she wonders if he's just playing around, but as she gazes into his earnest expression, the truth hits her hard. Confusion washes over her, particularly in light of their previous chat. After all, she had wept in his embrace while he spoke soothingly, his voice a gentle balm against the storm of emotions swirling within her. The memory of that intimate moment floods back, the way his arms had wrapped around her, providing a sense of safety and warmth that felt almost sacred.
She recalls the vulnerability she had shown, the way her heart had laid bare before him, spilling secrets and fears she had kept hidden for so long. His words had been a lifeline, a promise that she wasn't alone in her struggles. Yet now, as she stands before him, the weight of uncertainty presses down on her chest.
"And the printer?" Penelope whispers back, finally realizing that she's in the middle of the foyer of a public theater hall.
"The printer will accept my man, especially if my man comes with money in hand with your manuscript," Anthony replies earnestly, with his hand out and waiting for the manuscript hidden in her bosom.
"Anthony," she breathes.
"Please, this once, let me help you," Anthony says with a sigh.
"I know the Bridgerton family hasn't been very kind to you lately." He pauses, "So let me be kind to you. Let me help you."
She takes a moment or two to think about what he is asking, about what he is offering.
"Fine," Penelope finally agrees.
"Thank you," Anthony replies with a sigh of relief.
Penelope attempts to tug her arm free on Anthony's arm once more. As he stubbornly refuses to release her, she raises a questioning eyebrow, silently prompting him to let go. With a resigned sigh, Anthony finally relents, allowing her to free her arm. Taking a deep breath, Penelope confidently strides forward, her graceful hand reaching into the neckline of her dress to retrieve the papers. As she offers the documents to Anthony, she notices his widened eyes and the tinge of mortification on his face.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Before she can hand him the manuscript, she feels a sudden tug on her arm again, pulling her away from the foyer and into one of the dimly lit side hallways. As they walk, the distant sounds of the play echo through the corridors. Finally, they come to a stop between two imposing, heavy green curtains, the material hanging like a barrier between them and the rest of the theater. She can hear the movement of bodies just beyond the curtains.
"Wait right here," Anthony commands, gently taking the manuscript from her steady hand. She observes him swiftly moving away, disappearing behind the flowing curtains, and listening to his echoing footsteps in the hallway as his own shoes meet the solid ground.
Penelope stands in the dimly lit hallway between the two curtains, straining her ears for the faintest hint of his returning footsteps. Time seems to stretch on endlessly as doubt begins to slither into her mind. She can't shake the feeling that he might betray her to the queen, or worse, that she has been abandoned in a surreal and unsettling state of limbo.
Her mind races as the sound of Romeo and Juliet continues to echo in the hallway. She can't help but think that she should have insisted on seeing the printers herself instead of leaving it to Anthony.
Penelope does not hear footsteps or notice that Anthony has made his way between the two large curtains he left her between until he is in front of her again.
"It is done," he states, "My man will collect any earnings and return with it before the play is done."
"Thank you, Lord Bridgerton," she states. Expressing gratitude, Penelope gracefully nods at Lord Bridgerton. The task was finally completed, and she couldn't help but release a heavy sigh of relief. The thought of venturing into the forbidding streets of London on a cold and rainy night filled her with unease. She turns away and starts to walk away from Anthony.
"Penelope," Anthony calls before she can make her way from between the dark green curtains. He lets go of her as soon as she is back under the cover of the curtains. She begins to make her way from under the curtain when she is pulled back again by Lord Bridgerton, who is currently a plague on her existence and a nuisance to her endeavors.
"Yes, Lord Bridgerton," she murmured, her voice laced with lingering resentment as she begrudgingly pivoted her body to face him. Uncertainty gripped her as she anticipated his inquiry, but one thing remained clear in her mind - she was determined to distance herself from him and his family as swiftly as possible. In her heart, she believed that severing ties would facilitate her departure at the season's end.
"Penelope, I need to understand why you wrote about Eloise," he states.
"What?" she replied, a bit confused. She did not know if Anthony knew the reason why she and Eloise fought at the end of last season. Since he had discovered she was Lady Whistledown, he had made certain correct leaps in logic as to why she needed Lady Whistledown.
"I have been rereading all of your works," he continues. "In the last publication of the last season, you wrote about Eloise and that she had been associating with radicals." Anthony looks both sad and angry about that fact. To date, it was the only real lie she had ever published, and it would be the only lie she would publish.
"Why?" Anthony asks.
"From the very beginning, the Queen had been searching for me," she reflected. "Eloise took it upon herself to find out who Lady Whistledown really was," Penelope admitted, her gaze dropping to her trembling hands, filled with anxiety and distress. Penelope recalled the times when she and Eloise meticulously examined her writings during her first season, mulling over the words and the mystery of the author's true identity. While Penelope didn't outright discourage Eloise from her quest, she also didn't offer any encouragement, opting instead to stay neutral. She was uncertain whether Anthony had picked up on Eloise's fascination with the elusive gossip writer or if Eloise had confided in him about her investigation into the writer's identity.
"She shared her curiosity about Lady Whistledown to be the Queen. And by extent was encouraged by the Queen to become her personal bloodhound to sniff out who might be writing the sheet," Penelope stated.
As she tells her story, she notices Anthony's face contorting with many emotions, some of which are confused and a bit angry.
"When she could come up with a person or cinder in the right direction, the queen then suspected that she was Lady Whistledown." Penelope
At that moment, she watches as Anthony finally grasps the full weight of the situation. The Queen held the power to devastate their lives irreparably. Even a mere suggestion of Eloise's link to Lady Whistledown could tarnish his family's reputation for eternity. The implications of such a scandal were staggering, echoing through the halls of their lineage like a death knell. Should the Queen decide to act out of spite, she could easily strip him of his title and exile him from the social elite, casting him into a world of obscurity. The legacy built by him, his father, and his grandfather could be snatched away in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.
And what about his siblings? Their futures would be in ruins due to Eloise's oversight in not revealing her connection to the Queen, a revelation he would have strongly advised her to share. The thought of their dreams, their ambitions, and their very identities being erased was a torment he could hardly bear. Ultimately, Eloise and his sisters would be forced into marriage, as he would be unable to provide for them. The reality of their possible situation would have loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf them all in despair.
"Do you understand now?" Penelope asked, looking up from her hands. She watched as Anthony's shoulders dropped and could almost see his mind spinning with the new information he was given.
"But…" he whispered.
"That is why I wrote her the way I did," she concludes. "Her reputation would have suffered momentarily. Nevertheless, the Bridgertons have a history of enduring such challenges."
"But what about you?" Anthony inquires, quickly step forward slightly.
"What about me?" Penelope responds with a raised eyebrow and clutches her matching orange fan.
"Does your reputation and status in the Ton mean nothing to you?" Anthony asks, with a questioning look on his face. Something in her bubbles up, and she releases her fan. She is used to others not caring about her, but in the last few times they have encountered each other, she can tell that he truly cares for her and her wellbeing.
"You forget, Lord Bridgerton. My father gained his title, not my grandfather." She states, "My mother grew up poor, and so did my father. All their values had been ingrained in us since birth, and my sisters would've been fine." She pauses, "But you, Lord Bridgerton, I doubt you would last more than a week."
Although she had grown up and blended in with the rest of the Ton, her parents' old ways clung to her like a shadow. Her mother, notorious for tucking away loose coins beneath the floorboards and hoarding valuable treasures like jewels and paints for a rainy day, had a knack for survival that was both admirable and unsettling. This habit had once been a lifeline when her mother struggled to cover her father's overwhelming debts before she could contribute some of her Whistledown earnings to the debt. In just a few short months, her mother managed to part with nearly ninety percent of their family's jewel collection, all to settle her husband's financial woes and begin saving for the future.
It was a tumultuous time, marked by whispered conversations and furtive glances, as her mother navigated the treacherous waters of their financial crisis. Each piece of jewelry that left their possession was a bittersweet farewell, a reminder of the life they once led, filled with lavish parties and extravagant gatherings. Yet, with each sale, her mother's resolve only strengthened. She became a master of negotiation, her once-gentle demeanor hardening into something fierce and unyielding. Only then did she start pretending to be her Aunt Petunia when Penelope had a substantial amount of money.
She observes the subtle transformation on her face as it transitions from a mix of fear and sadness to genuine delight upon hearing his words: "I guess you would be right. " He laughs and smiles.
She smiles warmly and shares a soft laugh with him, her eyes reflecting genuine joy. Penelope is just about to turn and make her way back to her spot in the crowded audience when she catches the sound of his voice posing a question.
"So, how much does a gossip writer make?" he asks. Penelope thinks he might want to keep her with him for some reason. For what she does not know.
Penelope assumed that he would ask her about one of the last issues of her debut season, detailing how her cousin was pregnant before she arrived in London and any of the juicy tidbits she had been reporting.
"Depends on the issue, but on average about ten pounds, a little more if the gossip is juicy enough or if the queen has recently mentioned Lady Whistledown at one of the events during the season," Penelope replies.
"Ten pounds per issue?" Anthony looks surprised by the news and raises an eyebrow. She can tell he wants to ask her another question. Penelope smiles at the thought.
"How much...?" Anthony starts.
"About three hundred and twenty-five pounds a year, plus interest," she replies quickly, reviewing the last set of paperwork pertaining to her business that she could remember, "Last year, I decided to invest in some housing developments and other businesses."
"At present, with prudent financial management and investment in high-yield accounts by the end of the fiscal period, I anticipate accumulating sufficient funds to sustain my financial independence," Penelope states.
"Gods," Anthony breathes. He looks both impressed and surprised by the new information.
"I know it's not much, but I hope some of the investments will start to turn over soon," Penelope continues as she clutches her fan again. Penelope hears Anthony scoff.
"How has your family not caught on yet?" Anthony wonders.
"Aunt Petunia," Penelope states with a smile as she meets his eyes. Anthony looks back, a bit confused by her answer.
"She was my aunt who died a few years ago," she explains, "she never tried to stay in contact with my mother after she got married but would sometimes send gifts for me and my sisters."
"After father died and his debts came to light," she pauses, watching for Anthony's reaction, "I remembered Aunt Petunia."
Anthony smiles at her, and something in her lights up. She recognizes the feeling as recognition. Something that she had rarely experienced before.
"I started sending letters via my maid to my mother from 'Aunt Petunia' stating that she had left a small fortune and detailed instructions of how to use the fortune, as well as how to divide amongst the remaining girls in the family for our dowries," Penelope states.
"It must've been hard," Anthony laments.
She consciously tries to avoid getting bogged down by the small hurdles she encounters while supporting her family. Each day presents its own set of challenges, from juggling the estate commitments to managing household responsibilities, but she has learned to navigate these obstacles with grace and resilience. Instead of letting herself be overwhelmed by minor setbacks—like a last-minute change in plans or a family member needing extra assistance—she maintains a positive outlook. She understands that these small hurdles are just part of life's journey, and she refuses to let them overshadow the joy and fulfillment she finds in her role as a supportive sister and daughter.
Instead, she focuses on savoring the remaining moments of the season before embarking on her own journey.
With both of her sisters happily married and her mother well taken care of, her only task now is to save up enough money to create a solid nest egg, ensuring her future stability. She has always been practical and forward-thinking, and now, with her family settled, she feels a renewed sense of purpose. She meticulously plans her finances, setting aside a portion of her monthly income, and seeks additional savings opportunities. Whether cutting back on unnecessary expenses or finding ways to earn extra income, she is committed to building a secure financial future. This nest egg represents more than just money; it symbolizes her independence and the freedom to pursue her dreams without the weight of financial uncertainty.
"No harder than being Lady Whistledown," Penelope quips back lightly with a smile.
As Anthony stepped forward again, he leaned in close once more, his eyes filled with intensity. But before he could get any closer, the ringing of bells reverberated across the theater, drawing them apart. At that moment, she realized that the bells symbolized the beginning of the play's intermission, and it dawned on her that she should make an effort to find her mother and pretend that she had been there the entire time.
"I should get going," Penelope finally says as she hears the warning bells for the intermission.
Anthony nodded in agreement as she took a step back from him and walked toward the curtain opening. Beyond the curtain, the theatergoers had started to emerge, stretching their legs as they exited the theater and into the hallway.
"Penelope?" Anthony calls.
Penelope looks back at Anthony. "I will send the money with my footman to your maid, " he says.
"Thank you, Anthony," Penelope said.
She turns around for the last time and makes her way out of the curtains and into the crowd of theatergoers. She scans the crowd to look for her family, but before she spots them, she hears Anthony say, "You are welcome, Penelope."
She is pleased.
Penelope finds herself seated beneath the shimmering moonlight, the air around her a delicate balance between cool and comfortable. She wraps her light blush shawl snugly around her shoulders, bracing against the gentle breeze that flirts with the fabric. Her attire consisted of a stunning pink ball gown adorned with delicate white flowers at the bodice and intricate gold accents, which shimmered under the lights. Her golden earrings are longer than normal in our beginning to irritate her. The night is alive with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant laughter of revelers, starkly contrasting the turmoil brewing within her. Tonight, she had intended to remain indoors, cling closely to the walls of the ballroom, and tried over here tidbits of gossip for her next issue. But Cressida had once again skulked around again, "accidentally" spilling her drink all over Penelope. It was a familiar game that Cressida had played to perfection before, a dance of mischief that left Penelope feeling both exasperated and slightly defeated. In fact, during their last gathering, Penelope had managed to evade her schemes, sidestepping the social traps Cressida laid with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. But this time, the girl had been relentless, her laughter ringing like a bell, drawing attention and igniting the whispers of the crowd.
With a heavy sigh, Penelope contemplates the idea of cutting the season short to escape Cressida's relentless antics. The thought is tempting, a siren call to retreat into the safety of her own world, where she could indulge in her writing and the solace of her thoughts. Yet, she knows that doing so would only grant Cressida the satisfaction of victory, and Penelope prides herself on her resilience. She had weathered storms far worse than this, and the idea of letting Cressida win feels like a betrayal to herself. Her thoughts drift to the past few weeks, particularly her encounters with a certain Bridgerton and their significance.
She recalls the moment a note arrived, its elegant script sending a thrill through her. Accompanying the note was a pouch containing her earnings from the printers. Now hidden away beneath her floorboards, it felt like a secret treasure of her own, a symbol of her independence and a reminder that she was more than just a wallflower in the grand ballroom of society.
Penelope can celebrate despite Cressida's antics as she sits beneath the moonlight. She cannot help but be happy.
She enjoys having enough money to move forward with her plans. She was happy. Now, she needs to complete her plans. They were simple: to get a small cottage out in the country, close enough that she wasn't more than a short ride from supplies but far enough that visiting her would be inconvenient. It's not that she wouldn't want to see her sisters. It's that she couldn't. Her sisters would be married and have children. Married to partners that would last them a lifetime. Children she wanted but knew she would never be able to have. She didn't want to be reminded of something she couldn't have because she lacked something that others didn't. Penelope wanted, no need, a clean break.
"Dance with me?" a deep male voice sounds beside her.
Penelope jumps in surprise, her gaze darting to the source of the voice that had interrupted her moment of solitude. Standing gracefully by the stone bench, a figure captures her attention. Anthony extends his hand toward her, an invitation wrapped in charm and confidence. Clad in a striking teal coat that seems to shimmer in the fading light, he is a vision of elegance. The dark teal coat is tailored to perfection, accentuating his tall, lean frame, while a matching cravat adds a touch of sophistication that draws her eye. His cream trousers contrast beautifully with the rich colors of his coat, and polished dark boots complete the ensemble, reflecting the soft glow of the nearby candles.
As he beams at her, a warm smile spreads across his face, and Penelope feels an involuntary flutter in her chest. There is something magnetic about him, an energy that pulls her in, making it impossible to resist returning his smile. With a nod of acknowledgment, she accepts his outstretched hand, feeling the warmth of his grasp as he helps her rise to her feet.
The soft strains of music drift from the ballroom, reaching her ears from the terrace where they stand. The sound is inviting, a gentle reminder of the festivities that await them. Candlelight dances in the breeze, casting a warm, flickering glow around her, illuminating the delicate features of his face and the intricate details of her surroundings. This time, however, the melody is not the familiar waltz that she has danced to countless times before. Instead, it is the lively volta, a fresh dance from Germany that has recently captured the hearts of many. The rhythm is infectious, promising to enchant just as the waltz had, but with a spirited energy that beckons her to join in the revelry.
"You are happy," Anthony states as they stand in a dance position.
As the music plays, Penelope feels a surge of excitement. The volta is known for its playful steps and dynamic movements, and she can already envision the joy of twirling and spinning across the polished floor of the ballroom. But she will settle for moving and spinning on the terrace.
Once again, Anthony and Penelope find themselves seeking solace away from the bustling crowd of blushing debutantes, overbearing matriarchs, and scrutinizing Lords. They stand on the terrace of Lord Cotherington's grand estate, enveloped by the gentle embrace of nature awakening. The flowers are just beginning their delicate bloom, emanating a captivating fragrance of lavender and roses that intoxicate the evening air.
"Very happy," Penelope replied with a smile as they started to dance.
"Would you be willing to discuss your source of joy?" Anthony asks as they move forward and back to the beat of the music from the bright ballroom beside them.
"I have enough, Anthony," she answers with a bright smile.
She looks beyond his shoulder for a moment and catches sight of the servants, impeccably dressed in formal attire in shades of cream, beige, and gold, standing as if on guard at the entrance to the ballroom. It dawns on her that they risk being discovered if they linger on the terrace. With this in mind, Penelope pulls him closer into the intricate maze, seeking refuge among the twists and turns of the hedges to avoid detection by any passersby who might venture outside.
"Enough?" Anthony inquired with a questioning look on his face.
"I have enough money for the cottage and extra to help me in the future," Penelope explains excitedly.
The enchanting melody swelled, wrapping around them as they glided into position with a graceful elegance that bordered on the ethereal. With each step, she felt a comforting warmth emanating from his gloved hand, serving as a gentle reassurance of the strong connection they shared. It was as if the world had melted away, leaving only the two of them suspended in this mesmerizing moment. In perfect synchrony, their bodies moved with a seamless blend of grace and rhythm as they performed the intricate box step.
"By the end of the season, I will be moving. I have set an appointment with my solicitor to purchase the cottage." Penelope continues.
When excitement ignites within her, a joyful rumble often escapes her lips. This endearing trait, a gift from her father, sometimes left her longing for him on certain days. To her, excitement felt like a lightness, a buoyant sensation that lifted her spirits. It bubbled up inside her, much like the champagne she had enjoyed at a few recent balls. Sweet and sparkling. Since discovering this vibrant energy, she has embraced a youthful exuberance. With this being her final season, she could finally set aside her concerns about the future and revel in the pleasures of the moment.
"I can't wait. I have already begun determining which items to bring with me," she continued smiling, "I will need to shop for books while I am still in the city. Subsequently, I will need to organize deliveries and arrange for the necessary staff, including a maid, a cook, and a cleaner. Furthermore..." she trails off, not noticing the way Anthony's face scrunches up in some unknown emotion as they continue to dance to the rhythm of the music. She rambles on as they spin and twirl to the music.
"I'm so excited," she states, "I'm finally getting what I want." She laughs. "Maybe I can get a cat or two and learn to bake. I would love to bake." She laughs and feels lighter than air, and they spin again.
His pained expression brought her monologue to an abrupt halt, preventing any further inadvertent humiliation. It was evident that he was lost in his emotions, bearing a mix of confusion, hurt, and sorrow on his face. Despite the chill in the air, his hands retained warmth through his gloves, and a glistening sheen in his eyes hinted at unshed tears. A few blinks later, his countenance shifted, and a softer yet sadder smile emerged.
He pulls her in closer, and his smile brightens. They sway, spin, and twirl again, and then the music ends. A piece of her hair comes undone, and he brushes it away with his gloved finger, and a shiver runs down her spine.
As they part, the surroundings come back into focus. She inhales deeply to regain her composure. Anthony extends his arm, and she takes it, placing her hand on his arm as they walk. Together, they emerge from the labyrinth and step back onto the terrace of the magnificent gardens, surrounded by the beauty of nature. They sit on the stone bench he found her on, with their back to the glowing ballroom.
A few moments pass before she hears his voice in her ears.
"What?" her head snapped towards Anthony, her wide blue eyes meeting his deep brown gaze. The flickering candlelight danced in his eyes, causing them to transition from a golden hue to a rich dark brown before finally appearing as black pools of mystery.
"I can be your dance partner," Anthony said. She watched intently as his Adam's apple subtly moved up and down with each word he spoke, adding a touch of nervous anticipation to his otherwise assured demeanor.
"What?" Penelope repeated. Confused, she tilted her head away from him.
"Let me be your dance partner," Anthony said, firmer than before.
She parts her lips, ready to ask him what he means, when the realization strikes her. "Dance partner," she muses, understanding that he wishes to be her "dance partner." The words echo in her mind, and suddenly, the air around them feels charged with unspoken possibilities—memories of their earlier conversation at Humlie's ball flood back about her plans after the season.
"Anthony," Penelope breathes out, a hint of exasperation in her tone. The name hung in the air between them, a tether to the reality she was grappling with. She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly as she prepared to voice her concerns again.
When it came to the intricacies of the marital bed, she was blissfully unaware, a child peering into a world that felt both tantalizing and terrifying. The difference between discussing it and genuinely living it was a chasm she had yet to comprehend, a vast expanse filled with unspoken fears and uncharted desires. She often found herself lost in thought, pondering the stories she had heard, the whispers of intimacy that danced just out of reach.
In her mind, the concept of love was painted in broad strokes—romantic dinners, stolen glances, and the warmth of a handheld tightly in hers. Yet, the reality of intimacy was a canvas splattered with colors she had yet to identify.
"I'm serious," Anthony stated resolutely. She feels his gloved hand cover hers and grip her hand.
"Since you are so dead set on becoming a spinster… at least allow me to place my hat into the proverbial ring," Anthony says, looking away from her and towards the dark maze.
"You can't be serious," Penelope replies with a bit of a laugh in her voice.
Anthony reiterates with utmost seriousness, "I am completely serious."
"Anthony," Penelope breathes as she turns her body towards him. She wants to both laugh and cry. Penelope knew life was unfair, but she didn't know it was this unfair.
Anthony turns his body towards her, "Penelope, I…" Anthony starts, "I don't want you to leave without knowing what it feels like."
She could see the seriousness in his eyes and the genuineness of his words. She hasn't really decided what to do yet. She's just surprised about the offer, but a few questions have popped into her mind that need to be clarified before she can make any decisions.
"And what about…" Penelope begins to ask when she is cut off.
"There are ways to prevent children," Anthony states hurriedly, "and there are also such acts that would never result in them."
"Antony, please don't joke," Penelope laughed.
"I'm not joking," Anthony states.
"You are more than my friend…. I want you to be happy," he says. "Since you are so intent on becoming a spinster, I want you to enjoy what you could have." Anthony takes a deep breath, and his hand grips her tighter before releasing it.
She thought this must be one big jest on his part, but doubts sprang up. Penelope knew that Anthony was not the type of man who would offer something like this as a joke meant to hurt. But she can't help but think he cannot be entirely serious, so she pushes.
"Are you offering to become my husband?" Penelope asks, moving her face closer to his.
She waited for his answer, knowing that he wouldn't offer her marriage. According to Colin, she wasn't marriage material. However, she also sensed that he was not emotionally ready for a significant commitment like that, at least not at the moment. She could see that perhaps in a few weeks or even a year, he might be ready, just not now.
He pulls away and looks back to the maze. When a minute passes without an answer, she replies, "That is what I thought," with a defeated sigh.
Penelope turns away from him and looks over at the maze. Her thoughts and feelings are catching up with her, and she doesn't know what to do. She thinks about the times they have had together, the sweet moments and the few terrible ones. She wants this offer from him to be true, but she can't risk her virtue on a promise.
"You can't just say things like that, and …. and … expect me to be…what…be grateful? thankful?" Penelope sadly shutters, and she feels like she is about to cry. But why does she want to cry?
"I…" he pauses, "I want you not to regret becoming a spinster. I want you not to regret this last season. Especially if you plan not to return for a very long time."
"I want you," he starts, "I want you to be…. happy," Anthony finally says.
"Anthony." She sighs and goes to stand, seeing that he has followed her.
"Penelope," Anthony stated, "Please consider the proposal. If you decide not to proceed, I completely understand."
Does he think she doesn't want him? she thinks to herself.
He is one of the most handsome people she has ever met: handsome, strong, and stubborn, just like the rest of the Bridgertons. Over the last few months, she has seen a new side of him. At times, he can be soft, caring, and even gentle to others, but he can also be brash, rude, and ugly. How can he think that she doesn't want him?
"It is not that I am uninterested," Penelope states. She collects her thoughts, "I just do not wish to be someone's second choice. I do not want you to do this out of some weird motivation of duty or guilt."
"Penelope, you are not my second choice," Anthony states firmly. "I have never offered something like this to anyone, least of all a lady like yourself." He pauses. "I also do not want your first time to be with some country boy who has no idea what he is doing," Anthony adds with a laugh and a smile.
She instinctively returned his smile and began to lick her lips at the possibilities he had presented to her. She stepped forward towards the maze, away from the ballroom. Anthony followed her, standing by her side.
"Is it going to happen only once?" she inquires as the thought arises in her mind, turning to Anthony once more. "I apologize... I didn't mean to—" she tries to retract her statement.
She watches as both of Anthony's eyebrows raise into his hairline, possibly surprised by her question. "Do you want it to be?" he asks, his hands clasping together in front of him.
"I do not know," Penelope answered honestly. Would she want it more than once, or would she even like it? Her mother never talked about the topic itself, but she had said that it was the one thing that she would be able to give her children one day.
"Let me be your dance partner," Anthony asks again, holding out his hand.
"Anthony."
"Just consider it," he states. Another question arises in her mind, but before she can inquire, Anthony states, "If you are still interested, kindly have your maid convey the message to my footman."
Penelope looks down at his outstretched hand and then back up at him. With a sigh, she places her hand in his as they turn towards the ballroom. They had spent too long outside, away from their respective families, and they knew their absence would soon be noticed. She then shifted her hand from his hand to his elbow as he escorted her off the terrace.
"Ok," she agrees, "I will think on it, but Anthony, this must remain ours and ours alone, no matter what happens after."
They slowly begin the walk to the ballroom, taking their time stepping across the terrace. "Do you understand?" Penelope questions.
"A secret relationship?" Anthony concludes as they are walking up the stone steps that lead directly into the ballroom.
They make it to the top step when she gives him her answer, "Yes," Penelope answers. The servants are about to open the door when she motions for them to stop.
"My family cannot stand another scandal." She explains, "The Barony title is hanging on by a thread. I fear that one more scandal may push the queen to force us to relinquish the title and push us out of the Ton." It is a fear she and her mother have feared for quite some time since her father passed.
"You and your family can endure, but I will not," Penelope finishes. They break away again, her hand falling from the crook of his elbow to her sides.
Anthony nodded. "I understand," he said. He sighed, straightened his clothes, and turned back to her. "So, will you let me be your dance partner?"
Yes, she thinks.