The Bridgerton carriage rolled steadily over the well-worn road leading back to Mayfair, its occupants seated in an uneasy silence, the only sound within the plush interior being the rhythmic clatter of hooves against stone and the occasional creak of the lacquered wood.

Anthony Bridgerton, Viscount andpersistent meddler, sat on one side of the carriage, his posture perfectly composed yet exuding a restlessness that could not be mistaken. Opposite him, Penelope Featherington – his reluctant intended – sat stiffly, her gloved hands clasped in her lap, her gaze resolutely fixed upon the passing scenery beyond the window.

This was not their first time sharing a carriage. But it was, undeniably, the longest they had been confined together in such an enclosed space.

Attempting to dispel the awkward silence, Anthony leaned back and adopted a conversational tone. "You have missed quite the opening to the season, Penelope. Lady Danbury's ball was particularly well-attended – though I dare say the true spectacle of the evening was Lord Finchley's most unfortunate tumble into the champagne fountain. Quite the sight, I assure you."

Penelope, however, remained unmoved, offering nothing more than a polite nod, her expression revealing none of the amusement he had hoped to provoke.

Undeterred, he continued, recounting the latest engagements and scandals with the ease of a man accustomed to society's ever-turning wheel. And yet, despite his best efforts, her responses remained minimal – an occasional hum, a lift of the brow, a fleeting glance in his direction.

Realizing his anecdotes were met with little more enthusiasm than if he had been reciting the words on herLady Whistledowncolumn, Anthony abandoned the topic entirely. Instead, he turned to something more pressing – the logistics of their impendingshow.

Clearing his throat, he said. "Upon our arrival in Mayfair, I shall go directly to your mother. It is imperative that I speak with her at once."

Penelope, who had until now been staring disinterestedly out of the window, turned to him fully, her eyes narrowing with something bordering on alarm. "You intend to call on mymamathe moment I step foot on Grosvenor Square?"

"Of course." Anthony replied, as if the matter were already decided. "It would be the natural course of action. Your mother must be made aware of my intentions to court you."

Penelope inhaled slowly, measuring her words. "And you believe it wise to subject her to such news without adequate preparation?"

Anthony's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Would she not bedelighted?"

"Delighted, yes. But also insufferable." Penelope muttered under her breath. She straightened, leveling him with a wary look. "If mama learns that you and I have spent the past week together in Cornwall, unchaperoned for much of it, she will not simply assume you are courting me, my lord. She will assume we are to be marriedat once."

Anthony considered this, then inclined his head in concession. "You make a fair point."

Encouraged by his willingness to see reason, Penelope continued. "It would raise too many questions. For one, how could you have come to be so enamored of me, when in the past two seasons, we have barely exchanged more than a handful of words?"

Anthony's smile deepened, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "Ah, but I have anticipated such inquiries."

Penelope arched a brow, wary of his confidence. "Have you, indeed?"

He leaned forward slightly, his tone smooth and assured. "I shall simply tell them that, unbeknownst to society, you have been a steady presence in my family's life for years. Your friendship with my sister allowed me the privilege of observing you from the sidelines, and in doing so, I came to appreciate your wit, your intelligence, your remarkableresilience." He paused, letting the words settle between them. "And now that you are at an age where marriage is expected – not a fresh debutante, but not yet a spinster – I found it the perfect time to act on my admiration and declare my intentions."

Penelope said nothing for a moment, merely studying him with an inscrutable expression.

Then, she hummed.

A simple sound, yet one that betrayed her begrudging approval.

Anthony's grin widened, sensing his victory.

"You must admit." He said lightly. "It is a most believable account."

"It is." She conceded, though her expression remained unimpressed. "But it is also very convenient that you are aViscount– few would dare to question your version of events."

Anthony's expression softened slightly, his voice quieter when he spoke next. "And you, Penelope, are about to become aViscountess.That, too, is not so easily refuted."

She inhaled sharply, his words hitting with more force than she had anticipated.

A Viscountess.

Not the one she had once dreamed of becoming. Not the wife of the Bridgerton she had spent half her life loving in secret. But a Viscountess all the same.

She turned away, gaze fixed once more on the passing scenery.

The remainder of the journey continued in silence, though this time, it was not nearly as uncomfortable.

The Bridgerton carriage rolled to a stately stop before the Featherington residence in Grosvenor Square, its wheels crunching softly against the gravel drive. Anthony alighted first, his movements swift and assured as he turned to assist Penelope from the carriage. His gloved hand extended towards her, and for a moment, she hesitated before placing her own within his. The touch was fleeting, perfunctory, yet Anthony noted the slight tremor in her fingers before she withdrew them.

At the doorstep of the Featherington house, Anthony knocked firmly, the rap of his knuckles echoing through the quiet morning air. The butler, Briarly, opened the door, his well-trained composure faltering for the briefest moment at the sight of Viscount Bridgerton standing on their threshold. But upon seeing Penelope beside him, Briarly's expression softened into one genuine surprise and warmth.

"Miss Penelope." He said with a nod of welcome, stepping aside to allow them entry. "It is good to have you home."

"Thank you, Briarly." Penelope murmured, smoothing her skirts as she stepped into the familiar confines of her childhood home.

Anthony cleared his throat. "I should like to speak with Lady Featherington, if you please."

Briarly, ever efficient, inclined his head and gestured towards the drawing room. "If you and Miss Penelope would be so good as to wait here, my lord, I shall inform Lady Featherington of your arrival."

With that, Briarly disappeared up the staircase, leaving Anthony and Penelope alone in the drawing room. The space was as he remembered it – draped in overly floral fabrics, adorned with gilded furnishings that teetered on the edge of gaudiness, and still carrying the faint, cloying scent of lavender and lemon.

Penelope remained silent, standing near the mantelpiece with her hands folded before her, a wary expression settling upon her features. Anthony did not attempt conversation, instead allowing the air between them to settle, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Moments later, the rustle of silk and the sharp click of heels against the parquet flooring heralded the arrival of Lady Featherington and her eldest daughter, Prudence.

Portia Featherington entered with the air of a woman well accustomed to intrigue, her gaze sweeping over her youngest daughter before settling upon Anthony with carefully concealed curiosity. Prudence, ever eager to follow her mother's lead, dipped into a curtsy, though her wide-eyed expression betrayed her astonishment at finding aviscountin their drawing room.

"Lord Bridgerton." Portia greeted with a gracious nod, masking her surprise with a well-practiced smile. "What an unexpected pleasure."

"Lady Featherington." Anthony returned the greeting with a short bow before shifting his gaze towards Penelope, who remained silent.

Portia turned her attention to her daughter, her smile tightening. "Penelope, dearest, I was under the impression you had intended to spend the remainder of the year in Cornwall with Aunt Petunia."

Penelope opened her mouth to respond, but before she could so much as utter a word, Anthony stepped forward.

"If I may, Lady Featherington." He interjected smoothly. "It was at my behest that Miss Penelope returned to London."

Portia's brows arched, her curiosity piqued. "Indeed?"

Anthony inclined his head. "I have come to formally request permission to court your daughter, Miss Penelope."

A hush fell over the room.

Prudence's mouth parted in shock, her gaze darting between Anthony and Penelope as if waiting for someone to refute the statement. Portia, for all her experience in navigating society's intrigues, found herself momentarily at a loss for words. Her youngest daughter, whom she had long resigned to spinsterhood, was suddenly the object of aviscount'saffections?

"I –" Portia began, before narrowing her eyes shrewdly. "Forgive me, my lord, but I must admit I find this... rather sudden." Her gaze flickered to Penelope. "In all the years you have been acquainted with my daughter, you have never once expressed an interest in her. And if I recall correctly, last season you were quite publicly engaged in courtship with Miss Edwina Sharma."

A faint muscle in Anthony's jaw twitched, though his expression remained composed. "I understand your hesitation, Lady Featherington, and I would not fault you for questioning my intentions. However, I assure you they are nothing but honorable."

Portia folded her arms, unconvinced. "Why now?"

Anthony exhaled, allowing a softer edge to creep into his tone. "Penelope has long been a fixture in my family's life due to her friendship with my sister. Over time, I came to appreciate her intelligence, her kindness and her quiet strength. And now that she is of an age where marriage is expected, I see no reason to delay what should have been pursued long ago." He met Portia's gaze directly. "She will make a fine viscountess."

Portia blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his words. Even Prudence, usually too self-absorbed to pay heed to such matters, appeared thoroughly astonished.

But Anthony was not yet finished.

"I ask for no dowry." He declared, his voice firm. "I seek no advantage but that of having Penelope as my wife. However, as I am soon to be your closest male relation, I shall see to it that Miss Prudence is provided with a dowry when she marries, ensuring a favorable match for her as well."

At this, both Portia and Prudence's eyes widened.

Anthony pressed on, his gaze unwavering. "I vow that our courtship will be conducted with the utmost propriety. There shall be no scandal – neither for my family nor yours."

Silence stretched once more, thick with contemplation. Penelope, who had remained composed throughout, finally looked at him, something unreadable in her crystal blue eyes.

Portia, for all her suspicions, could not refute the words and wishes of aviscount.

And so, after a long pause, she inclined her head.

"Very well, my lord." She said, her voice carrying a touch of calculation. "You have my permission to court my daughter."