Testing Audio -DK Principessa

by kibass91

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32. Lord and Lasy Whistledown

Chapter 1: Decisions

Chapter Text

May 1814

It was time for a fresh start, the true beginning of the rest of his life.

So Colin Bridgerton thought to himself as his carriage pulled away from the stately, charming manor belonging to Sir Philip Crane, and Colin's ex-fiancée Miss Marina Thompson. Although, he mentally corrected himself, she was Lady Crane now. He allowed himself a moment to lean back against the seat, staring out into the night as the carriage rocked gently on its journey back to Aubrey Hall, and let his thoughts wander.

He had done what he'd set out to do earlier that day; he'd seen Marina. He'd apologised to her. He'd extended his forgiveness of her past actions (or he'd tried to, at least). He wasn't quite sure what to expect when going there, but the reality was still jarring; the calm, dignified married woman that was so different to the bright-eyed girl he'd loved. Or thought he'd loved, anyway. She'd been quietly elegant, stiffly polite all day with him, clearly comfortable in her home and with her children. She'd been nominally at ease but her manner tense because he was there, bringing up the past when she was so firmly rooted in her present.

He supposed he'd gone there seeking… what, closure? A reunion? Another chance? As with most things in his life, he would've been open to any option. Colin generally tried to stay broad-minded with what life threw his way. Closure now felt like the closest word to describe the outcome from the day's events. There were pinpricks of shame and embarrassment to recall Marina's words to him, telling him to wake up, accusing him of trying to drag her back into a world of fantasy. He hadn't meant that. He'd only meant… well… perhaps she was right. It had become very clear to him that his time in Greece between season, mulling over what had happened between them, going over and over things in his head, wasn't time that she'd shared doing the same thing. She had moved on, in every way that mattered.

It was only that it felt important to him, to make things right. Colin shifted in his carriage seat, restless, defensive despite himself, even now as the carriage trailed away into the night. It had felt like the right thing to be done, to apologise, and extend forgiveness. That was something his mother Violet had instilled in him growing up. For all the times that he'd teased and pranked and tortured his younger sisters and brother, if there was ever hurt feelings, if there was ever any sign that a sibling had really taken one of his jokes to heart, under Mother's watchful eye, he would find a way to make amends. There seemed to be very little that he couldn't fix with a wide, sincere smile and a soft, kind word. People forgave him easily, and in turn, he forgave the small things easily too. "Such a charmer," his mother would smile, and he supposed that was true too.

Everyone could agree charming was the word most often used to describe Colin, including even by the enigmatic Lady Whistledown. Inevitably when an issue of the scandal sheet had mentioned him, it usually referred to him enchanting the ladies of the ton, his carefully administered smiles and jokes and pleasant quips livening the atmosphere of many otherwise dreadfully dull balls and gatherings. But unlike his eldest brother Anthony, and his older brother Benedict, none could yet tag him with the title 'Rake.' Colin really had had relatively little experience with the opposite sex compared to his older brothers, despite having the ability now to say he had been engaged (once) to a lady before Anthony or Benedict had even proposed to anyone. However, he was no gawky virgin; Anthony and Benedict had made sure of that, with their frank and honest sit-down after he had graduated Eton five years before, fresh faced at the age of eighteen. He smiled to recall the memory.

"There is nothing," Benedict had laughingly told him, "Nothing wrong, with dipping your wick for the first time… or the second time, or even the third…"

Anthony had coughed pointedly and glared at Benedict sternly.

"…ahem, anyway, nothing wrong I say, with building some experience with ladies of the night." Benedict had smiled indulgently at him. "We are Bridgertons after all, and unlike some members of the ton, we have the resources to indulge even our more questionable choices."

Anthony, rolling his eyes, had turned to Colin. "What Benedict is trying to say, Colin, is that despite what will be Mother's best efforts to find you a bride now that you'll be out in society, as a man and as a respectable man of the Bridgerton family at that, it's quite…acceptable…while you're young and still green, to explore the more… pleasurable aspects of the fairer sex with the professionals. As long as everything is above board. It's something I've done, and Benedict's done…"

"Let me guess, in ten years' time we'll be sitting Gregory down for this same conversation?" Colin had quipped, raising his eyebrows.

Anthony and Benedict had both laughed, and Benedict clapped him on the back. "Exactly," Anthony agreed. "All I ask is that you don't overindulge too much and exercise your discretion. We can't have any…activities, talked all over the ton. That would make three for three Bridgerton brothers with reputations as rakes."

"I really don't see myself as a rake," Benedict had interrupted, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "An enthusiast for the high life, more like."

"Regardless," Anthony continued loudly, "It's our duty as your brothers to make sure you gain life experience while you're young, while still maintaining the reputation of the family and your own reputation as a gentleman, do you understand?"

He'd agreed, of course. And in those early years as a young man, Colin had participated as much as any young gentleman in the rounds at White's, the gambling, the drinking, the hunting, fencing, and yes to a lesser extent, the whoring. Guided to Southwark brothels under Anthony's stern eye and Benedict's benevolent eye, Colin had experienced what it meant to have a woman, and then further, to pleasure a woman, and to be pleasured by one. It had been a jolly and amusing time in his life, a rather restless whirlwind of fun amongst the more placid respectable events of the social season calendar.

Marina – Lady Crane – had been his first real foray into matters of the heart, it seemed. She had arrived into his life at a time where the years of fun had started to grow just a little stale, a little wearisome, and a feeling of restlessness began to seep through him, down through his limbs. He would always be seen as a boy to his older brothers and Mother, and he would always be little more than an annoying big brother to his younger siblings, but Colin had been growing eager for something… new, different. To spark his interest and fire up his soul. To prove himself, as a gentleman. To find purpose. And unlike his family, Marina took him seriously.

If he was being honest with himself (and he always tried his best to be), he knew his current lifestyle wouldn't sustain him forever. He'd grown up watching a happy and loving marriage between his parents, had seen first-hand the magic that love could weave into a household, and into a family. Deep down he'd always wanted what his parents had had, and a lady to love and children to raise seemed to be the pinnacle of what Violet Bridgerton had wanted for her sons too. Perhaps he'd enjoyed rebelling against that for the sake of it, perhaps because he enjoyed pushing boundaries with people, just because he knew he could, because he knew they'd forgive him…

Ah, but it was useless now to ponder why he'd resisted Mother's attempts to nudge him towards marriage for so long. All that mattered, looking back, was what had happened to him when Marina – Lady Crane - had pulled him aside at Daphne and Simon's wedding celebrations the year before. They'd been enclosed in a side room together, and it still rankled to recall how neatly, how perfectly, he'd been entrapped. They had spent time together, danced together, and she was beautiful and pleasant and good company. He'd felt sorry for her mysterious illness that had kept her from the season and was pleased to see her return. The spark of interest between them, the enjoyable time he spent with her, seemed like the beginnings of real love to him. And like any gentleman spending time around a beautiful and engaging lady, there had been stirrings of desire too; stepping away from her kiss had been one of the hardest things he'd done in his life up to that point.

In the end, how perfectly he'd played into her wishes! For goodness sake, he'd even been the one to offer marriage to her, unprompted. That inner sense of duty had kicked in when he saw the disappointment in her eyes at his resolve to respect her honour, when she'd sighed resignedly, 'I am a lady…and you are a gentleman.' To be known as a gentleman was everything he wanted to be, to be good, honourable, respectable. The words flew out his mouth before he'd even realised he was going to say them, asking her to marry him. He could perfectly recall the flash of relief in her eyes, the release of tension in her delicate shoulders. He had felt so proud and pleased afterwards, being engaged to an honourable lady, planning their lives together… what a fool he had been.

Colin lightly thumped his head against the back of his carriage seat, staring at the carriage ceiling. There he went again, ruminating on the past, living in moments long gone. Marina – Lady Crane – had specifically chastised him about that tonight, and as much as it hurt to hear, she was right. His injured pride and hurt feelings had eased somewhat since his travels in Greece, and while time hadn't yet healed all wounds, it wouldn't do to let his thoughts continually linger on a situation that had long since passed. Marina – damn, Lady Crane – had said herself, that not everyone is guaranteed a fairy tale ending, and that she was content now with her life and situation as she found it.

Colin wasn't that sure about fairy tale endings either. Look at his parents – pure, open, honest love, cruelly cut short, that could hardly constitute a true happy ending, could it? But the time they had together had been happy. He knew his mother's dedication now to her children and their marriage prospects at least partially stemmed from her desire to see her children make matches as happy as hers had been, in an odd sort of tribute to Edmund. He just couldn't agree with what Marina – Lady Crane - had chosen for herself, for her future. She'd chosen security, comfort, a steady and respectful and it must be said, somewhat dull, life, with a husband she liked but did not love. He was glad she seemed content with that, and he was even glad she had moved on, but he felt the same old stirrings of restlessness inside him at the thought of that kind of future for himself.

He could not picture it, a quiet and respectable home, with a quiet and respectable wife, with quiet and respectable children. He veritably shuddered at the thought. He'd always grinned and laughed and jostled with the best of them at the gentlemen's' club, rolled his eyes and sighed and groaned about marriage alongside the other gentlemen of his acquaintance, avoided the marriage-minded mamas in society… and yet, he knew he wanted marriage someday. But - he couldn't help but want something different for his future marriage, his future wife. He didn't want a typical society settlement, didn't want any scenario along the lines of 'I suppose you'll be acceptable.' It must be said, and the parallel was inescapable, the truth was he wanted the opposite of what his brother Anthony was currently doing in his quest to woo Edwina Sharma, simply because she was the respectable diamond of the season.

He wanted excitement, adventure, love, passion. Something and someone extraordinary, to ground him, to humble him, to support him while he found his purpose and direction in life, and to keep life interesting for him. A woman who loved him enough to challenge him.

As the stars outside grew brighter and the carriage trundled through the gates and began journeying up the drive onto the grounds of Aubrey Hall, Colin stretched out his long legs, stretching and cracking his neck. He could be jovial and chatty when in company, but when left to his own devices like this, in quiet solitude, it was incredibly easy to retreat into his own thoughts and pass the time with his musings. He was glad to have had this time on the carriage ride back to his family home to sort through his feelings and reflect. This, he resolved to himself, would mark the point in his life where a fresh start could occur. Lady Crane – and he cheered himself mentally for finally thinking of her proper title, she was to be Marina no more – and the whole mess of last year, he could now properly leave in his past. Tonight was the first night of the rest of his life, and he resolved to be open to whatever came next.

The carriage quietly rolled to a stop in front of the vast, sweeping entrance to Aubrey Hall. Thanking the driver, he climbed down from the carriage, glancing up at the expansion of stars and deep blue sky above him. It was late in the evening, long after anyone inside would have gone to bed. Inhaling the cool crisp air, he took a moment to survey the façade of the home, admiring the stately expanse of windows and…

… was that candlelight he could see on that left-hand first floor window? Colin squinted, and he was sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. Against the silent blankness of the other windows, and the darkness of night outside, he could discern a faint golden glow coming from inside one of the rooms, flickering against the windowpane. Based on the location, it looked to be roughly coming from around where his family's private library was.

Anthony staying up late with some accounts, perhaps? Or a lone candle left behind for dousing, forgotten by some absent-minded household staff member?

Colin sighed, thinking of his comfortable bed in his bedchamber in the family wing. He'd rather been looking forward to making his way straight to it, but now that he'd noticed the candle burning, he was obliged to go investigate. Mother would kill him if the Hall burned down just because he hadn't checked.

With a mental shrug, he began climbing the front steps, resolved to make his way to the library.

Penelope Featherington hadn't been able to sleep.

This was not an altogether rare occurrence for her; many nights after many society events she had lain awake, tossing and turning, her mind full of racing thoughts that she couldn't get to settle, no matter how hard she tried. It was perhaps one of the risks of the trade of being the infamous Lady Whistledown; she had grown accustomed to standing quietly in the corners of rooms, observing the ton, eyes darting around seeking every small detail. One could expect to feel mentally exhausted, with the efforts it took to observe and decode every brush of the hand, every smile, every fleeting eye contact between a lady and a gentleman. Collecting her observations, analysing them, and filtering them to turn them into every witty word that was the talk of the ton was no easy feat. Doing that multiple times a week for two years straight; well, any saner person would have quit long ago.

But if she was honest with herself (and she always tried her best to be), it wasn't just Lady Whistledown business that had been keeping her awake this evening. With half a mind, it was true, she had been turning over her observations from the day of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and his rumoured prospective bride Miss Edwina Sharma, mentally trying out phrases to put into her next column, as that was surely what everyone wanted to hear about from the next Whistledown release.

With the other half…. well. She had been quite unable to get the image out of her head, of Colin's extraordinary deep blue eyes, crinkled in a smile, bowing his head adieu to herself and Eloise when he'd left that morning to pay a visit to Penelope's cousin, Marina Thompson. Or, Penelope mentally reminded herself, Lady Crane as she was now to be called. She knew Marina was a married woman now, with two children last she'd heard, but it still caused a deep frisson of fear inside her to think of Colin and Marina in the same room together again, when he had come so close last year to being lost to Penelope forever.

Penelope had known Colin since she was a child, since their families had first interacted in Grosvenor Square, before Colin had gone off to Eton. As a younger girl, when she was two days short of her sixteenth birthday, with the whack of her errant bonnet flying into his face and his splash into the mud, and his bark of carefree laughter, that was when Penelope Featherington had truly fallen in love with Colin Bridgerton. And just over two years' later, there seemed to be no relief, no easing of this feeling that plagued her night and day. Her helpless and hopeless feelings for her best friend's older brother had only strengthened and deepened with the time they had spent around each other, each crooked smile he gave her, every kind word or gesture he had shown her. It was to Colin's credit that he continuously showed such consideration for her when it was so well known in the ton that the Featheringtons were more a source of amusement and derision than admiration amongst the noble and respected families. To be sure, he certainly seemed to find her amusing, and they had passed many society parties and events in pleasant conversation. He even more often than not asked her to dance, and long had she wondered if his actions were motivated by pity, which was almost more than she could bear to think about. But her status as his friend; that was the extent of his regard. Pleasant, genial, amiable friends.

Would anyone blame her if she wanted to keep that friendship going? And would anyone laugh at her (well, probably Cressida Cowper would) if she couldn't help but wish to keep the spark of hope alive in her chest for a little longer? The hope that one day, he might see… he might realise…

Yes, there were many things to keep Penelope wide awake this night. The four walls of the bedchamber felt like they were closing on her as she lay, staring at the canopied ceiling of the bed. Which was why, long after everyone would be deeply asleep, she had given up on further attempts, wrapped herself in her long, hideously orange dressing gown (another citrus-toned item thoughtfully supplied by her mother), and in desperation to be away from the oppressing walls of the bedchamber, tiptoed in silence and darkness from the guest rooms assigned to the Featheringtons for the country stay at Aubrey Hall.

Her destination was the family library of the Bridgertons, not too far adjacent to the chambers she'd just emerged from; the Bridgerton family wing neighboured their location, a gesture Penelope supposed had been arranged by the kind and thoughtful Bridgerton matriarch, Violet. The Sharmas had been granted the most prime positioned guest chambers on the other side, naturally, as a mark of favour, when they'd arrived a week earlier than anyone else to the Hall to accelerate the courtship of Anthony and Edwina.

Violet had always been terribly kind and pleasant to Penelope, undoubtedly due to the close friendship she shared with Eloise. Surely Violet would not mind terribly if Penelope passed some time in the Bridgerton library to help her tire enough to sleep? Eloise after all had always grandly told her that she was a Bridgerton and thus she had authority to freely grant Penelope access to Eloise's most used private family spaces of their home back in Mayfair, so they could have space to be alone and discuss Eloise's latest theories (it was true that friendship with Eloise involved more listening skills than speaking skills, but that was usually fine with her). The familiar invitation would surely extend out here.

Hang it all, she'd decided – no one would be awake at this hour anyway, neatly avoiding any unwanted encounters requiring her to explain herself. She needed the time and space to herself, to think, and wait for her over-active mind to calm down.

Thus, was how Penelope found herself alone in the Bridgerton family library, the only light she allowed herself being a single flickering candle on the handsome mahogany desk near the library window. She chose a few interesting books from the shelves, intending at first to read to pass the time to the small hours of morning, but she'd scarce settled into the soft velvet cushioned chair at the desk and read one chapter of the first novel she'd selected before her restless eyes strayed to the neat pile of paper on the desk, and the ink pot, and the quill.

Her mind buzzed with her observations of Anthony and Edwina from the morning, and the other interactions of the day she'd noted amongst the ton on the stately lawns of Aubrey Hall, and suddenly her fingers were itching to write, to draft, to plan. Naturally she couldn't publish anything this week while all of respectable society was out here in the country, but it was fortunate indeed to have this opportunity to write in solitude, something that could sometimes be difficult to come by at home.

She hesitated for a moment more, then resolutely set aside the novel, pulling a sheet of paper and the ink towards her, and picking up a quill. Dipping the nib to the ink pot, she set nib to paper, then began to write.

Dearest Reader,

It is often said that the greatest of life's pleasures can be the simplest, and where better to enjoy simple pleasures than in the country? Time spent dazzled by sunshine, with agreeable company, in the fresh air, can be just the thing for any gentleman or lady to refresh and take stock of their own lives. One might even venture, it's time to reckon with the consequences of their actions.

This Author hopes the time in the country has been edifying for Lord Anthony Bridgerton, who is openly continuing his public courtship of the Queen's Diamond, Miss Edwina Sharma, although one is surprised to learn that the Sharmas' additional time at Aubrey Hall is still yet to produce that most illustrious of desired things, a proposal.

It has reached this Author's ears that Lord Bridgerton's younger brother Mr Colin Bridgerton however, was notably absent for most of the day's festivities hosted by his mother, leaving one to wonder what possible inducement could lead him to incur the wrath of the Dowager Viscountess…

In the silence of the dark library, and by the light of the flickering candle, Penelope scratched out the rest of a quite passable first draft for her next column, recounting what she'd observed so far, reporting words she'd heard whispered amongst the mamas of Mayfair. Carefully, she added a note to herself in the margins to prepare an alternate version should Miss Edwina indeed secure a proposal from Anthony; last minute adjustments were sometimes needed with the speed of events. She ruefully thought of her rush last year to accurately report the changing circumstances between another one of Colin's sisters, Daphne, and Daphne's now-husband the Duke. She'd resolved since not to be caught out again, and to prepare for all eventualities.

Glancing at the candle and seeing it had burned down considerably since she had first entered the room, she sighed, the sigh turning into a yawn. The writing had been just the thing to wear her out, and she was quite content now that she could return to the guest bedchamber and fall asleep without too much further trouble. More out of habit than anything, as the sheet would not serve as her final draft to hand in to the print shop, she signed her alias signature at the bottom with a flourish, 'Lady Whistledown', then set aside the quill and ink pot with a sigh, preparing to roll up the paper and depart.

Then – a sound that sent a terrified chill down her spine – the faint but unmistakable thud of footsteps approaching in the corridor outside, growing clearer with every step closer, undeniably making their way towards the library.

There was no time to think, to ponder what identity of the unknown person in the corridor would be worse for her, no time to think of an excuse; what one does in moments of panic and crisis is hardly worth examining, really. In that split second of horror, the only thing to do that made sense to her was to hide. She hastily pushed back the desk chair, the scrape of its legs thankfully muffled by the thick carpet underneath.

In her rush, she had completely forgotten to pick up the Lady Whistledown draft. In her flurry of movement, it breezed off the desk, fluttering to the ground, landing half underneath the desk, poking out and facing up to the decorative library ceiling.

She made for the safety behind the nearby ornately tall cabinet, sliding into the gap between the cabinet and the library wall, mere seconds before the library door swung slowly open.

Chapter 2: Consequences

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Consequences

Colin walked quietly but swiftly inside Aubrey Hall and then up the entrance hall stairs, turning left at the top of them, passing through the corridors leading towards the family wing and the family library where he was sure he had seen the lit candle. He was still debating whether to tell Mother about this in the morning – if it had been a candle left accidentally by a servant, surely no harm was meant, and any chastisement could be avoided. If it was Anthony or another family member up late, well – that would be the simplest and most agreeable outcome.

As he grew nearer, he slowed down his pace a little when he passed the chambers assigned to the Featheringtons and the Sharmas, not wanting to disturb anyone or rouse anyone from bed. Passing the Featherington chambers, he couldn't help but think of Penelope, recalling Lady Crane's final words to him earlier that evening before he'd departed. She had told him his future was not to be found in the past with her – that there were people in his life he already made happy – namely his family, and then she had also named Penelope.

Pen was his friend, that was true, the only one who had truly engaged in a proper correspondence with him while he had been away in Greece. While he had often wondered if others were feigning interest in his observations and recounting of his travels and adventures, he always got the impression that she was genuinely interested, and genuinely cared, to listen to him. Certainly, she had written thoughtful and amusing letters back to him, with questions prompting him just so along a new line of thought he wouldn't have considered before, as well as providing ample news and information about happenings back home while he was away. He truly appreciated that, more than he could probably ever express to her.

And, he supposed, it was true that both he and Eloise represented a large… or well, to be more realistic, the entire percentage of her close acquaintance circle. Colin had lost track of the number of balls and events in the last few years where, while idly scanning the room, his line of sight would light upon Penelope, standing stoically in the shadows on the edges of the room, in garishly bright yellow or orange or pink gowns that clashed awfully with the vivid red of her hair. She was almost always standing alone, fiddling with the dance card on her left wrist, which was also almost always empty. He had known her for years, of course, through the family connection and her friendship with Eloise, although he had really only gotten to know her better in the last few years after she had come out into society. Perhaps it had been a sort of pity, at least at first, which drove him to seek her out and speak to her, driving him to rescue her from the ire of simpering bullies like Cressida Cowper and her ilk. Certainly his mother had also gently pushed him to show kindness to a girl that did not receive much of it from society.

But then he'd been surprised time and time again by a dryly amusing barb or quip she'd murmured to him, and when he partnered her on the dance floor, at least she did not step on his toes or chatter incessantly or drop heavy hints about his eligibility as a bachelor, like others in her peerage. If he was quiet in his own thoughts, she was respectfully quiet, and if he felt like speaking, she was ready and able to converse on most topics. It became a habit to seek her out, indeed it became a pleasant break in the monotony of society events, and after a while he found himself actively searching for her in the room each time, and seeking her out as one of his friends.

He knew she was generally ill at ease in public and in company. He'd seen often enough in contrast the engaging way she conversed with Eloise when she visited the Bridgerton residence, smiling, and laughing, when she felt comfortable in private to relax and be herself, and he liked to see her in that state, when she was free and open.

Lady Crane may not have been too far off then in her assessment that perhaps he could focus in future on other people in his life, like Penelope, that he could make life easier for, and help in some way perhaps, as his path forward. It certainly did no harm to her reputation for the ton to see her friendship with him, although unfortunately all members of the Featherington family seemed to be quite unable to escape the derision of Lady Whistledown. He knew it bothered her, to be commented upon so publicly, so regularly, and frankly if Colin ever found out the identity of the mysterious author, he would have some choice words to say in defence of his friend (alongside of course a defence of that writer's pointed comments about his own family members and other society friends).

There was much to muse upon – but bringing himself back to the present, as he reached the corridor leading to the family library, he reminded himself there would be ample time for that, and for now, he just needed to reach his destination and investigate this blasted candle situation. Approaching the library door, he considered knocking but decided against it – what if it echoed loud enough to rouse someone? Better then to open the door and stick his head in to assess the situation. He took hold of the door handle, cautiously pushed, and slowly opened the door, stepping carefully through the threshold, looking around.

No one.

It was, as he thought, nearly completely dark in the library apart from the lone candle burning on the desk near the window. He gingerly closed the door behind him and approached the desk, squinting through the darkness at the shelves around him, trying to see if he could discern anyone present.

"Hello?" He murmured, stopping stock still, waiting.

Silence.

He breathed out, oddly relieved. He was alone in the room. He got to the desk and could see with an idle glance a recently used quill lying askew, with the usual neat pile of blank writing papers that sat beside it clearly disturbed as well. Perhaps it had been Anthony attending to paperwork after all, and he'd forgotten to extinguish the candle? He had certainly been incredibly out of sorts lately with this courting business with Miss Edwina, and by the looks of it, the candle had been burning for a while.

With a mental shrug, he reached forward to pinch out the candlelight, intending to leave it at that and make his way to sleep. That was what he intended, but right at that moment as he leaned forward and his hand reached out to the candle, he heard a soft noise to his right, halfway between a squeak and a gasp.

He froze, gaze snapping upwards to the tall ornate cabinet near the desk where his mother stored some of the spare tea sets. He would swear the sound had come from that direction, and in the resulting silence, he thought he could hear the faint but unmistakable sound of soft, harried breaths.

He straightened, more annoyed than suspicious, now thinking someone, possibly a younger sibling, was just playing a prank on him. "Who goes there?" he demanded. "I know you're there. Is that you Gregory?"

There was a few beats of silence, and to his surprise, a diminutive figure slowly emerged from behind the cabinet, but it wasn't his youngest brother that emerged, blinking, into the pool of candlelight around the desk.

It was Penelope.

Peeking from around the cabinet near the desk, Penelope had watched Colin enter the room, and her heart stood still.

She watched him approach the desk, call out to the silence, examine the quill and paper and ink, and it was the most curious sensation – her mind was both racing wildly, and also completely and utterly empty. The darkness of the room appeared to be working in concealing her from his sight. A horrid chill ran through her, as she looked at the desk and realised that the draft was gone; it must've fallen off the desk, and with all of her, she prayed that it had landed far enough underneath to be concealed, as she couldn't spy it from her hiding position.

Of all the people to have come upon her in the library… She had supposed he'd returned earlier in the day from his visit to Marina, but he must have stayed there later than she'd thought, and her stomach felt like it dropped through to her feet all over again, the implications rushing up on her. Why was he returning so late? And why, she cursed herself, hadn't she heard the carriage pull up? Writing had a way of mentally sealing her off from the world; when she was in that state of total engrossment with her words, she paid little heed to anything around herself, and what a fool she had been to not pay attention. Perhaps, if the fates were kind, he would simply leave, and she could retrieve her draft and slip out shortly afterwards without further incident.

In her distracted moments of mental panic, she watched almost absent-mindedly as Colin leaned forward, his hand reaching towards the candle, and it slipped out before she could stop herself – a half gasp, a squeak, a suppressed instinct to call out to him to watch out, be careful, not to burn his beautiful large hands on the flame, acting on a protective reflex that came from within.

She watched him freeze, his eyes snapping towards her location, and cursed herself a second time for being a fool. He called out again, and she knew defeat – there could be no further hiding. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the cabinet, moving forward into the flickering light supplied by the candle on the desk, watching his face as she did so, struggling against her instinct to scan the floor for the draft – she didn't want to draw his attention down there.

His eyebrows shot up, his jaw dropping open in a comical, perfect 'O' of surprise. "Penelope?!" he exclaimed, a little too loudly. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Hush!" she hissed, eyes darting nervously to the closed library door.

"Sorry," he apologised, a touch more quietly. His eyes moved, taking her in – her hair worn down for sleep and tumbling down her back, in her embarrassingly bright orange dressing robe of all things, oh how her cheeks were burning – and he repeated more softly, "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I…" Penelope decided spontaneously that a version of the truth might be her safest bet. "I couldn't sleep. Eloise told me I always welcome to use the library whenever I wanted, and I thought to read for a while quietly, in private, to hasten sleep." She paused, watching him frown, and barrelled on. "I lost track of the time I suppose, I was just so engrossed with the story, and didn't even realise how late it was until just now." She laughed weakly. "Perhaps I have been spending too much time with Eloise! We both love a good book, as you know, and more than once she has enjoined me to stay up late to finish a chapter so we can discuss the writing the next day."

She hated his silence, his stare, which wasn't hostile but more curious, interested, with his brows raised. She really didn't want to be the only one talking anymore.

"What are you doing coming back so late?" she blurted, in a tone far more accusatory than she'd intended. "I thought you would have returned hours ago."

Colin blinked, and something in his expression shuttered closed as he looked away from her, towards the window. "Sir Crane invited me to stay on for supper, to further discuss my travels and the flora I encountered," he stated calmly. Feeling her questioning gaze on him, he looked back at her and clarified. "He… likes plants."

"Oh." It was hard to know what to say to that. "I see." A beat of silence, and it burst from her before she could stop herself. "How was…how was seeing Marina?"

She'd known and loved this man for years and had spent ball after ball studying his every move and gesture, but even she couldn't quite interpret his reaction; the slight hunching in his shoulders was all that gave him away as he replied, a trifle testily, "Lady Crane is doing quite well. And…" he trailed off, and finished lamely, "…and she sends you her regards."

"Her regards?" Now her curiosity was piqued, in a kind of dreading, kicked-in-the-stomach way. Something had happened between them, she was sure of it. "The two of you didn't have any… deeper conversation in all that time?"

It was a mark of their long acquaintance and friendship that he didn't chastise her for her impropriety. He paused, clearly deciding how much to tell her. "We… discussed our past, yes," he admitted. "Indeed, I was pleased to find her seemingly content in her situation. She has two beautiful children." A flash of a past pain flickered across his face and was gone again. "I told her I forgave her, and I apologised to her, and she…"

"You apologised to her?" Penelope interrupted incredulously, her voice raising in spite of herself. Taking a moment to compose herself, she tried again. "It was kind of you to offer forgiveness, but you hardly have anything to apologise to her for, Colin. She tried to entrap you. She could've ruined your life. Her reasons were her own, but one could hardly credit her as the victim."

He sighed, scuffing the toe of his boot on the heavy carpet in what she had to appreciate as an adorably boyish gesture. "Even so, I felt it the right thing to do. For everything that had happened, and the things I had said, and she had said - I wanted to make sure all matters were settled between us, with the air clear, to move forward."

She rather dreaded the answer but had to ask. "And?" She cleared her throat against the sudden tightness there. "Do you feel…the matter is settled? To move forward?"

He smiled, not the wide, devastating grin that she knew him capable of, but a smile of quiet resignation, of…peace? "Indeed. I am quite prepared and resolved to reconcile myself to the past, instead of living in it."

"That's…that's wonderful, Colin," Penelope smiled, a whoosh of relief rushing through her, so strong she felt close to staggering. He smiled tentatively back, and she hadn't truly appreciated until that moment how much she'd feared him to be still hung up on Marina. But he seemed almost a different person right now compared to the nervous and defensive manner he'd had earlier that day, before he'd left to visit the Cranes. Perhaps he truly had gotten over Marina, or at least, he appeared to be well on his way to it.

They stood for a moment in amiable silence, and then Colin focused his gaze back onto Penelope, eyes darting from her face to her hair and her dressing robe. He then cleared his throat, averting his gaze away from her suddenly, politely, and remarked, "I'm sure Eloise meant only to be a kind friend with her invitation to the library, but I don't imagine she quite meant it to extend so to the small hours of the night."

Just as suddenly Penelope was keenly conscious once more of her lack of appropriate attire, and the vulnerability and positive indecency of standing here with her hair down and unstyled in front of him. In any other world, a gentleman and a lady alone together in a dark library in the middle of the night, especially with that lady in a state of undress, would be that lady's ruin.

But this was Colin Bridgerton, popular and admired charmer, and this was Penelope Featherington, known wallflower and society laughingstock. Any idea of anything untoward happening between them was preposterous. She knew that.

"Perhaps it's best if we both retire to bed," he suggested.

There was a part of her that knew that later, she would close her eyes and replay his words in her head, and she could already imagine the scenario that would play out then, where they went not to their separate bedchambers, but to one, shared together. There were marvellous perks, it transpired, in having a vivid imagination.

"Yes," she said quickly, closing her eyes with a sigh. "I think you're right."

He smiled slightly and looked down, perhaps intending to execute the elegant farewell bow he had so perfected, and as he did so, something caught his eye. There, under the desk, halfway sticking out, was a sheet of paper. In the light of the candle, he couldn't fully make out the words written there, but he could see very clearly his own name written on the page.

"What is that?"

His curious tone made her eyes snap open, and he was staring not at her, but eyes downward, trained on the ground, looking straight at…

Oh.

"Nothing," she said quickly, too quickly, too squeakily, stooping swiftly to seize the paper, in a flash before he'd had time to react. Straightening, she tried for a careless laugh, but the faux social graces required by society had never been her strong point, and it came out odd and stilted. "It is nothing."

He cocked his head to the side, apparently studying her. "It does not sound like nothing." He glanced beside him to the desk, where the untidy papers, quill and inkpot seemed to scream volumes about their recent use. "Were you writing something? You said you were just in the library for reading, but I did think that quill looked used." He turned back towards her, a faint, half-quizzical smile on his face. "What were you writing? I saw my name on it."

It was futile to deny the evidence literally right in front of them, so with her mind in full panic, another half-truth seemed best. "It's…private," she attempted, compulsively clutching the paper. "I'd rather not say."

Now his head cocked to the other side, and to her dismay, she could see the pleasant, teasing mirth dancing on his face, as in many other times when they had exchanged a laugh or a smile over some comment they'd made to each other at a society event, and with dread, she realised he was taking this as an amusing challenge, and not as the cataclysmic event that could ruin her entire life.

"Come now," he wheedled, smiling, "Pen, we are friends, and I know it has something to do with me. Will you not tell me?"

Even his casual use of the nickname, which always set her heart fluttering, couldn't hold back the rising wave of panic and nausea in her. Oh, her heart was indeed fluttering, but for the wrong reasons.

"I was…writing a diary entry," she tried, her breath sending her chest heaving, hoping that if she appeared visibly upset and mortified enough (which should not be difficult), he might drop the subject. "My real diary I left behind at home, and I did start out my time in the library reading, but I wanted to set some thoughts down before bed."

Colin was a gentleman, and he liked to think that he would never wilfully upset a lady, but he was a curious gentleman, and he loved a mystery, and her evasiveness was only adding fuel to the fire – he had to know what she had written about him. He watched her searching his eyes, clearly breathless to see what he would say, and he wondered at this fierce reaction, all to protect a diary entry. Perhaps if he had stopped and thought about it, he could've admitted to himself that he too would have just as fiercely protected his travel writings from anyone else's gaze and been similarly mortified to show anyone. But in that moment, he was like a hunter on the scent, sighting the quarry tantalisingly close through the trees, setting himself up for the final blow, blind to all else.

He decided some elements of truth might work best here. "Why Pen, I applaud diary keepers. I myself dabbled in the practice during my travels, and I intend to do so again. It is a noble past time, to record one's experiences, and set out one's thoughts on paper in self-reflection. I promise, if you show me but a little part of it, I shan't tell a soul about it." He smiled, and this was the full force, full blast powerful charm of his wide Bridgerton smile, with a record of devastating all ladies young and old.

Penelope, being both a lady and a lady who happened to be in love with the man in front of her, caught the full brunt of that smile, and in its wake, she hesitated, she weakened, and her grip on the paper loosened slightly in the hand dangling at her side. He knew he would have one chance only, and before she could blink or react, he moved. With the swift and agile reflexes born of years of fencing training, he darted forward, hand snatching out to seize the paper from her grasp, and it was enough that she relinquished it, and in the space of seconds, he was standing in front of her, the paper clutched triumphantly in his hands.

"Colin!" Penelope cried, trying in vain to snatch the sheet back. "Give it back!" But he was much taller than her, and he danced out of reach, laughing, darting around and moving so the desk now stood between them, his prize held aloft. She could only watch in horror as he looked down to the paper, his eyes dancing in mirth, under the clear impression he was about to read a silly and nonsense diary entry, thinking it was all just an amusing joke between them.

The sheer devastation, then, to watch as his face changed while his eyes skimmed the paper. The smile that lit up his whole handsome face faded, his brow drawing down, his hands more tightly clutching the page as he read. She stood completely still, frozen in dismay, watching as the emotions chased each other across his face – shock, denial, incredulity.

He seemed to freeze, and she knew he had reached the end of the sheet, had read the whole draft, and had now arrived at the final line, the final damning signature.

"Lady Whistledown," he whispered, his voice sounding hollow. He raised his gaze from the paper to hers, and the stormy dark blue ocean of his eyes crashed into her where she stood. There was no sound for a few moments, a few awful beats of silence, cut only by their distraught breaths.

"Pen," and her heart clenched at the plaintive tone, the plea, begging her to tell him it was all a joke, that it wasn't true. "What is this? Are you… Lady Whistledown?"

Penelope thought wildly of the line she'd written only just a short time before when sitting at the desk between them, although it felt now like a lifetime ago.

One might even venture, it's time to reckon with the consequences of their actions.

Shaking, she raised her chin, standing with as much dignity as her breaking heart could muster, and met his gaze as boldly she could.

"I am Lady Whistledown."

Notes:

Thank you kindly to everyone who has viewed, commented or given kudos so far! I so deeply appreciate it :)

Chapter 3: Truce

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Three: Truce

After Penelope's bold confession, the silence now seemed to be reverberating around them, as Colin stared at Penelope, and she gazed fearfully back.

There was an odd rushing sound in his ears, turning into a roar, and he felt how unsteady his breaths were. A rising tide of shock and anger was rearing its head inside him, and he wasn't sure how to control it. Colin, famous amongst his family and those who knew him best, for never losing his temper. His mother would often fondly say that he was the child most quick to smile and laugh, taking life as it came, rolling with the punches.

Well, here was the first true punch to the gut he had felt since he had found out about Lady Crane's deception last year. And like Anthony's boxer friend Will Mondrich, it had delivered what felt like a knockout blow.

There could be no doubt she was telling the truth. He'd hoped when he questioned her that she would've denied, denied, denied, vehemently denied any such idea that she and the infamous author could be one and the same. But he'd seen the truth written all over her face when he'd looked up at her, the fear and horror in her eyes, then the quiet defiance.

The author who had reported on and mocked his family and other close acquaintances, exposed and hurt Marina in such a fashion (who mayhap had deserved it to some extent, but that was a point he was beyond fathoming), the author who had turned society upside down, the author who had everyone hanging onto every written word. That author was the same woman as the friend standing in front of him. It felt impossible to come to terms with.

"Colin, please say something."

Penelope's chest was rising and falling rapidly as she watched him, and she sounded afraid, terribly afraid. He looked down at the incriminating paper in his hands and watched in detached interest - his hands were shaking slightly. He took a deep, steadying breath, and let it back out.

"How…" his voice came out raspy, and he cleared his throat to try again. "How did…how could… how could you do this?"

She was still gazing at him, her wide blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Colin…"

"No, really Penelope, how could you do this?" he repeated, stepping forward and brandishing the paper at her. He shook it a little, and she took a half-step back. His gentleman's upbringing admonished him silently for making her in any way afraid of him, but hang the upbringing for a moment, because he needed to say this. "You've spread gossip and lies and innuendo for two years, you've turned people, human beings, even your own family and friends, my family and friends, into nothing more than tidbits or items of scandal, to be talked over and dissected by everyone, you've risked the wrath of the Queen and the Court, and for what? Why? Why have you done this?"

She looked distraught, and he thought distantly that his words must be landing heavily on her, just like the punch he'd felt to the gut from her admission. He watched as she took a deep breath, her shoulders straightening, dignity and poise seeping into her bearing in a way he had never seen before from her.

"I do it," she declared gravely, "because I love it. I do it because I'm good at it, Colin. I will admit," and her voice wavered as she blinked against the tears threatening to spill over, "I will admit… that there are some passages I would undo if I could. There were some choices I made that were done so in haste, or in anger, or in spite, and I cannot say that every word was written righteously or with purely noble purpose at all times. But I cannot take back what has been done, and it is work that I would do again, would choose again for myself, without hesitation. You don't know what it's like, to stand in the shadows, on the outskirts of everything. Everyone who knows you loves you, and even those who don't know you very well, still think well of you. And me? They don't think of me at all," she concluded bitterly. "I would be invisible at society events if it weren't for you and Eloise."

Colin passed a hand over his face, thumb and forefinger resting against his furrowed brow, closing his eyes. She pressed on, seeing he did not seem inclined to speak yet.

"You don't know how I've struggled with some of the choices I've had to make." The tears were spilling over now, silently running down her cheeks. "It has pained me to think I have caused any hurt to people I care about, but I have tried where possible to write to protect, to warn, not to injure. And…" her voice grew stronger, "…and you don't know the joy it's been, to see my words being discussed around the ton, to become an authority and have a voice, the voice, that influences events. You don't know what a sensation it is to me to speak, and to actually have people listen, even if it's only through words on paper."

He opened his eyes, dropping his hand, pinning her with his gaze. She surged on, determined to say her piece. "I'm the youngest of three daughters of the Featherington name, sharing the ridicule, the expectations, the hand-me-downs, the parading in front of the low tier eligible bachelors, with a future that looked so bleak to me when I first was out in society last year. This," and her voice rose passionately, "is the one thing I have, that I have just for myself, that I have carved out, just for myself. This is the one thing that is mine and mine alone."

Colin exhaled angrily, looking away from her. Her tears had not escaped his notice, and the soft part of his heart urged him to comfort her, fighting against the more savage part that still snarled with fury, and hurt, and confusion. He had been listening hard to her every word – indeed, it was hard to imagine her words would be anything but etched into his memory forever now – and the anger in him was not ready to wrestle with the idea that she could be in any way justified in her actions, and her activities. The sense of betrayal was too raw, the frayed edges of his nerves too exposed, his mind reeling too much with the implications. It was all too much to examine further right now.

He dropped the draft paper down on the desk, flinging it away as though it had singed his fingers. His throat thick, his bearing shaky, he knew being around her any longer right now would be a bad idea, as he had no earthly idea what would come out of his mouth if he tried to speak. Their eyes met again for a few breathless moments before he bowed his head, settling for a curt farewell nod, cutting off any further possible discussion. "I bid you goodnight, Miss Featherington."

"Colin," she protested, but he turned and swept away towards the library door, and was gone in moments, leaving her standing alone in the pool of candlelight by the desk, tears pouring down her cheeks.

The scheduled daytime activities for the next day, the final day of the country visit, were most unfortunately ruined by a heavy, pouring rain which started around dawn, and showed no sign of abating all morning, leading well into the afternoon.

Left to their own devices indoors, the guests of the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton were invited to relax in the Hall's ample entertaining and drawing rooms, and with many bellpulls in action, the Bridgerton family's smiling servants were kept busy indeed. Teas were ordered for guests to enjoy informally with each other, as everyone gossiped happily and waited to the appropriate time to begin to prepare for that night's farewell ball, Violet's annual tradition, the Hearts and Flowers Ball.

Penelope passed the day in the chambers assigned to the Featheringtons, with her mother and sisters, and Cousin Jack; they had received no invitations from the other families to join the impromptu informal tea plans. Her mother Portia had been admonishing her daughters for referring to Jack as their cousin, intending apparently to try and foist Prudence onto him to secure a marriage. The notion was laughable, and Penelope had previously found it somewhat amusing despite herself to watch her eldest sister's attempts to woo the completely disinterested Jack. He had been paying more attention lately to Cressida Cowper, of all people, at society events.

Her mother seemed to view the change of plans indoors as a boon to her own schemes with Prudence and was using the opportunity to make loud and pointed comments to the room about Prudence's charms, clearly with intention that Cousin Jack should overhear, look up from his perusal of his newspaper, and suddenly declare himself completely in love with Prudence after all.

Yes, Penelope may have found the situation, while still a little dismal, to offer at least some amusement, in other circumstances. Instead, she found herself perched on the edge of the chaise lounge, embroidery in hand, completely frozen on a self-created torture rack. She had barely slept. She had rehearsed the events of the night before over and over again in her mind, until she thought she would go quite mad with it all. She stared at the outline of the blue cornflower she was meant to be stitching, and all she could see in front of her was Colin's furious face, his shaking hands, his disbelief, his hurt.

The rain seemed like a divine punishment, sent to leave her hours with nothing to do but wonder who Colin had told first. Had he told Eloise yet? The Dowager Viscountess? His brother Lord Bridgerton? Her active imagination now became a curse, as it helpfully created new and more devastating scenarios in her head. Would any of them ever speak to her again? Would Colin ever even look at her again? Surely if he had told his family, word would have spread by now to the rest of the ton. If she could only find the courage to go see Eloise, she would know for sure, but she could not bear the thought that the door on that friendship might be closed to her forever too. She near trembled with fear at the thought of attending the Hearts and Flowers ball tonight, which too now became a setting in her mind for her very public and thorough ruin.

She sat like a ghost, barely speaking a word, and while she would admittedly never claim that the relationship she shared with her mother or sisters could be described as overly close, it was still galling to realise how little they paid heed to her, or indeed even asked if she was alright; the kind word to describe her relatives would be self-involved. But, she thought impatiently to herself, what would she have told them anyway, if they had asked? The truth? She almost laughed out loud to think of it.

No, I am not alright, because the love of my life found out last night that I am Lady Whistledown, and have been the one writing every single edition of it since the beginning, and my life as I know it is over. Yes, Mother, please pick yourself up off the floor, of course I'm Lady Whistledown.

There was nothing for it but to let the hours slip by, the ticking clock feeling like a long slow march to her doom. When it finally was time to get ready for the ball, she didn't even make her token protest to her lady's maid Rae when she was presented with the sickly pale-pink dress that her Mama had picked out for her. Obediently, she stepped into it, then sat at the dressing table gazing at her reflection as her hair was styled in its usual swept up style for the evening. Rae did what she could with her beauty administrations, but Penelope rather fancied the sleepless night showed quite clearly on her face.

Her mother stuck her head into the chamber, impatience in her bearing. "Ready, Penelope?" she asked briskly.

Penelope looked herself in the eye one last time in the mirror, making a silent promise to herself that whatever came, she would try and get through the evening with whatever poise she could.

"I'm ready, Mama."

As the Featherington party entered into the grand hall, Penelope braced herself, waiting for eyes to turn towards her, whispers to be exchanged, silence to fall. But as they made their way down the main staircase into the room, the bright chatter of the guests continued, with barely anyone even glancing up at her family's arrival at all.

Musicians had been set up to play on a small platform in the centre of the room, and beautiful fresh green garlands with flowers in pastel shades of pink, peach and palest purple were tastefully hung everywhere, set off by the crystal chandeliers and the burning light from the garlanded candelabras. Dancing couples were already elegantly whirling around the centre platform, with the rest of the countryside guests arranged around the room, sipping lemonade, chatting and laughing.

Her family reached the bottom of the staircase and for the most part went their separate ways – Cousin Jack to speak with an acquaintance, Philippa to the snacks provided, and Prudence and her mother to a corner, for what appeared to be a hurried whispered strategy meeting. Penelope stood for a moment quite exposed next to the staircase by herself. She stared around the room – absolutely nothing, no response, no acknowledgment from anyone. This… was unexpected.

She spotted a head of familiar deep chestnut brown hair coming towards her, and her heart leapt, but then sank again to see it did not belong to a male Bridgerton but her favourite female Bridgerton – Eloise was making a bee line to her through the crowd. Penelope stood still, watching her approach. Perhaps Colin had only told Eloise, then? It seemed likely Eloise would want Penelope to verify the story was true before Eloise would believe her brother. But, and she frowned as Eloise approached, her oldest friend did not appear to be angry, or upset, just…agitated. Which was a quite common facial expression for Eloise.

"Pen," Eloise greeted breathlessly, coming to her side. "Finally, I've been waiting for you to get here."

"Oh?" Penelope said, cringing inwardly, bracing herself.

"Yes, I begged Mother to let me come visit you today, but she said I was to stay in the family drawing room today as a," and here Eloise made a face and switched to a tone in more or less perfect imitation of the Dowager Viscountess, "show of unity as a family for Anthony when the Sharmas came by for tea. Can you believe that? As if having the family spend more time around Edwina is going to speed the business with her along any faster. Slow it down, more like. Did I tell you about the family game of pall-mall we had earlier in the week?" Eloise paused, frowning, trying to remember.

Stunned, Penelope tried to find her voice. "Uh, why yes, yes you did," she laughed a little awkwardly, "I recall you said Miss Sharma found the Bridgerton competitive spirit a little hard to comprehend."

Eloise nodded seriously. "Indeed, and I wanted to tell Anthony that this was further proof that he may be rushing into this with a lady ill-suited to him, even if she is the diamond, but you know Mother, she told me to keep my opinion to myself and allow Anthony to make his own choices. As if anyone would choose matrimony with a veritable stranger, and an ill-suited one at that…"

Eloise chattered on, adjusting the delicate fabric of the wrap around her narrow shoulders, seemingly completely oblivious to Penelope smiling and nodding mechanically beside her, completely unable to listen to her friend in her shock.

Eloise doesn't know.

Had Colin really not told anyone?

She chanced another look around the room, searching. She located several other Bridgertons (Benedict laughing painfully with a society mama, Anthony standing rigid to one side with his eyes locked in focus on the Sharmas in conversation across the hall, Violet speaking with Lady Danbury) but no sign of Colin.

Eloise was still in midst of talking.

"- Benedict warned me Mother has a suitor lined up to dance with me this evening, so if you see her coming anywhere near me, you must warn me, so that I can get myself upstairs, post-haste." Eloise's lovely dark grey eyes were wide and imploring. "I mean it Pen, I do not want to partner anyone in a dance, in front of everyone no less. I shall trip over my feet and fall over, I swear. One can only imagine the suitor she has lined up for me."

"Of course," Penelope hastened to agree. "If that is what you wish." She coughed and fiddled with her gloves. "Say, Eloise, have you seen Colin?" she tried for a casual, indifferent tone, but still her voice squeaked a little at his name.

"Hm? Oh." Eloise frowned. "No idea. No. Well. Actually, yes. He was at the refreshment table just before, and he may have muttered something about getting some fresh air after that, I was scarce paying attention."

"I see," Penelope replied, still trying to mask her nerves. "I just wanted to speak with him about his visit to my cousin yesterday. If you'll excuse me, I shall go see if I can find him."

"Oh alright, if you must speak with my silly brother instead of me," Eloise pouted laughingly. Penelope bid her adieu, and Eloise called after her with a hiss, "Remember, find me and tell me at once if you see this suitor Mother has in mind!"

Penelope smiled and waved back acknowledgement to her friend as she threaded her way through the guests along the side of the dance floor. Fresh air… perhaps he was on the terrace? The grand hall of Aubrey Hall connected to a rather lovely terrace space outside, which would often fill with guests spilling over from the indoor area as the evening wore on and the dancing wound down. As the ball had only just started, it would likely be mostly deserted right then.

There is a skill a society wallflower develops, and that is the art of sidling unnoticed along the edges of a room, subtly moving at the periphery of a crowd, even being able to slip away undetected if one managed to reach an open doorway or exit spot. Sidling just so, Penelope passed the Sharmas. She was just in time to witness Anthony, Lord Bridgerton, march up to them and in an oddly loud and strained voice, ask for a dance not with Edwina, but her elder sister, Miss Kate Sharma. Now that was interesting…

Penelope hesitated, torn between the urge to stay and watch this development, surely important to her next Lady Whistledown issue, and her own highly pressing need to find Colin. Kate, after a weighty pause, had accepted, and Lord Bridgerton was now leading her out to the floor, both of them grimly tense, looking rather like they were walking towards their gallows rather than a dance. Kate's expression was particularly captivating – there was something about the look on her face, the way she was holding herself, that was familiar, but Penelope couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe if she just stayed and watched a little more…

No. It was too important to find Colin – she might not get another chance for a private word with him this evening. She would have to try and ascertain later what had unfolded with Anthony and Kate – she made a mental note to perhaps ask the Dowager Viscountess, who after all tended to closely follow every movement of her children.

Penelope reached some open doors to one side leading to the terrace, noting that the steady rain from the day had finally stopped, and although there was yet some puddles on its stone floor, glistening with the reflected candlelight from the continued tasteful decorations and lighting outside, the night sky was now quite clear. She stepped carefully outside, glancing over her shoulder – no one in the hall was looking her way. Good.

Outside, the air was cooler and crisp, and she shivered and drew her own wrap a little tighter around her (a ghastly pink, like her dress, unfortunately). She looked around, searching for Colin, and spotted him quickly, a tall figure standing a little way away from her, hands clasped behind his back, staring up at the sky. Her heart skipped a beat – one could almost forget how handsome he was, but even in this moment of crisis, how debonair he looked in his formal jacket struck her anew.

She knew he'd noticed her presence, from the tightening of his jaw and the way his eyes flicked ever so slightly to the side and then heavenward again. She approached him cautiously, slowly; they were standing in a gap between the terrace entry doors and the next window, meaning anyone inside would have to truly crane their necks to see them. The soaring music and chatter inside should help cover any eavesdropping. Again, good – always good, to avoid any explanations.

She stopped a few feet away from him, waiting to see if he would speak. He wouldn't look at her.

"Colin," she tried, "I need to speak with you. I'm glad I found you."

Colin grimaced but said nothing.

"I just wanted to…I mean, I was hoping to… I wasn't sure if you were going to tell anyone, you see, and it seems that has not happened, so…"

"Unlike Lady Whistledown," Colin said coolly, "I do not repeat every morsel of gossip I hear."

Ouch.

A moment passed, as he let that blow land. "R-right," Penelope swallowed, "And for that, I wanted to thank you. It is more than I deserve from you, and I do appreciate…"

"I have spent," Colin interrupted, "all of last night, without sleep, and all of today, trying to connect the girl I've known for so much of my life, with the person who has written that scandal sheet." He shook his head and turned to her, and she was startled at the flatness in his eyes. "For the life of me, I cannot see my way to making that connection."

Penelope lowered her eyes, nodding silently. "It is indeed hard to credit, I am sure."

"Yet here, now, I begin to understand a little better, how it might have been achieved." He was staring at her, frowning, noticing behind her the terrace doorway and the light spilling from inside, from where she had passed seemingly unnoticed. "You said yourself last night, at society parties, you stand in the shadows, at the outskirts. In your… writings…" he packed a volume of contempt into the word, "you have referred to yourself more than once as a wallflower. The pieces seem to come together, of how you have managed to pick up on information, how you have gone undetected for this long." His eyes focused back to her face, and his voice dripped with sarcasm. "It seems I should congratulate you, Miss Featherington, on your ingenuity."

There was a beat of silence, and Penelope blinked, heat rushing to her face. She carried that predisposition, common especially with the red-haired, to flush easily when upset, angry, or embarrassed. Her peaches-and-cream complexion would turn pink, red, all shades in between depending on the depth of her emotion, and she dreaded to think what her body was betraying her with now.

"I did not seek you out only to be mocked, Mr Bridgerton," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, matching his frigid politeness, meeting his eye. "Only to thank you, which I have done, and to ask if you do indeed intend to tell anyone my secret."

Colin exhaled, looking away from her again. He was not by nature vindictive, or cruel, or even one to particularly enjoy treating another with malice. Even from the exchange last night, and right now with Penelope, it was difficult to get through without his urge to smooth things over, to resolve a conflict, to return to the sunnier disposition that came more naturally to him. But, he reminded himself, what she had done was no small matter.

"The ton, for all their faults and flaws, do deserve to find out who has been writing about them for all this time," he said finally, slowly. "But, I do not think that knowledge should come from me." He gazed at her sternly. "I think when they do find out, they will deserve to hear it from Lady Whistledown herself." He gave a small half-mocking bow.

It was Penelope's turn to exhale, a relief she had never expected to feel tonight washing over her. "Thank you," she said simply. "Yes, you… you are right. Of course. When… when the time is right, I will tell them."

Silence fell between them. Colin rocked back on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck. Something had been eating at him since last night, and he needed to know. "May I ask you something, Penelope?"

Back to first name basis again so soon! Penelope could've wept with relief – she had certainly felt the ice between them when he'd used her formal title. "Yes?"

"How did you do it? How did you ever manage to… to get it started, get everyone hooked, keep issue after issue coming…" He paused and looked to her, curious despite himself. Penelope cut a disarmingly diminutive figure, unassuming, dismissed by so many in society time and time again. Despite the anger he still felt toward her, she had planned and executed something that seemed unfathomable, especially for a young unmarried lady, and he had been turning it over in his mind since last night as to how she'd achieved it.

"Oh, that." Penelope drew in a sharp sigh, her delicate hands fiddling again with the ribbon of her dance card on her wrist. This was an explanation she could give him, and hopefully, maybe, it would make him understand. "Well… when I debuted, I did so with a kind of dread and an excitement that I would finally be able to enter society, have my turn to make my mark, perhaps even find a husband, which I knew Mama so desperately wanted for her daughters." She sighed again. "The reality of life in the ton, especially with my family name, was rather difficult to reconcile myself to. I have always been fond of books, of reading, and admired writers far greater than I's ability to turn a phrase. I have especially loved stories of the outsider looking in." She was gazing away from him now, her eyes distant, lost in remembrance.

"I found myself the outsider at the events I was attending. Left to my own devices, I began to notice things, perhaps things that no one else was standing still long enough to pay attention to; the way people interact with each other, speaking but not saying what they truly mean, a whispered word, a secret smile, a flick of a fan, a casual glance, a touch of a gloved hand. One night, after a long ball, I went home and I wrote down my observations, more just for my own amusement. Quickly, writing my own accounts of events afterwards became the only reason I wanted to attend them at all."

Colin was listening intently, silently urging her on to continue speaking.

"Next thing I knew, I'd built a half dozen samples of my work. I wanted to at least try to do something with them. I found the addresses of some of the publishers of my favourite books. I told Mama I was going shopping with Eloise, and promptly directed the hackney driver elsewhere; I made my way into Bloomsbury. I adopted the pretence of acting as an anonymous maid of a mysterious noble lady writer, but still, I was turned away from several publishing houses before I found one who was willing to hear me out, in exchange for more of my pin money. They agreed to publish the copies as long as I paid the initial distribution, and I connected with a print shop. I asked them to set the purchase price to zero at first, just to create some interest. After two weeks," she smiled modestly to herself, "it was quite clear that there was an appetite for the column in the ton, indeed, an almost instantaneous addiction, and that was when I set the new price, and the arrangement has continued since. The print shop thinks still that I am Lady Whistledown's maid each time I've visited them."

He stared wide eyed at her, absolutely stunned. She looked back up at him (lord, but he was tall), and gave a most unladylike shrug. "I have managed since then to publish multiple times a week, as you know."

Colin nodded distantly, blinking. It had rather dropped from his mind entirely for a moment, how he was angry with her, hurt and upset at the deception she had pulled off against everyone she knew. Despite himself, he could not help but feel somewhat… impressed. To admire her creativity, her determination, her acumen. He could not think of a young lady of his acquaintance who could have achieved what Penelope had. Indeed, he could not think of a young lady of his acquaintance who was like Penelope at all, and while she may think of that as a curse, it had clearly become a distinction that she had worked out how best to use to her advantage.

He felt discombobulated, thrown off balance – rather, he thought wildly, like if one had a reliable pet that suddenly showed itself able to speak perfectly, having taught itself in secret the whole time. Not that he would ever compare a lady to an animal, of course, but he was struggling to find an apt comparison to this feeling. He'd thought he knew Pen, thought of her as safe, reliable, predictable. How disconcerting, to realise that one can never wholly know another person, at all. How…thrilling, to realise that people may surprise you.

She was still looking at him, waiting for him to speak. He cleared his throat. "It seems I should congratulate you, Miss Featherington, on your ingenuity." He repeated his same phrase from earlier, but this time it was said with a genuine feeling, wholly without sarcasm, meaning every word. A brilliant, vibrant smile erupted onto her features in response, making her eyes shine brightly in the candlelight.

"Thank you, Colin," she whispered. "You don't know what that means to me to hear."

He smiled slightly, but he knew he still hadn't quite fully forgiven her. One could admire a person's motivations while still deploring their actions. Casting around for something to say, he seized on a detail from her story that had bothered him and clung to it like a raft.

"I do say… I do not like at all that you have been able to slip back and forth to Bloomsbury and to the print shop without accompaniment," he frowned. "Surely you should have a maid or escort with you."

She stared at him, the smile dropping from her face. Why was he focusing on such an unimportant detail? "It is a trip I have made numerous times," she replied testily. "I am quite capable of looking after myself, though I thank you for your concern."

"But anything could happen to you while you're out alone!" Colin growled, suddenly feeling anger stirring in his belly once more. Anger at her for taking such foolhardy risks, at her family for regarding her so little that her absences could be so unremarkable to them. And even at himself, for being in the same boat as them – it seemed Lady Whistledown had been created, and consequently succeeded, only because of everyone's utter dismissal of Penelope Featherington.

"But nothing has happened," she pointed out. "The arrangement has worked marvellously thus far for well over a year now, without incident." Seeing the dangerous glint in his eyes, she impulsively leaned forward and seized his arm, gazing at him imploringly. "Please Colin, please do not tell anyone and ruin it. I take every precaution, and you said yourself, that I should be the one to reveal the secret to everyone. I will do so, I swear, but in my own time, and in the meantime…"

He stared down where her gloved hand gripped his arm, frowning. The touch of her hand, even through the fabric of his jacket and her glove, was warm, and it was throwing off his line of thought. He heaved a frustrated sigh, patting her hand with his before gently releasing it and easing her hand back to her. "I just don't like it, Penelope," he said frustratedly. "Surely there must be another way, that doesn't put you, your reputation, everything at risk. Especially knowing what I know now, I couldn't stand it if something were to happen to you."

Penelope's hand was still warm from where she had touched him, and the concern and care in his eyes as he stared down at her was almost too much to process. It was a cruel joke of the world, to present her with such a man to love, but to curse her so that he only saw her as a friend. Well, it would have to be enough, to know he regarded her sufficiently important to him to have a care for her welfare and reputation, something which was oddly thrilling in itself.

"Thank you, Colin," she responded quietly, sincerely, looking up at him with a gentle and grateful smile. "I know you mean well to look out for me, just as I would do the same for you."

The silence of the moment stretched on as they looked at each other, broken by a sudden burst of applause and chatter inside – someone in the grand hall had clearly just concluded a speech. They both cleared their throats, stepping away from each other.

"We had best get inside soon," Colin murmured, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "We have been talking for too long."

"Indeed," Penelope murmured back, feeling herself blushing once more. She straightened her shoulders. "To avoid a scandal, you slip inside first, and then I will follow a minute afterwards."

Colin half snorted, half laughed, and she looked at him questioningly. "'To avoid scandal?'" he repeated, his mouth quirking in the crooked smile she loved so much. "I suppose you do know what you're talking about… Lady Whistledown."

He bowed abruptly in a kind of salute, then strode past her, back to the doors leading into the grand hall. A truce, it seemed, had been reached between them, for now.

Notes:

Thank you so much for the views, kudos and comments! When I say it's feeding me to keep going, I mean it, I really appreciate it :)

Chapter 4: Scheme

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Scheme

The rest of the evening, after the drama of its beginning, passed without further major incident. Penelope had walked back inside the grand hall (discreetly, one minute after Colin, as agreed) just in time to witness Eloise's pained smile as she took to the floor with a gentleman who was, undoubtedly, the Violet Bridgerton-approved suitor.

Penelope had wafted to the sidelines and watched, trying not to laugh, at her friend's grim facial expression as she and her dance partner commenced their steps. Her laughter turned to concern, however, when it became clear that conversation between Eloise and the gentleman was not going well. She could see her friend's eyes flash even across the room, and with a quiet and furious word to the suitor, Eloise turned and walked from the dance floor, leaving her partner standing. Quite a breach of decorum, it was true, but Penelope had no doubt Eloise would not do that if it wasn't justified.

She'd tried to move to intercept Eloise, but Violet had gotten there first, and after a quick and heated exchange with her mother on the staircase, Eloise had fled upstairs, just as Penelope reached Violet at the base of the staircase.

The Dowager Viscountess was staring after her daughter, her soft grey eyes distressed.

"Is she alright?" Penelope murmured.

"Oh!" Violet startled, turning towards her. "Penelope, my dear, I scarce realised you were there." She smiled weakly, casting a gloved hand absently over her brow. "Yes, yes, all will be well, I'm sure. I only meant to introduce her to someone who might engage her interest a little, seeing as she's so vocal about her disdain for most other suitors." And here Violet made a face and switched to a tone in more or less perfect imitation of her daughter. "They are 'repetitive and offensive numbskulls,' it seems."

Penelope tittered quietly, wanting to remain neutral. Portia Featherington did care about her daughters, in her own way, but that close interest and maternal warmth that Violet Bridgerton showed to all her children was something she'd always envied Eloise for. She felt sympathy for her friend's opinions on courtship and marriage, but it was difficult not to empathise with Violet's motivations as well when she so clearly wanted to see her children happy and settled.

"It is certainly a lovely set up," Penelope changed the subject, smiling and gesturing to the grand decorations around them. Social rule number one; compliment the host…ess.

Violet smiled back gratefully. "Thank you, Penelope." She slipped her fan from her sleeve and absently fanned herself, gazing around at her guests. "It is all going smoothly, now, which is good."

"Now…?" Penelope queried delicately. Perhaps she could get some insight into what she'd missed while on the terrace with Colin.

"Yes, well, the Viscount certainly knows how to create a scene, dancing with the elder Miss Sharma," Violet sighed. "He is under an enormous amount of pressure with the public courtship, and a great deal of that pressure he is exerting upon himself."

Penelope nodded thoughtfully. She made a mental note for the next edition of Whistledown; Kate and Anthony had indeed danced, in front of everyone. It apparently had not ended the festivities or resulted in furniture being knocked over. Two stronger personalities, or more stubborn characters, in close proximity around each other, Penelope couldn't imagine. "I am sure he only wants to make a choice that would make you and the late Viscount proud, my lady."

Violet appeared momentarily taken aback by her words, and Penelope wondered if she had presumed too far, but then the Dowager Viscountess gracefully bowed her head. "Indeed," she murmured with a misty-eyed smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must mingle some more with my guests… and brace myself for their inevitable questions about my daughter's absence."

The remainder of the Hearts and Flowers ball for Penelope had been spent at the sides of the hall, watching the couples dance while she sipped some lemonade, making polite conversation with a few, and very carefully trying to avoid actively searching for Colin in the crowd. Each time she'd spotted him (while completely casually and not at all deliberately looking around the room, certainly for absolutely no one in particular), she had looked away again quickly, her heart hammering, before she'd seen whether or not he'd been searching for her too.

Now, several hours later found Penelope once more in the bedchamber assigned her for the country visit, undoing the ribbon of her (empty) dance card at her wrist and tugging the pins out of her hair. Everyone was scheduled to depart to return to London the next day, back to normal life in Mayfair, where the season would continue. She was not looking forward to the long journey back in the hot and close confines of the carriage with Mama, her sisters and Cousin Jack, but it at least would afford her a chance to daydream a little and reflect on what had been an enormously eventful visit to the country.

She turned over her conversation with Colin tonight in her mind. It was an indescribable relief to know that he hadn't told anyone of her secret identity, and that he didn't seem to be intending to. She knew he was right; she should be the one to reveal herself. And she would! She intended to. When she was ready. Which would be soon, surely. It wasn't fair, she knew, to put him in this position as the only one of their acquaintance who knew the truth, but she was relatively convinced of his sincerity in intending to keep her secret. Tonight had been a step in the right direction, and she held out hope that he might, one day, forgive her.

Rae came to assist her with de-robing from her ball finery (she bid a silent good riddance to the pink dress) and helped her step into a fine white nightgown. As Rae curtsied and departed, Penelope decided to review the items she needed to pack for their journey tomorrow. The colourful fruit salad of her clothing was strewn in the storage dresser in the room. She sifted through the items, mentally tallying a count of what was in front of her against the inventory that she'd brought with her. It was still a warm night after the rain of the day, and the heavier orange dressing gown she'd worn at the scene of the crime the night before would not be needed, so she should pack that now too…

Wait, where had she left it again? Penelope closed her eyes, trying to remember. Walking back to her bedchamber last night after the confrontation with Colin seemed like a blur to her now, although she remembered she had clutched the incriminating draft column the whole way back and had since smartly tucked and buried it into her luggage, to avoid a repeat discovery. She remembered slipping silently back into the guest chambers, walking blindly through the anteroom that her bedchamber was attached to, and shedding the dressing gown as she went, flinging it into a corner. It must still be there.

With a sigh, she went and poked her head into the anteroom. Her sisters had retired to their separate bedchamber, and the candles had already been doused in the room – she could just make out where she was walking from the reflected lights in her own bedchamber. She tiptoed through the room, trying to retrace her steps, groping along the walls until she found the offensively orange bundle on the ground. She scooped it up, and was just about to return to her bedchamber, when she heard the soft but unmistakable murmur of voices, coming from the main drawing room area that connected to the anteroom.

She inched closer – the connecting door was ever so slightly ajar, and she recognised one of the voices as Cousin Jack's, having a seemingly quiet and urgent conversation with…was that Mama's voice? Penelope squinted through the gap in the door and saw the unmistakable flare of red hair reflected against the fireplace flames. Indeed, that was Mama. They appeared to be seated on the lounges, both angled enough to be facing away from the door. She argued with herself about invading their privacy, but only for a moment, before curiosity got the better of her and she pressed herself near the door to listen.

"…don't understand what could be so important, Jack," Portia Featherington was saying, speaking sotto voce and sounding very vexed indeed. "Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow? There'll be hours in which to converse in the carriage ride home, and a lady needs her beauty rest, after all."

There was a faint smirk in Cousin Jack's voice as he replied, also speaking softly. "I can't imagine that would be wholly necessary for yourself, my lady, but trust me when I say what I need to discuss with you is extremely important."

There were a few beats of silence, and Portia drawled, "Well, do get on with it, then."

"Lady Featherington." Jack sounded like he was smiling. "Pray forgive me for my boldness, but I believe I may speak frankly with you. You must know it has not escaped my notice of your…admirable efforts…to push Prudence in my path and secure a match, and your family's security."

Penelope would have willingly given her entire Lady Whistledown fortune to be able to see the look on Mama's face right at that moment.

Portia coughed a little uncomfortably, letting out a skittery and breathy laugh. "Why, my lord, whatever can you mean…"

"Do not try and deny it," Jack interrupted calmly. "It is, with respect to your ladyship, blatantly obvious. But it is not really that topic which I wanted to meet with you to discuss. You know I was delayed in my arrival to England from the Americas after the sad passing of your late husband, due to some complications with my business."

Portia sniffed, clearly impatient (and, Penelope imagined, probably sulky at the ease with which he had seen through her Prudence scheme). "Yes, yes, and…?"

"Those complications are…well, they have come to a point, and I cannot put this off any longer. The mines have shown themselves to be worthless," he said flatly. "There are no real rubies, no real jewels or ore, nothing of true value."

Penelope felt her stomach drop down to her feet, for the second time in as many nights. Worthless?

"Worth…good lord, sir, what do you mean?" Portia entreated him.

"I mean that I have only a few months, maybe half a year if we are lucky, before I run through the investment funds I had secured in the Americas," Jack said matter-of-factly. "Only a few months before we will be bankrupt."

There was a soft noise, of Portia leaping to her feet, and beginning to pace around the drawing room. She passed quite close to the door behind which Penelope was hidden, and Penelope shrunk back instinctively, her mind reeling. Bankrupt? In a few months?

"This is… how could… you mean…" Portia was muttering rapidly, and one could hear her hurried and rattled breaths. "But my girls, and their dowries! Our estate, our lifestyle, our heritage, our reputation, our position in society…"

Jack was silent, presumably watching Portia pace as she panicked.

"How can you just sit there and say nothing, my lord?" she rounded on him, her voice rising.

"I do not say nothing," he re-joined pleasantly. "And please, keep your voice down. I am merely allowing you your very valid moment of panic and realisation of the dire consequences we are all facing, before I reveal to you my plan."

"You have a plan?" she said at once, and Penelope heard Mama move back to the centre of the room, and the soft squeak of the lounge as she resumed her seat. She could almost picture her, eagerly leaning forward towards him, grasping at anything to save them.

"I do, and I have decided after observing you these past few weeks, that it has a better chance of succeeding if I include you in it," Jack said calmly. "You are an admirably determined woman, and I know I can trust you to act in you and your daughters' best interests." He paused, and Penelope imagined him smiling disarmingly. "Especially now that they align so closely with mine."

Her mama huffed impatiently. "Well, what is your plan?"

"What does any secretly penniless gentleman do in my situation? Marry for wealth, of course."

There were a few beats of silence, as Portia (and Penelope) turned this statement over in their minds and reached the same conclusion simultaneously.

"Miss Cressida Cowper," Portia whispered, sounding distinctly thunderstruck.

Miss Cressida Cowper, Penelope thought with horror, feeling distinctly thunderstruck.

"Precisely," Jack smiled. "You have seen how I have made good beginnings into courting the girl. It must be managed just so for her to believe me in love, to have her gagging to marry, and when the time is right, I shall propose, she shall accept, and we will all have the lifestyle we deserve."

Silence again, and Portia got up once more to pace around the room. Penelope could picture her Mama worriedly chewing on her lip, debating with herself. A war was waging inside Penelope as well. Cressida Cowper, as far as these things went, could in fairness be considered her nemesis. Never had there been a girl more deliberately and pointedly cruel in Penelope's life, a girl more determined to outshine all others around her, to bring others down in her own determination to get to the top. Penelope worked with words almost every day with her Whistledown sheet, and yet there were few others in her life who had taught her the true and devastating power that words could have over a person – there were barbs and remarks Cressida had made to her over the years that Penelope could still hear echoing in her head.

Yes, Cressida was to be considered wicked in many ways. Vindictive, petty, cruel.

But, Penelope argued with herself, that didn't mean she deserved to be entrapped in a loveless marriage. That didn't mean she deserved to be used by a conman for her wealth.

Portia appeared to have found her voice. "Are you quite sure," she spoke, sounding rather furious, "that this is the only way? That you can accomplish this without anyone finding out? If this should rebound badly on me and my girls…"

"I am certain," Jack declared. "Trust me, I have it all in hand. All will be well."

"Pray do tell," Portia said sweetly, in a voice that Penelope recognised as Mama at her most sarcastic, "you have brought me into this scheme as your accomplice, my lord – what role am I to play in this? How best am I to assist you?"

She had stopped her pacing not far from the door near Penelope – through the gap, she could see Mama standing, her hands on her ample hips, glaring at Jack. He stood from the lounge and moved to her, stopping more closely than was necessary, looming over her mother and looking very threatening indeed.

"You…" he whispered with a cold smile, "…were a risk to me, if I hadn't told you my plan. God knows what you would have contrived to entrap me with Prudence. So now, you…will keep your mouth shut. You will assist me only when I ask it of you. Allow me to handle our family business. My way. Are we clear?"

Penelope heard her Mama swallow nervously. "Crystal, my lord," she bit out.

"Excellent." All charm again, Jack stepped away from her, seemingly beckoning her back towards the lounges. "Come, join me in a nightcap to celebrate our new arrangement."

They moved away from the door, the scheme sealed, and Penelope stood frozen for a few moments, her heart pounding, anxiety and horror mingling in her veins. The clinking sound of brandy glasses in the next room startled her back into herself, and gritting her teeth, she backed away from the door, silently moving away back towards her bedchamber, her mind reeling.

The carriage ride back to Mayfair had been… awkward, to say the least, Penelope reflected. They had returned to London in stony silence, punctuated only by Philippa's inane but well-meaning chirping. Prudence, knowing nothing of course of what had transpired, had sat glaring furious daggers at Mama, clearly understanding that the plan to marry her to Jack had been abandoned, but not knowing why.

Penelope had gazed determinedly out the carriage window, thinking furiously the whole trip. She had turned the situation over in her head all the way from Aubrey Hall to Featherington House, and while their belongings were unpacked when they returned home, throughout breakfast, luncheon, supper. They had been home from the country for nearly two days now, and still, Penelope was no closer to reaching a conclusion on what to do. If anyone had told her there was a situation that could rival her panic and worry over someone finding out she was Lady Whistledown, she would have laughed in their face. Especially when it was Colin who had found out first, as it had transpired. But here she was, and the duelling whirlwind of concerns around her felt ready to engulf her.

She had taken her first draft from the library (that traitorous, treacherous first draft) and re-written it into a new final draft, ready for publishing. She had removed all mention of Colin, still blushing at the memory of him spotting his own name on the paper; she couldn't bring herself to include the original passage. She'd worked a neutral account of the Hearts and Flowers ball in, making sure to include a passage about the dance between Kate and Anthony which had been the talk of the ton since:

… as for the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton's Hearts and Flowers Ball? Why, so determined was Lord Bridgerton to impress the Diamond would-be bride, that he wore his heart on his sleeve, braving some withering stares indeed to ask Miss Edwina's older sister, Miss Kate Sharma, to dance, to try and appease the would-be matchmaker. This author can only give Lord Bridgerton his flowers for his efforts.

Yes, dear reader, your eyes do not deceive you. One has employed a flower (and heart) metaphor. Do try and keep up.

She knew she needed to get the country visit column published, and quickly. The issue now was, she was struggling to get away from the house to get the final draft to her print shop connections. Tense with worry, Mama was keeping a tighter rein than usual on her daughters since their return to London. The next ball was not for another couple of days, and that would be far too late to publish about the country visit – Penelope prided herself on getting her commentaries out to the public in a timely manner after an event had occurred. It would not do to give Lady Whistledown a blemish in her reputation for having her finger on the pulse of society news.

Sitting that afternoon in the Featherington's informal drawing room, Penelope was nestled in her nook near the window which looked out onto Grosvenor Square. There was a book open in front of her, but she was scarce paying attention to it, too busy monitoring the current positioning and mood of her Mama. Portia was seated nearby with Philippa and Prudence, ostensibly all working in placid silence on needlework patterns. But Penelope, knowing what she knew about Jack's scheme, could read the tension at the corners of Mama's mouth, the slight furrow of worry in her brow.

She was struggling not to feel sympathy with her. It was a wicked thing indeed that Jack was intending, that he had coerced Mama to agree to. The scene she had overheard kept replaying in her head, and looking back at it, Portia's motives made sense, much as Penelope wished she could outright censure her mother. They were indeed, if what Jack had said about the mines was true, approaching what appeared to be a desperate situation for the family, and even if Portia's decision to go along with Jack's plan was to some degree self-motivated to maintain their lifestyle, she was also clearly doing it for what she thought was the benefit of her daughters. Goodness knows, Penelope did not always see eye to eye with her mother, who could be dismissive, callous, and vexing to the extreme, but she knew Mama loved her daughters, in her own way. Like some mothers, she just…had an odd way of showing it sometimes.

Penelope shifted in her seat, restless. She needed to get out of the house, now. Time to act on the half-baked idea that had formed in her head that morning – find a pretence to go visit Eloise. And on the way back, abscond to the print shop, get the country draft published, and then…find a way to deal with the Cressida/Jack mess… later. She had tucked the draft into the folds of her dress for this purpose, nestled beneath the stiff, lurid yellow fabric of her dress and the undergarment at her chest. There were advantages, it turned out, in having an ample bosom.

She made a dramatic show of looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, and snapped her book shut, exclaiming "Oh!" and startling her mother and sisters.

Portia half-turned to her, eyebrows raised. "For goodness sake, Penelope, you nearly made me prick my finger," she scolded.

"Sorry, Mama," Penelope looked down contritely, then peeped back up through her eyelashes. "It's only that I've just remembered, I had promised to meet Eloise for tea this afternoon, and I shall be late if I don't leave now."

Thankfully, Penelope attending tea with the Bridgerton ladies was a quite common occurrence, almost a weekly occasion of late during the season. She had a sneaking suspicion her mother preferred it when she was elsewhere visiting the Bridgertons, which she did not take any offense to, as she infinitely preferred it herself.

Portia hesitated, then nodded assent with a sigh. "Very well, dear. Do pass on my best to Viscountess Bridgerton for me, if you see her."

"Of course, Mama," Penelope hopped to her feet, setting down her barely touched book and crossing the room to kiss her mother's cheek farewell. "Enjoy your afternoon."

Her sisters had barely looked round – Penelope knew her comings and goings were of very little interest to them – and Portia had already bowed her head back to her needlework before Penelope had even exited the room.

It was an easy walking distance from Featherington House across the Square to reach the Bridgerton House, and an enjoyable walk at that, with a clear sky and pleasant temperature outside. As she made her way to the Bridgerton residence, she reflected that while the afternoon tea plans had been a lie, it was still highly likely she would find the family lounging in their informal drawing room, enjoying tea and biscuits, and she felt assured of her welcome from Eloise, and even Violet as well.

If Colin was there…well, she would have to handle that situation if and when it occurred. She had caught a glimpse of him at a distance while they were all departing Aubrey Hall a few days earlier, joking around with Benedict about something while they'd waited for their carriage to pull round. The two of them had not spoken since the Hearts and Flowers ball, and she could not with any certainty predict how things would be between them now, after the events in the country.

She passed through the entrance gate of Bridgerton House, climbing the steps and entering into the beautiful entrance hall. She looked around, breathing a small happy sigh – this was the home of two people that she loved, and the comforting and familiar surroundings did make it feel almost a second home to her.

The Bridgertons' footman John approached her and bowed, his brown eyes warm. "Miss Featherington," he greeted.

"Sir," she nodded to him, smiling. "I wished to call upon Miss Eloise, if I may."

He bobbed his head politely. "I'm afraid Miss Eloise, Miss Hyacinth and my lady Dowager Viscountess are at the modiste presently. They are expected to return soon, perhaps within the next hour." He watched her face fall and hastened to speak. "Miss Eloise has always been clear in her instructions to the household staff, Miss Featherington, that you are always to be made welcome in the family home, and her instructions are if she herself is absent when you visit, should you wish to wait for her return, we are to escort you to the upstairs informal drawing room."

"Oh!" Penelope smiled, pleasantly touched. "Well, I should certainly be happy to wait for her there, then, if you say she shan't be too long."

He bowed smartly, then straightened and gestured up the staircase. "If you would follow me, Miss."

Penelope followed him up the stairs, and along the powder-blue walls of the corridor that led to the Bridgerton family's more informal rooms – rooms intended for use by the family only, and with select close friends allowed entry. They reserved the more formal rooms downstairs for acquaintances and lesser-known visitors. Bless Eloise, for having the foresight to prepare in advance for an occurrence such as this. She did not have a backup plan, and it was still too early in the afternoon to make her way to the print shop, so she was grateful indeed for the chance to pass some time in comfortable surroundings while she waited.

They reached the drawing room, with John smartly leaning forward to open the door and allow her access inside; he bowed as she passed and bid her to use the bellpull if there was anything she should need.

"Thank you," Penelope glanced over her shoulder with a smile, before walking into the open and light-filled room. The first thing she saw was the brown pianoforte, positioned just opposite the door.

The second thing she saw was Colin, startling to his feet from where he had been sitting on a plush lounge, his deep blue eyes widened in his surprise as they stared at one another.

Notes:

Thank you again to everyone reading, kudos-ing, bookmarking, commenting...it's truly an amazing response and I'm so happy people seem to be enjoying the story!

I'd like to dedicate this chapter real quick to my own, real life friends-to-lovers story :) We found out yesterday I'm approved for a visa to move to the US next year and marry my love after nearly 6 years together and I am over the damn moon. Yay love! Woooo!

Chapter 5: Agreement

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Agreement

Neither Colin nor Penelope spoke for several moments as they looked at each other, before Colin broke the silence.

"Miss Featherington," he greeted, scrupulously polite with a slight bow of his head. "What are you doing here? Eloise isn't in, I'm afraid, she's at…"

"…the modiste," Penelope finished for him, smiling slightly. "Yes, your footman John told me. He said I'd be welcome to wait up here for her to return. A special arrangement that I think Eloise has requested on my behalf at this residence."

"Ah." Colin considered this. He'd been enjoying his time alone in the room, but her appearance here, while a surprise, was not necessarily an unwelcome one. He had intended to speak to her at the next ball, but perhaps this would be more convenient, to have this conversation here rather than in public. He had been busy indeed since their last meeting.

He gestured to the lounge directly opposite from the one he had just stood up from. "Please, won't you sit? I can call for some tea."

"Oh." Penelope stared at the lounge blankly, then shook herself and smiled politely at him. "Yes, that would be lovely."

She sat. He rang the bell pull and gave instructions to the neatly dressed servant that appeared to arrange some tea, and some sweet cakes and biscuits, and as he did so, he resumed his seat on the lounge opposite Penelope. The servant looked between the two of them, eyebrows slightly raised, and Colin noted how he deliberately left the door open when he departed. Etiquette dictated that a gentleman and an unmarried young lady out in society shouldn't be alone together without a chaperone. But this was him and Penelope, Colin told himself, and it was fine. This was, in fact, him and Lady Whistledown, and surely all the usual rules were out the window now.

A few seconds of silence ticked by; Penelope was near perched on the edge of her lounge, looking a little tense and uncomfortable. No surprises there, given they had not seen or spoken to each other since their conversation at the Hearts and Flowers Ball.

That was not quite accurate, he mentally corrected himself – he'd looked around for her and spotted her on the day of departing Aubrey Hall, standing at a distance waiting for the Featherington coach. Portia Featherington could at least be congratulated on her choices of colour for Penelope's wardrobe, in that the bright citrus tones did at least make her stand out, when perhaps she would rather blend in. He'd thought she might have been looking his way, so he had turned to engage in a joke with Benedict.

Well, it would not do for them to just sit here and stare at each other, no matter what had passed in the country. Colin cleared his throat. "And how are you?"

Penelope blinked at him. "I… I am well," she faltered, her big blue eyes dropping their gaze downwards unthinkingly. "And yourself? Are you…do you find yourself…well?" She cringed inwardly – she hadn't meant to stammer like a ninny, it was just that for a moment, she had been suddenly tempted to tell him everything about Jack and Portia's scheme, about Cressida. But she just couldn't bring herself to drag him into that whole mess too, when he was already keeping her Lady Whistledown secret.

Colin smiled slightly, a little of the tension in his shoulders easing. This was safe, this was comfortable, an old familiar dynamic, Colin at his ease, and Penelope endearingly nervous. "I am very well, I thank you," he replied politely. "It is fortuitous indeed that you ended up here, as I had intended to speak with you."

Penelope's enquiring, slightly panicked look was interrupted by the arrival of the tea and snacks, including some fresh butter biscuits and delicate pastries arranged artfully on a platter, which the servant placed on the table between them, pouring their tea for them. She waited for him to depart before speaking. "You wanted to speak with me?" she prompted him.

"Indeed." Colin leaned forward to select a biscuit. No matter how he aged, his ample appetite never seemed to lessen. "I have been doing a lot of thinking since our last conversation, with this Whistledown business. The idea of you travelling to and from Mayfair alone these past few years, unescorted, at God knows what time of day or night, still just doesn't sit right with me."

Penelope had expected for him to bring up Lady Whistledown again, but she hadn't quite expected this angle. Perhaps instead a round two of the reasons why writing the scandal sheet was deplorable, but certainly not this. It was with an air of impatience that she huffed in reply. "That is awfully chivalrous of you Colin, but like I told you at the ball, it is an arrangement I am quite comfortable with, and which has worked perfectly well thus far; you needn't be concerned."

"Nevertheless, I remain so," he retorted, biting with emphasis into the biscuit, chewing, swallowing. He waved the biscuit in the air to stress his point, rather taking away from the serious protector image he seemed to be trying to project. "You know my opinion on revealing your identity, and I gather that you intend to continue publishing in the meantime, yes?"

Penelope watched him waving the biscuit around and fought the most absurd urge to laugh. She covered it with a slight cough. "Yes, I intend to continue publishing."

Colin passed his biscuit-less hand over his face, a look of resolve coming across his features. "That settles the matter, then."

"What matter?" Penelope asked uncomprehendingly, watching as he finished off the rest of the biscuit with relish. "I don't understand."

Swallowing his mouthful, Colin waved an airy hand. "If you will continue to publish, that means you intend to continue to travel to and from the city by yourself, which is an unacceptable risk. Instead, I shall assist you," he declared, proud despite himself of the solution.

Another confused blink from those bright blue eyes. "Colin, what are you talking about?"

He leaned forward earnestly. "I can assist you," he repeated. "I had been considering seeking bachelor's lodgings for myself in the city anyway, and since returning from the country I have been looking at properties. I have found the most charming and elegant little townhouse in Bloomsbury, at Bedford Square, and I have accepted the lease on it this morning." He leaned back on the lounge, clearly pleased with himself. "I'm sure we can conceive a way for me to get the finalised drafts from you. I will have some of our household staff with me at my new residence; they are loyal to the Bridgerton family, well-trained and discreet. They can safely take the drafts to the print shop undetected, without any further risk to you."

Penelope could only stare at him. It was, she had to admit, on the face of it, a good idea. It had always been a calculated risk she'd had to take, getting to the print shop, a process which she suspected had only worked thus far because of her position in society, indeed even in her own home, as Penelope Featherington: Wallflower. No one noticed missing the person that no one noticed normally. But it had also been a point of pride for her, that she had managed to avoid detection herself for so long, had managed to achieve and build something of her very own.

But, she reminded herself, Colin wasn't saying that she had to stop doing the sheet, he was offering her an opportunity to continue to do so, without the risks associated with disguise and sneaking around. In fact, by offering to essentially work for her, he was being, as it turned out, incredibly… supportive? Helpful?

She frowned, struck by the thought. Not a few days ago in the library, he had stormed away from her in anger when discovering she was Lady Whistledown, and now he wanted to help her? She couldn't understand it.

"Why," she asked slowly, "would you want to help me in this, Colin? I thought you hated Lady Whistledown and hated the idea that she and I would be one and the same."

Colin exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. In truth, though he couldn't admit this to her, he had been asking himself the same question. It was a mix of complicated feelings, this situation he found himself in with her. He didn't like what she had written in the past, but he had to acknowledge that she was a damn fine writer. He deplored some of the choices she had made, but he admired her ambition and determination to set up this business for herself. Part of him wanted her to do as she had promised and not just come clean to the ton, but also put down the pen for good.

But overall, it was the mental image of her walking unescorted down a city alleyway, alone and vulnerable, being accosted and robbed and what else, he shuddered to think… that was the image he just couldn't get out of his head.

Penelope was an important person in his life, and a valued friend. This was something he could offer to both make himself feel useful and purposeful, and to protect her all in one. He had rushed the bachelor's lodgings process once they returned to Mayfair, once his idea had occurred to him. Truthfully, he had been thinking since returning from his travels this season of finding his own residence anyway, and the situation had lined up perfectly with his own inclinations and desires for independence from the family home.

She was watching him expectantly. "I would shudder to think if anything would happen to you while you were travelling unescorted, Pen, especially if there was something I could have done to prevent it," he answered earnestly, meeting her gaze with sincerity. "As I am the only other person who knows, the responsibility falls on me, as your friend, to help you if I can, even if I don't agree with everything you've written."

Penelope almost had to look away from the shining seriousness in those deep ocean eyes. She had always known and believed him to be kind, but this gesture and his acceptance and protectiveness had truly floored her. "Thank you, Colin," she murmured, blinking away the tears threatening to form. "I am happy, then, to accept your help."

They both took a quiet sip of tea, ending the moment, and Penelope reached for one of the biscuits – the Bridgerton cook's ability with these was renowned. "Did you have any ideas for how the logistics of this would work?' she enquired.

"Hmmm." Colin frowned a little, his brow furrowing in thought. "Well, I will often be back here at Bridgerton House to visit my family, and I know you are often here as well to see Eloise. Perhaps we can contrive for you to secretly pass me the draft when we're both here?"

She tapped a finger against her chin, thinking. "Too risky," she declared a few moments later. "There are – with respect, of course – usually too many Bridgertons around for such an arrangement to successfully work every time, without detection. All of you are," she leaned forward, a teasing glint in her eyes, "particularly adept at getting involved in others' business."

He raised an eyebrow at her, shrugging unremorsefully. "And I would do it again," he quipped, but then lapsed into thought. "What would you suggest, then?"

Penelope thought suddenly of the side gated entrance to Featherington House – the side garden was out of view of the main drawing rooms of her home, adjacent to her bedchamber window upstairs. That was the entry point she had been using to pass in and out undetected on her trips into the print shop. In that small side garden, just inside the gate and the walls, there was a small statuette of… well, Cupid of all of the gods, funnily enough. Large enough at its base to conceal a folded piece of paper underneath, but small enough that she felt confident she could lift it well enough on one side to slip in the paper.

She described its location to Colin. "Once I have a draft ready, I can hide it beneath the statuette. We will have to choose some regularly scheduled days for you to check, or I can get a message to you if anything changes. We can still work with the advantage of you coming often to visit Bridgerton House, without risking attracting any untoward attention about," she cleared her throat and blushed, "any private meetings between us."

He chuckled a little uneasily, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck again, a reflexive action when he felt awkward or was in thought. It felt so easy to disregard the usual societal decorum when it was just the two of them, but she was quite right that a more discreet arrangement needed to be made. It would not do to have anyone question her honour. "It is an excellent solution," he told her seriously. "I would never dream of risking your reputation, Pen." He paused and considered and could not help flashing a teasing smile at her. "Any less than you're already risking as Lady Whistledown, anyway."

She stared at him, trying to detect any venom, but the humorous glint in his eyes and the grin on his face was genuine, and she found herself laughing out loud, until he laughed too, and his wide smile took his face from handsome to devastatingly handsome. My, but it felt good to be at ease like this with Colin.

"Am I wrong?" he challenged her teasingly.

"It makes little sense to be afraid of being accused of improper behaviour after all that I have said in the column these last years," she sighed, eyes sparkling, "and yet, here we are."

"Here we are," he agreed, and they lapsed into silence, much more comfortable than before. They both reached for another biscuit, and their tea.

"Do you have a new edition to be published?" Colin asked curiously. "I suppose we could start the arrangement soon, if you do."

"Oh!" Penelope started, setting down her teacup with a heavy clink onto the saucer. She had quite forgotten about the draft nestled down the front of her dress. "Why yes, in fact, I do have it here." She absent-mindedly reached for it.

It was the space of only a few seconds, but Colin had looked up sharply at the sound of the teacup clinking, and witnessed thus, her small hands reaching to the front of the golden hues of her dress, reaching inside the dress at her chest level, in fact, which could only bring his gaze to focus on –

He looked away quickly, clearing his throat softly and trying to pretend he had not seen. Which he had not! Seen anything, that is. Not that he had been even trying to look, it was just that that was where her hands happened to be when he looked up, and his eyes had been drawn to the movement, that was all, and the fact was, though he was a gentleman and would never voice the thought out loud, one couldn't ignore the fact that there was a lot to see in that area, if one cared to look… but he hadn't. It was Pen, after all. So, he didn't. So that was fine.

Penelope, draft successfully retrieved, looked up and saw Colin's face pointedly turned away from her, jaw set and staring at the ceiling, and realised in a rush of embarrassment, her face heating, that she'd… in front of…

Oh dear.

"Here it is!" she trilled a touch too loudly and brightly, completely unable to think of anything to do but to wave the paper around stupidly in the air like a flag. "If… would you…" she hesitantly held it out towards him, still blushing.

He swallowed, and resolutely turned back towards her, seemingly making a point of keeping his gaze directed above the neck as he reached out and took the paper from her, noticing with one part of his brain that the paper was oddly warm to the touch (he dutifully shut off further analysis along that line of thinking), and with the other, noticing the soft pink flush to her face, which somehow made the bright blue of her eyes stand out all the more. He cleared his throat again, waiting for the awkward moment to pass, and looked down at the paper instead, concentrating and scanning over the lines she had written.

She watched him read, thinking that this could not have been a more different circumstance than in the library when he had discovered and read the first draft. As she watched, his eyebrows rose, and she leaned forward enquiringly.

"You removed mention of me," he stated, looking back up at her, an unreadable mix of emotions playing over his face. Relief, curiosity… perhaps was he even a little insulted?

"Yes," she agreed, trying to sound nonchalant. "I decided the detail was not as relevant to the rest of the updates the ton will be waiting to hear about from the country visit. But you should know," she warned him, "I cannot fail to mention you every time, I shall have to make regular comment on you in the column, as I've done before, many…many times…" She trailed off a little awkwardly, cursing herself for the blush of embarrassment that she just could not rid herself of, and for walking willingly into yet another ninny minded thing to say to the man one loved.

Yes, I write about you all the time! Certainly not because I'm in love with you, oh no, that couldn't be it.

Colin smiled slightly, and if he noticed anything odd about the comment, he kindly refrained from bringing it up. "Yes, of course it would look odd if I was never mentioned again," he agreed. "I am prepared for whatever Lady Whistledown may say about me." He smiled to her and bowed his head a little sardonically.

Another silence fell between them, this time a little less comfortable than before. At the halt in their conversation, they could hear downstairs the unmistakable sounds of the front door flinging open, footsteps in the hall, voices murmuring…

"They are back!" Penelope exclaimed, nearly jumping a mile, and feeling oddly guilty all of a sudden. They had come to a secret agreement for the Whistledown arrangement, and absolutely nothing else untoward had occurred, but still... she supposed it would still look odd to the ladies Bridgerton to return home and find them here alone together.

Colin had the presence of mind to immediately tuck the draft securely into his breeches pocket, giving her a small secret smile, with his finger to his lips. "I shall see that this is delivered today, depend on it," he whispered, and she returned the smile gratefully. They both shifted, sitting back on their lounges, retrieving their tea and assuming an air of casual nonchalance just in time for Eloise to burst into the room, followed at statelier pace by Violet and Hyacinth.

After exclamations (Hyacinth) and greetings (everyone else) were exchanged, Hyacinth dragged Colin off to a game of chess on the family's chessboard on the other end of the room, and good naturedly, he accepted the challenge. Colin very carefully carried some biscuits over with him as he settled down to contest his youngest sister. Violet positioned herself at a table nearby with some embroidery in hand, leaving Penelope sitting at the plush lounges with Eloise.

"I declare," Eloise flopped onto the lounge with a sigh, "that I shall use my pin money to send a proxy in my place next time to the modiste."

Penelope chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. "Surely it cannot have been that bad."

"Oh, it was," Eloise said earnestly. "How one could ever get used to standing perfectly still while Madame Delacroix near covers you with floaty material and enthuses about how this one will surely secure you a dance at the next ball…" she grimaced. "Well. I had quite enough of that at the last ball, I assure you."

"Oh!" In between the scheme between Jack and her mother and the Whistledown business with Colin, Penelope thought guiltily, she had quite forgotten about Eloise storming off the dance floor at the Hearts and Flowers ball. "I believe I may have witnessed the tail end of that. What happened?"

Eloise cast a furtive look down the room, but Violet was placidly stitching away and didn't appear to be paying attention to them. "Mother's suitor," she hissed quietly, "turned out to be boorish, rude, and quite insulting about the female sex altogether. I could not stand it a moment longer."

"Ah." Penelope winced sympathetically, remembering Eloise's hasty rush away from the gentleman across the ballroom to the staircase. "I understand."

"I am glad you do, as Mother doesn't seem to," Eloise sighed, leaning forward and taking Penelope's hand in hers. "Thank goodness for you, to share how I feel about the whole rotten business of courtship and marriage."

Penelope very carefully did not allow herself to look down the room to where Colin was draped in his seat at the chess table, laughing at something Hyacinth had said in a way that made Penelope's heart ache.

"Yes," she echoed faintly with a weak smile. "How fortunate."

"Mother just doesn't seem to understand that the opinions I hold are genuine and aren't to be used as a funny quirk meant to advertise me to potential suitors," Eloise said sadly, and Penelope recalled the heated exchange between Violet and her daughter before Eloise had fled up the stairs at the ball – one could guess now what that had been about.

Eloise continued, "It frustrates me beyond belief why no one in this family – in society – can take what I think seriously. Except you, of course," she added hastily, squeezing Penelope's hand and smiling fondly at her.

"Of course," Penelope hurried to assure her. "I know you do not read the treatises and tracts for display, but because you are genuinely interested in them, and even if…" she paused, considering her words carefully and lowering her voice. It would hardly do for her to scold her friend for travelling to the 'bad' side of town when she herself had done so for so long on Whistledown business. "Even if you do choose to go to some unseemly parts of town for those lectures and meetings, I know you do so in pursuit of a passionately held belief."

Eloise's smiled, the wide and disarmingly genuine smile that all the Bridgertons shared, and Penelope could see the relief in her friend's dark grey eyes. "Thank you, Pen," she said warmly.

"I can only tell you as your friend, to take care," Penelope warned softly. "I may know the reasons why you are doing it, but if people knew your beliefs had progressed beyond the written word to more radical action, they would not be understanding about it."

Eloise scoffed at first, but then sighed. "Yes. Well. Perhaps not. As long as Lady Whistledown does not find out about it, I believe all shall be well."

Penelope smiled weakly again. "You are not still trying to discover her identity, are you?" she asked as nonchalantly as she could, trying to seem like the answer wasn't crucial to her.

Eloise hesitated and then shook her head. "I will," she declared, "continue to pursue any clues or leads I find, but since the misprinted Ks seem to have stopped, I find myself at something of a dead end in my investigations. I will pick up the trail if I notice anything else worth pursuing."

Penelope read the frustration on her friend's face and winced inwardly – Eloise Bridgerton, with one of the sharpest and cleverest minds Penelope knew, also had a distinctive trait for being singularly unable to let a mystery go until she discovered the truth, especially if it was a secret no one else knew the answer to. It would be safer then, to take her words at face value.

Eloise was frowning. "I will pick up the trail, that is, if she ever even publishes again," she joked. "The last issue was before the visit to the country, was it not?"

"I'm sure she will," Penelope said carefully, again studiously not allowing her gaze to stray down the room to where the column draft was sitting, practically burning a hole in Colin's pocket. "A lot happened on that visit."

She bit her lip, fighting the urge to tell her friend about Jack's scheme with Mama against Cressida, but just as with Colin earlier, she hesitated in bringing someone into the same cycle of worries that she was experiencing. Better to try and resolve it on her own first.

She took another sip of tea, leaning forward with a smile. "Do tell me more about the dress that was ordered from the modiste," she encouraged. "I do love to hear about gowns made to actually flatter the wearer."

Eloise huffed a sigh with a slight smile but obliged. As her friend launched into a description, tinted heavily with complaints, Penelope couldn't help but stray her gaze finally to where Colin sat with Hyacinth down the other end of the drawing room.

"Checkmate!" Hyacinth cried triumphantly, her black rook smashing into Colin's king, tumbling the chess piece to the ground. Colin, both laughing and grimacing at the loss, scooped to retrieve it, and as he straightened up, their eyes met for a moment. He gave the barest, slighted nod and hint of crooked smile to her before turning his attention back to his youngest sister, and it occurred to Penelope that for the first time, she didn't just hope that he would be true to his word – she knew that he would.

Notes:

Thank you thank you thank you for the love shown to this fic :)

I will also say, that as far as I am concerned, Theo Sharpe is an inconvenience to my other plans currently in mind for Eloise, thus in my fic, he does not exist. Let's proceed with the understanding that she did get interested in radical tracts and publications on women's rights and marriage and she does attend lectures etc in 'that side of town' but that's it. Cool? Cool.

Chapter 6: Intentions

Chapter Text

Chapter Six: Intentions

A few days later found Colin in the Bridgerton family carriage with his mother and siblings, dressed in their finery, making their way to the next society event on the season's calendar – the Countess of Macclesfield's ball. The announced theme for the evening had been, in a rather optimistic choice, 'Summer Heat'. It certainly created a situation that would, Colin thought with a stifled smile, be rather advantageous for Penelope's usual attire – the theme was suggested to involve every conceivable shade of yellow and gold.

Eloise and Violet were dressed in delicate buttercream pale yellow silks – no other family shared the Featherington tendency towards bright citrus colours, thankfully – and himself, Benedict and Anthony all had similarly pale-yellow flowers pinned to their formal black jackets.

Colin allowed the chatter and banter of his family to wash over him as he stared out the side of the carriage, slipping into his own thoughts. He had successfully completed the first mission of getting Lady Whistledown to the print shop, thanks to the help of his loyal household staff, and it had duly been published but two days before. He had observed with fresh eyes the reaction of the ton to the newest edition of their scandal sheet – the gasps, the giggles, the whispers, the speculation, the merry go round of conversation, the complete and total inability for people to speak about anything else.

He thought he could begin to understand what Penelope had been talking about, when she had explained to him why she had continued publishing in the first place.

You don't know what a sensation it is to me to speak, and to actually have people listen, even if it's only through words on paper.

Power like this in the hands of non-royalty was hard to fathom. He wondered what it felt like to her, to have that ability at the end of her quill, to write knowing she could control conversation, push public opinion in one way or another, bring someone down or lift someone up.

As he'd told her in the library, he had done some writing himself in the form of diary entries during his travels in Greece, but that had just been to record his own thoughts and feelings for his own posterity. It has not been with any specific aim or purpose but just to create an account of the places he'd visited and the things he'd seen, that he could perhaps look back upon and re-read in his old age.

Mostly the entries had been just a meandering reflection of his own thoughts, but there had been some passages where, seized with inspiration by a particular beautiful landscape or ocean setting or seaside town, he had described what he saw and how it made him feel, and the words had… flowed, almost in disconnect to his own consciousness, like they were meant to come out of him. Like the page was his block of marble and he was sculpting and moulding it to what he wanted it to be. It was the most curious sensation, and one that he had enjoyed beyond measure. Those were the entries he was most proud of. He wondered if writing was anything like that for Pen too.

The soft screech of the wheels of the carriage as the horses pulled up to the front of the Countess' residence disturbed him from his train of thought, bringing him back to the present. Deftly, he and his brothers hopped out first, and he and Benedict gallantly assisted Violet and Eloise respectively down from the carriage in their turn. Only Anthony walked alone, striding out slightly ahead of them as they made their way inside, jaw set and looking like he was on a mission indeed.

Stepping into the Countess' reception hall was… blinding, to say the least. The decorations of choice involved sunflowers, daffodils, and daisies woven into garlands and elaborate floral arrangements, then hung and draped artfully everywhere, matched with yellow and gold ribbons. Paired with the gold candelabras and the glittering gold chandelier that was the centrepiece of the room, the visual effect amounted to an almost assault on the eyes. Rather, Colin thought ruefully, like staring into the sun. Clever. Perhaps that was the Countess' intention with this theme.

The Bridgerton party stood, temporarily stunned, at the hall's entrance doors.

"It's…lovely," Violet said faintly, staring around.

"It's bright!" Benedict exclaimed cheerfully.

"It's ghastly," Eloise scoffed.

"It…will have to do," Anthony muttered, looking displeased. With a short bow, he took his leave of his family, stalking away through the crowd.

Colin looked questioningly to Benedict. "I know Anthony isn't always, shall we say, a ray of sunshine…" (Eloise groaned in annoyance at the pun) "…but he seems particularly out of sorts this evening?"

Benedict carefully gestured to Colin and took him aside, speaking in hushed tones. "He intends," his brother whispered, "to propose tonight to Miss Edwina Sharma. Because he chickened out in the country."

"Oh. Oh!" Colin blinked. He'd been so absorbed by Penelope, by Lady Whistledown, by moving into his new lodgings… he had scarce been paying much attention to how his eldest brother's courtship attempts had been coming along. "Well, that's, er, good I suppose. Isn't it?"

Benedict, alone of the Bridgerton children, had eyes of a clear hazel colour, deceptive in their mildness, and Colin watched them crinkle as his older brother smiled quizzically. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Colin held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. "Don't ask me. I confess I've had other things on my mind lately than Anthony's attempts at wooing the diamond."

Benedict cocked his head to the side. "What kind of things?"

Several images flashed across Colin's minds' eye – Penelope aghast in the candlelight at the library, Penelope staring up at him pleadingly on the terrace, Penelope laughing with him over the tea and biscuits in the drawing room…

He cleared his throat and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "Moving into my new lodgings. Food. You know, the usual."

As he'd expected, Benedict laughed at that and clapped him on the shoulder appreciatively. He then leaned in to mutter in Colin's ear so Violet couldn't hear. "Mother knows Anthony wanted to propose, but she doesn't know he intended it to be tonight, so don't mention anything to her – she doesn't strictly approve of the match."

This was not altogether surprising given Violet's own matrimonial history of a true love match. "She doesn't want to see her eldest son betrothed to the season's diamond?" Colin murmured back.

Benedict grimaced. "Well, no, ordinarily she would love that, but…" he sighed, "she doesn't want her sons betrothed to women they don't love."

Colin glanced over and saw his mother anxiously scanning the room, clearly searching for Anthony. Knowing his oldest brother, once he had made up his mind to a course of action, there was no deterring him from it, and Colin didn't want to be the person to break that to Violet. She knew her children well, but her determination to meddle to ensure their happiness was… well intentioned but sometimes misguided, to say the least.

"What are you two mumbling about over there?" Eloise said irritably. Benedict and Colin startled and looked up, trying not to appear guilty.

"Nothing at all, sister," Benedict said soothingly, walking to her and taking her arm in his. "Shall we perform the obligatory turn about the room?"

Eloise's muttered curse and Benedict's laugh echoed back to Colin as the two set off around the perimeter of the grand space, leaving Colin with Violet. He gallantly offered his arm to his mother. "Shall we?" The pair of them set off into the sea of yellow and gold.

Across the hall, Penelope was standing with her mother, sisters, and Jack, not far from the edge of the dance floor. Musicians were playing elegant, sweeping numbers allowing for the dancing couples to whirl and twirl around gracefully. Portia had chosen the brightest canary yellow for Penelope's dress, and she tugged unhappily at one of the vivid sleeves, staring around. She was the closest she could have ever been to blending in with the surroundings here; but while admittedly everyone around them was dressed in yellow and gold hues of all kinds, her dress still somehow managed to achieve a brightness unrivalled by any other.

Prudence and Philippa were bickering noisily behind her, and to her side, Portia and Jack were talking in low, tense undertones, unfortunately too low for her to hear over the background music. Really, they could be more considerate when she was doing her best to eavesdrop.

Glancing around, Penelope spotted Cressida and her mother, Lady Cowper, approaching their group. Cressida was dressed in a beautiful, shimmering pale gold dress with enormous, ornate sleeves that seemed to only accentuate her slim figure and the elaborate pale blonde halo of her hair. The two reached Jack and curtseyed elegantly before him. Penelope snuck a glance at her mother's face and saw the fake, polite smile that was frozen there.

"My lord," Cressida came out of her curtsey, eyelashes demurely lowered, chin jutted forward just so to enhance the beauty of her long neck. She looked up at Jack, smiling charmingly, and it struck Penelope again how unfair it was that someone who could look so pleasing on the outside could be so wretched on the inside.

"Lady Cowper, Miss Cowper," Jack greeted them with a pleasant smile and bow of his head. "How delightful to see you both again."

The Cowpers exchanged simpering smiles with Portia, and there was one smirking, darting look from Cressida to Penelope, before Cressida's pale blue gaze returned to Jack.

"Cressida has been telling me how much she enjoyed speaking with you at the last ball about the gems at your mines, Lord Featherington," Lady Cowper said smoothly.

"Indeed?" Jack looked at Cressida, and Penelope had to hand it to him – the man was an incredible actor. If she hadn't witnessed the scheme between he and Portia, she too may have thought the warmth and delight in his eyes was genuine, and not an utter farce. "In that case, Miss Cowper, I hope you might do me the honour of saving one of the spots on your dance card for me tonight, and I am sure I can answer any other questions you might have."

Cressida glowed, practically preening under his attention. "Of course, my lord," she simpered, holding up one pale gold glove to show the dangling dance card looped at her wrist, so that he could put his name down and reserve a dance.

Penelope felt a crushing panic in her chest watching this scene unfold. Jack's plan to woo Cressida needed very little cunning, it seemed, as Cressida, aided by her mother, was practically offering herself up to Jack, clearly keenly driven by Cressida's desire to be even wealthier from Jack's supposedly successful mines. And, Penelope imagined, everything she knew about Cressida suggested that she was probably motivated by the idea of becoming Lady Featherington, head of the family and in a position of power over Penelope, her sisters and mother.

The problem was, Penelope had no idea what she was going to do about it. She hadn't figured out how to stop Portia and Jack from their plan, or decided whether to tell them that she knew about their scheme, and there was a dark, shameful part of her that was still quite nastily suggesting she should question even telling Cressida. It was to be sure a very small part of her, motivated only by avid memories of cruelty and unkindness at the hands of her personal bully. But it was there. She was only human, and it would be an unusual person indeed who suffered torment at the hands of one person for years, who didn't envision enacting revenge against them without at least some satisfaction.

But the vast majority of her, that always overcame that tiny bitter part, still argued the same thing as when she had first found out about Jack's plan; no one, no matter how cruel, deserved to be entrapped into a loveless marriage, or to be used for their wealth. Whether Cressida could find a gentleman that cared for her and that she cared for too to enter into a genuine marriage, well… she at least deserved the chance to do so.

Jack excused himself with a slight bow, escorting the Cowpers over towards the refreshments table, and Penelope watched as he fetched the Cowper women glasses of lemonade, and stood talking and smiling with them.

"…ridiculous." Portia murmured to herself, angrily.

"Pardon, Mama?" Penelope turned to her mother.

"Nothing, nothing," Portia waved her off impatiently, her gaze fixed anxiously on Jack and the Cowpers, and Penelope had to let it drop, because even if she did decide to confront her mother on what she knew, the Macclesfield ball was hardly the time and place for it.

The chatter and laughter in the room hushed suddenly, the crowd dropping their conversations with heads turning towards the main entrance doors. Penelope, craning her neck, couldn't quite see past the gawking masses (the diminutive stature that was helpful for listening surreptitiously to conversations had distinct disadvantages when one was trying to see over a crowd).

As they watched, those closest to the entrance doors seemed to bow, and part, stepping aside to allow whoever had just arrived to make their way further into the room. Penelope saw the elaborate hairstyle, and the dazzling crown, before she saw who everyone was deferring to, who the Countess of Macclesfield was now greeting enthusiastically.

Queen Charlotte had arrived.

The atmosphere, Colin reflected, of society balls always changed once the Queen was present. The Queen arrived in a hushed silence, which gradually resumed into the usual buzz of chatter once the royalty had been suitably greeted and everyone had stood in respectful quiet for the appropriate amount of time.

The Queen usually had an unobtrusive but elaborate spot set up for her at society balls, where she could observe her subjects away from prying ears but still easily summon those she wished to converse with. With the Queen present, people stood up straighter, talked louder, laughed more, knowing that their sovereign was watching and that if they wanted to impress her, that time was now. Knowing too, that at any moment the Queen may grow bored and leave, or take herself off for a garden stroll with her attendants or her confidant Lady Danbury if the evening weather was fair, like tonight.

A little while after the Queen's arrival, Colin was standing near the refreshments table, partaking of some of the fruit and nuts provided, watching the room. He could see nearby Jack Featherington in the middle of what appeared to be a very funny conversation with Cressida Cowper, from the way that she was trilling with laughter and coyly fanning herself. He saw Eloise in conversation with Benedict and Violet, and based on Eloise's stubborn crossed arms, he would wager the topic was dancing with one's suitors, or in Eloise's case, refusing to dance with them. As he watched, Eloise uncrossed and waved her arms around to emphasise the point that she was making (most likely loudly).

He continued looking around, scanning before realising to himself that truly, there was only one person he was looking for – Penelope. He hadn't seen her since their conversation in the drawing room, after which he had pulled off the first assisted publication, and he wanted… well, he wanted to make sure she was happy with how everything had gone. It was just harder now to spot her amongst all the yellow outfits tonight…

In the end, he spotted her vivid red curls before he even saw the bright canary shade of her gown. She was away from the dance floor, closer to the wall, standing still and quiet amongst the chatter of the groups around her, and he felt anew a surge of annoyance that once again, no one was regarding her, no one was paying attention to her… well, he would see about that.

With his refreshments finished, he strode purposefully through the crowd to where she stood, stopping with a short bow of his head to her and smiling as she looked up at him with surprise.

"Colin!" She greeted, a returning smile stealing over her face. "Where did you come from? I… I was wondering when I might see you…"

"I came from the snacks," Colin supplied helpfully, gesturing back towards the refreshment table. He grinned at her and offered his hand. "Might you do me the honour of the next dance?"

"Oh!" Penelope blushed, and not for the first time it occurred to Colin that it quite became her when she blushed, as it made the bright blue of her eyes stand out all the more strongly. "I thank you, it would be my pleasure," she answered, a little shyly, and as she placed her hand in his he smiled down at her reassuringly, hoping to calm her nerves – she didn't tend to dance in public as much as he did, indeed she tended only to dance in public when he asked her.

He led her out to the floor, where pairs were assembling for the next song. Looking around, he spotted Anthony taking his own place on the dance floor, and opposite from Anthony, Colin could see the back of the head of Miss Sharma, with her beautiful raven-black hair. Perhaps this was the dance he intended to propose – but no, Colin frowned, the figure standing opposite Anthony was taller than Edwina, more statuesque… he was dancing with Kate Sharma. Perhaps he meant to ensure he had the elder sister's favour first?

Penelope followed Colin's line of sight, her eyes flicking from Lord Bridgerton to Kate and back again, assessing the scene. Anthony and Kate dancing again? How… odd. Surely, he should be partnering his rumoured intended? There was a hard set of his jaw line that she recognised from the ball in the country, as though he was trying to control himself…

But then, the opening strains began for the next dance, and Colin and Penelope both looked away from Anthony and Kate and back to each other. Seeing they were both observing the curious couple on the dance floor, they both smiled wryly.

"Do you see that?" Colin whispered to her, raising his eyebrows, and Penelope hid a giggle, murmuring back, "Indeed. My business never ceases." Colin smiled at that, and bowed, and Penelope curtseyed to signal the start of the dance. They began the steps, coming together then twirling apart, and Colin watched with pleasure the deftness and ease with which Penelope danced – for all that she should be out of practice, she was surprisingly good at the steps, and moved rather elegantly considering that the ladies around them had danced more often than her.

In one of the moments where the dance steps brought them close together, with hands held and feet performing the nimble footwork required, Colin chanced to comment to her, "It seems Lady Whistledown had published again."

Penelope only barely stumbled, somehow keeping pace with the steps without too visibly falling behind in her surprise before she straightened her gait and raised her chin. "Indeed," she replied, barely containing her smile. "I was rather pleased to see the latest edition delivered. There was concern that she had stopped for good."

The dance steps kept them apart from each other for a few moments as they partook in the graceful twirls required next, where one circled around the couple to their left, before they came back together with their hands clasped to continue their conversation.

"One hopes that she will continue, at least for now," Colin said softly, and Penelope suddenly found it quite hard to breathe with the soft and warm smile on his face that was aimed at her. To have Colin find out about her secret identity had been unthinkable, but to have him assisting her and supporting her… it felt like something beyond her imagining.

Indeed, the only response she could manage for him was a returning smile, warm and radiant, and for the remainder of their dance they spoke no further, both in their own thoughts and enjoying the easy way that they moved together through the steps. Penelope practiced dance steps alone in her bedchamber all the time, and in her head at balls, but she preferred not to let anyone know that.

The musicians signalled the end of the song with a final flourish of the violin, and all the couples on the floor, including Penelope and Colin, performed their obligatory final bow and curtsy to each other to accompany its end.

All couples that is apart from Anthony and Kate, who appeared to have come to an abrupt halt, and were currently standing stock still, staring at each other in a most intense way. From where Penelope stood, she could see Kate's face as the elder Sharma gazed at Anthony. Abruptly, Penelope remembered back at the country ball a similar moment when she'd been standing in the shadows, watching Kate accept a dance with Anthony. The look on Kate's face back then seemed the same as right now - a barely controlled restraint, a fevered anguish, a rigidity to her jaw and shoulders. All at once, a suspicion came to Penelope and quickly solidified until it was surely the most obvious thing she'd ever seen:

Kate Sharma was in love with Anthony Bridgerton.

It was evident, because Penelope knew she herself had felt that same turmoil before being around Colin, and in crystal clear clarity, she knew that Kate was suffering the same pains of love, because how else to explain the ache and longing in that expression?

Penelope could see the matching rigid line of Anthony's back where he stood opposite Kate, his fingers flexing in frustration at his sides, and she remembered his grim tension at the country ball too, and a matching suspicion reared its head and similarly hardened in her mind as an undisputed truth:

Anthony Bridgerton was in love with Kate Sharma.

It had been the space of only a few moments. Penelope watched as something in Kate's face wavered, collapsed, and the elder Miss Sharma curtseyed and abruptly turned and left the dance floor, melting into the crowd and leaving Anthony standing. Those close by enough to observe the event murmured interestedly to each other, and Anthony, seemingly coming back to himself, looked around with a set jaw at the gawking observers before stalking off the floor himself.

Penelope turned back to Colin, who had also been watching the events unfold, and they both looked to each other with raised eyebrows. Colin merely appeared confused, but Penelope's mind was in turmoil.

This, Penelope thought in shock, would certainly put a spoke in the wheel of Anthony's courtship plans for Kate's younger sister.

Chapter 7: Engagement

Notes:

Please be warned; in this chapter, we interrupt our regularly scheduled Polin for an interlude of Kate/Anthony, with the first 'spicy' scene at the beginning of this chapter. Consider this…hmmm, just me practicing for what will come later for Polin…

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven: Engagement

Kate Sharma hurried out of the ball room, a rushing roar in her ears, striding straight into the deserted gardens that were lit only by torches. All she could see before her mind's eye was Anthony's face, and all that was running through her head were the words he had whispered in her ear on the dance floor, right as the song was ending.

"Tonight, I shall propose to Edwina."

Shaking with adrenaline and anguish, Kate hurried along the hedge-lined paths, her hands trembling. She came across a small clearing, seemingly tucked away at the end of a charming little rose garden, partially bordered by hedges, and walked blindly into it, falling to pacing back and forth across the space. It was what Edwina had wanted, what Kate had specifically come to England for, everything they could have dreamed of for a match for her younger sister, and yet… and yet…

He will be lost to me forever.

Kate stifled a sob, her hand flying to her mouth, trying hard to breathe around the panicked gasps that were threatening to spill over. All this time she had claimed to hate Lord Bridgerton, Anthony, claimed to be just trying to protect her younger sister, but she couldn't fight this anymore. She couldn't ignore the way her traitorous body responded to him when he was near her, couldn't pretend; the times she was conversing or even arguing with him was when she felt more alive than she ever had in her life. She loved him. Oh God, she was in love with him, and he was going to marry her sister…

Kate collapsed onto a nearby stone bench, her head in her hands, and let herself cry like she hadn't truly allowed herself to since she was a child, her sobs piercing the blank silence of the gardens. Time passed – whether it was minutes, or an hour, Kate couldn't say, completely wrapped in the agony inside her mind. Anthony is going to propose to Edwina. Anthony is going to propose to Edwina. Anthony –

There was a movement, a breath, a shadow, and Kate's eyes snapped open, and her head shot up, and all at once she scrambled to her feet, wiping furiously at her eyes, and there standing before her, was Anthony.

Lord Anthony Bridgerton was standing in the hedge archway leading into the small clearing, his hands balled into fists at his sides, staring at Kate. He had delivered his final stinging blow during their dance together, to advise her of his intentions with Edwina. He had watched Kate's face collapse, his heart clenching as she had turned and left the dance floor, because suddenly, he knew beyond all shadow of doubt, that he had just broken the heart of the woman he loved, as much as he had broken his own.

He knew she had fled, and it hadn't taken him long to work out where – it had been agony to wait inside, but wait it out he did, as long as he could stand until he was sure he wouldn't be seen, and he had slipped outside to the gardens to seek her out. In her state, she had walked much further than she'd probably intended, and it took a little exploring before he had heard the unmistakable sound of her sobs, and followed the noise like a hound on the scent.

Even with her face devastated by tears, she stood tall and proud before him, utterly beautiful, perfectly broken. They stared at each other for long moments, his dark gaze meeting hers, in a silent competition – God, it was always a competition – for who would speak first.

"Please excuse me, my Lord," Kate said finally, quietly. "I had just composed myself and would return to the ball now."

"No," Anthony ground out, his eyes still locked on her. He took a few steps towards her, dazedly, moving despite himself, and she didn't back down but returned his gaze defiantly, her chin raised with dignity.

"I beg your pardon?" she said as icily as she could, her breath hitching on a final suppressed sob. The tears were fading away now, replaced with the tense fire that always ignited inside her when he was nearby, that hyper awareness of his every movement, his every breath.

"I said, no," Anthony growled, stopping a few feet away from her. His eyes moved, roving from her face to her hair, her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders…he was breathing hard, feeling like a man possessed. It was getting harder and harder to remember why proposing to Edwina would be the right thing to do. Kate's fire, her burning passion, her heated arguments, the stubborn set of her mouth, her fierce intelligence…it felt like an inferno consuming him, scorching away any intention he had felt towards the diamond. Edwina… it wasn't her fault, it really had nothing to do with her, she was coolly beautiful and completely suitable, perfectly pleasant, but the fire in his veins was insistent, singing, calling out instead for the woman in front of him.

He stepped onwards, until he was standing right in front of Kate, whose gaze had never wavered, who had watched him staring at her. They were both breathing unsteadily, and with his hungry eyes on her face, Anthony focused in on the delicate curl of black hair that hung artfully down past her jaw, seized with the instinct to reach out and touch it, tuck it away behind her ear, to just touch her, anywhere –

And so he did, his fingertips grazing softly at the side of her face as he moved the hair back behind her ear, and he felt her body tremble under his touch, and her breath hitch. The last lingering thread of his self-control was wavering, and he looked into her eyes and found them molten black with desire.

"I love you," he choked out, meaning it with all he had. "Kate, I am in such agony…"

She gave a startled and anguished gasp, her hand coming up to brush the side of his face too, her soft fingers against his jaw. "I love you too," she breathed, closing her eyes for a moment, and swallowing hard. "God knows, I have tried not to, but I can't help it."

"I cannot control this anymore," he said hoarsely, and all at once, he pulled her to him, his hands coming up to take hold of the sides of her face as his lips crashed onto hers, pouring the passion and frustration he'd been feeling for months into the kiss. She stilled for only a moment before she began to respond, her arms moving to come up over his shoulders and wrap around the back of his neck, her lips battling with his as they both moaned low with their desire. Heart thudding, his hands dropped to her waist, wrapping around her to pull her closer to him, hesitating then for only a second before one hand moved to follow the delicious line of her waist, down to her hip, then sliding backwards to find and cup the irresistible curve of her ass, splaying his hand over it before squeezing, pulling her insistently forward against him.

He broke their kiss to move his lips to her neck, that beautiful curve of the side of her neck that he'd stared at many times, and he brushed his lips along the soft skin there before finding her pulse point and clamping down in a sudden bite, transforming quickly into a delicious suction of tongue and mouth on her skin that made her moan helplessly, her body pinned against him. Her hands were scrabbling, running over his back and his sides, up into his hair, twisting and tugging gently at the chestnut locks, keening as he flickered his tongue over her neck.

One hand firmly planted on her ass, the other moved upwards, sliding up the line of her waist on the other side and on to her chest, covering and cupping her breast through the delicate dark gold of her gown. This was another area he had dreamed of, and she allowed him free rein to caress and gently squeeze her, his fingers moving to slide beneath the silks to the beautifully private skin, seeking until he found his prize – her nipple which hardened quickly under the ministrations of his fingers, his mouth continuing to tease her neck while he explored her breast. He groaned against her skin, feeling like he could come undone just from this touch, wanting and needing access to more of her.

He pulled back and moved once more to the softness of her mouth, capturing her lips again and prodding her mouth with his tongue until her lips parted beneath his, and their tongues slid together and retracted in a sensuous dance he never wanted to end. Both his hands moved to loosen and tug down her sleeves from her shoulders, then he tugged down the front of her gown, just enough to expose more of her chest, and she gasped a little as her upper body was revealed to the cool night air. He broke the kiss again to drop his head down, his mouth trailing kisses over the top of one breast while his hand caressed and lightly squeezed the other, hungrily moving down to take her nipple in his mouth, and he swirled and moved his tongue, flickering in a way that he knew usually gave pleasure, and sure enough she moaned again, moaning his name this time, her hands sliding through his hair again, allowing him several exquisite moments of paradise before her hands were guiding him back upright to stand and kiss her again, and it was heady, he was drunk on her, he could never get enough of this.

"I love you," he panted again, because he needed her to know how much he meant it.

"I love you," she breathed against his mouth, and he moved again to deepen their kiss.

There was a small and pointed cough from the clearing's hedge archway entrance, and they both nearly leapt a mile, Anthony spinning around and splaying his arms out to try and hide Kate's dignity behind him, both of them staring and panting in horror, with swollen mouths.

Queen Charlotte and Lady Danbury stood in the archway, the Queen looking coolly furious, and Lady Danbury regarding them with a quirked eyebrow, a smile playing around her lips.

An hour or two after her dance with Colin, Penelope was growing restless. Whispers and murmurs had spread throughout the crowd after the odd incident with Kate and Anthony, whispers that were continuing even now, although no one seemed to be able to find them, which was almost enough scandal in itself for the ton to dine out on for weeks to come.

She had resumed her position to the side of the room, trying to blend into the shadows, listening to the speculation around her, and thinking hard. She was certain that her suspicions were correct – Kate and Anthony were in love. His slow, unseemly reluctance to propose to Edwina suddenly make perfect sense. He must have been hoping all along to delay the business on the off chance that the elder Miss Sharma might feel the same way. Which she did, Penelope was sure of it. But oh, what a muddle indeed, with the younger sister involved… someone would get hurt no matter what here.

Eyes flitting around the room, Penelope couldn't locate where Colin was. She was sure she had seen him not long ago, talking to Benedict, but she hadn't spotted him since. She wanted to speak to him, as soon as possible, about what she had observed between his eldest brother and Kate. The impact this could have on the Bridgertons could be catastrophic, and it seemed best to warn him about her suspicions. Perhaps he could talk to Anthony, see whether it was true, discuss options for the family…

Penelope pulled herself up short in her head, frowning to herself. There she went, talking about the Bridgertons like they were her family, when in reality she was… well, she was… a friend of the family. Yes. A well-meaning and concerned friend of the family. She cared deeply about Eloise, about Colin, about every member of the Bridgertons really, who had always been nothing but good to her, and she wanted to help them if she could.

Resolved, she moved from her spot around the perimeter of the room, searching through the crowd for Colin, but after several minutes she soon gave up on the endeavour – the Bridgerton men were distinguishable in crowds for their height and distinctive hair colour, and she could not see any of them.

To the side of the wall, she spotted a doorway leading into a side corridor, and she slipped down it and walked down along it, wondering if perhaps he might be in one of these side chambers. She crept carefully down the torchlit corridor, listening hard, and before long she thought she could hear voices coming through an archway further down. She approached the arch slowly, hardly daring to breathe. There was cooler air coming from the other side – the adjacent terrace must lead to a side entrance to the Countess' gardens.

The voices sounded distinctly female… she reached the archway and chanced the barest of peeks around the corner. There, on the terrace, she could make out the figures of two women dressed in gold, one taller and one shorter, both with raven-black hair.

…Kate and Edwina.

Miss Edwina Sharma faced her older sister, hands on hips, staring a hole into Kate. "What is it, Kate? What do you have to tell me so urgently?" She studied her sister more closely and noticed a certain redness in Kate's eyes, like she had been crying. She blinked in surprise. "Is everything alright?"

"No, it is not alright, bon," Kate burst out, her voice wavering like tears were threatening again. "I…I hardly know how to say this to you…" she wrung her hands, looking in anguish at Edwina.

"Is Mama alright?" Edwina urged her. "Or is it…" Comprehension and a certain shrewdness dawned in her eyes. "Is it about Lord Bridgerton?"

Kate, her hands now over her mouth, nodded once sharply.

"Did you speak to him after your dance?" Edwina guessed, frowning. "What did he say to you that made you leave the dance floor anyway? Everyone has been speculating."

"He…" Kate gulped and closed her eyes, visibly steeling herself for what would come next. "He did come find me to speak with me. He… we met out in the rose gardens. He told me… during the dance, at the end I mean, he told me… oh bon, he said he meant to propose to you tonight."

Edwina was in silent shock, staring open-mouthed at Kate. Penelope, pressed and hidden against the wall beside the archway nearby, was open-mouthed herself at what she was hearing.

"And did you give him your blessing?" Edwina questioned sharply. She studied again the slightly bedraggled and anguished state of her sister. "You didn't, did you?"

"Not… not in so many words…" Kate was cringing, hating herself for putting Edwina in this position, struggling to find a way to say what she must say. "Before I tell you what has happened, you must know, how much I love you, how I would do anything, how I was prepared to do anything, to protect you and your happiness…"

"Was?" Edwina queried, eyed narrowed.

"Anthony… Lord Bridgerton, and I…" The silence stretched out.

Then; "You're in love with him," Edwina said flatly.

"What?!" Kate all but squealed, nearly jumping back in her shock. "I… whatever made you… how did you…"

Edwina Sharma, it should be noted, was far from stupid. She knew between the pair of sisters that she was ascribed status as 'the pretty one' and people might assume that meant she was not intelligent, but she was a young lady of grace and charm who had been raised and trained by Kate to read people, and the person she knew best in the world how to read was her older sister.

Edwina liked Lord Bridgerton; he was handsome, charming and pleasant company for the most part, and the prospect of marrying a viscount, being a viscountess, was certainly enough to turn any young girl's head. Once he had set his sights on her, his pursuit had been flattering indeed, and maybe initially, it had seemed like the perfect happily ever after to come from her foray into the marriage mart of Mayfair; if she liked him at first, surely love would come later.

But the courtship had been marred from the start by his interactions with Kate. At first Edwina had assumed Kate's behaviour stemmed from overprotectiveness, a deep care for her sister to only pursue a love match, and then, it seemed to be explained away by a deep and visceral personal hatred between the two, where the air seemed to crackle around them when they confronted each other.

And then Edwina, trying to get a read on the situation, felt a suspicion take root as she observed their behaviour, watched the anguish Kate seemed to be feeling that could hardly be completely attributed to worry over her sister's marriage, a worry that would only really make sense if she wanted the bridegroom for herself.

Edwina had watched them dance at the Hearts and Flowers ball in the country, witnessed the looks that passed between them, the electricity around them, and that had truly been the first time she had really wrangled with the possibility that her sister was in love with her suitor. She had watched the way Lord Bridgerton's face lit up around Kate, reflecting somewhat sadly that it did not do the same when she herself interacted with him.

Now, seeing the astonishment on Kate's face, she huffed a little impatiently. "It is alright, Kate," Edwina murmured. "You need not deny it, I would not have you lie anymore."

Kate wavered a moment, and then her face collapsed, her gloved hands covering her face. "I am so, so, sorry, bon," Kate gasped, looking at her sister tearfully. "You… you are right. I love him. I love Lord Bridgerton."

Edwina nodded once, her mouth set in a grim line. "I know. I have suspected it for some time now, but I did not say anything, in hope that I might be imagining things." She looked, not without pity, at her older sister. "Did you only just realise it yourself?"

"I… truthfully I have been denying it for what feels for so long but…" Kate gasped over a skittering sob, "Tonight is I think the first time it has truly dawned on me."

Edwina watched her for a moment, feeling curiously calm and detached. "I do not love Lord Bridgerton," she declared firmly, feeling like she needed to clarify her position here. "I like him, certainly, and I would have said yes if he'd proposed to me, but I can hardly claim to feel the love that you clearly do. I thought you hated him for so long, but I've come to realise, love and hatred are just two sides of one coin; both carry an undeniable depth of feeling. A depth that I have not experienced myself yet." She smiled a little sardonically, continuing bravely, "A depth that I deserve to experience some day."

Kate watched her younger sister and was struck again, not for the first time, by the calm maturity in her, the pragmatic resolve, the practicality, and she realised with a swelling feeling in her chest, all of these were traits she herself had taught Edwina. How she wished her younger sister might be able to find a love that cherished her the way she truly deserved.

"For what it's worth," Edwina added, "and if it helps at all, I truly think Lord Bridgerton is in love with you too."

Kate let out a noise that was half sob and half laughter despite herself. Oh, she didn't know the half of it. "There is something else I need to tell you, bon." She straightened her shoulders and made an effort to compose herself. "When Anthony… Lord Bridgerton… found me in the gardens…"

"He told you he loved you," Edwina supplied, having already guessed. She paused to consult her heart, scanning to assess the damage; she found hurt and annoyance that Kate hadn't been honest this whole time, embarrassment at the long drawn out public courtship coming to an end, and perhaps somewhat of an injury to her ego that a man as accomplished, handsome and charming as Anthony hadn't picked her instead, but she supposed it was only human to feel a sting of rejection.

"Yes…" Kate hedged. "He…he did. And I told him I loved him too. And…" she faltered and fell silent, debating how to proceed. "He… we…"

Edwina stared at her sister, astonished to see the dark flush that stole over her cheeks and spread down her neck and chest, and she gasped. "In the garden?" she cried incredulously.

"Please, Edwina, I pray you keep your voice down," Kate admonished, darting a nervous look over her shoulder. "I assure you, not… not everything you are thinking happened, happened, but we… well. Then we were discovered."

"You were discovered?"

"By the Queen."

"By the Queen?"

"And Lady Danbury." Kate exhaled, still feeling like her mind was playing severe catch up to the events of the night. "In…" Oh, her cheeks were hot with embarrassment. "In a… oh, alright, an unladylike position."

Edwina gaped at her, completely thrown by this turn of events. Steady, practical, no-nonsense Kate, to lose her head and forget herself so…

"The Queen is… most displeased, as you can imagine," Kate whispered, bowing her head. Oh, so many things had been changed because of tonight. "She wanted you to marry Anthony this season, after she chose you, after she made you the diamond, and now…" She took a deep breath, trying to be steady for the final blow that she must deliver. "Now, the fact of the matter is, he as a gentleman was caught… compromising… the honour of an unmarried lady, and now…"

She met Edwina's gaze and held it, silently imploring her sister to understand. "And now, Anthony and I are engaged. We are to be married. I… I will be Viscountess Bridgerton. I wanted to be the first to tell you."

A short distance away, Penelope came unfrozen from the archway wall; she had silently taken in every word of the conversation and knew then and there that she had now heard enough, too much, of what had to be an incredibly poignant and painful moment for the Sharma sisters.

Scarce daring to breathe, she slipped away from her position, thanking the soft padding of her shoes that allowed her to hurry away down the corridor without making any noise to attract notice to herself.

Now she definitely needed to speak to Colin.

Notes:

When I read the books, (And spoiler alert if you haven't!), I was astonished with the crazy difference between book-Edwina's 'meh' reaction about Kate and Anthony, vs the very long, drawn-out reaction and fallout stretching across multiple episodes in the TV show.

I've tried to aim for a middle ground here with how I'd imagine Edwina would feel, because both sides of that canon just don't sit right with me character-wise, and hopefully the result is passable without me turning this fic into a straight up Kate/Anthony fic instead! And don't worry: our regular Polin programming will resume in the next chapter.

Chapter 8: Team

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight: Team

The next day…

As his carriage bumped along, making its way from his bachelors' lodgings heading towards Grosvenor Square, Colin found himself again gazing out at the city streets as they trundled by. Anthony had announced an emergency family meeting, a gathering of all the Bridgertons, in order to pass on the incredibly sensitive and guarded secret that he had only told Benedict and Colin the night before;

Anthony was engaged to Miss Kate Sharma. Moreover, Anthony was in love with Miss Kate Sharma.

After Colin had danced with Penelope, after he had watched Kate and then Anthony leave the dance floor, the ball had gone on as usual. Anthony seemed to have disappeared, so Colin gave up looking for him and passed the time making conversation with various acquaintances of his and chatting with Benedict and Eloise. He even obliged his mother's insistent stares by partnering a young lady or two in some of the other dances, although he found he did rather wish he was dancing with Penelope instead; the young ladies were fine and well, but she was just much more interesting. Regardless, he observed his careful rule at these events; he always took care not to dance with any girl more than once. Doing so would likely excite comment and whispered rumours from the ton's Mamas that Colin Bridgerton was looking for a bride.

Which he wasn't, truly. Not yet.

It could not have been much more than an hour after he'd seen Anthony leave the dance floor that suddenly Anthony reappeared at his side again, dark eyes nearly black, with a face like thunder, and his eldest brother's hand reached to grip Colin's arm in a vice.

"Brother," Anthony had said shortly, not even looking at Lord Fife whom Colin had been in the middle of conversing with. "I would speak with you." And he was gone just as abruptly, stalking off, leaving Colin to smile as charmingly and apologetically as he could to Lord Fife before he followed.

He'd caught up with Anthony in a deserted antechamber off the side of the ball room, somewhat surprised to find Benedict already waiting in the room as well, appearing just as confused as Colin was. Anthony, head darting as he looked back and forth along the corridor outside, had closed and locked the door, turned to his brothers, and before they'd even opened their mouths to ask him what the devil was going on, Anthony told them to shut up and listen to him. He had begun to speak, in a low, tense voice.

He told them about his determination to find a bride this season. He told them the burden of responsibility he felt, being the eldest, the heir, the one that society expected to carry on the family legacy, the name, the heritage. He told them how he'd thought their parents' love-match marriage was a once-off, a fairy-tale, something that he could not believe could happen for other people.

Benedict had interrupted at that stage to point out that in fact, Daphne had already proven that theory wrong with her happy marriage to Duke Simon, but a murderous stare from Anthony had quickly shut him up.

Anthony, regathering himself, had then told them about Miss Edwina, about seeing her for the first time, so pretty and charming and graceful, a perfect candidate for Viscountess before she'd even been named the season's diamond. He told them about his courtship, his careful timeline, the plan that would have ended with him engaged already to Edwina… if it hadn't been for Kate.

He told them about seeing Kate riding in the park, their shaky first meeting, their animosity, their clashes, her infuriating interferences, his schemes and the battle of wits just to get past her and continue his courtship of Edwina.

He told them how furious he'd been, how he'd lain awake at nights thinking about the elder Sharma, how he was so sure that if he could just get her to agree on something…

Colin had watched the emotions play over his brother's face whenever he said Kate's name, the way his shoulders straightened, his voice raising, the intensity of his feelings visibly coming to the fore. He exchanged glances with Benedict, who clearly had noticed the same thing. Before they could voice their opinions though, Anthony beat them to it.

He'd told them how he came to realise the feelings he felt for Kate were not hatred, but the opposite. That he couldn't stop thinking about her because she was the only one that he wanted to be around. That the courtship had then become an exquisite misery for him, because matters had gone so far with Edwina and he'd realised too late that he wanted her sister instead. He told them about the Hearts and Flowers ball, dancing with Kate, and then, he talked about his plans for the Macclesfield ball, to propose to Edwina and put an end to all of it. He told them about dancing with Kate, how he'd told her of his intentions, and how she'd fled.

Following that, the most astonishing part of the conversation; he'd told them what had happened next. The garden. Kate. Colin had wanted to clear his throat and look away, uncomfortable to witness the sudden flames erupting in Anthony's eyes even as he recalled embracing Kate in the garden. Thankfully, Anthony had spared them the more lurid details, although Benedict seemed to be all for hearing about it. The summary was enough for Colin.

Then; declarations of love. Anthony had held up a silent hand to hold off Benedict and Colin's matching whoops of surprise and joy, when they heard how their brother had actually told the woman he clearly loved how he felt.

Next; discovery. Queen. Danbury.

"We are engaged," Anthony had concluded in a quiet grimness. "I have compromised the honour of the woman I love, in front of the Queen no less, and the affection and regard I bear unto her obliged me to try and make the situation respectable, by offering my hand to her. The love I feel for Miss Sharma…I could not control it, could not conquer it, and in trying to steer it, I have crashed us both into a wreckage." He broke off abruptly, breathing hard, staring at the floor.

They had tried between the two of them, Benedict and Colin, to comfort their brother. The situation fully explained, Colin could see the events of the season thus far with fresh eyes, and suddenly the truth seemed blatantly, embarrassingly obvious. Wherever intense emotion existed, it came because one cared, and Anthony's intensity about Kate made sudden perfect sense.

Anthony had shrugged off their soothing entreaties. "Lady Danbury," he said in a low voice, "has ever been a friend to our family, and she has agreed for my sake not to tell anyone, to allow us to make the announcement ourselves. She even persuaded the Queen to do the same, calling in a favour and citing the long friendship between them." He'd looked up wild-eyed at them. "I am well aware that my folly has now placed our family under her Majesty's displeasure. Whistledown will have a field day with this. The Queen's diamond rejected, in favour of her sister…"

Colin had started at the mention of Penelope, although of course his brothers did not know. Whistledown would be obliged to make comment on this, it was true. This was a veritable scandal, with a Bridgerton right at the centre of it.

"I am telling this all to you both now," Anthony had continued, "because I will need your help to tell Mother, before anything can be announced. We will have a family meeting. An emergency family meeting. Tomorrow."

And now, with his carriage making its way to Grosvenor Square, Colin checked his pocket watch. He had left his lodgings early, by all appearances seemingly to get to Bridgerton House early and avoid incurring the wrath of Anthony for being late, but really, after sitting last night and thinking over the events with Anthony and Kate, mulling over the implications and the potential fallout, he now had a different plan in mind, and it was a different address he had given his carriage driver upon their departure.

He needed to go see the one and only Lady Whistledown, at once, before the family meeting. Why, what good fortune, that she happened to live right across the Square from the Bridgerton family home.

Penelope sat on the stone loveseat in the Featheringtons' modest but pretty garden, which connected to the side garden near what she had come to think of in her mind as her 'Whistledown' gate entrance. When the weather was fair, or sometimes when she just needed to be out of the house and away from her Mama and sisters, the loveseat in the dappled shade of this garden was her favourite spot to sit and read, or think, or daydream. She had a book open in her lap, but was only half paying attention to it, consumed with thoughts of the night before.

She had been up late after they had gotten home from the ball, writing and drafting, trying to find the right message, the right tone, to report on what she knew she would need to report on, but although the main content was present, she was not yet fully satisfied with how she had written it. Attempts this morning to amend the passages were to no avail, and in her frustration, she had retired here outside to regather her thoughts and regroup before she tried again.

She stared down at the book open in front of her, the lines blurring together as her gaze unfocused and her mind drifted, and thus she nearly jumped out of her skin when a shadow fell across her page. Her head snapped up, and she squinted her eyes slightly against the sudden glare, seeing Rae standing before her nervously, fiddling with the sage green dress of her uniform.

"Miss," Rae bobbed a polite curtsy. "Beg pardon for the interruption. Mr Colin Bridgerton is here to see you."

Taken aback, Penelope scrambled to her feet, the book dropping forgotten onto the loveseat beside her. "I…thank you, Rae, yes, please do show him through." Rae curtsied again and moved off to fetch Colin. While Penelope waited, her heart skittered, as it usually did when she knew she was about to see Colin. She smoothed down her dress – an uninspiring floral concoction today of peach and pink – and tried to resist the urge to fiddle with her hair. At balls and society events, one might prepare oneself to anticipate him, but when he was not expected…

Then suddenly he was there, striding into the garden, Rae following behind him and positioning herself at a respectful distance underneath another tree; Penelope appreciated her lady maid's decision to be carefully out of earshot but close enough to still technically count as a chaperone if anyone should happen upon them. Bless Rae, honestly.

Colin was dressed in dark breeches with a blue-grey coat, paired with a pale mint-green waistcoat and soft teal cravat. The effect, with his chestnut hair glinting in the sunlight, was disarming to say the least.

Colin reached her and performed a short bow. "Miss Featherington," he greeted her formally, a half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Mr Bridgerton," she returned with a soft smile and polite curtsy of her own. She glanced over at Rae, who was studiously examining the sky, no doubt intending to allow some modicum of privacy.

"It is good to see you," he began. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight a little. "How liked you the rest of the ball yesterday evening?"

"It was…interesting," Penelope said carefully, eyeing him. She couldn't imagine what had brought him here to see her, but now that he was here, she found herself longing to confide in him, if only to share a little of the burden of the secret she had overheard. "Enlightening, one might venture."

Now he was eyeing her back, and she had the distinct feeling that he was measuring her, assessing her to analyse her meaning. She noticed his demeanour was a little antsy, a touch agitated almost. "I…think I know what you mean," he said slowly, watching her closely. "I had a similar experience myself."

"Indeed?" This was interesting. But then, he could be referring to anything, and if she told him this about his own brother, and he didn't know… she had no earthly idea how he might react to the news.

They looked at each other warily, gazes locked in a battle of calculation; this was tennis, this was fencing, and the first to give ground would break the deadlock. It was Colin who capitulated; he had after all come here intending to tell Penelope, indeed he was desperate to tell her, and he was operating on something of a time limit.

"I came here," Colin said in a low voice, stepping closer and glancing furtively around, "because I need to speak with Lady Whistledown about something I learned last night."

"Oh?" Penelope breathed. She inhaled the clean masculine soap scent of him, feeling a little giddy despite herself at the proximity, and at his words. Colin as a Whistledown confidant… it defied all previous imaginings.

"Benedict and I were pulled aside late into the ball by Anthony," Colin murmured. He inhaled; there was a faint jasmine scent in the air around Penelope, no doubt from a perfume or soap that she used, and the sweet smell was a little distracting.

"There he told us that he had intended last night to propose to Miss Edwina, but instead…" His deep blue eyes met hers, searching again, for what, Penelope wasn't sure. But she did her best to remain steady, returning his gaze and silently urging him to continue, to trust her and take her into his confidence.

Whatever he had been searching for in her eyes, he appeared to have found it, as he took a deep breath and ploughed on. "Instead, he is now engaged to be married to Miss Kate Sharma."

A sudden rush of relief swept through Penelope, realising at once that this was a secret they indeed shared together, and the burden felt halved now that it was carried alongside someone else. "I know," she said quickly, and seeing his face darken with confusion, she hastened to clarify, talking in an anxious rush. "I mean, I don't know, because I did not speak to Anthony myself, but I had thought after their dance, that we had all been blind all this time, and that really it is Kate and Anthony that were in love. And I went to find you, to tell you, to warn you because of the issues it could cause your family, you see, and instead I stumbled upon Kate and Edwina, and Kate told Edwina everything." She took a breath, seeing Colin was listening hard and waiting for her to continue. "So, that is to say, when I say I know, it's because…"

"…you know," Colin finished thoughtfully, gazing at her. There was a certain compelling light in the brightness of her blue eyes when she spoke so animatedly, and it was hard to look away from. "So, you know about…the garden?" He suddenly felt a little hot with embarrassment, as this was hardly subject matter for a respectable lady.

Thankfully, he reflected, Penelope was a respectable lady, but one unlike any other of his acquaintance, and although she did blush a little, she did not back down from the topic. "I know about the garden," she confirmed. "And the Queen. And Lady Danbury. And the engagement."

"Ah." Colin exhaled, glancing over to Rae and seeing she was still out of earshot. Good. He returned his gaze to Penelope, eyes narrowing. "So have you…"

They had always had a certain easy rhythm in their conversations, and somehow Penelope knew what he was going to ask before he said it. "I have written a column, yes-"

"Wait...you would publish before the family announced it?" He sputtered, suddenly quite angry. After all, she hadn't known that he'd known about the situation, and it was his brother involved.

Penelope tried to interject, panicking at the sudden turn the conversation had taken. "No, Colin, which is why…"

"Or perhaps you were intending to publish this one without my involvement?" He interrupted her, taking a few steps away and passing his hand over his face. "Mayhap you do not like to share the Whistledown spotlight after all?"

"Colin!" Penelope exclaimed, and suddenly an anger was burning in her too, and she closed the distance between them, intending to set him straight. "Can you just listen to me for one moment, for goodness sake?"

His mouth snapped shut, and he looked at her silently, anger and even a kind of fear and insecurity shimmering in his eyes. She met his gaze, wanting and needing him to listen and believe her. "Think of what you are accusing me of. I only drafted the column, I did not say that I have finished it, or published it myself, or had any plans to do so. I am not…" she took a deep breath, "I am not writing because I want fame and attention and all the glory, whatever you may think. Although I do admit of course to priding in seeing my words being talked over by so many. As my identity is unknown by all except you, one could hardly call this a spotlight. And I don't resent you for helping me, indeed, I am very grateful for it."

Her bright blue eyes were wide and sincere, her chest heaving as she looked at him imploringly, and Colin looked away from her irritably, in truth more annoyed now at himself. He was not sure where his outburst had come from – he just knew he had jumped from point A to point Z very quickly, and perhaps a huge part of that came from how new this situation between them was, how everything felt thrown off balance. Before the library, he would never have thought of Pen as Lady Whistledown, never guessed at the secret she was keeping. And if she was capable of keeping that secret, there was a part of him that was fearful she could be keeping other things from him too. A part that worried that he really didn't know her as well as he thought he did, a part that was insecure that this admirable woman did not really need him. But he was too afraid to admit as much to her.

Seeing the warring emotions on his face, Penelope pressed on. "As it happens, I have in fact been struggling with what to write for the column. And before I had anything published, I wanted to find and speak to you about what I heard between Kate and Edwina, I swear it, Colin. Just as you came to find me to tell me about Anthony. I know the implications this has for your family. It is just a little more difficult for an unmarried lady to go traipsing around visiting gentlemen in the daytime without a chaperone," she finished, not a little testily. Gentlemen didn't realise, truly, how easy they had it sometimes.

Colin sighed, bowing his head for a moment before he looked back up to her. "My apologies, Pen," he stated simply. "I drew conclusions too quickly, doubting your intentions, which I should not have done." He smiled the gorgeous, crooked half-smile she so loved. "Please forgive me."

A pause, and then she sighed. It was difficult to stay mad at Colin. "It is forgiven," Penelope said softly, smiling reluctantly back.

There were a few beats of awkward silence between them before Colin spoke again. "I am on my way after this in fact, to an emergency Bridgerton family meeting," he advised her. "Anthony is going to tell Mother, and then we are going to discuss as a family what to do next."

Penelope nodded thoughtfully. "I can only imagine how he must be feeling," she said sympathetically. "Still, while it's an unusual beginning to a partnership, to be sure… despite that, I think them to be, somehow… a well-matched pair."

Colin grinned. "I had the same thought," he said conspiratorially, winking. "It is good to see Anthony finally meet his match. He will be wrapped around her finger."

Penelope laughed, and that familiar ease and warmth seemed settled again between them.

"You said you were struggling with what to write in the column?" Colin asked curiously.

"Yes," Penelope sighed. "Lady Whistledown will be expected to be the first to know about what's happened, so I know I must write something about it. But really, I am struggling so much with this one because this is a chance, an excellent chance, to control the narrative on the situation."

He cocked his head to the side, seeing the glint in her eyes. "What can you mean?"

"This will be a scandal, there is no avoiding it," Penelope told him grimly. "But how I write about it may help determine how big of a scandal it will be. If what the Bridgerton and Sharma families are saying, more or less lines up with what Lady Whistledown says…it would veritably halve the speculation and limit any damage to the families." She tapped a finger against her lip, thinking out loud. "What I've written so far is essentially a factual account of what I know, it was just the right tone that I was struggling with. But if it can line up with what your family meeting ends up deciding about what you will tell the ton… it could really help Anthony and Kate's situation." She lowered her eyes modestly. "Most people tend to believe Whistledown's version of events, after all."

Colin nodded, thinking hard. What Penelope said made sense, and he knew she was right – this might be the best way forward. An idea struck him. "It will be hard for me to come back here and fully convey to you what's been decided after the family meeting is over," he said slowly. "What if…" he hesitated, unsure of her reaction.

"Yes, Colin?" She prompted him, smiling encouragingly.

"…what if I helped you write it?" She stared at him, seemingly dumbstruck, and he hurried on. "You said the essentials are all there, yes? So, it will just need to be changed slightly to hit the necessary tone, so that it's similar in message to what the two families decide to tell everyone. If you can get the draft to me -" his eyes moved in the direction of the side garden around the corner from them, where their previously agreed Cupid statuette drop-point sat, "- or if you can drop it off, so to speak, I can retrieve it after the meeting, make the amendments and have it to the print shop tonight."

Penelope was stunned. "But Colin," she burst out, then bit her lip, hesitant with how to voice her next thought without sounding rude.

Watching her, he stared absently at the place where the soft pink of her bottom lip met her small white teeth, then shook himself, and read the hesitancy on her face. He thought he knew what she was about to say.

"You are going to ask how I could possibly write or edit the column," he supplied helpfully, and quirked an eyebrow at her when she blushed.

"Well…not in those…well, yes," she admitted. "It is a great idea and kind to offer, Colin, but…forgive me but, what experience do you have with writing?"

Colin exhaled, a hand coming up to rub absently at the back of his neck. He had hinted about this before to her, in the library, and now was not the time to be shy about this. They had shared so much already between the two of them, and he trusted her to take him seriously, even if no one else would.

"I have mentioned to you before," he began, "about my diary-keeping during my travels. I cannot in good conscience compare them or my abilities to yours," he nodded to her respectfully, "but I was writing nearly every day during my time away. I am comfortable with the pen, and comfortable with turns of phrase, even if I am not, ah, an established writer like you."

She was listening to him and not outright laughing at him yet, so he felt empowered to continue. "I have also read every one of your columns, either via Eloise reading each one obsessively aloud to us last year, or well, when I ventured to purchase one myself." He smiled a little bashfully, again looking at her with nothing but honesty and respect in his eyes. "I cannot claim to be able to imitate your abilities perfectly, but I'm confident I know enough to do my best to emulate it, even if it can only be a shadow of the real thing, having read much already of your well-crafted words."

Penelope flushed, smiling with pleasure under the praise. "Thank you, Colin," she said sincerely, touched by his words and the gesture. She thought for a moment, considering what he was proposing. She wished she could see a sample of his writing, but with the logistics involved… it would be too difficult to achieve it. And the sooner this was published, to get ahead of the society gossip, the better.

"It will be very hard for me to allow publication without reading the final product," she admitted, wringing her hands. "It's my baby, you see. I created it, I have kept it going… it is hard to imagine entrusting any part of it to another."

He nodded seriously, reaching out to take her warm hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly and noticing how small her hand felt beneath his own. "I promise," he vowed, "to do you and your writing justice, even if I have to stay up all night to get it right." He saw the anxiety written on her face and resisted a sudden urge to smooth the concerned frown away from her brow. "Do you trust me, Pen?"

The question hung in the air between them, and she felt the importance of what her response must be, the weight of vulnerability in his question. His unfairly stunning ocean blue eyes were shining with sincerity, and she had no doubt that he truly meant what he said, incredible as it may seem. She took a deep breath. Self-sufficient for years, when had she ever had someone in her life that she could rely on, depend on like this? Never.

"I trust you, Colin."

He beamed his wide, brilliant smile, and she was suddenly very keenly aware of the thrilling touch of his warm hand covering hers. His hands had always seemed so large compared to hers, and looking now where their hands were joined, her hands and fingers seemed positively delicate and tiny when pressed into his…her head swum giddily.

A slight cough nearby brought her abruptly back to reality, and both their heads snapped around to where the sound had come from, where Rae was standing, determinedly staring up at the sky with her eyebrows pointedly raised.

Oops.

Without even gloves on? Mama would be scandalised.

They both dropped their hands as though burned, Penelope blushing and Colin clearing his throat a little awkwardly. "Cupid drop off?" he confirmed quietly, his eyes glinting and a hint of a smile playing around his lips.

Penelope took a steadying breath, nodding politely to him and allowing herself only a hint of the returning warm smile that she longed to unleash. "Cupid drop off," she murmured back, and with that he straightened and bowed his head formally to her.

"Miss Featherington."

"Mr Bridgerton."

Before Colin departed, he pinned her with a truly knee-weakening smirk and lowered his voice, his farewell murmur faint enough to ensure once and for all that Rae wouldn't hear, and it sent a chill down Penelope's spine.

"Lady Whistledown."

Chapter 9: Courtship Part One

Notes:

I find it helps when writing Whistledown columns, to pretend I'm writing a script for Julie Andrews, so I do recommend reading those sections in Julie Andrews' voice in your head. Immersive, no?

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Courtship Part One

Excerpt from Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

Saturday 4th June, 1814

Can you feel it? Summer is indeed in the air. But while the gentlemen and ladies of the ton flock to the sweet shops to cool down with some ice cream, there is nothing that can quench the heat of truly scorching hot gossip.

Attendees of the Countess of Macclesfield's Summer Heat ball on Thursday were shocked to see Queen Charlotte make an unexpected arrival, and a hastier departure. Meanwhile, Lady Eaton was overheard professing herself to be blinded by the overload of yellow in the room (To that, this author wishes to express the opinion that the bright shade suits absolutely nobody. The unfortunate Miss Penelope Featherington, least of all).

But this is not what draws my attention. We have all witnessed the courtship of the Queen's diamond, Miss Edwina Sharma by Lord Anthony Bridgerton. Anyone with their bets placed on the pair's betrothal taking place that evening however, will surely now be bewailing their losses. It seems they were not the only ones to take a gamble.

They say a lady never reveals her age, and so too, a writer never reveals her sources. A betrothal did in fact take place at the Summer Heat ball. The Sharmas and the Bridgertons are to be congratulated…for the joyous upcoming union of Anthony, Lord Bridgerton, and Miss Kathani Sharma.

Pausing for all of you to pick yourselves up off the floor… might I suggest fanning oneself to cool down?

The circumstances of this unexpected union are frustratingly murky, but this Author understands that the families are a united front, and that the happy bride-to-be and bridegroom have found a love match in each other. No further comment seems likely to be made publicly, although one imagines the Dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton to be overjoyed.

My felicitations to the couple – it may be an unexpected surprise to us, but it seems likely a happy one, and two more well matched persons this Author finds hard to imagine.

And as for the Diamond? One would suggest that her sister's marriage into one of the most well-known and highly respected families of the ton will do little to dim her sparkle, even if it's in different circumstances than she imagined. If the Queen is put out with how her selection of the season turned out; why, try and try again, Your Majesty. There is always next season. A roll of the dice never hurt anyone…

SATURDAY

One of the more eventful weeks of Penelope's life began quite auspiciously, which was really rather deceptive of it.

She near snatched the copy of Lady Whistledown out of Prudence's hands, but only once Prudence was done reading it ("I am the eldest and you have to wait your turn, Penelope,"), and she took her prize to her favourite window seat in the nook looking out onto Grosvenor Square. This was her first taste of the anticipation everyone else must surely feel waiting for a new edition of the column, and it sat oddly for her.

She'd gotten used to feigning surprise at reading the words of Lady Whistledown. Usually reading it was an exercise in acting out the appropriate and expected response: shock, outrage, titillation. When she read her own work back, she was mentally correcting any small errors or turns of phrase she wished she could re-write, or, cheering herself for any passages that she was particularly proud of. But today's column, while still hers, was in part also attributed to another author, and its final form and wording was a mystery to her.

She read the column quickly, her eyes scanning back and forth rapidly as though she could near devour the words if she could. She barely paid heed to the snide remark from Philippa, so engrossed was she. ("You were mentioned again, Penelope? I suppose it is fair, that dress did look particularly hideous on you.")

When she was finished, she lowered the paper, staring out the window across Grosvenor Square, but her mind was down in the side garden yesterday, hand-clasped with Colin, where he'd promised her that he'd stay up all night if he had to, to get the column right.

And it was brilliant.

To her well-trained eye, she could spot the little amendments he had made to her original draft, and the turns of phrase he had added – his line about the roll of the dice stood out to her particularly – but to the general readers of Lady Whistledown, the passages were seamlessly indistinguishable from her usual columns. It was simple, concise, speculative while still factual, and one could only hope she was right that the effect on the ton of Whistledown's endorsement of Kate and Anthony would lessen the fallout for the families involved.

She went about the rest of the day scarce unable to stop herself from humming and singing out loud, so pleased was she with the outcome. In fact, when after dinner Mama scolded her for humming 'Toast and Catch' too loudly, she hardly minded it at all.

MONDAY (MORNING)

Two days later, on Monday, reality came crashing in.

During their family luncheon, Jack announced that he had invited Miss Cressida to promenade with him that afternoon, to a general silence at table.

Penelope watched the flicker of Jack's eyes towards Mama, his raised eyebrows. Portia plastered a fake smile onto her face. "Well, that's just… lovely," she said with strained cheer, fixing an expectant gaze on her daughters.

Prudence stared back sulkily; she was still unhappy that the attempts to marry her to Jack had been dropped.

Philippa, true to form, found her own special way of skipping points A to Z and barrelling right ahead to point one hundred. "Promenade? With Cressida?" she frowned. "You're not courting her are you, Cousin Jack?"

Portia cleared her throat, shooting daggers at Philippa. "I thought I told you not to refer to Jack as 'cousin', Philippa," she admonished. "Jack is Lord Featherington now. And he is…merely exploring the marriage mart, are you not?"

Jack, watching the exchange with a sardonic half smile, wiped his mouth with a napkin and shrugged. "I see no harm in telling the truth," He smiled to Philippa. "Yes, Philippa, I am indeed courting Miss Cowper."

Penelope frowned to herself, eyes darting back and forth between him and Mama as she took this in, trying to understand. Mama clearly thought the subterfuge was best accompanied by complete secrecy and utmost nonchalance, while Jack, apparently, had decided the only thing he needed to lie about was his fortune, or lack thereof.

He intended to pursue his public courtship until its ultimate conclusion, then. Penelope supposed it made sense; he had after all been showing interest in Cressida since his arrival at the start of the season, an interest that had been noticed by others in the ton.

Jack, above all, must not appear to be in too much of a rush to anyone. A wealthy eligible bachelor, after all, was meant to be the one who was reluctantly and then completely befuddled by love into proposing marriage to his unassuming and effortlessly bewitching, lucky, bride.

His mannered attention to Cressida at balls, the family dinner with Lady Cowper and Cressida before the country visit, and now this invitation to promenade; this was traditional courtship. She had to hand it to him – it was a deceptively simple and clever plan.

A plan that she herself was no nearer to figuring out how to stop from happening.

Prudence was glaring daggers at Mama after Jack's statement, clearly blaming her for the way things had unfolded. Philippa merely uttered "Oh," in response to Jack, and was now absorbed with finishing the rest of her chicken.

Mama switched her gaze to Penelope, eyebrows raised. For god's sake, Penelope groaned inwardly, the one time she feels a need for me to comment. Normally she tells me to shut up.

"Promenade will be… lovely indeed, my lord," Penelope said falteringly, attempting a smile. "Although… I do wonder, if I may be honest with you, if any man could be happy with Cressida. She has not been kind, in the past, to anyone who has crossed her." She considered. "Or… looked at her in a way she didn't like."

Portia coughed, covering… was that a laugh? Penelope glanced at her, stunned.

Jack merely smiled, and she had to admire the way he was able to appear unruffled and achieve such a casual air of amiability, when she knew him to be wicked indeed. "I thank you for your warning," he bowed his head to Penelope, "but it is not needed. I can take care of myself." He smirked. "Although your comments are noted."

He looked around at the Featherington women. "I expect all of you to accompany us this afternoon to promenade at Rotten Row. A public show of unity." Setting his napkin down on the table, he rose, bowed, and departed the room before Prudence could even open her mouth in protest.

MONDAY (AFTERNOON)

There was a slight breeze rustling the trees as the Featheringtons made their way along Rotten Row. The infamous strip in Hyde Park was the place to see and be seen, and traditionally a place of progression in many society courtships. All around, people were gathered in clusters on the smooth grassy grounds, or strolling at leisure along the path, fans fluttering as the members of the ton happily gossiped and chatted.

Before long, they found the Cowpers; Cressida and her mother both curtseyed exquisitely to Jack, and spared simpering nods to the rest of them, Cressida shooting Penelope a particularly pointed and triumphant smile before she took Jack's proffered arm, and they began their relaxed stroll along the path. Portia fell into step beside Lady Cowper, and Prudence and Philippa paired off as usual, leaving Penelope alone to bring up the rear.

She kept a wary eye on Jack and Cressida as they made their way down the Row. They appeared to be chatting quite amiably, Cressida's fan working overtime as she fanned herself, lingering suspiciously and tantalisingly close to her chest. She leaned in to listen to something Jack said, then laughed uproariously.

Penelope, watching them, felt the stirrings of despair. If their financial circumstances were as dire as Jack had described with his mines, there seemed little to do to rescue the situation. Which meant the choices that loomed before her were to either allow Cressida to be entrapped into a loveless marriage, used for her money, or, for the Featheringtons to go broke.

What was the saying? There was a rock. There was a hard place. And there was Penelope, wedged in between.

She had been over this many times in her mind since overhearing Portia and Jack's scheme, but as they walked down the Row, she rehearsed the facts again. Cressida was a bully. Cressida could in part be thanked for a great deal of Penelope's insecurities, and when the voice in her head sneered to tell her she wasn't good enough, that she was a wallflower, that she would never find love… that voice in her head belonged to Cressida.

But; Jack was also a bully, and what he was planning to do to secure his own future was tantamount to… well, to what Marina, Lady Crane, had intended to do to Colin last year. Jack would trap Cressida into marriage and use her for her money, robbing her of any opportunity to find lasting happiness or love with another. Given the personality she had, yes, the odds of that happening appeared slim to Penelope, but the fact remained that she should still have the opportunity to try, same as anyone else.

And the uncomfortable truth was, Mama was embroiled in the same purpose. Penelope went over the possibilities again in her mind – should she confront Mama, and tell her she knew everything? Or, should she confront Jack?

Cressida trilled with laughter again at the front of their group, smiling charmingly at Jack while Lady Cowper looked proudly on.

Or, Penelope thought grimly, for the thousandth time, she could confront Cressida. Cressida gave every impression of doing everything Lady Cowper told her to, and Lady Cowper likely had coached her daughter to encourage the advances of a gentleman who seemingly had both a title and a great fortune. If Penelope told Cressida the truth about the mines… it might be enough to stop the courtship.

And the Featheringtons would go broke. Penelope's stomach lurched. It was hard to fathom the loss of their position in society, which would mean losing their connections, which would mean losing the Bridgertons. To lose Colin, and Eloise... it did not bear to think about.

Then there was, she reminded herself, the matter of the small fortune she had amassed as Lady Whistledown. The money was stored, hidden away beneath the floorboards of her bedchamber. She could prop up her family with that if things came to that pass. But to do so would mean revealing how she had amassed such funds, which would mean publicly revealing her identity as Lady Whistledown.

Colin knew, and seemed to have somehow found a way to accept it, to accept her. But if the ton did not agree… they could all end up disgraced and cast out from society anyway. There seemed to be no choice here that ended happily for everyone.

But really, she knew, in the sinking feeling in her gut, what the right thing to do was. She felt it in every part of her, no matter how she tried to rationalise it. She'd never be able to live with herself if she didn't at least try to warn Cressida. Whether she'd be believed… that remained to be seen. She'd just have to try and find the right moment to have a word alone with her, although it was difficult to envision when that might be, as Cressida was currently walking close enough to Jack to practically be attached at the hip.

"Penelope!"

She looked up sharply to see Eloise waving to her off the side of the path. She was standing clustered in a group with Colin (her heart skipped a beat), and a few of Colin's friends, among whom she recognised Lord Fife. Eloise beckoned her over frantically, waving her hand.

"Mama, might I…?" Penelope began, calling out ahead to where Portia and Lady Cowper were walking, and Mama glanced over her shoulder, vexed to be pulled from her close scrutiny of Jack and Cressida. She huffed a little. "Yes, yes," she said carelessly, and thus Penelope split from the path, making her way over the grass towards Eloise and Colin.

She noticed as she hurried towards the group that the rest of the Bridgertons, and the Sharmas, were all standing a little further down; she could spot the dark-haired heads of Kate, Edwina and their mother, standing in conversation with Anthony, Benedict and Violet. The people all around them were certainly all whispering, and casting furtive and curious looks towards the betrothed couple, but one could hardly call it a hostile reception in public.

The article might have actually worked, Penelope thought with relief. She drew level with the group, glancing curiously at Colin's friends. She smiled at her best friend, her smile turning radiant as she then looked to Colin – it was hard to disguise her gratitude and joy for his assistance.

Greetings and introductions were exchanged, Colin waving a hand to his friends. "Lord Fife, Lord Lieber, Mr Edward Lieber… I believe you may know Miss Penelope Featherington."

Penelope thought there was something of a sneer on Lord Fife's visage as he faced her. She had never understood why Colin was friends with that gentleman – he was reputed to be uncouth and boorish at the best of times. Lord Lieber beside him, Penelope recognised from various society balls – he was tall, dark haired and dark eyed, and handsome enough if one cared to notice. He bowed to her politely enough. The other gentleman beside him, she wasn't sure if she'd seen before, but he was nearly the same height as Lord Lieber, also with dark hair and dark eyes, and she assumed this must the Mr Edward Lieber Colin had just mentioned, clearly a relative of some kind of Lord Lieber.

She curtsied as elegantly as she could with the grass beneath them. "Sirs," she greeted them.

"I was just saying," Colin said jovially, "How lovely a day it is for a promenade, don't you think, Eloise?"

"Hmmm?" Eloise looked up from where she had been avidly staring around at their surroundings, clearly not paying attention. "Oh! Yes. Well. As far as these things go, I suppose."

Penelope hooked her arm through Eloise's. "Tis a pleasant day indeed," she agreed, smiling at Colin. In the seconds that passed as they held each other's gazes, he raised his eyebrows at her, and she could nearly hear the unspoken question. Well?

Penelope, smiling warmly, gave the barest inclination of her head, hoping to try and convey all she felt in the gesture. Yes, I read it. Yes, I loved it. Thank you Colin, for being so understanding, so open, so accepting, so helpful to me.

Interrupting the moment, Lord Fife slung an arm around Colin's shoulders, snickering. "Aye, pleasant enough indeed, Bridgerton," he said mockingly. "Let's all pretend that we're not out here to see what the devil is going on with your brother. It's normally saved to the end of the season, but I for one was rather hoping to see some fireworks today."

Colin shrugged away from Fife's arm and stared him down, which was easy enough to do, as he was significantly taller. "I can't think what you mean, Fife," he retorted coolly, but Penelope could read the fire in his eyes. "My brother is happily betrothed to Miss Sharma, and our families are thrilled for them."

The younger Lieber, Edward, was quick to defuse the tension. "Gentlemen," he held out his hands soothingly, "that is quite enough. I am sure the Sharmas and the Bridgertons are to be congratulated. No need to bristle and puff out your chests in front of young ladies." He smiled at Eloise and Penelope, and Penelope noted the way his eyes lingered on Eloise's face.

Eloise was having none of this. "Yes, thank goodness you've composed yourselves now before it's too late," she scoffed bitingly. "I'm sure our delicate, ladylike constitutions mean we'd positively swoon here on the grass at any sign of conflict."

Colin, Lord Lieber and Penelope all laughed, with Fife rolling his eyes, but Edward was still staring at Eloise after her retort. It took him a moment to emit a quiet chuckle, and there was a thoughtful glint in his eye as he studied her, then bowed his head to her. "I meant no offence," he said softly. "I don't doubt that you are made from stronger stuff, Miss Bridgerton."

Eloise, blinking confusedly, opened her mouth to retort, but Colin interrupted hastily. "If you would excuse me, gentlemen," he smiled charmingly to his friends, "duty calls. I must escort my sister and Miss Featherington along the Row."

And neatly, with minimal fuss and pleasant farewells exchanged, they took their leave, returning to the Row's main pathway and wandering onwards. Eloise slipped her arm once more into Penelope's, and Colin walked on the other side of Eloise.

"Who was that man, again?" Eloise asked her brother, glancing over her shoulder back at the group of gentlemen they were leaving behind. "I am not so sure that I like him."

"Mr Edward Lieber," Colin supplied. "Younger brother to Lord Lieber, only by a year or two. He's been travelling abroad; I've not seen him for some time. I can't say I know him as well as his brother."

"Oh." Eloise stewed on that for a moment in silence, and Penelope decided to seize her opportunity.

"How… how is everything with the family?" She asked them both hesitantly, eyes lingering significantly on Colin. "I read Whistledown. I can't imagine the stress it must all have been."

"It's been…" Colin hesitated.

"A nightmare," Eloise supplied glumly. "Family meetings upon meetings. They decided in the end to stick to a version of the truth, a version that Whistledown must've got wind of, as the column aligned quite closely with the family mission statement." She shook her head, half in disbelief, half in admiration. "What I would give for the sources she has. It is beyond me."

Colin and Penelope's gazes met, and they both looked away quickly, hiding smiles. "Indeed," Penelope ventured politely, coughing slightly to cover a laugh.

"At least the publication worked in our favour, rather than against it," Colin pointed out. "Today is a test, to see how the public waters are." They glanced around; the Bridgerton brother and sister were attracting some scrutiny, but most of the clusters of people around them still seemed to be angled back towards where Anthony and Kate stood with their families. Some were openly staring, on tip toes no less.

"Ah yes, I simply love the threat of being eaten alive for putting one foot out of place," Eloise mused. "Though…" she paused, considering. "It could truly be worse. I don't think them to be hostile, like sharks. They are more curious, like…"

"Like monkeys?" Penelope said unthinkingly, half in jest, but it was gratifying when both Eloise and Colin laughed in response.

"Primates indeed," Eloise snickered. "I should think them to be dying to know all of the details of the whole affair. Like how, and why, and when the marriage will take place. As if it shouldn't be half obvious that the sooner they marry and end the speculation, the better."

"Anthony told me they have applied this morning, and been granted, a common marriage license from the bishop," Colin said casually, looking significantly to Penelope, who understood immediately what he was telling her – this was extraordinarily useful Whistledown fodder. "Citing that very reason. They must wait at least seven days, but otherwise, they can marry as soon as next week. There was talk of next Tuesday morning."

"If I was them, I would be making haste straight to Scotland," Eloise noted decisively. "Straight to Gretna Green, and have the whole thing done and over, hang the speculation of the ton and the whole tiresome public scrutiny."

Penelope shook her head. "That would only provoke scandalous rumours," she mused slowly. "An elopement to Scotland would be a bad idea – people might say that the bride had been compromised, prompting the betrothal and hasty marriage, or even, God forbid, found herself with child before marriage. A special license might take too long to obtain, and likewise the reading of the banns would take too long. A common license is the smartest option."

She'd spoken unthinkingly, and it took a moment to register that Eloise was regarding her with open mouthed shock, and Penelope realised she couldn't recall the last time she'd disagreed so openly with something Eloise had said. It had become too much of a habit to just mildly agree and keep the peace when Eloise was ranting about something.

Colin was studying her, a slight smile on his face, and Penelope raised her chin a little higher, although her heart was beating faster. It was a new sensation, speaking her opinions aloud instead of solely by the written word.

"I agree with Pen, El," Colin said helpfully.

Eloise's mouth snapped shut and she turned her head to glare at her brother, but it was good naturedly, and Penelope breathed a sigh of relief. "Very well," Eloise sighed, "if you must gang up on me. But mark my words, if it was my choice, I'd be halfway to the border by now."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I can't find you, El," Colin teased her. "I'll assume you've run off with one of your many suitors."

"Oh, do shut up, Colin."

The trio continued on their promenade, chatting, laughing and teasing each other comfortably. In the rare moments of companionable silence they shared, it was on the tip of Penelope's tongue to confide everything about Jack and Cressida to them, but still, she held back – it felt like a problem she needed to try and solve on her own. Besides, they had enough going on with the family scandal.

As they returned back towards where the Bridgertons and Sharmas had been located, Penelope was thinking hard. She would need to write about the license, and the possible wedding, in the next Whistledown. Ideally news like this should come out in the next few days, and she needed a way to signal this to Colin.

"Penelope!"

Looking around, Penelope could see the Featherington party standing a little way off. Jack appeared to be making his farewells to the Cowpers, and Mama was gesturing impatiently to her, beckoning her, clearly keen to return home.

Turning back around, Penelope smiled hastily at Eloise and Colin. "I must depart, I'm afraid. It was a pleasure to see you both," she declared. "I am truly glad that this business with Anthony and Kate seems likely to be a happy ending."

She met and held Colin's gaze, trying to signal him with her eyes to pay heed to her words. "Once could even say, in the next few days, that Cupid has brought the pair of them together."

It only took a few seconds; Colin frowned slightly, studying her, before a light of comprehension dawned in his deep blue eyes, and he bowed his head, smiling knowingly back at her. "Indeed," he agreed smoothly. "They are now… understood to be a successful pairing."

Eloise looked back and forth between them, raising an eyebrow. "You've gone daft, the pair of you," she snorted. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Violet gesturing now towards her two younger children to join the family group, and sighed. "Come on Colin, we should be going too. See you later, Pen," she smiled, and she released Penelope's arm and set off towards her family.

"Bye, Eloise," Penelope said, then took a deep breath and looked back up to Colin's face. He was still studying her, and though she could not know it, he was thinking at that moment that there seemed to be no end to the ways that Penelope could surprise him.

She curtseyed, and he bowed, and there were no further words needed as their eyes locked. They both turned and walked away from each other, Penelope unable to stop smiling secretly to herself. What a pleasure it was, to be so easily understood by another.

Chapter 10: Courtship Part Two

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten: Courtship Part Two

TUESDAY

The day after their promenade, Jack went to the Cowpers' for dinner. He did not take Mama or any of the Featherington daughters.

Penelope did, however, sneak out after supper to leave a Whistledown draft under the Cupid statuette.

And she had the singular pleasure late in the evening of witnessing Colin appear in the garden, carefully taking the paper from underneath the statuette, carefully replacing it. He cast a tall, shadowy figure in the flickering of the outside torches. He paused near the boundary wall, staring up at the upper floor of the Featherington residence, and she realised with a thrill of joy and fear that he was trying to spot her in the windows.

She stood obscured by the heavy curtains near the window, peeking out from behind and watching him. She was clad only in her nightclothes, after all, without even her trusty but hideous orange dressing robe, and it wouldn't do for him to see her like this.

After a few long, exhilarating moments, Colin dropped his gaze and slipped away back onto the street, and Penelope fought disappointment in herself that she hadn't been bold enough to step forward.

WEDNESDAY

The next Whistledown was published.

She read it in the drawing room (once again, distressingly, only after Prudence was finished with it), and made a solid effort to enact a surprised gasp when she read the first 'revelation' about the license therein.

Betrothal, engagement, family, gossip, marriage, promenade, sisters, wedding. The elements involved of the upcoming nuptials of Lord Bridgerton and Miss Kate Sharma read like a child's ABC slate. This author would like to submit a new word for consideration: L for License.

It seems the Bridgertons' local bishopric has been kind indeed and approved a common marriage license for the happy couple. While this does permit a time limit of up to three months, the seven-day turnaround seems more likely, to silence the whispered rumours.

Titillated tongues will never cease wagging, and left to their own devices, the meddling mamas of the ton would surely speak unto the ending of the world about questions they can never have answers to. Why the rush? When will the big day be? Why all the secrecy?

Wouldn't you like to know?

Perhaps another addition to the slate is needed. Dare one say that T may stand for Tuesday?

Mark your diaries, Mayfair…

Hmmm. Penelope re-read the last few lines, raising her eyebrows. She had not written the "T for Tuesday' line. Colin, it seemed, had exercised some creative editor's license with the final draft of the column. And, she had to admit, it tied it together nicely. She just wished he'd been able to warn her first – it was still such an odd sensation to allow any modicum of control of Whistledown to anyone else.

But if Colin himself had added that line, that was as good as a confirmation as one could get; Kate and Anthony's wedding would take place the following Tuesday.

She had a feeling she may be seeing very little of Colin or Eloise in the next week, somehow. Violet Bridgerton tended to regard events as a joint family effort.

THURSDAY

The invitation came shortly after breakfast.

Portia swooped up the card from the mail tray proffered by their footman, and Penelope was reduced to peering over her shoulder, alongside Philippa and Prudence, to try and read it. It was a small, simple card, and the beautiful, elegant script seemed most likely to belong to Violet Bridgerton:

To Lord Jack Featherington and the ladies' Featherington,

Requesting the pleasure of your company at a most happy day for;

Lord Anthony Bridgerton and Miss Kathani Sharma

and their families

Tuesday 14th June 1814

9:00am

St George's, Hanover Square

Well, Penelope thought ruefully, that settled that question. It was common for weddings to be rather small with only family and close friends attending, and it was a compliment indeed for the Featheringtons, all of them, to be invited. She couldn't help but wonder if influence from Colin, or Eloise, may have had something to do with that.

Later in the late afternoon, Penelope, her Mama and her sisters were at leisure in the drawing room, with Penelope curled in her favourite seat near the window, reading, while Mama and her sisters were seated nearby, embroidering, and bickering. It was their most common domestic scene and could almost be considered oddly peaceful if one got used to the background noise and snipes traded between Prudence and Philippa.

The sound of the entrance doors downstairs thudding closed made Portia sit up straight, and Penelope along with her.

"What was that?" Philippa questioned.

"Jack returning from the tea shop, most likely," Prudence muttered sulkily, crossing her arms. "I overheard him tell Mama he was going there this afternoon with Miss Cressida Cowper," and her saying Cressida's name was achieved with an admirably mocking sneer.

"You're just jealous because Mama gave up on him courting you," Philippa observed.

"Girls," Portia snapped absently, but she had risen to her feet, embroidery forgotten. "I must… go see about Jack's preference for supper this evening. Excuse me." Penelope watched as her Mama skimmed slightly shaking hands over her vivid green dress and strode from the room.

"Who cares about Jack's preference about anything," Prudence grumbled.

"His feelings are clear where you're concerned, Prudence," Philippa re-joined sweetly. "I'd say his preferences are quite well justified."

"You-!"

Penelope tuned out her sisters, thinking hard. She had no doubt that Mama was getting an update on the scheme with Cressida, and that meant that Penelope needed to hear it too.

She waited for as long as she dared – a minute, two, three. Enough. Hopping to her feet, book in hand, Penelope mumbled something about needing to retrieve a new book from her bedchamber, but she need not have worried – both her sisters did little more than deign to give her one disinterested glance before they turned back to each other and resumed their bickering.

Moving swiftly from the drawing room, Penelope slowed down once she hit the outside landing and made her way towards the top of the staircase carefully, near tip toeing, listening hard – she could hear Portia and Jack's voices from the downstairs entrance hall, where they appeared to be having a low and urgent conversation at the bottom of the staircase.

Penelope positioned herself behind a tall, decorative plant at the top of the stairs, trying to angle so that she could not be seen from downstairs, although - and she looked down at her gown with a rueful, silent curse – successfully doing so in the buttery yellow gown Rae had provided for today would be a feat indeed. She held still, barely daring to breathe, and strained to listen, peeking around the plant as much as she could.

She could see them, standing very close together, Jack's light brown curls contrasting with the deep auburn updo artfully piled on Mama's head. Jack was speaking, low and angry, to Mama. "… I know, Portia, that I told you in the country that we had a few months. And I am telling you now, that that timeline has to be moved up."

"But why?" Mama hissed. "Surely the situation can't get any worse than it already is."

"Because it has to," Jack retorted shortly. "The funds… well, the investment…" he cleared his throat, clearly furious and embarrassed. "It hardly warrants discussion, how the figures were miscalculated. Just know that I have had to accelerate my courtship sooner than I had planned. The courting has now had to take place over days rather than weeks."

Penelope ticked off the items in her head – the dancing and the exquisite attention paid to Cressida at the balls, the promenade, the family dinner, the tea shop visit… yes, it was an understatement to say that Jack was suddenly powering his way through the courtship checklist.

Mama, seemingly, was doing the same calculation. "The only thing wanting from the traditional requirements is to send the girl flowers, I believe," she drawled sarcastically.

Jack smiled rather nastily at her. "Oh, I already did that. The day after the Summer Heat ball."

"Oh," said Portia, the word echoing in Penelope's head as well. Switching gears, Portia tilted her head, smiling dangerously at Jack. "And how was your time today with her at Gunter's Tea Shop, hm? Sparkling, fascinating conversation? The kind you'd be happy to hear for the rest of your life?"

Jack had his own slow, dangerous smirk. "It matters not, Portia, and you know it. She doesn't have to be interesting, or entertaining, or even very intelligent. The fact that she is beautiful, and stupidly willing," his smirk grew wolfish, "well, that is just a bonus. She only has to be wealthy. Which she is, in spades."

Mama placed a hand over her face, eyes closed, and Jack pressed home his advantage, looking at Portia with an almost pitying smile. "Women aren't for talking, you know. And a gentleman can find other ways to amuse himself outside the marriage bed."

"Thank you, I gather your point," Portia ground out through gritted teeth, eyes flashing with fury, and Penelope felt a similar anger and revulsion in her gut. Jack Featherington really was the kind of gentleman who you just hoped that someday, someone would plant a facer on him, punching him right in the face. Hard.

"It's a marriage bed I will be climbing into sooner rather than later," Jack said softly, still smiling. He leaned forward, smug and intent. "I have asked the chit and her parents to come here for a grand dinner on Saturday night. I will get Lord Cowper suitably drunk, get the sodden idiot's permission, and then, I will propose. And Miss Cowper will, stupidly, say yes." He leaned further forward and whispered into Mama's ear something that Penelope could not fully hear, but she caught the tail end.

"…you will all be safe, and wealthy, and you will all keep your mouths shut."

He leaned back and regarded Portia with a quirked eyebrow, waiting. "Yes?"

Penelope saw Mama take a deep breath, letting it out, eyes closed. "…yes," she acquiesced reluctantly.

Jack nodded, satisfied. "Good. I had no doubt you would continue to see your best interests." He looked down to check his pocket watch and frowned. "I'm afraid now I have some paperwork to attend to before supper." Looking back up at Portia, he grinned at her. "Be a dear and tell the cook to prepare some lamb for tonight, won't you? And for Saturday night, tell him to pull out all the stops. Nothing can be too grand for our triumph."

With that, he nodded to Mama and turned and strode from the hall, heading towards his ground floor office. Portia stood for several moments in frozen fury, before she shook herself and headed in the opposite direction towards the kitchens, leaving Penelope alone behind her plant, thoughts whirling.

On Saturday night, Jack would propose, and as he predicted, Cressida, stupidly, would say yes. There was to be nothing else for it – she must warn Cressida somehow during the dinner, and hope and pray that she was believed.

FRIDAY

On Friday, Mama took them to the modiste at Madame Delacroix's establishment, for a rush order on dresses for Kate and Anthony's wedding. Portia gave orders for a truly ghastly combination of pale orange underlay, partnered with an overlay of pink and purple embroidered florals and bows for Penelope's dress.

You had to hand it to Madame, Penelope thought, as Madame Delacroix noted the details down with a straight face. She was an excellent businesswoman who recognised when it was in her best interest not to contradict orders, even if the end result would look nothing short of hideous on Penelope. She did still appreciate Madame's wince of sympathy to Penelope behind Mama's back, however.

As they were on their way out from the shop, they bumped into Eloise and Violet, making their own way in. After exclaimed greetings were exchanged, Portia fell into sly conversation with Violet about the upcoming nuptials, apparently unable to help herself from prying for details, leaving Penelope and Eloise with a chance to catch up.

"How are the preparations going?" Penelope asked Eloise cautiously.

Eloise rolled her eyes heavenward. "We have seen Kate, Edwina and their mother Mary every day since the betrothal was announced. Not that they've announced the actual wedding date to the public. I don't know if they intend to. Avoiding scrutiny, and all that. Although Whistledown seems to have given it her best, spookily accurate, guess. It's all just… like nothing that's been seen before," she declared. "Not the wedding itself, I mean, it will be a small little affair after everything that's happened, but I mean the scale of panic it's thrown Mother into, making the arrangements last minute."

Watching Violet nodding along with Portia, her normally soft grey eyes wild, Penelope could well believe that. "We received the invitation," she confirmed. "Mama was so thrilled. As am I, for different reasons – I'm glad I will be there with you." And Colin, she added silently.

Eloise smiled absently, fiddling with a loose curl escaping from her hairstyle. "Yes, well, Mother was debating who to invite, and was pondering how to narrow down the choices with family friends, versus acquaintances, and I told her, putting aside how you've been our neighbours, I don't know, only for forever…I told her how important a friend you have been to me, and in the end Colin advocated for your inclusion as well." Eloise paused, frowning a little. "I suppose, really, that he's to be considered your friend too."

Penelope thought ruefully of their dance at the Summer Heat ball, Colin holding her bare hand in the side garden at home, the delicious warmth of his touch. "Yes, we are indeed friends," she conceded, but it still caused an ache in her, when she wished for so much more. It was kind that he had encouraged Violet to invite Penelope, and by extension, her admittedly ridiculous family, to what would be the most hotly anticipated, and by virtue of being private, exclusive, wedding of the season. But that was all it was – kindness, from a kind gentleman. To his friend.

Swallowing, Penelope pushed the pain aside. "Do you know who else is invited?" she asked Eloise curiously.

Eloise huffed, closing her eyes and trying to remember. "Er, your lot, of course. Us. The Sharmas. There seems to be something involved with the Queen and Lady Danbury, to do with how Kate and Anthony were betrothed, but no one will tell me. So. Well. Lady Danbury, maybe. Maybe the Queen too, if she's bored and feels like some entertainment that day. Anthony's friend Will Mondrich and his wife." She opened her dark grey eyes and gave a little shrug. "That's all, I believe."

"An intimate gathering indeed," Penelope murmured, wincing. Since the last Whistledown publication, where Colin had added the hint about the wedding taking place on Tuesday, she had not seen or heard from him – as she'd expected, due to the family wedding preparations, and Eloise's story corroborated that theory.

She was therefore not sure if she was meant to announce the wedding before it happened, or if Colin had only wished to hint at it in the last column, and Whistledown should then present it as a fait accompli afterwards. The invites had only been sent out, by Eloise's information, to a very small circle of people, and nothing had publicly been announced apart from the betrothal, so it seemed unlikely that Violet intended to tell anyone else in the ton until after Kate and Anthony were already married.

Whistledown announcing the date now to the public would be a bad idea, then; if it was only the invitees who knew about it, and it suddenly appeared in the scandal sheet… well, that would suddenly significantly narrow Eloise's list of suspects for Whistledown's identity.

"Eloise!"

They both looked up to see Violet gesturing to her daughter, a tense smile on her face. "We must be getting on, dear." The Bridgerton matriarch turned to Mama and kissed her cheek politely as they exchanged farewells.

Penelope turned back to her friend, hating herself anew for keeping this all secret from Eloise. Why, she knew the story of why Lady Danbury and the Queen were involved, and she couldn't even tell her that much. Let alone Lady Whistledown… Jack's scheme… Colin… there was so much going on in her life that she was keeping from Eloise, and she felt awful for it.

"Good luck with the preparations," Penelope said, smiling weakly.

Eloise snorted. "I'll need it." She softened, smiling back. "Thanks, Pen."

The Featherington women returned back home in their carriage, with Philippa and Prudence squabbling the whole way about whose dress for the wedding would look better, and with Penelope trying to draft in her head what on earth she would say to Cressida the next night.

SATURDAY

All of Saturday, Portia had the household staff in a flap in preparation for the dinner, giving orders and then contradicting them, deciding one thing and then changing her mind an hour later.

Penelope, mostly lurking in her own bedchamber, ventured to peer out at one point and witnessed her Mama's maidservant Varley in the hallway, head resting against the wall, staring blankly up at the ceiling – clearly praying for something, anything, to take her away from this place.

Penelope could only sympathise – she felt like that most days in this house. Today, especially.

She chose the mildest, least-offense shade of citrus green gown that she owned to wear to dinner, hoping to avoid provoking too much of Cressida's ire.

They gathered in the formal drawing room, the downstairs one they hardly used, just a few minutes before 6:00pm, waiting for their guests. Penelope looked around at her sisters and Mama and winced inwardly. They had applied an opposite effect with their outfit selection, choosing bright and vivid oranges and pinks.

Jack waited with them, sitting apart, dressed in a becoming burgundy coat and a dark grey waistcoat, his eyes on his pocket watch.

Thankfully, the Cowpers were punctual guests, and at 6:00pm on the dot, the Featherington's footman, Cole, stepped into the drawing room to announce their arrival. As they all got to their feet, Cressida and Lord and Lady Cowper all swept into the room.

Cressida was wearing a necklace winking with rubies, and her matching, expensive-looking blood-red gown was a sight to behold indeed. Penelope, staring at the necklace, recalled that Jack's secretly useless mines were reputed to be ruby mines, and well. It did not take a special wit to put two and two together, here.

Jack bowed to their guests. "My lord and lady Cowper, Miss Cowper," he greeted, his eyes warm and lingering on Cressida. "I see you are finding some use for my gift, Miss Cowper."

"My lord," Cressida simpered, with an exquisite curtsey, while her parents performed their greetings behind her. Her blonde hair had been twisted into ropes and piled high onto the side of her head, and the effect was almost fascinating to watch – Penelope wondered for a wild moment if she might topple over as she straightened back up.

"I cannot thank you enough, again, for your kind gift," Cressida breathed, looking up through her eyelashes at Jack with a sickening smile. "I thought tonight a perfect occasion to break it in."

Cool greetings were then exchanged between the Cowpers and the Featherington ladies – Mama's face was frozen in a frostily polite smile, and Prudence was staring at Cressida with undisguised resentment.

Jack proffered his arm to Cressida. "Shall we to dinner?"

Cressida's red silk glove looped and nestled around Jack's arm, and they led the party into the adjoining formal dining room. Cressida's pale blue eyes flickered sideways just once, to Penelope, paired with a triumphant smile.

Penelope had no choice but to wait for the Cowpers and Mama and her sisters to file in next, with her bringing up the rear as the youngest, trying not to drag her feet in her reluctance. Lord, but what a spectacle this would be.

SATURDAY (8:00PM)

Two hours, Penelope thought later in dismay. Two hours of this.

Jack had seated Cressida at his right-hand side, and Lady Cowper to his left, leaving Mama, her sisters and Penelope to sit where they might along the sides of the table, with Lord Cowper at the other end.

The evening had slugged its way along, while the conversation, if one could call it that, primarily centred around - no surprises - Cressida. Cressida's interests, Cressida's talents, Cressida's charms. Lady Cowper was diligent to bring the topic back if it strayed too far. If it wasn't about Cressida, it would then be about Jack – question after question about his mines, his investments, his adventures in the Americas, all of which Jack fielded deftly – better known, Penelope thought sourly, as lying through his teeth.

And if it wasn't that from the Cowpers…it was subtle, pointed barbs. Against Portia, against her sisters, against Penelope herself. Under furious glares from Mama, the Featherington girls had to swallow the laughingly delivered, thinly veiled insults, over and over. It wasn't enough for Cressida to bring up the topic of favourite fruits, then stare pointedly at Penelope's gown and declare a distaste for limes, oh no. The Featherington dress sense was the Cowper women's favourite fodder, but the smirking comments ranged from the food to the wine to the servants.

Jack signalled again and again for Lord Cowper's wine to be topped up, and Penelope was just waiting now for the men to draw aside, affording her an opportunity to speak with Cressida alone – they were just now finishing dessert, so surely it could not be long.

"I can't imagine," Lady Cowper was saying, sighing dramatically, "how difficult it has been, Portia, to maintain a good household since the tragically sad passing of your husband."

Portia nearly choked on the nut she had been nibbling on, coughing inelegantly until her throat was clear. "How kind of you to say so, Araminta," she finally murmured through barely disguised gritted teeth. "I have done the best I can, with my girls in mind."

Lady Cowper was nodding sympathetically. "Of course you have," she soothed, exchanging a pointed look with her daughter – Cressida was trying and failing to hide her smile into her wine glass as she took a delicate sip. Lady Cowper continued, "It must be such a relief, to have Jack here to take up the position of Lord Featherington as head of the household, and to have begun the much-needed changes around here. Though they say," Lady Cowper laughed a tinkling, grating laugh, "no household can possibly be complete without a true mistress at its head. What say you, my lord?"

The last comment was directed to Jack, who smiled mildly and bowed his head to her, ignoring the dagger glare from Portia further down the table. "You speak only truth, my lady," he said gallantly, turning to smile at Cressida, who simpered back, and honestly, Penelope thought herself in danger of losing the soup course all over the blasted table, it was so sickening to witness this farce.

"My lord Cowper," Jack called now down the table, "I have a fine whiskey recently in from Scotland, if I might tempt you?"

Cressida's father, normally a frighteningly cold and sour man, had turned increasingly red and warmed up considerably with each glass of wine he has downed, and Penelope, seated beside him, could see the drunken glint in his eyes as he waved vaguely in response to Jack. "Yes, yes, Featherington, lead the way!"

Jack and Lord Cowper got to their feet, the latter very shakily, and Jack moved quickly to come around the table and help the elder man on his way to an adjoining chamber. "If you ladies would care to move to the drawing room," he threw over his shoulder with a special smile at Cressida, "we shall re-join you shortly."

As the Cowpers, Mama and her sisters stood, set down their napkins and moved to shuffle back into the drawing room, Penelope knew this was her one chance. She'd swallowed the insults all night, and she gritted her teeth for this one final act that she must do, reminding herself that it was the right thing to do.

As the barely cordial conversation resumed between Portia and Araminta, Penelope moved quickly around the side of the table, beelining for where Cressida was standing back from the others, adjusting her pretty red gloves and fiddling with the rubies round her neck.

"Cressida," Penelope said in an undertone, "may I speak with you a moment? Alone?" A beat of silence, and she took a deep breath, gritting the last part out. "Please?"

Cressida turned her head on her long neck, staring down her nose at Penelope. "Why, Penelope," she sneered in disdain, smiling coldly, "whatever for?"

"It's about Jack," Penelope murmured. "There is something you should know about him, before you proceed any further in this courtship."

She waited, trying to remain as steady as she could with her hands shaking, maintaining eye contact with Cressida, imploring with her eyes.

Cressida's lip curled, but she glanced quickly at the others, assessing – their mothers were already taking their seats in the drawing room, Philippa and Prudence bringing up the rear.

"Very well," Cressida muttered, "but be quick about it, alright?"

They stepped through to the drawing room, Cressida addressing her mother, to Lady Cowper's evident surprise. "I won't be a moment, Mother, Miss Featherington has just asked me for some…" her pale blue gaze flitted to Penelope, glancing up and down over her outfit. "…some fashion advice," she finished sweetly.

"How kind of you to oblige, daughter," Araminta said, with a nasty smile to Penelope. "Do go on, then."

Penelope followed Cressida out of the drawing room, her face burning, and in that moment thoroughly regretting her decision. Let Cressida rot for all eternity in her loveless marriage, for all she cared.

A voice, which sounded an awful lot like Colin's, echoed in her head.

Do the right thing, Pen. I know you will.

Penelope sighed, knowing it too.

She led Cressida away from the drawing and dining rooms, where a short distance away, an exit archway led outside to a much smaller, less grand courtyard compared to the ones at the Countess of Macclesfield's residence. It was a private little space, cut off from the other rooms, with only one entrance point, and lit by torches.

Cressida swung round to face Penelope as soon as they'd stepped out to the courtyard, stepping up and glaring daggers into her. "Well?" she hissed. "Out with it, then."

Penelope flinched, a muscle memory from the many times at balls and society events that Cressida had gotten up into her face, into her space, into her psyche. "I am sure I do not know quite how to say this, but…" She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to steady the hammering beat of her heart. Here goes nothing. "Jack Featherington's mines are worthless, Cressida."

Cressida's pale blue eyes locked on Penelope, with her pretty face's sneer frozen in place.

"He's been lying ever since he came from the Americas," Penelope ploughed on. "He has no investments, no backing, nothing. He… we…" she swallowed, "we will go bankrupt within months, weeks even. His only solution is to marry rich. His only solution…" she watched the torchlight glinting off the ruby necklace around Cressida's neck. "…his only solution is to marry you. He will propose tonight, to secure your dowry, and will use that to fund his, and our, lifestyles."

Cressida snapped into motion, turning away, staring out into the darkness around the courtyard, her head clearly whirling. Penelope waited respectfully, watching her, knowing how much it was to take in.

She saw, then, how the initially bowed head and hunched shoulders of her bitterest rival transformed. Cressida's head came up, her shoulders went back, her jaw set. She spun back towards Penelope, fury in her eyes, derision in her nasty smile.

"You will have to do better than that," she scoffed. "I'm afraid it will take more than those nasty little lies to deter me."

"Lies- Cressida, I am not lying!" Penelope said hotly, feeling panicked. "It is the truth, and I am only telling you because no one deserves to be entrapped in a loveless marriage-"

"I thank you," Cressida spat, "to cease your scheming, and your lies. If I marry Jack Featherington, and I will, that will make me the new Lady Feartherington. Which will make me…" she smirked, "the new head matriarch of the family. He has total control right now of you, and your sisters, and your dear Mama… all of your pathetic lives, lie under his whim, and when I am his wife, I will be uniquely placed to… help shape those whims, exactly how I wish." She tossed her head, putting her elaborate hairstyle in deep jeopardy. "Your feeble attempts to sabotage our union would be laughable if they weren't so pitiful."

"He doesn't love you," Penelope said desperately. "He doesn't even like you, Cressida, I have heard how he speaks about you. He will take your money because he has none of his own. He will use you, and he will do exactly as he pleases, without any regard to your opinion or your advice. Your life with him will be miserable, an existence I would not wish on anyone, and I am just trying to save you-"

"Save me?" Cressida gasped, laughing. "Oh, yes, between the two of us, it is me that needs saving, you are quite right." She rested a gloved hand on her hip, and Penelope recognised the gesture – it signalled an incoming verbal evisceration.

"Let me remind you, it is not I who is the society wallflower who nobody notices or cares about. It is not me that has not a single suitor to her name. You are not the one being publicly courted by a handsome, wealthy gentleman, a gentleman who is a hair's breadth away from proposal." She tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes at Penelope. "You are not me, Penelope. And I won't entertain your delusion that your lies could ever sabotage what is inevitable."

Penelope stood with her face burning, eyes pricking hotly, throat feeling tight, quite powerless to speak. Her thoughts and the arguments she longed to make were bouncing loosely around inside her head, but she felt quite unable to let them out. The rush of courage in confronting her bully felt quite drained away, and she could not think how further to try and convince Cressida of the truth.

Seeing her enemy stunned, Cressida gave a triumphant, feral smile, dipping into a flawless curtsy. "Miss Featherington," she breathed, and sailed back inside, back into the formal drawing room.

Penelope remained where she was, staring sightlessly out into the night, and from her position, it did not take long to hear - or was she only imagining it? - the hush of voices from the drawing room, the murmured question from Jack, the squeal of assent from Cressida, the breathless applause from the bystanders. The details of it scarce mattered – the result was the same. Cressida and Jack were now betrothed.

She had tried, with everything she had, to resolve this problem on her own, like she had with so many others. Her life had hardly taught her to depend on anyone else, to need anyone's help, when so often she had been let down or rebuffed. But she knew this was quite beyond her now, and there was only two people in the world she could possibly trust enough to seek assistance from.

The first, Eloise… well, she had her own storied history with Cressida, God knows, and for that reason could hardly be deemed a likely candidate to convince her of the truth.

That left the other Bridgerton whom she loved and trusted beyond all others, especially now.

She needed Colin's help. Urgently.

Notes:

Thank you so much for the comments, kudos, bookmarking, views...I so appreciate it. I'm writing a few chapters ahead of publishing at the moment and we are rapidly closing in on the end of 'Season 2' of this story, and that means 'Season 3' is coming, and we know what that means ;) I'm so excited to write it. So thank you for your patience as we sloooow this burn!

Chapter 11: Aid

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven: Aid

Colin-

Must speak with you as soon as possible. Urgent W business. Meet me in my garden before church tomorrow. Come alone.

-P

Colin re-read for what felt like the hundredth time the note that had been discreetly delivered to his bachelors' lodgings late Saturday evening by the Featherington's footman, Cole. He had folded and re-folded it many times and had carried it with him in his breeches' pocket into the coach that morning.

"There is a stop I must make before Bridgerton House, Jenkins," Colin had called to his coach driver when he had climbed aboard back in Bloomsbury. "Side entrance to Featherington House first, if you please."

They were nearing Grosvenor Square now. Jenkins was loyal and discreet, and asked no questions each time Colin directed him to Featherington House, although the fellow must surely be wondering what was going on with everything that had happened since the return from the country.

Colin looked again at the words Penelope had underlined in emphasis, as if he needed further prompting on that point. Come alone? Surely to suggest he would do otherwise was a jest? For one wild moment, he imagined bringing his family along to one of his and Pen's Whistledown meetings, and nearly laughed out loud. If Hyacinth found out Lady Whistledown's identity, bless her, the whole secret would be out and ruined within a day.

Besides, he rather liked having this arrangement with Penelope, this thing that only they shared between themselves, and no one else. Well, in truth, it was wholly Pen's thing, he was just… assisting. He frowned to himself. He'd been feeling so adrift and aimless earlier in the season, but it felt now like he was waking each day with some problem to solve or to help Pen with. And he got joy and satisfaction from reading and editing the columns. It was…exciting. He could not have imagined he'd ever feel this way when he'd first found out Pen's identity.

But a lingering feeling picked at him inside, an inner conflict that lapped at the sides of his thoughts. Was it a purpose, though? What would be true fulfilment, for him? Should he not be doing more searching to find himself? The thought hovered in the background for him, but now was not the time to dig into it. Pen needed him.

Whatever she needed to see him about evidently could not wait until Kate and Anthony's wedding on Tuesday, only two days' hence. He wondered, again, just what could possibly be so urgent as to prompt her to send him the note.

The coach pulled up to the side garden entrance of Featherington House, Jenkins calling down to him to let him know they'd arrived.

Hopping down, Colin nodded gratefully to his driver. Glancing around, noting very few people out and about on the streets – it was still some time before the church goers would make their way to the morning sermons – he slipped through the entrance, heading into the main Featherington gardens. It was an unseasonably cool, cloudy morning for June, and he was grateful for his powder-blue coat as he stepped into the main garden, looking around for Penelope.

He spotted her, sitting on the same stone loveseat he had found her at before, tucked away underneath a tree with a book in her lap, although she was staring into middle distance, her eyes absent minded. As he approached, she sensed his presence and stood, smiling warmly at him, and he returned the smile, and reflected that that was truly something he loved about Penelope – she always made him feel truly welcomed. Perhaps he was just used to the good-natured barbs of his siblings, where they would tease and banter and roll their eyes at him, but with Pen… he always felt like she was pleased to see him.

"Pen," he greeted her with a bow.

"Colin," she dipped a curtsy, and came back up fiddling with an errant strand of red hair that was falling from the swept-up hairdo twisted at the back of her head. He glanced down and noted her attire – yellow, again. Bows, lace and frills. "Thank you for coming on short notice."

He waved this away, looking more closely at her – her eyes looked red-rimmed, her face haggard. "My god, Pen, is everything alright?"

She stared at him for one long moment, before, to his astonishment, her bright blue eyes welled with unshed tears, and she sniffed, her face near collapse.

"No," she wavered, looking away quickly from him and blinking rapidly. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Pen!" Alarmed, he retrieved his kerchief from his coat pocket and offered it to her, quite at a loss with what else to do. "Here, take this. You must…please, do tell me everything, and I will do what I can to help you."

She smiled, a watery smile but a smile nonetheless, accepting the kerchief to dab under her eyes, laughing helplessly. "I'm sorry, you must think me dramatic…"

"Never," he said firmly, then paused, considering. "Well. Given just who you secretly are, I imagine drama comes with the territory, but…" he watched the tears rolling down her cheeks and felt a surge of protectiveness rush through him. "…that's neither here nor there." He wanted to move to take her hand in his again, to offer whatever comfort he could, but something made him look around, searching for and quite unable to locate their respectable chaperone from last time, Rae.

Pen must have noticed his glance around the garden. "I told Rae to come fetch me when everyone was ready to leave for church," she murmured, dabbing again at her eyes. "Given Prudence and Philippa's tendency to try on and then discard every outfit of theirs before any social outing, I imagine we still have a good half an hour at the very least."

"Right." Colin shifted a little back and forth on the spot on the balls of his feet, torn. He wanted to move forward to comfort her, but there was no chaperone, and although they were shaded from the windows of the house by the trees near the loveseat, any gesture he made to go near her could well be construed as inappropriate if anyone saw them. "Why don't you tell me what happened, and we will go from there."

"Yes, well." Penelope dropped her eyes, staring at the kerchief in her hands, blinking, before she took a deep breath, and it all came spilling out in a giant rush.

"As it turns out… Lord Featherington's mines are useless, he is near bankruptcy which means so we will be as well, and he has concocted a scheme and blackmailed Mama into going along with it, to marry Cressida Cowper for her rich dowry, trapping her in a loveless marriage and using her for her wealth so that we as a family can continue living comfortably, and I couldn't work out what to do, except he's accelerated the courtship now because his finances are worse than he thought, so last night he proposed to Cressida and she has said yes, and now they are betrothed, and now they will get married, and she wouldn't listen to me when I tried to warn her last night, and… and…" Penelope was breathing hard, unable to look up at him to meet his gaze. "And I can't imagine what to do, and I… I need…" and now she did look up at him, and those bright blue eyes shining with tears were disarming, sheer devastation to witness. "I need help, Colin."

Colin stared back at her, his mind perfectly blank for a moment before it whirred into gear, processing this new information. "Cressida Cowper, engaged to Jack Featherington?"

Penelope sniffed, winding the kerchief absently around one finger. "I am afraid so."

"And he blackmailed your mother?"

"Yes."

"And he's… he's truly about to go bankrupt?"

"Yes."

"And Cressida doesn't believe…"

"Yes, Colin," Penelope snapped irritably, causing Colin to blink at her, surprised and a little hurt. Seeing his face, she moaned a little and covered her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I don't mean to lash out. It's a lot to… to take in, I know, I've been so worried about it for so long myself-"

"Wait," Colin muttered, frowning, trying to play catch up to events. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since the night of the Hearts and Flowers ball," Pen mumbled through her fingers with a groan. "That was the first time I heard Jack and Mama discuss it."

"Since…what?" Colin exclaimed. "My god, Pen, that was two weeks ago! Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't…" He bit off the rest of the sentence, struggling with himself for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He didn't know how to wrestle with it, this hot vivid feeling that was rushing over him, but flashes of it were breaking through. Furious anger at Jack, for putting everyone in this situation in the first place, and anger at Portia Featherington for going along with it. Disbelief and concern about the precarious situation the Featherington ladies were now in. But above all, rising beyond this, the hurt, the upset, that Pen had told him so much, but she had chosen not to tell him this.

Not the first woman to lie to you, a voice in his head whispered nastily. Lady Crane… now Pen. She kept Lady Whistledown secret, now this?

"I so wanted to, Colin, believe me," Penelope pleaded with him. "I came close many times, but in truth… when I found out about it, it was so close to when you'd discovered about Lady Whistledown, and that time, that situation was so precarious, so… fragile, I couldn't bear it if... I didn't want…" she trailed off, looking away from him miserably. "I couldn't bear to be a burden to you."

Colin watched her, mentally replaying Jack and Cressida together from the times he'd seen them the last few weeks, seeing anew the fraught situation Pen was now in.

"I did not stay silent about this because I did not trust you, Colin," Penelope murmured sadly to him. "I am rather used to… solving problems on my own, you see. Normally there is no one to help me that I can truly… now, I know that I've shared confidences with Eloise before, it's true, but for crises like this, I would be too afraid if I dragged you, again, into yet more difficult things, too afraid that I would…" she searched his eyes, steeling herself, and his focus narrowed onto a single tear tracking down her face, with the oddest urge suddenly to reach out and brush the tear away from the delicate curve of her left cheek.

"I would be too afraid I would lose you," she finished quietly, brushing away the tear herself impatiently, and he blinked, stirred from his stupor, and focused back on her voice, her words, and what she was trying to tell him. "If I told you, and it was all too much for you, I couldn't bear to lose you. But then, if I manage to stop Jack, and save Cressida from marrying him, we will go bankrupt, and be ruined and cast off from society, and I will lose you anyway-" and the last was choked by a sob, her tears gathering and falling anew.

Windows – and eyewitnesses – be damned, honestly.

Without hesitation, desperate to comfort her, Colin stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, his left arm cradling her back and his right arm embracing around the back of her head, his right hand pressed against the swept-up curls of her vivid hair, and the sweet jasmine scent that always lingered around her enveloped him. He made the not unpleasant discovery that she was the perfect height for him to be able to rest his chin on the top of her head, and he did so, laying his cheek against the top of her head gingerly, tenderly, and breathed her in. It was uncanny how easily she fit and folded into his arms, and he held her as she cried, soothing her softly with gentle murmurs the way he used to soothe Hyacinth when she was younger and crying about something Gregory had done.

After a short while of this, her sobs eased, then subsided altogether. Then he felt Pen stiffen against him, most likely in alarm at the very unseemly display they were creating. It felt like he came back to himself; he released her quickly and stepped carefully back from her to a more respectable distance, watching her for her reaction. She was flushed bright pink, staring at him a little wild-eyed, breathing rapidly. "Colin, I-"

"While I must crave pardon for my impropriety, Pen, I cannot say I am sorry for comforting a dear friend," Colin interrupted firmly. He looked down to the tip of his boots on the grass, then back up to her, pinning her with his gaze, hoping to make sure she was clear on one thing. "You will never lose me, I swear it. I will always help you when you ask for it, to the best of my ability. The imperative thing first is to end this betrothal before it goes too far. You…" he swallowed hard. "You saved me once from being entrapped in a sham marriage, although I did not truly realise it at that time, and I never really thanked you for that, for…looking out for me." He took a deep breath. "I do believe I've never thanked you," he repeated lamely, "and I do, Pen. I thank you heartily, for doing what you could to ensure my future happiness."

Pen smiled a little hesitantly, although he could see she was pleased. "I… you're welcome, Colin. You deserved better in life than what Lady Crane was offering you."

He nodded thoughtfully. It was the oddest thing – these past few weeks, he had really not thought about Lady Crane at all. Lady Whistledown…Pen… it had all quite driven her from his mind.

"And loath as we may be to say it, so too does Cressida deserve better than a similar fate," Colin ventured grimly. "We will have to find a way. We… will just have to figure out later what to do about the financial situation, I suppose, even if I have to ask Anthony, or the Duke, for assistance, but…"

Now it was Penelope's turn to throw etiquette to the wind, reaching out to seize his hand in her own and squeezing it in gratitude, eyes shining as she smiled at him, her face beatific. "Thank you," she breathed. "Already the load feels halved having shared it with you, and I am sorry I did not do so before."

Her hand was warm, and so soft over his. "I understand, I think, why," he said gently. "It may be what you're used to, but you don't have to do everything on your own." Anymore, he added silently, grimly, vowing then and there to himself that she would never face these kinds of burdens alone again.

He gently loosened his hand from hers, although he felt the loss of the warmth of her skin, and straightened his shoulders, intent now on the problem at hand. "How long do you think they will be betrothed for?" he asked her. "Will Jack push for a common license?"

Penelope, still looking a little shaky, shook her head doubtfully. "I don't know… he probably wants to rush it, but it will look odd for him to do so," she reasoned slowly. "He needs the appearance of a gentleman with all the time in the world. A license would invite comment, they have no publicly known reason why they would need one. Reading the banns is his safest bet. If the priest does the first reading of their banns today at church…we will know for sure, I suppose."

Colin nodded thoughtfully. "Right. Good." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And when you tried to tell Cressida…?"

"I told her the whole truth," Pen said gloomily. "She just called me a liar. Amongst… other things."

Colin watched her face darken, anger clouding her expression, and reflected he'd never seen Pen look quite so… dark. "What did she say?" he demanded. "I know there is no love lost between you, and she has been known to be cruel before."

"Cruel always, you mean," Pen said quietly, but she waved a hand at him, impatient. "It matters not what she said. Nothing she has not said before."

He looked at her with admiration. "And despite this, you still wish to help her?"

She looked back at him, seemingly weighing up her words. "I can't say I didn't wrestle with the decision," she finally admitted. "To be clear, I am no saint, and it did cross my mind to…well, I'd be lying if I said revenge wasn't tempting, but…" she sighed, shrugging a little helplessly.

"I see." He considered this. "For what it's worth, Pen…I don't blame you at all for that. But you're doing the right thing, that's what matters."

Penelope stared at him, her eyes searching his face, looking terribly morose. "If only one could do what one wanted, instead of what was right," she murmured, her eyes lingering on his hair, then flitting down to his mouth.

"I- well, yes, I suppose," he frowned, "but the point is- never mind. So, she won't believe you," he mused. "Who might she believe?"

They were both quiet for a moment, thinking, and it occurred to them simultaneously.

"Lady Whistledown," they both exclaimed together, then both laughed aloud at the sheer obviousness of it.

"Cressida might not ever take me seriously," Pen ventured, "but she does take the good opinion of society very seriously, and Lady Whistledown is the barometer of society opinion."

Colin nodded eagerly. "Just so. If Lady Whistledown publishes tomorrow – perhaps something a little pointed, a little barbed, a little… speculative? Questioning?"

Pen smiled widely, pleased. "Yes, precisely, Colin, that's brilliant," she enthused, and a warm glow erupted in his chest at her praise, his cheeks warming. He knew, being the third-born son, lost in the muddle of the pile of Bridgerton siblings, he had a stronger propensity than most, one could even call it a need, to have his ideas lauded, but this was different. Praise from his family or his peers was one thing. It just simply meant more to him coming from Pen. It was all he could do not to puff out his chest in response.

Penelope, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying the sight of watching Colin Bridgerton blush, something she was quite sure she had never imagined witnessing in anything but her more elaborate fantasies; the pink tinge on his cheeks was adorable, and if later she would imagine brushing her fingers over his face, trailing further into his hair, well… She cleared her throat a little awkwardly but maintained her encouraging smile.

"I think we publish tomorrow morning," Penelope said decisively. "I will have to draft it after church, of course, depending on what occurs there with the reading of the banns, but-"

"My whole family is gathering after church finishes for a pre-wedding luncheon, along with the Sharmas," Colin said helpfully. "It may take some hours, but after it's finished…" he lowered his voice, his eyes glinting mischievously. "There's a little Cupid statuette I've been known to visit to… say my prayers to. It is Sunday, after all. Perhaps I shall call upon it."

"Indeed, how pious of you," Pen intoned with a straight face, and catching his eye, they both dissolved into laughter.

"I shall pray for divine intervention."

"More like pray for a miraculous cure of Cressida's entire personality."

"I shall pray for…a really, really good feast at Anthony's wedding," Colin suggested, warming to the topic, and at Penelope's questioning look, he shrugged defensively. "What? It's been ages since there was a big 'do that wasn't just another ball. Everyone knows the best dishes are saved for wedding breakfasts."

Penelope laughed again, rolling her eyes good naturedly. "Knowing Violet Bridgerton, I don't think you have to be unduly concerned about that. I would pray we don't have to witness one of those for Jack and Cressida, myself."

"You know, it's a shame circumstances couldn't be different," Colin mused. "One might venture in any other situation, those two would deserve each other."

"Yes, pity," Penelope sighed. "Most unfortunately, it's the most odious of circumstances that brings them together now."

"The betrothal from hell," Colin suggested.

"Indeed." Penelope smiled, but it faded again quickly when thinking of the implications that she, and her family, were facing. She stretched out her arms a little, with a small yawn. "Well, in any case, Cupid has been good to us so far."

At Colin's raised eyebrows, she flushed pink with embarrassment again, clarifying hastily. "Well, not to us, specifically, I mean to our arrangement, and to…Lady Whistledown… and hopefully he can hear our…prayers…" she trailed off, mortified.

Colin blinked, understanding clicking suddenly, and he cleared his throat on a small chuckle, his cravat suddenly feeling uncommonly tight. "I know what you meant," he said quickly, smiling encouragingly and hoping to defuse her embarrassment, although really, he was a little taken aback at how put off she seemed about any implication that they… that they ever could…

Not that it had ever crossed his mind before, himself. Really. They were friends, and now… what? Business partners? Colleagues? Confidants?

"Anyway!" Pen trilled a touch too brightly, obviously trying to change the subject. "A visit to Cupid this afternoon will do you much good, and I am sure that he will have plenty to say."

Colin nodded gratefully to her, happy to take her lead. "I shan't miss my appointment with him," he promised softly. "Or at the print shop. The issue will be out tomorrow morning, depend on it."

"Thank you, Colin," Penelope said with relief. She fiddled with one of the many small bows that adorned her sleeves, thinking. "Your family rents a box at the Theatre-Royal in Drury Lane, do they not?"

"Indeed," Colin said slowly, frowning at her. "Why do you ask?"

"So do the Cowpers," Pen said meaningfully. "I can't imagine they would miss this chance to display their now successfully betrothed only daughter to the public, can you?"

"Er… which chance might that be?" Colin questioned, smiling ruefully at her. "I'm afraid I don't go as much to the theatres as my brothers. Especially Anthony, last year, when he was…er… seeing that opera singer."

Pen, amply aware of those circumstances, waved this away. "And he is now betrothed and marrying his love-match, so the events of last year matter not," she said impatiently. "I was referring to the performance tomorrow evening of The Devil to Pay. The ballad opera."

"Ah." Colin nodded sagely, although truly he had not the faintest clue about it. He'd gone along before to theatre performances with his brothers, but in truth it was much more Benedict's taste, and Anthony had come along for more…amorous reasons, as they had just discussed. As for Colin, he enjoyed getting lost in the music, but he paid little attention to the theatre schedules.

Pen was now speaking. "The Featherington box is…sore neglected," she commented with a flash of a grin, "more often than not Papa used to rent it out to other people, but it's still there. Jack," she mused, "will probably also be keen to publicly emphasise his betrothal to Cressida. It will make it harder for her to back out, you see. But if we're all there, then…" she trailed off, thinking. "During intermission, you could send a message to her, pretending it's from Jack, asking her to meet you at one of the saloons. Then you and I could find her and try and talk to her."

Colin could only look with admiration, and not a little fear, at the formidable woman in front of him. "The way your mind works, Pen," he commented with some amazement, "is extraordinary."

A slow, deep smile spread across Pen's face, her eyes sparkling, and he could see very clearly she was flushing with pleasure. Perhaps someone might see it as laying it on thick, but he was purely sincere in his sentiment; she was the cleverest person he knew, and she'd demonstrated it time and time again. Seeing the gentle warmth in the blue of her eyes, and the lightly curled hair pulled back from her face, really, it was quite astonishing that someone of such sharp wit could be so… could look so…soft.

"Thank you, Colin," Pen said quietly, smiling shyly at him.

He bowed his head, smiling at her. "It's only the truth."

A small thud interrupted them, and they both whirled around to see a pebble skittering across the grass, coming from the direction of-

"Rae," Pen gasped, seeing her lady maid standing a little way away, gesturing frantically to her. Evidently, in desperation to get their attention, the resourceful woman had chucked a pebble at them. Penelope turned back to Colin. "My family must be about to depart for church," she said quickly, curtsying hurriedly to him. "I must go."

Colin bowed swiftly, a smile playing on his lips. "I shall say my prayers later," he called after her.

Pen's answering grin over her shoulder as she hurried off towards Rae, Colin would reflect later, was really quite wicked.

Excerpt from Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

Monday 13th June, 1814

Courtship, betrothal, marriage – around these things, I have built this column, for who isn't interested in the romantic affairs of others? Scintillating scandal sells, after all.

With the betrothal announced this week of Anthony Lord Bridgerton, and Miss Kathani Sharma, this Author was preparing to spin my wheels for a few days and await confirmation of the nuptials. Surely, as this season draws near to its close, one would think that we have already reached the pinnacle of shocking news for the year.

Even this Author can get things wrong, dear Reader.

Attendees yesterday at St George's, Mayfair's primary church, weren't just fanning themselves from the rising heat of the morning. Fans were flapping, and tongues were wagging, and many a churchgoer turned to their neighbour and politely asked if they had heard correctly, when the Banns were read.

For Banns of marriage were indeed published… between Lord Jack Featherington, and Miss Cressida Cowper.

Warmest congratulations to the newly betrothed couple. One can only imagine how the Featherington women must be feeling about the prospect of a new Lady of the house, especially a lady of questionable temperament like Miss Cowper. Although it must be said, she may improve the dreadful fashions in that family (in all honesty, a potato sack would be an improvement to some of their frilly, fussy citrus concoctions).

Let's hope that the reported wealth from Lord Featherington's mines in the Americas is enough to provide the lifestyle Miss Cowper may be accustomed to. Although, one has heard that the Lord Jack in question was disputing his bar tab recently at Mondrich's, with the good proprietor of that establishment. Disputing it loudly…in intricate detail.

Perhaps the price of brandy has climbed too high for Lord Featherington's account books?

It was murmured amongst the parishioners that what had started as a leisurely, even half-hearted courtship at the start of this season seemed to accelerate in intensity more recently. The pair appeared this past week to be running the gauntlet of courtship, ticking off the recommended requirements rapidly in their rush to get down the aisle. If anyone might need a handbook on Beginners Guide to Courting, I would suggest that Jack Featherington is your man.

So, if buying brandy is becoming a point of contention for Lord Featherington, this Author has one pressing question. Might this be why, despite the sudden rush into betrothal, he has opted for the only marriage method that won't cost him anything?

Like the priest would say, this is my first time of asking. But it certainly won't be my last…

Chapter 12: Performance

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve: Performance

It was warm and still on Monday evening when Penelope followed her Mama, Jack, and her sisters in exiting the Featherington carriage, emerging onto Bridges Street outside the Theatre-Royal of Drury Lane. Penelope looked up and admired the elegant white façade of its entrance, with the triple set of vast entry doors thrown open to allow the crowds to pour in.

Showtime would commence at 6:30pm, and they had arrived with just enough time to get to their seats. Penelope hurried after her family and Jack through the spacious entrance hall, into the adjoining rotunda, then from there to the wide corridor that led to the great staircase, which from there would allow them access to the upper floors, and their box. As they climbed the staircase, Penelope thought ruefully that she would be hard-pressed to navigate this maze to find Colin, and then Cressida, during intermission.

The Featherington box was on the second circle of boxes – still elevated above the common people in the pit of the theatre, but the boxes in their tier were not quite as large as those in the dress boxes level. Those ones tended to be purchased or rented by the more affluent families, including the Cowpers and the Bridgertons, and the nobility.

As they made their way through the crowds, Penelope noticed people noticing Jack, who was striding along in front of them all with his jaw set. Heads were turning and whispers and talk were breaking out all around them as the ton nudged each other and pointed out the subject of Lady Whistledown's latest column.

It has been surprisingly easy to manoeuvre this visit to the theatre. After Whistledown was published that morning, and the Featherington women had read it, Portia had taken it without a word over to where Jack had been perusing his morning newspaper. Penelope allowed herself a certain amount of vindictive smugness in watching his handsome face drain of colour as he read it.

While she always wanted to kiss Colin, she especially wanted to kiss him for adding the tidbit about the bar tab dispute. He hadn't mentioned that to her, but she was glad he'd happened to put it in - it was a detail that fit so perfectly with their purpose.

She saw the deep breath Jack had pulled in, followed by the smooth return of his indifferent façade. "Nothing but falsehoods," he said calmly, tossing the column aside carelessly. "And that is all I will say, both here and in public, if prompted. These are but Canterbury tales – all lies."

"My lord," Portia had entreated, "This is hardly something that we can merely ignore to make it go away. People will be talking, and saying nothing…"

"Words say nothing," Jack had replied testily, "and actions say everything. Just look at the Bridgertons. They kept their mouths shut this week, and their heir will be quietly married tomorrow, with minimal damage to their family reputation." Folding his newspaper, he rose from the plush lounge, still addressing Portia. "This Whistledown woman, whoever she is, clearly wishes to bring this family down, and we will not let that happen. We will not address these insinuations. We will present a united front."

But Penelope saw the grit in his teeth, the slight shake in his hands.

"We need to make a public appearance. As soon as possible. Today. Tonight. What can we-" and he'd broken off, gulping in air, clearly fighting a rising panic. The triumphant thrill Penelope felt watching the effects of hers and Colin's handiwork on this vile man was great indeed.

It was with a studied air of nervousness, of spontaneity, that Penelope had spoken up from her window seat.

"What about the theatre?"

Ah, the surprised and then thoughtful looks on Portia and Jack's faces. If only she'd had means to capture them, so she could treasure them forever.

Thus it was that they were now making their way to their viewing box, under strict instructions from Jack not to acknowledge anyone who looked at them or spoke about them, and to act above all else like everything was completely normal.

They finally reached their box, and Penelope approached the edge, looking out into the theatre. It was always a truly beautiful sight, with the brightly painted greens and golds of the walls and columns, the splendid crimson red of the curtains, the opulent soaring ceiling from which hung multiple massive chandeliers. Paired with the veritable rainbow of ladies' finery and gentleman's formal jackets, the visual effect was near overwhelming, and the din of noise even more so.

Mama, her sisters, and Jack were taking their seats behind her, but she chanced a few moments more to peer out, searching. From her second-tier vantage point, she could see lower down the dress circle boxes on the opposite side of the theatre, a height advantage (finally, for once in her life) that meant she could see both the Cowper and the Bridgerton boxes.

Looking downwards, the Bridgerton box was slightly off to her left, and she could see several gentlemen in dark formal jackets milling near the edge of the box, although it was difficult to tell who she was looking at… she thought she saw Lord Fife, one of the Lieber brothers… ah! She spotted a flash a chestnut brown hair, and a tall form with broad shoulders, coming to stand close to the edge of the box, and she could see the gentleman with his face tilted upwards, searching the upper tiers for something. Searching for her.

Her stomach dropped and her heart flew into her mouth, and it was all she could do not to hang off the side of the box in eagerness to wave to Colin down below. In preparation for tonight, she had elected to wear the brightest, garishly yellow dress she owned, and while it had a distressingly girlish high cut waistline and an ungodly number of frills and bows, it would be hard to miss in a crowd – she needed to make sure Colin could see her, would know that she was here.

Down below, Colin raised the glass in his hand to her in a toast, and she allowed herself a small wave to him, much more restrained than she'd wish. Colin looked back at her for a few long moments before he turned back into the Bridgerton box, away from the edge, and Penelope's gaze lingered on the space where he'd been before she tore her eyes away.

She counted the boxes across from the Bridgerton box to the Cowper box. …three…four… She estimated they were perhaps half a dozen boxes away from each other. She could easily discern even from this distance the distinctive pale blonde hair of Cressida, sitting front and centre between her parents, wearing a bright, peacock blue gown. Cressida appeared to be raising her gaze upwards too towards the upper tiers, causing her to momentarily panic before Penelope realised that she was most likely searching for her betrothed.

Now that she was looking around at the crowd, there did seem to be an uncommonly large number of faces below tilted upwards towards the Featherington box; that is, if they weren't angling their heads to gawk at the Cowpers. Given the Whistledown column, it was clear that many theatregoers today were extremely interested in seeing Jack Featherington, as well as Cressida Cowper.

"Away from the edge, Penelope," her Mama called to her sharply.

"Sorry, Mama," Penelope said meekly, taking her seat at the end of the row, just as the first introductory strains of music sounded from the orchestra pit, and the actors came on stage to begin the first act.

She had seen this ballad opera before, and while she'd enjoyed it, this second viewing, paired with her nerves about intermission, meant her mind was free to wander during the performance. Particularly, she returned again and again to how it had felt yesterday in the garden when Colin had stepped forward and – she blushed anew at the memory – folded her into his arms, comforting her.

When she'd first summoned Colin to the garden, she hadn't intended to end up sobbing in Colin's arms, but… it couldn't be helped now, that was what had happened. It had taken a lot to drive her to that point of openly asking for his help with the Jack and Cressida situation, but her fantasies of calmly describing the problem and staying stoic did not last long.

She knew how dangerous it was, to unleash emotions around him, to be…unguarded. From the moment she had met Colin Bridgerton, she'd fallen in love with him, and it was an ingrained habit now to control herself around him, to control her unreciprocated feelings. In her heart of hearts, in her wildest dreams, the flicker of hope that they might one day be more than friends still burned.

But if all they were ever going to be was friends, well, that friendship they shared had always mattered supremely to her. And now, now that he knew about Whistledown, now that he was actively involved, helping her… he had firmly established himself, along with Eloise, as one of the most important people in her life.

So, if sometimes, when his eyes met hers…well, she was sure that the love, admiration, and desire that she felt for him must be plainly written across her face, indeed she was always surprised that he didn't seem to pick up on it, when it felt like it was consuming her. She had to suppress those feelings with him. He must not find out. It might ruin everything, and what they shared was too important, especially now.

She swore though that she should never be able to forget it, that feeling when she'd been in his arms. The scent from his soap – something spicy, like cinnamon, she'd thought dazedly at the time – had surrounded her, and his strong arms had wrapped around her, cradling her, and even as her heart beat wildly, she had felt immensely…safe, a feeling which had eventually helped ease her sobs and calm her down.

The way he had moved to comfort her, heedless of the risk, regardless of the chance that someone could have come into the garden, could have been watching from one of the windows… she frowned to herself, recalling it once more. When she'd calmed down, she'd come back to herself, realising the gamble they were taking in such an embrace. And - it was so clear in her mind's eye – he'd stepped back, and there was his handsome face, eyes flashing, defiant and unrepentant for what had happened, swearing she would never lose him…

For the first time, a prickle of resentment reared its head inside her. Easy enough for Colin to be defiant and unrepentant, when it was so much easier for gentlemen to come and go as they pleased, do as they wished, have secret rendezvous, with little to no repercussions to their reputations. Their Whistledown arrangement and meetings perfectly illustrated this.

For a gently born unwed woman, such freedom was impossible, unless achieved furtively, at desperate risk of the loss of one's honour and reputation in society. Why, even Colin's assistance with Whistledown had originally stemmed from his own horror at the idea of her travelling around unaccompanied. Their secretive meetings… indecorous incidents like the hand holding, and then the hug… it was a risk for both of them, to be sure, but by far a riskier undertaking for her.

And if they ever happened to be caught, well. The honourable thing would be another forced marriage for the Bridgertons – she had no doubt that Colin's honour would compel him to marry her to save any scandal. And while a younger version of herself might have jumped at the mere chance to marry Colin Bridgerton, under any circumstances, she now shrank from the idea of marrying the man she loved. For while he might care about her to some extent, he would certainly never love her back. To believe otherwise… that's where madness lay.

The opera continued on, and Penelope ruminated on these points and more in her head, her thoughts ranging over all of the events of the last few weeks, thinking it all over, completely in her own world. At length, a sudden burst of applause snapped her back into the here and now, where the theatregoers were clapping thunderously, and the actors were taking their bows on the stage. They had reached the halfway point of the opera, and intermission was about to begin shortly.

As the applause faded off and the stage emptied, the theatre audience collectively turned and began chatting to their companions. Before anyone else in the Featherington box even opened their mouths, Penelope had gotten to her feet, turning to address Portia.

"Mama, might I be excused?" Penelope asked her Mama breathlessly. "I wanted to find a fruit seller. And… to freshen up."

Her Mama eyed her doubtfully, and Penelope made a show of fidgeting uncomfortably a little from one foot to another, hoping the message was clear, but after a few moments, it seemed she'd need to be more exact. "I need a chamberpot, Mama," Penelope hissed, and finally, that was enough to allow Mama to nod assent, and excuse enough for Penelope to scoop up her reticule and hurry out of their box, intent to move as fast as she could to get downstairs to the Bridgerton box. She prayed as she went that Colin had completed his part of the plan.

A few minutes before the intermission began, Colin stood and moved quietly to the back of the Bridgerton box, threading past the rows of seats where his elder brothers, his gentleman acquaintances and friends were seated. Benedict met his eye and raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Colin grimaced back, mouthing, 'chamberpot,' prompting a nod of understanding from his brother.

Safely out of the box, he beckoned to one of the theatre messengers waiting dutifully near the entrance. The theatre was well supplied with them, boys eager to courier messages between theatregoers in exchange for compensation. As expected, the boy moved over to him and bowed smartly. "Sir?"

"Please take this note at once to the Cowper box," Colin murmured, taking the folded paper from his formal jacket and handing it to the messenger, then pressing a coin into the boy's palm. "Please ensure it is delivered to Miss Cressida Cowper, let no one else see it." At the boy's blank stare, he hastened to elaborate. "She'll be the pale blonde girl with the look on her face like she's stepped in something horrid. Can't miss her."

The boy nodded eagerly, touching his cap and scurrying off down the corridor. Breathing a sigh of relief, Colin turned and decided to wait out the remainder of the performance at the entrance of the box, watching the end of the opera disinterestedly. He enjoyed the music, but this only cemented it – the theatre was not for him.

At the final musical flourish, the theatre erupted into applause, signalling the beginning of intermission. Colin stayed where he was, watching as Anthony, Benedict and others of their acquaintance all stretched, talked and laughed, many getting to their feet and preparing to adjourn to the grand saloon and the bars, coffee and refreshments therein.

Lord Fife and the Lieber brothers hailed him as they walked past, inviting him to join them, but he declined them politely, as he did with multiple others of his acquaintance who called out to him. Then, it was Anthony and Benedict's turn.

"Are you coming, brother?" Benedict smiled at him quizzically. "Why are you lurking like that in the shadows?"

"I am not lurking," Colin retorted. "I… am merely taking a few moments of pensive thought."

Benedict peered more closely at him. "Pensive thought? You?"

"Yes," Colin huffed. "You may not notice but I do like to reflect from time to time."

"The only one of us here in no need of reflection is our groom to be, anyway," Benedict said jovially, clapping Anthony on the shoulder. "While he's made some… questionable… choices, all has turned out for the good. A few drinks later at Mondrich's before the big day tomorrow won't go astray, eh?"

Anthony smiled warily, and Colin was pleased to see it, because his eldest brother had seemed even more tightly wound than usual this past week since his betrothal was announced. "One drink," Anthony admonished, and then considered. "Maybe two." He turned his dark gaze to Colin, raising an eyebrow. "Coming?"

Colin waved a hand, gesturing them onwards. "Go. I'll catch up to you later."

"Suit yourself. So serious," Benedict stage whispered to Anthony as they headed out of the box. "Anyone would think he's starting to take after you, Anthony."

Anthony's bark of laughter on the way out was gratifying to hear.

The box emptied out, and Colin waited, trying not to fidget with the sleeves of his dove-grey formal jacket or the buttons of the gunmetal blue waistcoat. The plan was for Penelope to meet him here first, at the box, and he wondered if they should have timed it better – it was some way to get through the crowds from the upper theatre tiers down to the dress circle, and from the opposite side of the theatre no less.

"Colin," a voice hissed behind him, and he spun around. There was Penelope, smiling shyly at him from the doorway. The bright yellow of her dress combined with the multitude of bows and frills incorporated into its design was a lot to take in visually, but she was wearing her vivid red hair in a pleasing half-up, half-down style that he thought rather suited her better than the usual tight, pinned up curls.

"Pen," he greeted her with a small bow of his head.

"Did you send the message?"

"Just before start of intermission," he confirmed, moving to join her near the doorway.

"Long enough," she nodded to herself, looking down and fiddling with her reticule. She looked back up at him, and the sudden bright blue flash of her eyes almost caught him off guard, although really, that was ridiculous when he knew perfectly well what colour they were. He looked into them often enough. He rather thought he'd be able to pick them out of a million, with their unique shade.

That, he mused to himself, is an odd thing to be thinking about.

"Ready?" she asked him, and he nodded seriously, resolved to focus on the task at hand. He proffered his arm to her, and after a few moments' hesitation, she took it, and he felt her delicate fingers hover and then rest carefully along the sleeve of his coat, as if she were afraid to hold too tightly.

The corridor outside was near empty, with the private box holders tending to flock to the main saloon during intermission – only a few stragglers remained in conversation around the edges of the corridor. Instead of turning left towards the main saloon, they turned right, heading for an antechamber coming off a side saloon that Colin remembered being deserted last time he'd come to the theatre. At that time, he had gone off separate to Anthony and Benedict, in search of refreshments, or snacks, which always took forever to get in the main saloon, and he'd been disappointed to find the side saloon just didn't cater for these. But he remembered seeing several antechambers coming off of the side saloon.

The first antechamber, painted green, was where his note had instructed Cressida to meet Jack during intermission. While Jack Featherington had ticked off many of the milestones of courtship very quickly, they were gambling on Penelope's hunch that Jack had not troubled himself to write any love notes to his intended during the courtship, so Cressida was unlikely to recognise that the handwriting on the note was not Jack's, but Colin's. He had kept it short:

Miss Cowper,

Please allow me the honour to request the pleasure of your company during intermission, at the green antechamber off the side saloon in the eastern wing of the theatre. Be sure to come alone.

Yours,

Jack Featherington

As expected, the side-saloon was sparsely populated, with only a handful of businessmen in serious negotiations with the noble and the wealthy, and they barely deigned to look up or notice the third born Bridgerton and youngest Featherington enter the room and sidle immediately towards the antechamber door.

Reaching their destination, Penelope dropped her hand from Colin's arm, thinking that they were best served not to give Cressida any ammunition – being seen like arm-clasped with a gentleman one was not related to, but also was not courting, would certainly raise some eyebrows. Colin glanced down and frowned at the loss of contact – the warmth of her touch had been oddly comforting, somehow – but he brushed this aside to step forward and open the antechamber door, walking in side by side with Penelope.

Closing the door behind them, Colin turned and faced the room. He noticed first the deep green wallpaper, accented by a tasteful gold trim. He next noticed a circular wooden table set up in the centre of the room, lined with carved wooden chairs with plush golden cushions. The room was only sparingly lit by candles, making it rather dim inside, a space that was usually intended for use as a gentlemen's game room. One could picture it filled with roaring, laughing gentlemen throwing their cards down on the table, smoke from cigars wafting through the air.

A noise to their side drew his attention, and he and Penelope both looked sharply to the right to where Cressida was standing near the corner of the room, her back to them.

"How I've longed to see you, my lord," Cressida purred, and Colin and Penelope scarce had time to exchange one startled glance before she was turning around to face them, a slow magnificent spin, and both he and Penelope gasped – Cressida had tugged down the bodice and sleeves of her peacock-blue gown, revealing more than was socially acceptable of her shoulders and upper chest, with the neckline pulled down and lurking dangerously low-

Seeing Colin and Penelope standing there, instead of Jack Featherington, Cressida shrieked, immediately tugging her gown and sleeves back up into their conventional place, and you really had to hand it to her, Colin mused, even as he hurriedly averted his eyes politely. The girl clearly saw in the note her chance to seduce and secure what she believed to be her fabulously wealthy betrothed.

He thought again about his and Pen's conversation the day before, about how Jack and Cressida might be oddly suited to each other, in another universe. His sentiments remained unchanged. They were just as scheming and opportunistic as each other, it seemed.

"What is this?!" Cressida gasped, having made her outfit acceptable once more. In the dim lighting, she looked more closely at them. "Colin Bridgerton and…and Penelope Featherington." She practically spat the last part. Her gaze darted back and forth between them, and she narrowed her eyes dangerously, and a nasty smirk appeared on her face as she raised her eyebrows at Penelope, gesturing between them. "I could never have imagined this would happen, Penelope. Am I to congratulate you?"

Looking uncomprehendingly at Cressida's insinuating, mocking grin, Colin looked quickly to Pen, and saw the way those bright blue eyes widened in shock, and the flush that appeared in her skin. "Certainly not," Penelope said hotly, vehemently. "We are here to speak with you, Cressida, and that's all."

Colin blinked, looking back to Cressida, who was watching them both with an awfully smug smirk, and then back to Pen, who was studiously avoiding looking at him, her gaze trained on Cressida, breathing hard. Then realisation clicked into place; Cressida had thought she'd caught the two of them sneaking into the antechamber…in order to…for some kind of…illicit rendezvous?

The idea was laughable, truly. As if he'd ever treat Pen in such a way, especially when she was a friend he cared so deeply about. As if he'd risk her reputation like that. As if they'd ever even do anything like that with each other-

Wait.

Well. It was just… Penelope had denied that very quickly.

Which, he reasoned, was all to the good because it wasn't true.

But a hard, uncomfortable pit opened in his stomach remembering the passion in her denial.

Is the idea so repugnant?

He was after all considered each year to be a very eligible bachelor amongst each set of young debutantes…

It occurred to him that an uncomfortable silence was stretching out between them all, as Cressida watched Colin battle with himself with mirth in her eyes.

"Regardless," Cressida drawled finally, seeing him to be lost for words, and clearly bored with waiting, "Don't you have a wall to go cower against, Penelope? You two had better leave, immediately. I am expecting someone." She preened, patting the sweep of pale blonde hair pinned to the side of her head.

He felt Penelope flinch beside him, the barb hitting her hard, and a fierce surge of protectiveness compelled him to finally speak.

"That won't be necessary, Miss Cowper," he smiled frostily at Cressida. "Jack Featherington didn't invite you here…I did."

Cressida blinked at him. "You…you?" she echoed. "But I received a note…"

He waved that away, impatient. "From me, yes. We needed a way to speak to you away from prying ears."

"I…I see," Cressida finally said, and one could see the effort it took in her to draw herself up and pull herself together, her hopes for the evening clearly dashed. She darted a glare at Penelope. "Don't tell me, Penelope, that this is another feeble-minded attempt of yours to take me in with more of your pointless lies-"

"They aren't lies, Miss Cowper," Colin interjected smoothly. "Miss Featherington has told me everything."

Cressida sneered, unimpressed. "Everyone's known for years, Mr Bridgerton, that you only spend time with Penelope because you feel sorry for her. You don't need to keep pretending. It's a pity, really, for such an eligible bachelor as yourself to have to take up any of your time with someone so…" she placed a gloved finger on her chin, pretending to search for the word. "…forgettable."

"I'm afraid you'll have to rethink what it is you claim you know," Colin snapped. "You don't know me, or Miss Featherington, or anything about our – our friendship." He glanced to his side, where Penelope was watching him, eyes shining. "She has loyalty and goodness that I imagine you find hard to fathom, and I believe wholly what she has told me. She – we – are only trying to help you."

Cressida scoffed. "I can't imagine how she has taken you in to this extent, Mr Bridgerton, but I assure you, I simply shan't believe a word she says. She is jealous of me, and my fiancé, and the wealth and power we shall have together, and the influence that I will have, over her life." She smirked at Penelope.

Penelope, far from backing down, raised her chin and faced Cressida. "I no longer entertain the thought that you might listen to any reason from me, Cressida," she said, firm enough despite a slight waver in her voice. "I have already tried and failed. And it seems you view Mr Bridgerton as compromised by his friendship with me." She took a deep breath, her eyes glinting in a way that both impressed and scared Colin. "But tell me…like all members of the ton wanting to stay ahead of the societal on dit…your family has a subscription to Lady Whistledown, yes?"

Cressida stiffened. "Yes." And Colin could see it on her face – that morning's column had clearly struck closer to home than she'd care to admit.

"Interesting reading this morning, was it not?" Penelope murmured innocently. "I confess I was surprised to see the truth has spread so far that even she has heard rumblings of Lord Featherington's issues, but…"

"All lies," Cressida snapped, but there was the slightest wavering doubt in her voice.

"I don't imagine Lady Whistledown to be one to report false information, do you?" Colin put in conversationally. "She would hardly have gotten so far if she was not selective, and careful, on what she mentions, to make sure it's credible. People enjoy rumours, but it's far better for business when those rumours are true."

Provoked beyond measure, Cressida swung away from them, running a trembling hand over her lips, composing herself before she swung back around. "The rumours are false," she said finally, primly, nose in the air. "Everything you are implying, it is false. It will all die down – the banns will be read twice more – and then it will be over, it will be done, he will be mine."

Watching Cressida, Penelope shook her head sadly. "Just…think about it, Cressida, that's all I ask of you. Ask Jack about the mines yourself, if you want. Observe his reaction. You and I have no love lost between us," she laughed hollowly, "God knows. But no one should be entrapped the way you will be, if you go through with this."

The nervous darting of Cressida's pale blue eyes, searching between them, reminded Colin suddenly, and vividly, of a trapped and desperate animal. "For all we know," she snapped at Penelope, "you fed your lies to Lady Whistledown yourself! Everyone has been dying these past seasons to work out who she is, and wouldn't it make the most perfect sense if she was a nothing, a nobody, an insipid wallflower like you, with nothing better to do…" her eyes sharpened, and she went still in a way that was rather alarming. "Of course," she breathed, staring in turn at Penelope, then at Colin.

They exchanged quick, panicked glances, and Colin, despite his rising dread, fought the absurd urge to laugh. Of all people to be the first to find them out…Cressida Cowper? Really?

"You," Cressida snapped at Penelope, "tell your little friend, and you," her glare flicked to Colin, "tell your little sister, that I am on to her." She swept to the table at the centre of the room and scooped up her own peacock-blue reticule, facing them once more with a very nasty smile indeed. "All it will take is some proof."

She did not deign to curtsey or honour them with any kind of farewell, instead opting to march straight past where they still stood gawking at her, straight out of the antechamber and to the side-saloon beyond. The door closed firmly behind her, leaving Colin and Penelope staring at each other in stunned silence in her wake.

Chapter 13: Wedding

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen: Wedding

Fans were flapping frantically in the Featherington carriage as they trundled along to St George's chapel for the ceremony on the morning of Kate and Anthony's wedding, with the weather being still and warm outside.

Penelope squirmed uncomfortably, adjusting the dress that Mama had ordered the week before from Madame Delacroix. The pink and purple embroidered florals wouldn't be so bad if they weren't accompanied with matching bows, and if they hadn't been placed over the pale orange underlay. Lord, but if she could just once wear some flattering hues…

But really, she scolded herself, such thoughts were trivial compared to the turmoil in her head since yesterday. Whistledown's well-informed hints about Jack hadn't deterred Cressida. It seemed unlikely now that anything would. It was difficult to resist the urge to just give up and let the wedding take place, especially with how cruel Cressida had been to her.

But that was just it – if Jack and Cressida married, she would be in a loveless marriage, certainly, but she would also be married to the head of the family and would move in to Featherington House. Cressida would hardly be a steadying, gentle influence on Jack, who seemed to hold nothing but contempt for his relations. The pair of them in charge of all their lives…Penelope shuddered at the thought.

Colin had praised and admired her for wanting to do the right thing by Cressida even in the face of Cressida's cruelty. But in truth, some of that praise was misplaced, as there was still a self-interested motive in this quest for Penelope.

And now, Cressida seemed to think Whistledown was Eloise, which made Penelope feel sick to her stomach. The only blessing here was that Cressida, while sharp and witty with barbs, was not…the most…gifted. Putting it nicely. There was some hope in this mess that it would take her a while to find her 'proof' against Eloise. And there was also some comfort in Penelope's suspicion that Cressida knew that she couldn't act or point the finger in public without some solid evidence.

At least, that was what Penelope had been telling herself since yesterday, to try and assuage the panicked voice in her head that was seriously questioning now whether she and Colin should just tell Eloise what was going on. Lady Whistledown. Jack and Cressida. Cressida's theory. Everything.

Colin had come to accept Penelope's secret identity, it seemed, but Penelope dreaded to think how Eloise would react to the news.

It had all gotten so complicated. And amongst everything else, no matter how she tried to set them aside, her feelings for Colin lingered on, looming large every time she was near him. She burned with embarrassment to remember yesterday, when Cressida had insinuated that they'd been there for some kind of…rendezvous, and Colin had said absolutely nothing. At the time she couldn't even look at him from the sheer mortification, but the silence from him had still stung.

What did she expect? That he would've retorted and told Cressida it wasn't a laughing matter? That despite her sneers, it was perfectly possible that a gentleman like him might be courting a lady like her?

You need to put these childish fantasies behind you, she chastised herself. By now, if he felt the same way… if he wanted to court you… he would have done.

But that tiny spark within her that held out hope for him…she didn't know how to let it die. Especially now they were working so closely together, so involved in each other's lives…

Her time to ruminate on the events of yesterday was cut short however, when they arrived at the church. They were ushered in by a church caretaker to one of the private, intimate side chapels where the wedding was to take place.

The renting of the chapel space, Penelope imagined, was most likely to avoid the presence of any general public churchgoers in the main nave of the church. The small chapel had scarce half a dozen pews, but it had been beautifully decorated, with red and pale blue floral arrangements hung on the back of the pews, garlands strung along the wooden beams of the ceiling and adorning the various candelabras scattered around the room. The effect, partnered with light streaming through a large stained-glass window behind the altar, was stunning. A string trio was set up in the corner of the room, testing their instruments.

They found the Bridgertons and the Mondrichs already inside, milling around, chatting as they waited. As the Featherington party moved down the centre aisle, Penelope spotted Anthony standing at the altar, looking tense, speaking in an undertone to Benedict, who was serving by his side as best man. Their dark formal jackets and breeches were paired with waistcoats in the same pale blue as the florals, a shade that Penelope privately referred to as 'Bridgerton' blue – collectively, the family did often wear, and decorate, using the shade.

A figure stood up near the front pew on the right-hand side, and Penelope recognised Colin, straightening from where he had been bending down to hear something Gregory had said. He was wearing the same colours as Benedict and Anthony, but it was hard to think anyone could look as fetching as he did in the outfit, and just for a moment, Penelope imagined walking down the aisle towards Colin one day, waiting for her at the altar… the thought warmed her cheeks.

Violet Bridgerton was bustling towards them up the aisle, and she smiled and exchanged greetings with the Featheringtons. She saved a special smile when she got to Penelope, as her daughter's best friend.

"Congratulations, my lady," Penelope smiled warmly back to her. She gestured around to their surrounds as Jack, Mama and her sisters moved to file into their assigned pews. "The set-up is absolutely stunning."

"Thank you, Penelope," Violet smiled a little tiredly. "It has been all to do to get it ready, but the day is here at last." She absent-mindedly trailed her fingers over a nearby floral aisle decoration, and the vivid red petals of a rose. "Red is reportedly a colour of good fortune, in India," she commented to Penelope. "Used often in weddings. I thought it prudent to pair with the colour of our house, a nice gesture, you know, the uniting of our families. I so want all to be well for Anthony."

"A charming detail," Penelope assured her, smiling even as she felt a pang of regret that this thoughtful and loving woman was so unlike the mother she had been born with. "I am sure the Sharmas will note and appreciate the gesture."

"Pen!" Eloise elbowed past her mother in her haste to greet Penelope. "Saved you a seat next to me," she informed Penelope. "We can't fit you with all your lot on their pews, but you won't mind, right?"

"Not at all," Penelope hastened to assure her, seeing Violet frown behind her daughter. "I would prefer it," she added, addressing Violet. "I must thank you kindly for the invitation in the first place."

Violet's face softened, although she looked wryly at Eloise. "Well, with not one but two of my children clamouring for your inclusion, I was hardly in a position to say no, I'm afraid," Violet murmured, chuckling as Eloise rolled her eyes. "We are not only long-time neighbours to your family, but I know Eloise treasures your friendship. And Colin…" she paused, seeming to search for the words, and apparently found herself at a loss. Penelope watched bemusedly – it seemed even Colin's mother had trouble defining the friendship between them. "Well. You are cared for by us all," she finished firmly and brightly.

Eloise took Penelope's arm in hers. "Putting it lightly," she huffed, and promptly dragged Penelope away down the aisle, to the middle pew where Hyacinth sat in animated conversation with Colin and Gregory, now both seated in the front row.

"I want to sit in the front," Hyacinth was insisting as Eloise took the middle seat next to her, and Pen slid into the aisle seat beside Eloise. "It's hardly fair that you get to be at the front Gregory, and I don't."

"Fair's fair," Gregory snickered, sticking out his tongue to his younger sister. "Colin and I got here first, didn't we, brother?"

Colin grimaced playfully to Eloise and Penelope. "I fear the next war shan't be started by Napoleon," he confided in an exaggerated whisper. "It shall be a civil war between these two." Sobering a little, he smiled and nodded formally to Penelope. "Pen."

"Colin," Penelope returned softly, smiling in response. There was no one more infectious than Colin when he was in a good mood.

"You will get the best view of the ceremony," Hyacinth was still wheedling. "And you don't even care about romance, why do you need to-"

"How about," Colin interjected loudly, "You come sit in my spot, Hyacinth, and after I've gone and spoken to Mother, I'll come back and sit in the pew with Eloise and Penelope? That way you both can be in the front row, and us older folk can still see over the top of you."

Hyacinth tapped a finger on her chin, looking thoughtful. "A good view…true…but…sitting next to Gregory…hmmm." She looked askance at Eloise and Penelope. "What do you think?"

"A fair exchange, I am sure," Penelope smiled at the youngest Bridgertons. "I have no doubt Lord Bridgerton will be heartened to see you both up front and so supportive of him on this day."

Hyacinth nodded decisively. "True. He needs all the support he can get." She stuck her hand out, looking seriously at Colin. "Deal?"

Stifling a smile, Colin returned the handshake. "Deal." He moved off to speak to Violet, allowing Hyacinth to launch herself upright and into the front row. Eloise scooted over to the far-right side of their pew, meaning Penelope was obliged to move into the middle seat, which meant when Colin came back… she would be wedged between them both.

The prospect of sitting so close to Colin for a prolonged period was both exhilarating and, frankly, terrifying.

Eloise was staring into a middle distance, quite unlike her usual chatty self. Penelope nudged her friend. "Is everything okay? Normally you'd, well, have a lot of opinions to share on marriage, and weddings..."

"Hm?" Eloise murmured absently, snapping her head around to Penelope, eyes unfocused. "Me? Oh, I'm fine. Fine." She fidgeted agitatedly with the skirt of her powder-blue gown for a moment. "Just…thinking."

The silence stretched for a few moments before Penelope coughed lightly. "About?" she prompted.

"Do you think it's ever right," Eloise said slowly, "to conceal your identity from someone?"

Penelope's stomach dropped through the floor as her heart began to race. Oh no. Had Eloise figured them out? Had she seen her and Colin meeting up somehow?

"I-I can't imagine what you mean?" Penelope tried, doing her best not to panic.

"Like say…" Eloise's gaze was still distant, not focused on Penelope at all. "Say that there was an acquaintance you wished to know better, but you wanted to do so anonymously first. Do you think that's acceptable, or would it not rightly be highly vexing for that acquaintance? Wouldn't it be frustrating for them, to not know your identity? Wouldn't you be irked?"

Huh? Penelope blinked, confused. It didn't sound like this was Whistledown related. "Have you…er, is this a situation you're currently in, El?"

A soaring, long note from the violinist pierced the air, halting all conversation, signalling the ceremony was shortly to commence.

"Never mind," Eloise muttered quickly. "Forget it. It was just a hypothetical question, it matters not."

Further questioning was rather cut short by Colin sliding into place beside Penelope in the pew, as Violet hurried to take her seat next to her youngest children at the front row. If the Bridgerton matriarch wondered about the changed seating arrangements, she didn't comment, although Penelope thought she caught Violet's eyebrows raising briefly when she noticed Colin sitting next to Penelope.

Colin settled in beside her, and Penelope did her best not to hyperventilate. True, they had stood close together several times in the last few weeks, held hands, hugged, but there was something about sitting like this, close enough to touch with shoulders, arms…hips… and partnered with that spicy, cinnamon-y scent of him suddenly so near, she felt her heart beating wildly. She endeavoured to press her knees together and clasp her hands firmly in her lap, containing herself as much as possible to prevent any accidental brushes of their bodies against each other.

Colin's right hand was resting on his right knee, and although she had held that hand recently, closer up it was…it was…unnerving, to look at. His hand at first glance was a lot to take in, seeming impossibly large, and strong, with a fascinating smatter of hair on the knuckles, but on closer inspection there was something beautiful in his fingers, long and graceful, that made one wonder what those fingers were capable of, if they would be gentle if they were to caress skin…

As the string trio began to play in earnest, a sweet, soaring sound that filled the small chapel, they all stood up, and it took some effort for Penelope to not look at Colin as all turned to witness the entrance of Edwina, as Kate's bridesmaid. Edwina was dressed in a deep gold shade that flattered her dark hair and complexion. As she approached the altar, Pen was now distracted from her preoccupation with Colin, bearing witness to the tentative smile exchanged between Anthony and his would-be bride, now soon to be sister-in-law. Edwina took her place to the side of the altar and turned to face the chapel entrance, smiling with dignity, her head high. It appeared a genuine enough exchange, and Penelope marvelled at the decorum being displayed.

As the music reached a crescendo, Kate now appeared on the arm of her mother Mary. Mary was also dressed in gold, a slightly darker hue than Edwina, but Kate was stunning in her red gown, with layers of silk and satin, and she glittered with gold jewellery. Red roses on the hair pin holding her dark hair up was the crowning touch, and the pleased gasp from Violet in the front row told Penelope that Violet's decorative instincts had been correct.

As mother and daughter made their way down the aisle, everyone turned back towards the front, and Penelope watched Anthony's face as he beheld his bride. The tension and agitation were all gone, replaced by an intense, fierce adoration, his eyes soft as he looked at Kate walking towards him, and emotion swelled in Penelope's chest to witness it. This was a man who truly loved his bride, it was clear.

Unbidden, the thought strayed into her head of what her own wedding might look like some day. Penelope being escorted down the aisle by Mama, walking towards…well, it had always been Colin waiting for her at the altar in those fantasies. Perhaps it was high time she was more realistic and started envisaging a different person waiting for her at the altar.

If she ever got married, that is. Eloise's jokes in the past about the pair of them as spinsters seemed more and more likely. It was an existence she knew she could and would be very happy indeed with, but the hypothetical what ifs were haunting her.

As Kate kissed her mother and took her place opposite Anthony at the altar, a beaming smile on her face, all of the guests in the audience resumed their seats. Penelope delicately moved as far as she dared to the right, to put as much distance as possible between herself and Colin's bodies.

As the priest began the ceremony, Pen realised that she should truly be paying more attention to what would be the wedding of the season for her Whistledown reports, but the short-circuiting her brain did with close physical proximity to Colin was proving problematic. Thankfully, her assistant, her confidant, her colleague, the very man that was the source of her distraction, was watching proceedings in rapt attention, completely and serenely unaffected at sitting so close to her.

How very fortunate, she thought wryly. What she would give for some of that indifference.

She managed to rouse herself enough from her close monitoring of the location and proximity of hers and Colin's shoulders to cheer, clap and celebrate with the others after Kate and Anthony recited their vows, their eyes never leaving each other's faces, and the priest declared the pair to be, at last, married.

The wedding breakfast after the ceremony had been arranged to take place at Bridgerton House, now to become the chief residence of the Viscount and the new Viscountess.

Given the smaller size of the wedding party and attendant guests, the much smaller entrance hall of the home had been chosen to host the wedding breakfast. It was outfitted with more decorations like those that had been present in the chapel – the red and pale blue florals, mixed with greenery in the garlands and arrangements around the space. The colours paired oddly well together, and Penelope admired again Violet's decorative instincts – the colours seemed to speak for their real-life counterparts. It should clash, it shouldn't work, but somehow, it was harmonious.

Kate and Anthony were receiving the congratulations of their families when the Featherington party arrived to the entrance hall. Several tables had been placed to one side, groaning under the weight of a gorgeous array of breads, pastries, meats, cheeses, jams and fruit with refreshments of lemonade and champagne. Central to the display was the small, white-iced wedding cake. The musicians from the chapel had set up again in a corner, providing decorative background music.

As they approached the bride and groom, Penelope distinctly saw Colin sidle off from the group, straight towards the food, and smiled fondly to herself. Much in life changed, but Colin's legendary appetite didn't.

After greetings and congratulations had been exchanged by the older members of her family with the couple, Penelope found herself in front of Kate and Anthony, who were both beaming – it was hard not to feel the ecstatic energy radiating from them.

"Congratulations, Viscount, Viscountess," Penelope curtsied respectfully to them. "I am sure you shall have a wonderful future together."

Kate and Anthony exchanged a long look and smile, before nodding gracefully to her. "I thank you, Miss Featherington," Kate said, as Anthony added, "We are so pleased to have you and your family here today. You have been good neighbours for many years, and I know what you mean to Eloise."

"Indeed," Penelope smiled, looking around for her friend. Eloise was hovering beside one of the food tables, nibbling a slice of ham, and appeared to be staring into middle distance again, lost in thought.

Penelope turned back towards the newlyweds. "What plans do you have for your honeymoon?" she asked them politely.

Kate and Anthony exchanged looks again, and there was something playful and challenging in Kate's gaze. "I told the Viscount that we should depart to our trip to India immediately following the wedding, but he is ever insistent that we finish the season first," she sighed.

Anthony stared down his bride, challenge and a spark of something Penelope couldn't quite understand in his eye. "And I told you that it's not very long to wait, the season is nearly over, and I won't be lectured so by my wife on our first day of marriage," he growled, but there was a hint of a smirk on his face, and the way the two were staring at each other seemed to be growing quite heated.

Really, it was truly a wonder that no one had noticed sooner the chemistry between the two of them. Penelope, as a keen observer of society, felt she should chastise herself for missing what seemed so obvious now.

Seeing Kate and Anthony's gazes locked, evidently forgetting anyone else was near them, Penelope smiled and dipped a brief curtsey, moving away and leaving them to it, whatever it was.

The morning continued on – Penelope steered clear of Jack, who appeared to be mostly spending his time chatting to Benedict. She tried several times to draw Eloise into further conversation about whatever it was Eloise had been hinting about in the chapel, but to no avail – her best friend just shrugged non-committedly each time and changed the subject, and Penelope sensed that El considered the topic to be closed for discussion.

Each time Eloise was not actively engaged in conversation with someone, Pen kept noticing her staring off blankly at nothing, eyes distant. While Eloise could often be distracted, even erratic, it was unlike her to be completely disengaged with her family and friends – it was usually difficult to keep her out of conversations, much less have any need to prompt her to join in on one.

The supplied champagne soon enlivened the initial period of polite chatter, and laughter presently rang amongst the groups. It was hard to imagine what Edwina could have in common with Prudence and Philippa, Penelope thought while watching them, but they appeared to be conversing amiably enough. Portia and Violet had both had several glasses of champagne and were positioned to one side of the hall in deep conversation – most likely about their children, and their marriage prospects.

The entrance hall doors behind them all swung open suddenly, and as they all turned, the distinct tap of a cane on the polished floors could be heard. Emerging into the entrance hall was Lady Danbury, dressed in an elegant gown in the deep wine-red shade she so favoured. Violet reacted first, moving forward hastily to greet her friend with a cry of delight, and the buzz of conversation slowly resumed as everyone eyed the newcomer curiously.

"I told you she might come," Eloise appeared at Penelope's elbow. "No sign of Queen Charlotte, though."

"It's hard to imagine Her Majesty would deign to grace us with her presence at a small gathering like this," a voice interjected from behind Penelope, and she turned to see Colin walking up towards them. He had spent the majority of the breakfast in conversation with Will Mondrich and his wife, Alice. Penelope knew this because her habit of monitoring the room and the whereabouts of everyone, especially Colin, was not a habit she'd be able to lose anytime soon.

After so much time sitting next to him at the church, she had ensured so far that if he was on the left-hand side of the hall, she'd been on the right, and vice versa - the arrangement had worked quite well until she'd gotten distracted by Lady Danbury's arrival.

"Didn't the Queen have something to do with them getting betrothed in the first place?" Eloise questioned her brother. "No one will tell me."

Colin's eyes flicked to Penelope, just for a moment, and they both looked away quickly, but it was enough for Eloise to pick up on, and she looked between them, outraged. "What do you pair know that I don't?" she demanded.

Colin hesitated, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "It's….it hardly matters now, really, El…"

"What hardly matters?" There was the distinctive tap of her cane, and Lady Danbury appeared beside them, smiling cheerfully around at them all. Her razor-sharp focus narrowed in on Colin, waiting expectantly.

"It hardly matters…how…the bride and groom came to be betrothed…in the first place," Colin mumbled, looking uncomfortable.

"Doesn't it?" Lady Danbury looked thoughtful. "Were you there when it happened?"

"Well, er…no, but my brother…" Colin was practically squirming under Lady Danbury's scrutiny, and Penelope couldn't blame him – the woman was intimidating.

"He told you," Lady Danbury finished for him, nodding to herself. "Well, that's only natural. You Bridgertons have always been touchingly close with one another." She looked around at each of them in turn. "Well, I can tell you that I was there, and I made a promise to your mother," she looked sharply at Colin and Eloise, "that I would not disclose the details to anyone, and neither should you, Mr Bridgerton."

Colin nodded politely and hastily. "Certainly not, ma'am."

"Pen, do you know?" Eloise blurted out. All eyes now switched to Penelope, and the amused surprise of Lady Danbury was very hard to ignore. "I…" she said intelligently, then fell silent. Bravo, Lady Whistledown, she applauded herself sarcastically in her head. Brilliant articulation.

Lady Danbury was looking between her and Colin, eyebrows raised, and Penelope realised quickly she needed to defuse this and defuse this now. She didn't want to admit to eavesdropping on Edwina and Kate… "I overhead the Viscount telling his brothers at the Summer Heat ball," Penelope lied carefully, and she felt her face flush – honestly, curse this tendency to blush when she was lying. She looked to Eloise, who was staring at her in astonishment and not a little bit of hurt. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, El. It didn't seem like my place to say."

"Yes, don't be mad at Pen, El," Colin joined in, facing his sister. "I was the one who asked her not to tell you."

Penelope looked quickly at Colin – huh? – and she was conscious too of Lady Danbury still standing beside them, eyes flitting from face to face, leaning on her cane with an air of someone settling in to watch a very entertaining play. Penelope didn't understand what he was playing at; clearly, he was trying to salvage the situation for her, but more lies would only make it worse -

"I…what?" Eloise frowned, scrutinising Colin. "Hang on. How did you know that she knew?"

Colin faltered, his cheeks colouring slightly, evidently having not thought through how to explain this without admitting they had been meeting in secret. Penelope stepped in. "He caught me eavesdropping," she said quickly. "That night. I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone, El, otherwise I would have told you, of course, as soon as I was able."

Eloise scoffed, but she looked a little more relaxed than previously. "Yes. Well. I know it's true that you do stick to your word, Pen." Eloise now looked around at all of them, impatient. "So, is anyone going to tell me now what happened?"

The silence stretched out for a few moments. "Her Majesty and I caught them in flagrante delicto," Lady Danbury drawled, then chuckled at their shocked faces – Eloise at the news, Colin and Penelope at her admitting it. She nodded to Eloise. "I think you're hardly likely to expose your own brother, Miss Bridgerton. It would go against your own family's interests. Besides," she looked around for the newlyweds, and they all followed her line of sight to where Kate and Anthony were feeding each other strawberries near the food tables, completely in their own world. "All worked for the good. They are a fine pair, and a love match at that."

A whirlwind was brewing in Eloise, Penelope could tell. In Eloise and Penelope's line of sight, Benedict broke away from his conversation with Jack to head for some lemonade, and Penelope could've predicted what happened next – Eloise excused herself from the group, breaking away and marching over towards the refreshments, evidently to chastise Benedict for also neglecting to let her in on the family secret.

Penelope knew Eloise and the second Bridgerton brother shared a distinct bond, often sharing a cigarette and a gossip at night-time. Benedict, poor soul, could only widen his eyes fearfully as his younger sister marched towards him with a storm in her eyes.

Colin cleared his throat. "I suppose I had best warn Mother that Eloise knows," he murmured, looking around for Violet. "She should prepare for the inevitable follow up questions." He bowed his head politely to Lady Danbury, his eyes lingering on Penelope for a few long moments. "If you'll both excuse me."

He strode off, leaving Penelope alone with the elder woman. She was about to squeak out an excuse and make her own escape, but then Lady Danbury beckoned to her. "Child, I am weary, and could do with a sit down for a moment. Could you lend me your arm to guide me to that seat?" And she gestured towards a comfortable chaise bench positioned off to the side of the hall.

Penelope dutifully obliged, supporting Lady Danbury to the seat, and having no choice but to take the seat beside her when Lady Danbury gestured impatiently to it. "Do sit, my dear."

Penelope sat. Across the room, she watched Colin pull his mother aside, murmuring to Violet, then soothing her visible concern and distress, saying something that made Violet laugh and relax. Colin was always so good at that, that ability to lighten the mood and make even bad news palatable. It was an ability she envied in him, and the fond and affectionate relationship that he shared with his mother made him somehow even more attractive, if that were possible-

"Miss Featherington," Lady Danbury interrupted her train of thought with a polite murmur. "May I ask, how long have you been in love with Mr Bridgerton?"

Penelope near jumped out of her skin. The question had been asked so matter of factly, as though she were asking about the weather. "I…I beg your pardon, my lady?" she stuttered, looking around frantically to make sure no one was in earshot.

Lady Danbury merely smiled and nodded to herself. "I thought so." She sighed as Penelope stared at her with mouth agape. "Do close your mouth and get that expression off your face, dear," she instructed. "Most unbecoming."

Penelope did so, although she was still stunned. "How…" she cleared her throat, "how did you…"

"When you've been around as long as I have," Lady Danbury drawled, "you notice things, Miss Featherington. You start to see how people behave when everyone's watching, and how they behave when they think no one is watching. You start to notice patterns. Expressions on people's faces, the language they use, when they are angry or happy or frustrated, or…" she nodded in Penelope's direction, "…when they are in love."

"Oh." It was oddly deflating when your longest-held secret was so casually exposed. She thought she hid her true feelings so well, too.

Lady Danbury smiled, not unkindly, at her. "I see you, Penelope Featherington. The Wallflower, I think you've been called? Always on the edges, on the outside, watching society but not participating in it."

Penelope winced a little. "Well… yes, I suppose that's…accurate…"

"The quiet ones always know more than most people think. More than they let on." Lady Danbury winked at her. "But you can't always just be watching, my girl. Have the courage to be an active participant in your life, not a passive one."

Penelope watched, detached, as across the room Violet excused herself and moved away from Colin. Left to his own devices, she saw how his eyes flitted around the room, searching, searching, before finally landing on her. From his perspective, all he saw was her trapped in polite conversation with the intimidating Lady Danbury, and he grimaced a little and smiled sympathetically across the room at her, and she smiled weakly back. He turned away into conversation with Edwina and Mary, and Penelope stared at the coat tails of his formal jacket, turning over Lady Danbury's words in her mind.

"For what it's worth," the older woman piped up cheerfully beside her, "I really don't think you should give up hope on him yet."

Penelope turned to look incredulously at Lady Danbury, who was staring steadily back at her. "We…we are friends," Penelope said as firmly as she could. "I am content."

Lady Danbury threw back her head with a short bark of laughter. "I'd wager, not." She tapped her cane pointedly on the polished floor. "You may not choose to heed the words of an old woman. Ah, well. 'Tis many seasons I have seen come and gone, many courtships, betrothals completed or broken off, interest reciprocated or spurned. And if you remember one thing from me, let it be this. I've seen men falling in love, and I am telling you - don't lose hope." She leaned forward, and Penelope could see the darkness of her irises and the rogue on her cheeks. "Never lose hope."

Quite unable to think what to say, Penelope nodded meekly in return, although she still harboured doubts. It was so dangerous, to hope. "Yes, Lady Danbury."

The older woman nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, shall we take some refreshments? I have just spied the champagne, and I find myself quite parched." With Penelope's assistance, Lady Danbury got to her feet, and Penelope escorted her across to the drinks, cheeks burning, in deep thought.

Colin set down his glass of champagne, a little firmer than he'd intended, wincing at the clinking sound it made. The breakfast selections had been fine indeed – he must remember to extend his compliments to the Bridgerton family cook – and he'd eaten and drunk in ample quantities for the day.

It really was amazing, he mused as he watched his mother conversing quietly with Lady Danbury to one side. Violet's ability to co-ordinate events last minute should be studied. But then, this event had revolved around the marriage of her beloved first-born child, so it made sense that Mother had pulled out all stops – as extravagant as was possible while keeping the event secret and intimate, anyway.

The result had been a quite agreeable morning. Colin felt quite pleased with himself that he'd managed to defuse a fight between Gregory and Hyacinth and wrangle the seating so that he'd spent the ceremony sitting with Penelope and Eloise – Pen's presence and warmth beside him in the chapel had felt most comforting. Watching Anthony's depth of emotion and joy in his bride, finally, after a week of tension, had been gratifying and touching to witness too.

And this breakfast had been a quite rousing success – while the attendee group was small, the good food and refreshments, paired with the champagne, had eventually eased any awkwardness of conversation amongst them. He and Penelope had thankfully survived what could have been a damnably awkward interaction with Eloise and Lady Danbury – he reflected ruefully that he had Penelope's quick thinking to thank for that. He looked around now for Pen, eventually spotting her across the room conversing with Eloise and Hyacinth, although Hyacinth appeared to be doing most of the talking.

The champagnes he'd drunk had made him feel warm and happy, indeed he felt quite content with the world right at this moment, and- he frowned suddenly, realising he did quite need a visit to the chamber pot after all those beverages. He slipped out of the entrance hall, along the short adjoining corridor and into the Bridgerton's attached cloak room, which was usually where the gentlemen went to 'relieve' themselves. The little room was not very big and very dimly lit, with the chamber pot sectioned off from the rest of the space with a floor-to-ceiling, solid privacy screen.

Colin did his business quickly, and after checking his reflection in the looking glass in the room (he had to step quite close in the dim light, but he deemed his hair still sufficiently tastefully styled), he turned around, ready to make his way back to where the wedding breakfast would likely be winding up soon.

His hand was on the doorknob when he heard what sounded like two sets of footsteps, moving quickly along the corridor, and he heard a familiar voice – Jack Featherington – hissing angrily as they approached.

"-not there, you fool, if it's so blasted important, come through where we shan't be overheard, here, this will do-"

Colin whirled around and rushed back behind the privacy screen, flattening himself against the wall as best he could near the chamber pot – blessedly, it was the darkest part of the room - just in time for the cloak room door to swing open. Jack Featherington and another man came inside, shutting the door firmly behind them.

There was the barest crack in between the panels of the privacy screen, and Colin didn't dare move, but through the crack he could see the tall, thin figure of Jack Featherington, with a shorter man standing beside him.

"There. Now." Jack sounded furious and menacing. "What could possibly bring you back to England, to come to a private event and summon me away, Davies, you idiot, I'll be lucky if no one saw me leave, or if no one notices my absence-"

"Your footman, Cole, told me you were here, but trust me, you're going to want to hear this, my friend. It's a miracle," the other man (presumably Davies) interrupted, whispering reverently. "Nothing short of a miracle."

That certainly shut Jack up. Colin felt like his ears were straining, he was trying so hard to listen to every word.

"It's what you'd hoped for, Jack," Davies continued. "It's the Hail Mary we've been waiting for."

Jack was very still and silent. His voice, when he spoke next, was croaky. "If you are…inventing this, Davies, I swear…"

"We all thought the mines were dead," Davies whispered excitedly. "We certainly exchanged enough letters about it recently. But I've seen it with my own eyes, my lord. You've struck lucky. During the works to get the mine ready to shut down, they stumbled upon it. Gems. Gold. Untapped resources. It's not a dead mine after all. It's everything you'd hoped for from your investment, and then some."

Silence fell again, and Colin could hear the ragged, rapid breathing from Jack. "I…I'm rich?" Jack whispered.

"Yes, my lord," Davies enthused, and there were a series of muffled thumps – Davies appeared to be clapping Jack on the back. "You will be a rich man indeed."

"And a free man," Jack breathed. "I won't have to marry the chit after all. I don't even have to stay in England, if what you're saying is true. I can go back to the Americas, with free reign, and leave that bitch and her spawn to-" he stopped himself abruptly, which was good, because Colin had stiffened, and an uncharacteristic pounding in his ears had started up at hearing Penelope and her family referred to in such a way, and to hear what this vile, awful excuse for a gentleman was now planning – seemingly nothing less than a total abandonment of his female relatives.

Colin's hands were at his sides, and he concentrated on pressing them into the wall as hard as he could, to try and restrain his urge to smash through the divider and fall upon Jack with all his fury. He could not afford to give away his presence. He must think of Penelope, for what would best help her in this situation. He must stay calm.

"I need to plan," Jack muttered, sounding more like he was talking to himself now. "No one can know. I must time it perfectly." From the faint sounds Colin could hear, it seemed like he was pacing back and forth in the small space.

"You have the proof from my people on the ground?" he questioned Davies, who must've nodded in the affirmative, as he continued, "Good. I must write to them, as soon as I can, once I have figured out my timing." There was then a faint grunt, and a few sounds of back slaps – the careful and controlled Jack Featherington had impulsively hugged his business associate. "This is the cure of all," Jack enthused.

Jack and Davies now seemed to finish up their conversation, and Colin heard them turn the door handle and exit. As soon as the door closed behind them, Colin moved to the door himself, standing and listening – one set of footsteps was veering to the left, away from the main entrance, clearly Davies letting himself out discreetly. The other set of footsteps turned to the right; Jack going back towards the wedding breakfast.

Colin braced his hands against the wooden surface of the door, staring at nothing in the dim light, his teeth gritted. He had to wait before returning himself to the party, or else Jack would be suspicious, so in the interval, Colin's mind ranged over a number of plans. For several minutes, each one mostly concentrated around the satisfying thud that his fist would make when it drove into Jack's face.

Enough. He shook his head slightly to try and clear it. They needed to use the man's weaknesses against him. As meticulous and decorous as he was, his blind spot was his arrogance, his greed, his own surety in his genius, his own confidence in everything turning out the way he wanted it, and his disdain for others, especially the Featherington women…

The glimmers of a plan began to form in his mind, glimmers that grew sharper and more detailed as he thought it through. Yes, perhaps… and then Jack would… and then they would…

Realising ample time had now passed to be able to return to the wedding breakfast, Colin straightened up, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He needed to speak to Will. He needed to speak – and he smiled a little to himself – to Lady Whistledown.

But first things first, he needed to go issue a friendly invitation to Jack Featherington. There was much to celebrate, after all.

Notes:

My god, longest chapter yet! Consider the longer chapter a special treat from me to you! There was just no good 'break' spot in this one that made sense, and it just kept going and going, my goodness.

The time this chapter took to write has eaten into my reserve of 'spare' chapters, so from here on out I'm writing each chapter, (hopefully), each week. I will do my very best to keep the updates regular, because I so love reading everyone's feedback and reactions to the story!

Chapter 14: Confrontation

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen: Confrontation

Penelope stood in the shadows of the garden to the side of Featherington House, the very side garden where the Whistledown Cupid statuette was located. She reflexively pulled her orange dressing gown tighter around herself, shivering a little in the slight breeze – it was late into the evening, and while still summer, being outdoors at night-time still held a crispness to the air. She looked fearfully around for what felt like the millionth time, but her home behind her was dark and silent, no sign of movement inside. The exterior torches had already been extinguished by the servants, leaving silvery moonlight as the only thing lighting the area.

She felt quite vulnerable and exposed, but this was where Colin had indicated she should meet with him, so here was where she would wait. Although…he was now several minutes late, and she wasn't sure how long to stand around and keep waiting for him.

Standing still with nothing else to occupy her, she recalled when Kate and Anthony's wedding breakfast had been wrapping up earlier that day – Portia was making her farewells to Violet and Lady Danbury, and Penelope hung back with her sisters, while Jack stood off to one side. Penelope had seen Colin approach Jack armed with his charming Bridgerton smile and shake his hand.

"Please allow me to congratulate you, Lord Featherington," Colin said formally, earning a cool smile from Jack. "Miss Cowper shall make a…fine bride for you."

"I thank you, Mr Bridgerton," Jack nodded.

"I wonder," Colin asked casually, "if you might be interested in joining me for a drink at Mondrich's this week, to celebrate? We can toast the health of your betrothed."

Jack had eyed Colin warily, and Penelope was looking askance at him too – just what was Colin playing at? This wasn't part of any plan they'd discussed.

"You do me honour," Jack said finally, looking vaguely irritated as though Colin's invitation was an inconvenience to him. "But alas, I have much to occupy me this week with my business interests. Another time, perhaps."

"Shame," Colin sighed, snapping his fingers in a very 'oh, darn' fashion. "If you say so, although truly, I confess I was hoping to discuss some business with you myself."

A light of interest flared in Jack's eyes. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Colin nodded seriously, "with my eldest brother married and my next eldest brother accepted to art school, I find myself at somewhat loose ends for something to put my own energy into, to make my own mark in the world. I was thinking an investment in the Americas might be just the thing." He shrugged nonchalantly. "We can discuss it another time, it matters not."

"Investment, you say?" One could almost see the dollar signs flashing in front of Jack's eyes. "Well now… I'm sure if I moved some things around, I could spare an hour or two for you this week. Thursday, perhaps?"

Colin nodded graciously. "I thank you, my Lord. That suits me perfectly. I'll confirm a time with you later."

They shook hands, and as Jack turned to walk back over towards Portia, Colin had looked round and caught Penelope's eye. In response to her raised eyebrows and 'what the hell do you think you're doing' look, he merely smiled and mouthed 'later' to her.

Not long after they'd later returned that afternoon to Featherington House, a note was slipped under her bedchamber door, although she had no earthly idea how he'd gotten it delivered there – bribed a footman, perhaps.

P-

Midweek prayers to Cupid tonight. Midnight. V. important.

-C

The faint sound of footsteps outside the boundary wall brought Penelope back to her present, and she inched further into the shadows of a nearby bush, listening alertly. The footsteps directed themselves through the side gate, and she moved cautiously into the open, and then nearly stopped dead in her tracks.

There was Colin, dressed casually in breeches and a fine white linen shirt and navy-blue waistcoat, with not even a jacket or cravat on. On their own volition, her eyes moved to the exposed space at the base of his throat, showing tanned skin disappearing tantalisingly into the collar of his shirt, and she darted a look at his arms – there was a teasing outline underneath the linen, hinting at the muscles there, and she near gulped at the sight. He is your friend and nothing more, she reminded herself faintly.

But a girl can look, though.

Colin's eyes were darting around to their surroundings and up to the darkened house. "Pen, here, let's shift over this way to the shadows-" he looked back down towards her and she was surprised to see him pause suddenly, his eyes focusing on her, an unreadable expression on his face.

She hadn't liked the idea of meeting with him with her hair let down for bed – there was relaxed social decorum and there was outright indecency, after all – and so she had coaxed Rae into braiding her hair before retiring for the evening. It was something she requested occasionally on warmer nights, and although Rae had looked questioningly at her, she had obliged tonight. Self-conscious, Penelope now fiddled with the long braid that sat over one shoulder. "What?" she questioned him.

He blinked, frowning a little. "Nothing, it's just... I've never seen you with your hair like that. It looks…it looks nice." His gaze felt hot on her skin where it swept across her face and the curve of her braid falling forward over her shoulder, and then, mortifyingly, he seemed to notice her attire. She was suddenly very conscious of the soft white linen shift as the only layer she was wearing under the orange night robe. But she'd had to make it look like she was truly going to bed for the evening, and Rae would've questioned it if she'd wanted to keep any other garments on…

"I've seen that before, though," he said thoughtfully, looking at the orange robe.

She huffed a slight laugh. "Yes, you have, in the library," she reminded him, and again he blinked, nodding slightly, and she wondered if that night in the library felt as long ago for him as it did for her, although really it had only been a few short weeks.

Seeing he was still not moving, lost in an odd reverie as he looked at her, she took the opportunity to sidle out of the moonlight into the more shadowy part near the bush and the garden's boundary wall, and that seemed to be enough to snap him out of it, as he moved to join her.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked him pointedly. It was his note that had brought them both here, after all. "You did say it was 'v important.'" She suddenly realised she had not even heard the sound of hooves to announce his arrival. "Wait, did you…walk here?"

Colin nodded. "Aye, but not from Bloomsbury, if that's what you're thinking. Just across the Square, from Bridgerton House. I knew I'd need to talk to you tonight, so after the wedding breakfast was all wrapped up, and I'd sent my note, I had a few more of Mother's excellent champagnes, and some whiskey with Benedict afterwards to celebrate, and Mama saw the state of me and offered for me to stay the night, as I knew she would-"

"Colin Bridgerton," Penelope whispered, completely floored and a little alarmed, "Are you drunk?"

"No!" He shook his head vehemently, then reached out a hand to steady himself on the garden wall, blinking. "Not drunk, no. Well. Admittedly I did have a night cap just before I left, with Benedict, I couldn't get out of that without raising suspicion, as I don't usually refuse those… but before that, I hadn't had a drink for several hours." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I may be the slightest bit tipsy."

There seemed little she could say to that, apart from noting that his inebriation must have been the cause of him staring at her hair like that before.

"Anyway," he continued earnestly, "I asked you here to see you because of Jack."

Penelope nodded, having thought as much. "Yes, I heard you make plans to 'invest' with him earlier, Colin. I can't understand what you're thinking, how is that going to help the situation-"

"Pen," Colin interrupted, and whatever he said about his current state of sobriety, the way he was vaguely waving his hand around seemed drunken to her. "The situation has changed. I overheard him in the cloakroom, talking to a business associate of his, some man surnamed Davies. He's gone from rags to riches, overnight. The mines have come good. He's going to be just as wealthy as he's been pretending to be… more, even."

Penelope could only blink at him, stunned. "Jack…wealthy?" she echoed. "Wait, that's…that solves everything!" A beaming smile crept onto her face. "He won't need to marry Cressida at all, and our family can stay part of society, and everything will be fine-"

"No, Pen," Colin interrupted again, and she couldn't understand the frown on his face – why look so grave at such wonderful news? He exhaled, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "He's no longer going to marry Cressida, no. But he's not planning on staying here. I heard him tell Davies he intends to go back to the Americas, and take his wealth with him, abandoning you all to your fate."

In the shadowed light, she watched in an odd fascination as his face clouded and his eyes darkened, and the cheerful, even-tempered man she loved seemed to be replaced with someone else altogether. "I won't," he growled, "repeat the language he used in reference to you and your family. It's not fit for a lady's ears."

Penelope, in moments of panic, tended to grab for something in her hands to fiddle with if she was trying to process her thoughts, but the only thing at hand was her own hair, snaking over her should in its braid. Reflexively, her fingers came up to trace over the criss-crosses of vivid red hair, as her mind kicked into gear. "Surely he can't do that," she murmured, feeling her heart rate accelerating in her horror. "He's the head of our family, with our title from Papa, surely he can't just abandon the charges in his care-"

"If he acts fast enough," Colin ventured grimly, "and if he disappears well enough in the Americas, I imagine the legalities could all take quite some time to be resolved with the courts, especially if they are unable to contact him. Or find him."

"And in the meantime," Pen said faintly, her mind skipping ahead, "our expenses unpaid, our home unstaffed… Mama won't be able to support us… and… we'll be ruined and cast out from society after all." A growing heat behind her eyes threatened the tears that were coming, the shocking thought rearing its head anew at life without Eloise, or Colin, or her Whistledown column… she lowered her head, unable to meet Colin's eye, focusing instead on the shadows of his boots on the ground in front of her, a few stray tears escaping as she firmly squeezed her eyes closed, trying to compose herself.

To her utter surprise, she felt his fingers brush underneath her chin, those long fingers she had admired in the church, and oh, the touch on her skin was as gentle as she's imagined. Colin carefully but firmly tilted her chin back up to meet his gaze. He looked down into her face, his fingers still gently grasping her chin. "All is not lost, Pen," he murmured. "Please, don't cry. We can solve this, you and I, together. I have the beginnings of a plan, I think, but I know our best chance would be to combine our talents." He paused, hesitating. "We… make a good team."

She should have something to say to that, but silence prevailed, and breathless moments passed, as they stood with her face tilted up towards his, and he looked down upon her face, his fingers under her chin. Her heart was hammering in her chest, but for a different reason altogether now, and it felt like the blood was gleefully rushing out of her skull, and she was glad for the cover of shadows as she was sure her skin was flushed, even as her breath felt like it was coming faster.

The dappled mix of moonlight and shadow in the garden meant some of his face was illuminated, some hidden, and his deep blue eyes seemed a beguiling darker blue-black in this lighting, but she thought there was the faintest wobble and sway in his stance as he looked unsteadily at her – he really must still be tipsy. She couldn't read the expression on his face, couldn't possibly grasp at what he was thinking-

The distant shriek of some neighbourhood cats down the street startled them both, shattering the moment, and Colin dropped his hand and Penelope, realising she had unconsciously been perched on tip toes leaning in towards him, returned herself to normal position. They both laughed a little shakily, but the moment lingered in her mind. What was that? Why did he do that? Why didn't he let go?

Colin was studying the expressions chasing across her face, looking confused and upset. "I'm sorry," he apologised, shaking his head a little as though to clear it. "I shouldn't have done that. Perhaps I did have more to drink today than I thought. I meant only to comfort you, I…I didn't mean to…"

Penelope smiled weakly. Hope is dangerous, she reminded herself. "Think nothing of it. I am… grateful for the comfort, in the spirit it was given." She took the smallest of steps backwards, thinking that any closer proximity with him was a bad idea. "I can't thank you enough, Colin, for the concern you've shown for me…and my family." She fiddled again with her braid at her shoulder. "You're right – the best chance we have is for us to work together." She looked back up to him, shoulders set. "Tell me, what is your plan so far? Perhaps we can figure out how to refine it."

He nodded quickly, grateful they were both back on familiar territory. "Offering to invest is just to get him to meet with me," he began. "And the celebratory drinks were just an excuse to get him to a neutral space where we won't be overheard. I can rely on Will to assist me…"

He went over the basic outline of his plan with her, all business once more, and it did not take long for them to narrow down the details. She was impressed - Colin had good instincts with his initial 'reads' on people, but Penelope's quite extensive insight into the character of Jack Featherington only further helped polish the preliminary plan. Penelope would have a mission to complete on Thursday when Colin would be meeting with Jack at Mondrich's, and if the timing worked out, she felt stirrings of hope that they might succeed.

Colin made no further move for so much as even a handshake, holding himself carefully and formally apart from her, all the way up to his farewell nod to her once they had fully gone over the details and agreed nothing more could be discussed that night. She sternly told herself she was glad he's kept his distance after the 'chin-grabbing' incident, as she watched him disappear behind the boundary wall. Meeting unchaperoned the way they did was one thing, but every time he touched her, they were taking a breathless gamble, and it was hard to forget that she was risking far more than he was.

Still, lying in her bedchamber later, staring at the ceiling, she reflected that while it was something of a relief to concentrate her energies on the plan, on logistics and hypothetical scenarios…it just couldn't fully distract her mind from the feeling of his touch on her skin.

Early on Wednesday evening, the day after Kate and Anthony's wedding, Colin sent a note to Jack Featherington, via footmen messenger, to propose a meeting time mid-afternoon on Thursday. Not long after, he received a response from Jack confirming the timing.

Colin's investment ruse was quite simple, on the face of it – even though Jack had been told his wildest dreams had come true, even though one would think that was more than enough, Jack was greedy at his core. The opportunity to take more funds from a son of one of the wealthier families in the ton, Colin had gambled, would be too much for Jack to resist, and his suspicion had proven correct.

He made sure that he arrived to Mondrich's much earlier than the designated time he'd agreed to with Jack, to ensure that he could have time to make arrangements with Will and Alice. He knew Mondrich's had been struggling for clientele of late, particularly in the slow daytime hours, and that knowledge had paid off – when he entered the gentleman's club, the floors were swept, the tables arranged, the green and gold panelling on the walls was glinting, but the seats were empty.

"I need complete privacy," he advised them seriously over the bar once they'd exchanged greetings. Husband and wife looked startled, but Colin continued, "It is of utmost importance. No one inside. No one nearby to listen."

Will and Alice stared at him for a moment, nonplussed, before Will raised an eyebrow at him. "Is everything alright, Bridgerton? Should I be concerned?"

Colin smiled sunnily, his wide and disarming Bridgerton smile. "Not at all, my friend. Just some business that I need to conduct privately."

"With Jack Featherington?" Alice piped up, frowning. "I know you told us a few days ago that you'd be meeting him here, Colin, but are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Aye. Could be bad business. He argued over a bill with me the other day," Will agreed gravely. "Nobody who isn't counting their dollars does that. It even got into Whistledown."

"Did it?" Colin said carelessly, doing his best to sound nonchalant. "Now you mention it, I do recall skimming that issue. Look, I appreciate the concern, but I think the Lord Featherington is merely tight-fisted, not empty-pocketed."

Will and Alice exchanged glances, and Colin wondered at the tendency of couples to do that, to be able to read each other and understand each other with one look. Anthony did it with Kate, and Daphne had done it with Duke Simon as well. It was most irritating, not least because he wished that one day, he could have that kind of connection with someone.

"Will, you have long been friends with my brother-in-law the Duke, and then my brother the Viscount in turn," Colin stated, seeing more convincing was needed here. "I have seen for myself the loyalty you display to your friends, and I do hope I can include myself in one of that number. Loyalty shouldn't go unrewarded. You can re-open once I'm done…and I have invited all of my friends and acquaintance here at 6, for some end-of-season celebratory drinks." He winked at them. "I'll be shouting the first round. And I'm not naming names, but some of my acquaintances are known for…overindulging at celebrations. I predict you shall soon make enough to cover any shortfall for the brief afternoon closure. I am sure if they enjoy themselves tonight, it shan't take much convincing for them to keep coming back here next season."

Involuntarily, Will and Alice's eyes flitted around to the empty tables and chairs, and Colin leaned forward, earnest and urgent. "If you do me this favour, Mondrich, I hope you shall allow me the opportunity to repay it."

Another exchange of glances – again – and Colin saw the tiny, imperceptible nod from Alice before Will turned towards him, holding out his hand to shake. "No one inside," Will said solemnly. "No one nearby to listen. Alice and I will come back no later than half hour to 6 to prepare for service."

Relieved, Colin reached out and shook Will's hand, grasping it gratefully. "You're a good man, Mondrich."

"Hang on," Alice said slowly, "If it's just you and Jack here this afternoon, who's going to be serving the drinks?"

Colin smiled. He'd poured himself plenty of drinks before, but that was beside the point - he hardly planned on being exactly painstaking with his measurements this afternoon. "That would be me."

After Will and Alice had departed, Colin picked a nondescript table near the centre of the room, and took a seat, waiting for Jack to arrive. He believed and trusted the word of his friends that they were leaving their bar to him without hovering around and listening at doors, but one couldn't be too careful – thus, the table in the middle of the club.

He'd already poured himself a drink in one of the fine crystal tumblers behind the bar – water, with just a few drops of gin mixed in. He had to make sure that if Jack got suspicious and sniffed the liquid, it would still smell alcoholic, but above all, he needed his wits about him right now, so he would be as sober as possible.

Unlike on Tuesday night.

He winced to recall his conversation with Penelope – speaking to her under the influence had proved a rather embarrassing affair. He'd shared a nightcap with Benedict and then snuck out of Bridgerton House, walking through Grosvenor Square to get to Featherington House.

When he'd arrived, her appearance had…rather startled him. She normally wore elaborate and fussy dresses, with her hair swept up in equally elaborate and fussy styles, tightly curled and pinned. So, when he'd stepped into the Featherington side garden, and he'd looked down from checking the windows to see Pen dressed in night clothes wrapped in an orange robe, and her vibrant hair was streaking over her shoulder in a simple braid, and the moonlight was beaming down on her like a halo, making her hair glow…it was just…unexpected. And to his (admittedly inebriated) eyes, she looked so…just…completely different to any other time he had seen her. It lent a softness to her face that had taken him by surprise.

When he'd told her about Jack's plan, he had seen the misery on her face, and he'd seen her controlling her emotions and holding back tears, and he'd acted impulsively, with far less restraint than he might have if he'd been completely sober. She'd been staring downwards, not looking at him, and he'd reached out and tilted her face upwards, because it had felt critically important to look into her eyes as he'd comforted her, to impress upon her that together, they could do something to try and fix this.

Which he'd done, except that…well. She hadn't said anything, and then he'd rather forgotten that his fingers were gently grasping her chin, because he'd gotten distracted by the way the moonlight illuminated the bright blue of her eyes, which had been wide and shining with unshed tears, and the sight had caused breath to catch in his throat for just a moment.

He shook his head, angry at himself, taking a small sip of his gin-water. What a colossally idiotic thing to do. Sober now, he didn't understand what had come over him, what had even possessed him to touch her, let alone to keep touching her in that moment.

He recalled a conversation with Pen in the Bridgerton House drawing room, back when he'd first offered to help her with the Whistledown publications. He had said to her, 'I would never dream of risking your reputation, Pen.'

The reality was that since that day, he'd done just that.

He'd made excuses to himself again and again for the risks they were taking - the secret meetings they'd had, the time spent around each other unchaperoned, the messages, the collaboration between them, teaming together to speak with Cressida, and now this business with Jack. Any one of their meetings, if they'd been caught, would have been enough to ruin Penelope's reputation, and would have necessitated a swift and unceremonious forced wedding to recover their honour and standing. He'd known all of that deep down, but he'd carried on anyway, heedlessly telling himself that somehow, it didn't count, the usual societal rules didn't apply for them, simply because it was Pen.

And - he winced to remember – in the Featherington garden, these past few weeks, he'd held her (ungloved) hand. He'd hugged her, holding her in his arms while she cried. They'd stood close to each other with his fingers grasping her chin and her face titled up towards his, and well, if anyone had seen those occurrences… he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Attempts to justify with the ambiguous position she held in his life wouldn't matter to any witnesses. Carrying on the way he had with an unmarried lady who was out in society, on the marriage mart, without even courting her was… unconscionable really. How could he call a friend, a lady that he had treated so recklessly?

He drummed his long fingers on the wooden tabletop, before slamming down his palm, resolute. After this was over…and hopefully, all would go well this afternoon…he'd have to make some changes in his behaviour, and with their arrangement. He could still help her with Whistledown without taking so many risks with her reputation. One day she would reveal her identity, and no doubt she would face the scorn and hate of the ton at that point. But until that occurred, he would be damned if he'd be part of any reason why she suffered any loss of public honour.

The club's entry door creaked slightly as it suddenly swung open, rousing him from his thoughts. He got to his feet, setting down his drink, and turned towards the doorway, where Jack Featherington was closing the door behind him, dressed in a smart, and expensive, dark green coat.

Jack turned to the room, and there was a flicker of surprise visible on his face when he saw the club completely empty save for Colin, before his inscrutable expression resumed.

"Good day, Bridgerton," Jack called carelessly, removing his coat and hanging it on the nearby coat-stand before he sauntered leisurely over towards Colin.

"Featherington," Colin nodded formally. Jack's friendly, smiling face, mild hazel eyes and casual demeanour made it hard to remember that this was a cruel and scheming monster, not just an affable distant acquaintance. He thought of Penelope, and even of her silly sisters and her meddling Mama, and what they all stood to lose here, and he straightened his shoulders, determined.

"Where's Mondrich?" Jack asked as he reached the table, holding out his hand for Colin to shake.

Colin controlled his expression, resisting an urge to slap the hand away and instead pulling Jack into a firm handshake, before releasing. "Called away on family business, with his wife," Colin said nonchalantly. "He said he didn't mind if it was going to be just us two here for an hour or two. He's not exactly had much in the way of daytime patrons lately."

Jack glanced around at the empty chairs around them, raising an eyebrow. "Clearly."

"Something to drink?" Colin asked him, picking up and waggling his near-empty glass from the table. "You're nearly one behind, I'm afraid."

"I wasn't aware we were entering a drinking competition," Jack quipped, but he settled himself at the table, and Colin noted with satisfaction that he'd chosen a seat facing away from the club entrance door. Perfect. "You're pouring?"

Colin smirked, gesturing towards the vast shelf of liquors behind Will's bar. "Your choice, Featherington."

"Hmmm." Jack looked vaguely amused. "Cognac, then."

Making his way behind the bar, Colin selected a bottle from the fine 1811 vintage, and poured Jack's drink, before discreetly topping up the water and adding a drop or two of gin in his own glass. Bringing the cognac bottle with him, he made his way back to the table, taking the seat opposite Jack, so that he could face towards the door.

Drinks acquired, Colin raised his glass in a toast. "To betrothals, and to good business."

Jack smiled mildly, and it was very noticeable close up how his smiles just didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll drink to that." They both took a sip and set their glasses down, eyeing each other. Colin affected an air of being at ease, leaning back in his chair as if he were in his own drawing room.

"So," Jack ventured, "I know you said this was a celebration, but forgive me…we men of business, you know. I think it best to get more serious matters out of the way before too many drinks are consumed." He leaned forward, and Colin noted the greedy glint in his eyes. "You were considering an investment?"

Colin nodded, tracing a finger around the edge of his glass. "Indeed. I've approached the Viscount about withdrawing a substantial sum from the family accounts, to fund my venture. I've got my own way to make in the world, as I'm sure you appreciate," he dipped his head towards Jack, who nodded graciously in return. "I've only heard in passing about your mines, so before investing, I confess that I am eager to learn more. Please…" he smiled encouragingly at Jack. "Do tell me all about them."

Jack, still smiling slightly, leaned back in his own seat, took a sip of his cognac, and began to talk. Colin nodded along attentively, taking occasional sips of his gin-water, and let the words wash over him, for it hardly mattered what Jack was saying, so long as he kept talking.

He'd spent some time yesterday reading about the mines in the Americas and was equipped with follow up questions and tangents with which he could steer the conversation. He could do this. He could keep things civil with Jack, for as long as possible.

The longer he detained Jack Featherington here, the more time he was giving to Penelope at Featherington House. And in this situation, every second was going to count.

Notes:

Eeeep I have to break it there I'm sorry, otherwise we'll be in for another 15-page chapter! Sometimes I do intend my cliff-hangers and other times they just kinda happen, like now. I really intended to get this scene finished this chapter but…I blame Penelope and Colin in the garden. They have a mind of their own, those two.

Chapter 15: Battle

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen: Battle

Penelope was, for the second time in as many weeks, hiding behind a plant.

The plant in question was the tall, decorative plant at the top of the stairs in Featherington House's entrance hall. Last time she had been here, she'd listened anxiously to Jack telling Mama about his plans to propose to Cressida. Now, there was no one within ear shot, but her eyes were trained on the polished floors of the hall below, tense with waiting, alert to the slightest sound.

There were no plans today for the Featherington women – no outings, no callers, and Mama had declared the day 'far too warm for anything' - (it was mild at best outside) - and had instead been lounging in the drawing room since this morning, along with Penelope's sisters.

Penelope had escaped back to her bedchamber as soon as she was able, as she'd had some rather important writing to do. Eventually, with her work completed and stored safely in the front of her dress, as prepared as she could be for the afternoon, she'd paced in her chamber, watching the clock ticking down the hours agonisingly slow, until she deemed it appropriately close to the time where she needed to have eyes on the entrance hall.

Glancing now around the landing, she wished fervently that someone had seen fit to install some kind of clock nearby out here, if only so she could get an idea of how much longer to wait.

There were two main corridors branched off from the entrance hall, closest to the entrance doors – to the right was the corridor leading to the kitchens and servants' quarters. The corridor to the left was where she primarily kept her gaze trained, as that led to Jack's office.

Finally, echoing footsteps snapped her into alertness, and she watched as Jack came striding out into the hall from the direction of his office, pulling on a smart dark green coat as he went. He marched with purpose towards the entry, and their footman Cole opened the large entrance doors for Jack. Jack strode right through, with Cole himself stepping outside after him, closing the entrance doors behind him.

She could hear the faint sound of the carriage being drawn up outside, ready for Jack's departure, and Penelope knew her window of opportunity had arrived. Cole would stay outside to ensure Jack was safely ensconced in the carriage and on his way, and it being a pleasant, slow sort of day, he would likely stay outside for a little while to enjoy some of the summer air. Featherington House wasn't exactly Hampton Court, after all – there was hardly an expectation for the staff to be rigidly held to one position for hours at a time.

Penelope moved from the plant, her soft kid leather shoes making little sound as she hurried down the staircase. Hitting the bottom, she steered right, beelining for the kitchen and servants' corridor.

She had no doubt that a gentleman as wrapped in schemes and lies as Jack wouldn't have keep the office door securely locked when he himself was not in it.

Enter, Lady Whistledown.

It had been earlier in the season, before even the country visit out to Aubrey Hall. She'd risen earlier than her family, a habit she quite enjoyed, and sat alone at her window seat in the drawing room, reading, enjoying some moments of quiet solitude before breakfast. Their head Housekeeper, Mrs Varley, had been in the corridor just outside, chastising one of the young maids for misplacing a storage key.

"You're lucky," she'd heard Varley snap, "that I have spares, girl! No, no, not from these," and a metallic jangle told Penelope that Varley had angrily shaken the large set of keys she kept on her person at all times. "It will take too long to find the right one and unhook from the ring. Get to my room downstairs – I keep some spare keys in my dresser. Not all of them, mind, just some of the important ones, the important chambers."

The unfortunate maid had murmured a soft and tentative question, and Varley had laughed, a sharp bark. "Think what you're saying. Why should my room be lockable? What is there to steal? Housekeeping uniforms?"

The habit of staying quiet and listening to conversations felt ingrained in her now, and the Lady Whistledown part of her had listened to this conversation, noted it, and filed it away mentally just in case. Spare keys. Varley's dresser. Important chambers. No lock on Varley's door. Could be useful.

And now, it certainly was.

Varley was granted her own room as head Housekeeping of the household, and it was located a short distance along the kitchen and servants' corridor. This was Penelope's first stop. In the afternoons, Varley and most of the maids and servants would be occupied in the upstairs chambers, cleaning, tidying, sorting, sweeping. The kitchen staff would be engaged with preparing supper. She should have a clear shot here.

Reaching Varley's room, after a quick glance and up and down the deserted corridor, she tentatively reached for the handle and twisted, relieved to feel it give way easily. Creeping inside, she closed the door carefully behind her, and faced the small and nondescript room – a simple bed and side table, with a large wooden dresser to one side with multiple drawers.

As quietly as she could, she opened the drawers in turn and rifled through them. Varley's clothing was arranged pleasingly, folded neatly, as one might expect. It was the third drawer down, pushed back behind a pile of linen shifts, where she found her prize – a small jewellery box. Lifting it out, Penelope nearly panicked to see a lock on it before she noticed the key that was sticking out from the lock – left there for easy access, presumably. Lifting it onto the top of the dresser, she unlocked the box and found inside a range of keys, of various sizes – most were unlabelled, but there was a half dozen where a scrap of paper had been wrapped around them, and in Varley's neat handwriting, labels had been written.

Main Pantry… Master's Bed… Drawing Room… Office! Cheering inwardly, Penelope seized the key, replaced the others in the box and re-locked it, storing it away back in the third drawer down.

The journey back out to the corridor and then back across the entrance hall was uneventful, save for a distant shout from the kitchens startling her (most likely Cook telling off one of the kitchen hands). She had soon made her way across the hall and down the other corridor to Jack's office door, and the key smoothly unlocked it, allowing her to let herself inside and close and lock the door behind her.

She turned to face the room. Little had physically changed inside since her Papa had used it. There were the green walls with the gold embellishments around the bookcases, lined with rows upon rows of books… she'd used to love, as a little girl, stealing some moments in here when Papa had been working on accounts at the large carved desk. Her favourite thing had been to trail her fingers over the spines of the books, feeling the bumps as she drifted aimlessly, touching the books and breathing in the scent of paper.

As she'd gotten older, more and more often Papa had shooed her away as he looked through their account sheets with increasing desperation, and as a result, she hadn't been in here since even before Papa had died. But now that it was Jack's space, somehow it felt different – a more strange and hostile air.

Resolutely, she approached the desk. There were books, paper and letters scattered across the top of it haphazardly – indeed, now that she was looking around, on nearly every flat surface of the place. Jack was evidently trying to get all of his affairs in order before he fled to the Americas. But taking some investment money from a Bridgerton had superseded his plans for the afternoon.

She moved around behind the desk, pushing the gold-painted chair aside so she could fully stand flush with the edge of the desk, and stared blankly in despair at the piles for a moment. Her and Colin's entire plan hinged upon what she might, or might not, find here.

His business associate told him, Colin had said to her in the garden, that they'd 'exchanged enough letters' about the mines being worthless in the last few months. If he's kept even one of those, that's proof he was a fraud, and it'll be proof he intended to marry a respectable debutante under false pretences.

As she had then, Penelope frowned now, thinking it through. That was all well and good, but that didn't change the fact that right now, if he absconded before he went through with marrying Cressida…it would be very sad for her (Penelope had to hide a smile at the thought), and people would be outraged on Cressida's behalf, but he wouldn't even be here to worry about the fallout. If they tried to pin him with his original scheme alone, it wouldn't stick.

And she'd argued all of this to Colin back in the gardens. The situation had changed. What they needed now to use against Jack was a combination of evidence. Yes, they needed proof of the original plans, the original worthlessness of the mines, the original intention to use Cressida for her dowry. And. They needed proof of his current plan – proof of the current arrangements in motion, to up and leave for the Americas and not only jilt Cressida, but to leave the Featherington women destitute.

Heaving a sigh, she picked a pile, scooped it up and began flicking through the sheafs, eyes scanning rapidly as she read documents as fast as she could.

There was a lot of Featherington household accounts, even a budget Jack must have drawn up when he first returned to England - no doubt so he could plan out how long it would take to court Cressida without going broke in the meantime. In another stack, she found another version of the same budget, with heavy amendments and scribble – the revised version, she thought ruefully, which had driven him to accelerate the betrothal process.

Her eye was drawn to a pile just off to the left-hand side of the desk – it looked like it had recently been shuffled neatly, the paper sides lining up far more closely than the haphazard papers around it.

On top of this pile, there was a drafted letter, addressed to a name Penelope had not heard of – one of his acquaintances back in the Americas, perhaps. It was written in a warm, friendly tone, advising the recipient of Jack's good news and fortune and asking them to prepare lodgings ahead of his coming.

I shall endeavour to join you in Savannah within the month, weather depending for the crossing, Jack had written. My friend, I cannot tell you the relief I feel to wrench my neck from this yoke. To be free of the red-haired bitch and her silly, simpering daughters… no one will marry them now, and I am relieved of all responsibility, and relieved of any need to depend on that blonde chit for funds…

Penelope fumed even as she carefully set aside this letter on the gold chair behind her. It rankled deeply within her. Silly and simpering, was she?

He was dealing with Lady Whistledown, and she vowed to herself that he would rue the day that he'd spoken ill of her – even of her family, who, while they were her burden to bear, they were still hers.

She continued the search with renewed determination. Tucked in a cream-coloured envelope nestled further under the pile, she found his ticket of passage – it was set for a departure two days hence, on the Saturday. A small piece of paper underneath the ticket confirmed its purchase the day before, on the Wednesday. Satisfied, she added the ticket in its envelope to the letter on the chair – perfect proof of his current plans to flee.

Now, she needed to find proof of the original scheme…

The minutes ticked by into what felt to her like hours, as she made her way through the piles of paper, scanning lines on dozens of letters, accounts, and general correspondence.

Having gone through all the paperwork on top of the desk, she moved to the small drawers on its right-hand side, her fingers deftly picking through the files of paperwork he had stacked within the drawers.

Finally, in the very bottom drawer, she found a letter pushed to the bottom of a pile, addressed to Jack, which didn't seem hugely exciting at first glance until she realised it was signed off by 'Davies' – this must be the very Davies Colin had overheard talking to Jack at the wedding breakfast.

The letter was short, and simple, but pertinent. It seemed to have been written right after Jack had arrived in London at the start of the season – after Davies' salutations, followed by a long summary of the (dismal, at that point) affairs of the mines, the content became quite damning.

Sir, we cannot put this off any longer – the mines should now be deemed worthless. I will do as you instructed and remain here. I will continue to hold off the creditors as best I can, but for remedy, I would suggest that now is the time to implement the contingency plan we discussed before you left. You have a title, however meagre as a baron, and a household. Now is the time to find a rich heiress, and marry her, as soon as possible.

Penelope smiled, placing the letter with her other treasures on the chair. Yes, that would do quite nicely.

Leaning down, she felt around in the bottom drawer, reaching right to the very back for one last search. To her surprise, her fingers brushed against something soft. Velvet? Perturbed, she cautiously poked around more and felt the outline of a small box that had been pushed right to the very back reaches of the drawer. She pulled it out and took a closer look.

It was a small red velvet box, too wide and flat to contain a ring. She clicked open the hinges – nestled inside was a fine gold bracelet, with two threads twisted together: one of gold, and the other of roses, formed from rubies. Rubies, very similar in fact, to the necklace Cressida had worn at the betrothal dinner party.

Penelope held up the 'ruby' roses close to her face, peering closely. The coloured glass had been polished very fine, and you could even perhaps say it was glinting in the afternoon light at a certain angle, but knowing what she knew, she had no doubt that what she was holding was a real gold-plated bracelet, but with fake rubies. Most likely, what she had stumbled upon would have been a courtship gift for Cressida, perhaps intended to be given during a longer courtship, but which had quickly been discarded and stuffed away in the drawer as soon as Jack didn't need it.

Penelope smiled a little to herself. Why give more presents than you needed to, anyway. She placed the bracelet back into its box, closed the desk drawer, and pulled out one of the papers at the front of her dress. There was just one last thing she needed, now she had access to Jack's letters…

A few minutes later, business complete and paper securely returned to its spot, she retrieved her evidence pile from the chair, hurriedly tucking the chair back under the desk. She moved back to the office door, clutching the paperwork and the small velvet box, mentally planning ahead her route to the side garden gate through the house.

Such beautiful glass. Fortunate indeed – the time had rather come to smash a few things.

The hired hackney trundled along, bearing Penelope onwards towards Mondrich's bar. She pulled the sky-blue hood of her 'Whistledown' cloak more firmly forward, making sure it was hiding her distinctive red curls. They'd been swept up and pinned at the back of her head this morning, which was fortunate, as they could tuck neatly under the hood. She'd stashed the cloak in the corner of the side garden last night, which made it simple to retrieve before she'd ventured out the gate.

She'd used the lilting Irish accent again to hire the driver, slipping back easily into the 'Whistledown lady-maid' persona that had gotten her through the first year and more of her secret identity. While it was certainly a relief to have Colin involved and not have to be so concerned with the logistics of how to get the drafts to the publishers, there was a part of her that missed that excitement and thrill of doing something on her own, for herself.

On the seat beside her in the carriage, she'd laid her evidence pile, and she was keenly aware too of those two additional pieces of paper that she'd tucked discreetly into the front of her gown before she'd left her bedchamber that morning.

There were several gambles she and Colin were taking with this plan, parts that would only succeed if the other elements worked out. But one of the most crucial points was whether Jack would be suspicious of Colin's motives in meeting with him. He was betrothed to Cressida, after all, and since the confrontation at the opera on Monday, they couldn't completely rule out the possibility that Cressida had seen her fiancé and told him some, or all, of her experiences.

They had discussed this already in the garden a few days before, and Colin and Penelope had come to the same conclusion, pooled from their knowledge of the characters of Lord Featherington and Miss Cowper. Jack had been perfectly clear when he'd spoken to Portia. Women aren't for talking, you know. Penelope just couldn't believe he would have seen or spoken to Cressida before he'd found out about the mines on Tuesday, only two days before. Theirs was hardly a partnership born from love, or an honest desire to see each other. And he certainly wouldn't have bothered to see or speak to Cressida since he'd set his Americas plan in motion, if he meant to abandon her.

And while the betrothal was a triumph for the Cowpers (so they'd thought, at least), they were deeply traditional and mindful of public appearances, and so was Cressida. Well… except when she saw an opportunity for seduction at the opera, apparently. Still, conventionally, in society it was the gentleman's part to make chaperoned calls to his betrothed, not the other way around. Cressida, and particularly Lady Cowper, would not be ones to break that tradition – they would've been waiting for Jack to contact Cressida.

Based on these theories, they had to take the chance that Jack would have no idea about what had transpired at the opera. It was a calculated risk based on evidence, but still a risk, nonetheless. Penelope could only hope Colin had managed to find a discreet way to meet with Jack at Mondrich's, and to keep him talking.

She felt flutters in her stomach, both in anticipation and fear at the upcoming confrontation, and for seeing Colin again, after…whatever that had been, in the garden on Tuesday night. It was not an image a girl can get out of her head easily – the man she's in love with, gently holding her chin, gazing down onto her face. In the moonlight, no less. It sent a frisson through her every time she remembered it.

Pointless, to wish herself back to that moment, where she'd been too stunned to…to say anything, really. Pointless, too, the scenarios that played in her head, especially of an evening before she went to sleep the last few nights, of hypothetical outcomes of what would have happened if… she'd stepped forward. If she'd reached out to touch his face too. If she'd said something, anything, to him, about how she felt. What would he have said? Would he have pitied her? Would he have laughed at her? Or would he have admitted that he felt something too?

The latter option, as little as two weeks before, had always seemed laughable to her previously - a girlhood fantasy. But their interactions since he'd found out about Lady Whistledown all kept whirling through her head, and she remembered the stunned look on his face when he'd seen her with her braid, and after this latest incident, she found herself suddenly hugging Lady Danbury's words to herself, treasuring them like a warm golden glow – don't lose hope. Never lose hope.

The soft clip-clopping of the hackney horse slowed – she'd arrived at Mondrich's, at last. She scooped her evidence up from the seat cushion, and hopping down safely onto the street, she paid the driver and watched him trundle away.

There weren't many of the passer-by on the street who were paying much attention to the wooden sign above her that marked the location for Mondrich's bar, although several people were casting curious glances at her bright blue cloak. She couldn't see a street-front door entrance for the bar, but there was a flight of wooden stairs near the sign.

She took a deep, steadying breath – she hardly needed to remind herself what was at stake here, but the importance of it felt like an additional weighted cloak over her shoulders. Her future, the future of her family, her Mama and her sisters, the future of Lady Whistledown…her and Colin…her and Eloise…everything.

She began to climb the steps.

Jack was tipsy, hovering on the edge of getting drunk. Colin hid a smile, satisfied, watching his opponent tip his head back to catch the last few drops of – what, how many drinks was it now? He'd lost count. He just knew that the bottle of cognac that he'd brought to the table, which had been close to full when he'd first poured a drink for Jack, was looking significantly emptier. And he'd even poured a gin for him at one point, when he'd gotten up to top up his own significantly watered-down drink and Jack had cheerfully asked if he might try one too. Although he'd taken care to make sure Jack's gin was not watered down.

Jack set his glass tumbler back on the wooden table with a decisive thud, and a soft belch. "That really is rather good," Jack commented. "Remind me to compliment Mondrich when he…" He squinted at Colin, the late-afternoon light coming in from the windows behind him, illuminating him and probably making it quite hard, Colin thought, for Jack to clearly see his face. "What time did you say again he was coming back?"

"Around about now," Colin answered casually, taking a measured sip of his own glass. His eyes flitted to the clock above the fireplace on the side of the room, anxious. Just over an hour and a half had elapsed since their initial meeting time. There was only another hour before Mondrich would actually return, as he'd promised Colin.

Please, Colin mentally entreated, Penelope, please have found something. Please be on your way. Please be nearly here… He didn't know how much longer he could make polite conversation with this…this… well, he could hardly call him a gentleman.

It would also be a long time indeed before he'd want to talk, or think, about the Americas again. He'd pulled out all the stops he could, opened every line of enquiry he could think of, and each time Jack had looked questioningly at him about the excessive information he was asking for, Colin would just make casual reference again to the significant investment he might be willing to make, and how soon he could access the funds Anthony had set aside for him in the Bridgerton accounts, and lo and behold, Jack was all eagerness again.

But there were only so many avenues of conversation one can create around mines, especially if you haven't seen them before. Jack's increasing inebriation made the whole process easier, certainly. But eventually, the business conversation had dried up, and to prolong the encounter, Colin had gritted his teeth and changed the topic, congratulating Jack again on his betrothal to Miss Cowper.

Even knowing what he knew about Jack's plans, and his heinous treatment of his female relatives, the way that he spoke about Cressida alone would've been enough to convince Colin, in any other circumstances, that here was no gentleman.

Oh, on the surface he was polite enough, as he said the right things by rote. But there was a curl in his lip and a coldness in his eyes when he talked about Cressida and her wedding plans, and a condescending drip in his voice when he referred to women's things and women's ways. He would smirk and raise and waggle his eyebrows knowingly at Colin, like they were both in on the secret. Women, right…? And Colin had had to chuckle and return the gesture, trying to hide the disgust he felt from showing on his face.

It was not like Cressida was a paragon of womenkind, but he rather felt uncomfortable with this charade of sneering condescension that Jack wanted him to join in with.

Jack had seized the cognac bottle himself now and was helping himself to a generous measure in his glass. "You want to know something, Bridgerton?"

Colin near groaned inwardly – he was quite certain he didn't. "What, Featherington?"

"Don't get married yet." Jack wasn't exactly slurring, but his words were far less precise than when he'd entered the bar. "You're too young. Me…" he set the bottle down and took a deep sip of his drink. "I'm of age for it, it's expected. But if I had my way, I wouldn't settle down, ever." He stared absent-mindedly into his glass. "Won't," he finished quietly, and Colin saw the quirk of a grin at the corner of his mouth. Of course, Jack had no intentions of settling down, if he was going to be fleeing to the Americas in a matter of days and abandoning his poor female relatives, and his betrothed. And he saw fit to lecture Colin?

"Giving up a bachelor's life would be quite hard, I imagine," Colin said frostily. "But I think there's something to be said for companionship, and a partner through life for adventures to be had together-"

"Ha!" Jack snorted with laughter. "That's rich, Bridgerton. Tell me, have you done much travelling?"

"I journeyed through Greece for some months before the start of this season," Colin said defensively.

"Just Greece," Jack said dismissively. "No, while you're young you need to see some more truly cosmopolitan hubs of humanity, Bridgerton. It can't just be London and the countryside, back and forth, forever. It can't just be the confines of the ton. When I was your age, I did the Grand Tour, oh yes, I saw Le Havre, Paris, Florence, Venice, Rome…up north to Vienna, Berlin…" He was staring off into the middle distance, and Colin was surprised to see a moment of honest clarity in him. "You only find yourself, truly, when you leave home."

Surprised they had found a moment of common ground, Colin cleared his throat and inclined his head. "I quite agree, and I take your advice in good part."

"You find women too," Jack leered, and oh wait – moment's over. "French girls, Italian girls…you'll forget your own name. Forget any miss who's ever turned her nose up at you." Jack leaned forward, nursing his glass, and smirked. "Although I forget who I'm speaking to. Bridgerton boys need only blink to have mamas shoving their daughters under your nose."

"Yes, well," Colin shifted in his seat. "There's not been anyone who's captured my attention." Unbidden, the bright blue sparkle of Penelope's eyes, illuminated in the moonlight, flashed across his mind's eye. He looked suspiciously at his own glass. He could swear he'd only put a few drops each time in of gin…

There was a knock on the bar's entrance door – four sharp taps, their agreed signal. One for each Featherington woman.

Penelope.

Mid sip, Jack frowned, moving to turn around. "Who the devil…."

Colin got quickly to his feet, the chair scraping behind him. "It might be someone from the street, checking to see if the bar's open," he lied, doing his best to sound unbothered. "I'll check."

"Right." Jack got unsteadily to his feet too, nearly making Colin panic, but he was soon moving away from the door. "Chamberpot," he called over his shoulder as he made his way towards the back of the bar room, where Mondrich's private chamberpot antechambers were located.

Colin walked to the entrance door, checking behind him, waiting until he saw Jack stumble out of the main room and out of sight before he opened the entry door.

There were those bright blue eyes he'd just been thinking about, peeping up at him from underneath an equally bright blue hooded cloak. "Colin," Penelope breathed, leaning to peer anxiously behind him.

"Pen, come in," he whispered, urgently gesturing her inside and then closing and re-locking the door behind her. "He's at the chamber pot. Did you…?"

She held up a few pieces of paper and a small, flat red velvet box, and there was the sudden flash of her grin before her returning whisper. "Got what we need. Is he…?"

"Drunk enough," he finished for her, as they moved slowly back into the room. "How did you want to…?"

Penelope's gaze landed on the table, seeing the two heavy glasses, and the near-empty cognac bottle on the side closest to the door. "I'll sit with my back to him," she decided quickly, hurrying to take a seat, keeping her hood up.

Colin hastily took the seat to her right, facing towards the bar, and from the corner of his eye he sensed movement – Jack walking back into the main hall. There was no time to confirm the evidence, or debrief further – Colin got the feeling he'd have to sit back and let Lady Whistledown do her work here.

"Bridgerton, I might just see about another bottle, if Mondrich has one," Jack called as he walked back towards the table. "Do you-" he stopped short, having evidently spied the blue cloak. "Ah, a lady friend was at the door, eh?" he chortled, resuming his approach. "Joining us for a few, is she? Good lad, like I said, you don't want to settle down too early, and we all have needs, don't we-"

Penelope, judging the proximity of his voice, decided he had gotten close enough. She pushed back from the table, rising to her feet, and turned and threw her hood back, glaring at Jack defiantly, although her heart was hammering.

Jack's step backwards in shock and his open-mouthed gape was almost comical. "Miss Featherington," he said dumbly, staring at her. "What are you…" his gaze switched back to Colin, who was at his leisure in the seat next to her, idly sipping his drink and smiling as he watched. "How did you get…why is she here, Bridgerton?"

Colin nodded respectfully to Penelope. "I think I shall let Miss Featherington explain that to you, Lord Featherington."

Jack's gaze switched back to Penelope, still looking confused.

Penelope took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, her eyes closed for a few seconds, before they snapped back open and pinned Jack where he stood. "You might not know this, Cousin Jack," she said conversationally, "but a truly private conversation in the ton is a very rare thing indeed. You can be alone in a room with someone… or even, say, in a deserted entrance hall… and not see a single other person nearby, and think that surely, you are safe." She smiled sweetly. "You'd be wrong."

He shook his head, his expression sardonic, his eyes still flitting between her and Colin. "I don't know what this is, but…"

"There's some interesting things I've been hearing lately," Pen continued. "Some interesting conversations, involving you. And my Mama."

Jack went still, his expression frozen, and in that brief moment she saw the flash of panic in his eyes, before his sceptical, inscrutable façade slide into place.

"I'm sure you recall the tenor of those conversations, Cousin Jack," she said encouragingly, beaming brightly at him. "They were not too long ago, after all."

When he remained silent, she pressed a finger to her chin, tapping delicately, pretending to think. "I recall…yes, a late-night confession, about the worthless mines. And let's see, the scheme, blackmailing Mama into your plan to marry Cressida, and use her for her wealth. And goodness, I believe your plans to present a typical courtship got accelerated recently, did they not? What happy tidings your engagement was, my lord," she congratulated him. "How certain you must be in your affections for your betrothed. How we all rejoiced to hear of it."

There was a beat of silence. "This is the imaginings of a child," Jack said coldly, dismissively. He sneered at her, looking her up and down indifferently. "The youngest, Penelope, the least regarded, and always with your head in a book. No suitors, nor any hope of one. The Wallflower. It wouldn't surprise me that your imagination has truly run wild this time-"

Colin had been greatly enjoying the show so far – he'd liked very much the burst of confidence in Pen's voice - but he flared now at the insults to Penelope, and leaned forward in his seat, fixing a dangerous gaze on Jack. "I'd be very careful about how you speak of Miss Featherington," he advised the older man pleasantly. "I won't tolerate disrespectful speech about her in my hearing."

Jack looked again between them, brow furrowed. "From what I understand, the girl has a longstanding enmity with my betrothed," he said slowly, "and she is family, so I am prepared to overlook her baseless accusations, but I do not understand why you are involved in this, Bridgerton."

"Perhaps I've heard some conversations myself, Featherington." Colin leaned back now, conscious of Penelope's gaze also on him, and he was determined not to let her down. "Cloak rooms can be quite cramped spaces…" satisfyingly, he could see the blood draining from Jack's face, "…but that only makes it all the easier to hear people speaking. Very clearly."

Jack was shaking his head, but Colin barrelled on. "I did say we should have a drink to celebrate, did I not? Indeed, there is much to celebrate. Miracles," he smiled with relish, "certainly don't just happen every day, do they? But I believe you are to be doubly congratulated on even more fortunate circumstances than securing the lovely Cressida Cowper's hand."

Jack passed a hand over his face, evidently fighting for usual self-possession, his calm demeanour, but the cracks were showing. "I can't say I know what you're talking about, Bridgerton," he murmured, but the slight shake in his voice betrayed him. "Whatever conspiracy you and Miss Featherington have conjured up between you, I…"

"Oh, this is no conspiracy, sir," Pen put in. Reaching behind her to the table, she retrieved her items, and Jack's eyes snapped immediately to the small red bracelet box.

"How did you get…!?"

"You're not the only one in the ton who can scheme, Cousin Jack." She held up the box and gave it a little shake. "And I'd advise not to do so in future against anyone who's better at it than you." She moved to the side of the table opposite Colin, and opened the box, tipping the bracelet out onto the wooden table. The 'rubies' glinted appealingly, and Penelope watched Jack stare at the bracelet, wheels clearly turning in his rather inebriated head.

"I don't know what this fine bauble, which I'd intended as a gift for my betrothed, is meant to signify," Jack said finally, "but this is nothing more than theft-"

Penelope grabbed the nearest glass tumbler – Colin's – and, with all her strength, raised and then crashed it down as hard as she could onto the rubies, and the crashing sound of smashed glass overtook all other things for a few moments.

When they'd all turned back to look, the smashed remnants of the glass were still in Penelope's hand, and on the table, the bracelet's gold was significantly dented, but the 'rubies' had been completely shattered. Colin was staring open mouthed at her.

"Fakes," she said shortly, placing down the jagged fragments left of the glass. She raised her head to look at Jack, a sudden wave of fury rearing its head inside her, for everything he'd been putting her through, everything his plan threatened to take from her. "A fake bracelet, for what was a falsely successful mine." She snatched at the papers, plucking the letter from Davies from the start of the season, and she began to read aloud from it the incriminating passage she had found earlier. "…now is the time to find a rich heiress, and marry her, as soon as possible."

Jack wavered for a moment, and then he smiled, that congenial smile that had been winning over the good opinion of the ton since he'd arrived in London. He held up both hands, in a 'you caught me' motion. "Penelope, I confess it. I needed funds…we needed funds, your Mama and I, to give you and your sisters the lifestyle you deserve," he said smoothly. "I was prepared to do my part for the family, and marry a woman I did not love, if it meant that you all would be able to stay in respectable society-"

"Oh, do shut up," Penelope snapped impatiently, provoked beyond endurance. She set down the Davies letter and picked up the other documents from the office, holding up first the cream-coloured envelope, so that he could see it. "I don't want to hear another word of those lies, Cousin. You were, and always have been, acting from complete self-interest." She wiggled the envelope at him challengingly. "Going somewhere on Saturday? Lost your ticket?"

"I…have business to attend to in the Americas," Jack protested weakly, but Penelope had already moved on to the draft letter Jack had addressed to his friend on the ground in America, warning of his departure. She found its incriminating passage and also read that one aloud, with relish. "…no one will marry them now, and I am relieved of all responsibility, and relieved of any need to depend on that blonde chit for funds…"

She calmly put the letter and the envelope back down on the table, beside the other letter and the bracelet box, and the shattered remains of the bracelet, and looked back up at Jack. "I would think carefully before you call me silly and simpering again, Cousin Jack. Though you do not merit the name, with the plans you had to leave us destitute." She spoke in a low and dangerous voice that made Colin near jump – he'd never heard Pen speak so, and it sent a chill down his spine.

Jack's panicked face was now betraying a snarl. "Forgeries," he hissed desperately. "Whatever evidence you've claimed to have found here, I will refute it, I will deny it utterly-"

"Oh, these are just samples," she said sweetly. "There is a whole office full of records of your activities back home, my lord."

"My word against yours," Jack sneered disparagingly, "who do you think the ton will believe?"

"And mine," Colin got to his feet and stood beside Penelope, glaring at Jack. She shot a quick, grateful look back up at him. "And we'll have the backing of my family, once I inform them of events. And you'll find, Featherington, that the Bridgerton name, and endorsement, is quite loud indeed in the ton."

"There's other friends too," Penelope added, and standing beside her, Colin saw her hand moving to the neckline of her gown, and he very carefully kept his eyes trained forward on Jack, trying hard not to think about the sight that he was suddenly keenly aware would await him if he looked to the side, and downwards, aware only of the vaguest flashes on the periphery of his vision-

Unaware of Colin's struggle, Penelope deftly retrieved the two pieces of paper from the front of her gown – her morning's work. The first, she held out towards Jack, gesturing for him to take it, which he did so, scowling and striding forward to snatch it from her, and beginning to read.

What he held in his hands was the draft for the next Whistledown column. A draft that was quite thorough in its full and accurate explanation of all of his dealings.

Colin and Penelope enjoyed together the slack-jawed shock that swept over Jack's face, as he read all the way to the bottom of the paper. He looked up slowly at them.

"I have friends in high places," Penelope raised her chin, returning his stare. She'd signed the draft with the customary flourish of the Whistledown name, so that he had no doubt he was reading the real thing. "And I've told her everything."

"You…" Jack swallowed compulsively, seemingly unable to speak. He dropped the column as though burned, his fingers flexing at his sides.

"Whistledown works fast," Colin put in. "And her reach is wide, and it goes high up. If she publishes tomorrow…how long do you think it will take for the Queen to order Lord Featherington's arrest, Penelope?"

"One nod of her regal head, I would suppose, Colin," Penelope replied thoughtfully.

Jack looked wild eyed – perhaps he was hoping he'd stumbled into a drunken dream. "What the devil do you want?" he hissed at them. He gestured to the remaining piece of paper in Penelope's hands, near hysterical. "What's that? I suppose you'll tell me next that that's the arrest warrant?"

"Oh no," Penelope smiled. She held it up just so he could see at the very bottom of the page, his own signature. "This is your ticket to freedom, Cousin Jack. I've already wrote it for you, you see. I even took the trouble of signing it for you – I had plenty of examples of your signature to work with," she explained sweetly. "In it, you withdraw your rights to the Featherington title."

At Jack's startled, furious step forward, Colin took a protective half step forward himself, and held up a hand in warning, smiling coldly at Jack. "I wouldn't move even one step closer to her, if I were you," he advised.

Penelope ploughed on quickly. "You cede the title and all its holdings to the next living male heir to be born to myself or my sisters, as you will be withdrawing permanently from public life in the ton, to pursue your business interests in America."

Jack was gritting his teeth, eyes flashing.

"You also pledge the profits from your business dealings to be paid, in perpetuity, to the Featherington estate." Penelope looked up to Jack. "From what I understand from Colin, the resurgence of the mines is quite something to behold, a level of wealth you couldn't have imagined, even for a baron. Even a smaller percentage of it would be enough for you to live out your days comfortably. I think an 80/20 split should be sufficient."

At the sudden light of hope in Jack's eyes, Penelope shook her head at him. "You're the twenty in that equation, Cousin," she said pityingly. "Even twenty per cent of a fortune is still a fortune." She pretended to consult the letter, although she knew perfectly well what it said. "Signed by the hand of Jack Featherington, this day of Thursday 16th June 1814… et cetera," she concluded.

Jack was shaking. "Your choice, Featherington," Colin prompted him. "Live out your days imprisoned, or leave and never come back, going to freedom, and a comfortable life. You're still leaving here better off than when you arrived, it must be said."

"I'll even do you the favour of making copies of the letter," Penelope offered, "to send to whomever you need, confirming your departure."

There were a few tense moments of silence, and stillness, as Colin and Penelope waited for Jack's reaction, Colin eyeing him, trying to read his body language. He saw the shoulder slump, the deflating posture, and for just one second, he relaxed-

Jack suddenly lurched forward towards Penelope, eyes wild, lunging for the forged letter in her hand, and his hand seized on her arm and dug in – he was hurting her - and Penelope screamed-

Colin didn't think. He didn't have to. He acted instinctively, his body propelling him to move between them, grabbing Jack's hand and wrenching it off Penelope, and she staggered back, and her cry of alarm and pain was ringing in his ears, and he was flinging Jack's arm back so that Jack staggered for a moment, thrown off balance, and it was the easiest thing in the world for Colin to rear back, drawing his own arm backwards and then swinging forward, his fist colliding with the most satisfying thud into Jack's handsome face, and then with a cry Jack was down on the ground, clutching at his face and groaning.

Colin stood above him, panting slightly, an intense throbbing beginning in his hand, but that was easy enough to ignore right now. "I told you, not even one step closer to her." He glared down menacingly. "You will leave tonight. I will even pay to change your ticket, to speed you on your journey. You will go back to Featherington House and instruct the maids to pack up only your most base necessities. If anyone asks, if you happen even to run into Portia Featherington, you will tell her the same story from your letter to society. Word for word."

Jack coughed, then resumed groaning in pain, which Colin decided to interpret as agreement. He nodded, satisfied, and as the adrenaline that had coursed through him began to recede, he winced at the growing awareness of his throbbing hand, could see the bruises blossoming on his knuckles-

A soft whimper behind him alerted him – Pen – and he whipped around, finding Penelope upright next to the table, her right hand clutching the underside of her left forearm, and as their gazes met, she lifted her hand and looking wonderingly at the bleeding cut that had formed there.

In a sweeping glance at the scene, Colin saw – Jack had let go of her, and she'd staggered backwards, against the table, and she'd flung out her hands behind her to try and regain balance, and the jagged remnants of his glass tumbler were still on the table, and she must have cut her arm as she'd struggled.

He was at her side in an instant. "Pen!" He reached urgently for her arm, lightly touching it so her could examine the cut. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

"It…it's stinging, but I'm okay," Penelope was wincing, but on close inspection the cut appeared mercifully shallow, and he relaxed only a little, seeing she was not seriously hurt, but he looked around, they would need something to bandage it-

"Here," he reached out grabbed one of the linen napkins from the next table over, and, still holding her forearm carefully, pressed the napkin to the cut with gentle pressure. "It should heal reasonably well," he advised her softly, "although you may have a scar."

They stood for a moment like that, close together, him at her side holding her arm, his right hand pressing the napkin, and he breathed in her jasmine scent, relief washing through him. They had done it, their plan had worked, Jack's schemes were over, the Featherington money troubles handled…

A soft gasp from Penelope startled him from his thoughts, and he looked down, and was confused to see her staring with her right hand over her mouth at his right hand, until he realised that was the hand with which he had punched Jack Featherington in the face, and the bruises were evident on the knuckles. Somehow, he'd blocked the throbbing pain out when he'd seen she was hurt, but now the awareness was back.

"Colin, your hand…" Penelope's voice was soft with concern, and she reached out to gingerly touch the bruised flesh on his fingers, a light sweeping touch that sent a chill through him, especially when her hand stroked absent-mindedly down from his knuckles, along the back of his hand, almost to his wrist, before she seemed to freeze and withdraw her touch, clearing her throat. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he assured her, although in truth, it felt hard to remember that he wasn't the one who had been punched, or who'd been drinking heavily, because his head felt distinctly woozy.

"I can keep the pressure applied," Penelope told him, and gently, she moved her arm away from his touch, replacing the pressure on the napkin with her own hand, and leaving his injured hand hovering stupidly in the air for a moment, and he felt…bereft of her touch, that was the right word, before he withdrew it carefully into his chest, wincing.

Penelope was looking around them, at Jack still groaning softly on the floor, the scattered items on the slightly askew table. Only one chair had been knocked over. She nodded towards it, raising her eyebrows at Colin. "One broken glass, a cut, a bruised hand and a knocked over chair," she commented. "If those are the worst things to come out of this, I'd say that's a reasonably good outcome."

They held each other's gaze seriously for a few moments, before Penelope's mouth quirked, and Colin snickered, and then they were both laughing, although it really wasn't that funny – they laughed with the sheer relief of what they'd accomplished together.

Colin glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece to the side of the bar, astonished to see that just over half an hour had elapsed since Penelope had first arrived – it had felt like a lifetime ago. "Mondrich's returning at 5:30," he advised Penelope. "To return the favour for a private bar for my, er, business dealings, I promised to boost his customer base significantly tonight. They should all be here in an hour or so."

Penelope nodded, eyeing Jack on the floor doubtfully. "What are you going to do with him?"

"Mondrich himself warned me about Jack," Colin said quietly. "I'll load him into a hackney, but if I run into trouble, I'm sure Mondrich will be happy to assist me in getting him safely out of the bar." His gaze sharpened, properly taking in for the first time the blue hooded cloak she wore. "Is that new? I've not seen that before."

"It's my cloak for…my er, furtive visits," Penelope admitted, half-laughing embarrassedly, and still mindful of Jack on the floor – he was clearly still in pain, but he wasn't unconscious, so it wouldn't do to accidentally reveal her Whistledown identity in front of him at this late stage.

"Furtive visits…" Colin frowned. "Speaking of…I don't like the idea of you travelling back alone."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "This again? Colin, I travelled alone to even get here, without incident. And a lot's happened in the last few weeks, and I know you mean well, but I can take care of myself. Trust me to look out for my own reputation." There was a defiant jut in her raised chin, and Colin sighed and held up his hands, defeated – they had no alternative right now, he recognised that, and it was important for Penelope to get back home first, before Jack.

Seeing he had no further arguments to make, Penelope nodded. "Good." She walked over and retrieved the Whistledown draft paper from where Jack had dropped it on the floor, and then gathered up the papers on the table, hesitating only over the smashed remains of the bracelet and the red velvet box beside it.

"Leave it to me," Colin told her, carefully picking it up and shaking off the largest chunks of broken glass before shutting it back into the box and transporting the box into his breeches' pocket. "I'll dispose of it."

They walked from the table to the bar entrance door, Colin slowly unlocking the door with a click, and then turned and faced each other for a moment a little awkwardly, the usual formal goodbyes dictated by convention suddenly feeling so jarring a choice after such an intense experience together. Penelope checked Jack one more time - he was lying on the floor near the table in the middle of the room, facing away from them. Then she looked back to Colin, holding up the Whistledown draft.

Edit, she mouthed to him, pointing at the paper. He nodded, mouthing Tonight? She nodded. Cupid? He mouthed, and she nodded confirmation, flashing a quick, brilliant smile. Seized with gratitude and a certain reckless daring, she reached up to put her hand on his shoulder, her fingertips brushing carefully over the solid muscle there before squeezing it thankfully, being careful to avoid brushing against his still-bruised hand. "I can't thank you enough," she murmured.

Colin blinked, thrown off guard by the touch, by the simplicity of her sincerity. He cleared his throat. "Anything for you, Pen," he said lowly.

Smiling, she pulled the hood of her cloak back up and over her red curls, and with a final nod to each other, she was gone, leaving him with only the faint waft of jasmine, and the ghost of her hand on his shoulder.

Notes:

I have certain objectives/scenes I'm aiming to 'hit' in this story, and one of those was, 'Colin punches Jack in the face (preferably while defending Penelope).' Tick!

Next chapter will be the last of 'Season 2' of this story! Thank you for your patience thus far in our journey to 'Season 3', where the real fun begins…

Chapter 16: Fireworks Part One

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: Fireworks Part One

Excerpt from Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

Friday 17th June, 1814

Oh, Readers.

There comes a point in the career of any author where it seems no amount of clever wit or plays on words could ever convey the sheer magnitude of events, but I shall do my best.

Dreadful drama has reared its head. It was only five days ago that the ton were extending their hearty congratulations to Lord Jack Featherington and Miss Cressida Cowper on their betrothal. Well, fortune's wheel doth turn, and betrothal has become betrayal. And please indulge this author in the pleasure of saying, 'I told you so.'

It seems letters were sent out last night, addressed to prominent society acquaintances, from Lord Featherington, and horror of horrors; we have lost him to the irresistible call of the Americas. Gone are the days, so it seems, of counting his pounds for brandy - his business must suddenly be doing very well indeed. So well in fact, that he has no intention of returning. He has withdrawn totally from his title, and the ton, and taken leave of us all, permanently – so 'Lord' he is, no more.

My astonishment cannot be contained on this page, I assure you.

Where this leaves the situation at Featherington House, and the inheritance of that title, can only be guessed at. Certainly, a male heir must be found, or be produced, else the Court will look to the viability of the line to be able to maintain the Estate's tenants, and holdings.

All these questions and concerns, however, are but wafts in the breeze behind his back, urging him ever forward, and we in the ton must look so tiny left behind on the dock as Mr Featherington takes ship into the distance. Allow me to be the first to delicately wave my handkerchief in farewell. Bon voyage, Mr Featherington - we are grateful for the entertainment.

We shouldn't indulge too much in levity; left behind, it seems, is at least one broken heart. The banns have grinded to a halt, and the brief betrothal is, regrettably, over. To this Author's knowledge, this may be a society record for the fastest broken betrothal that our bon ton has seen in many a year.

Miss Cowper should be the recipient of only the deepest sympathies – she played a faultless game, snaring her prize, only to now be blindsided and feel the deep weight of disappointment. It is a harsh abandonment, but one rejects any suggestion that anyone but Mr Featherington is to blame. Ladies do find themselves at the mercy of the whims of gentlemen, and a respectable gentleman would never behave so to one they'd plighted their troth to. And so publicly as well…

Pardon me, dear readers, while this Author finds another handkerchief.

The morning after their battle with Jack, Penelope was roused from her bed by Rae flinging the curtains back, allowing light to flood into the bedchamber.

"Best be getting ready now, Miss," Rae advised her. "My lady is requesting you to make yourself presentable and get yourself to the drawing room with all speed." Rae's face was alight with excitement and curiosity.

Penelope blinked sleepily, absorbing this before nodding reluctantly and easing herself to sitting position. Outside her bedchamber, she could hear a flurry of activity and movement in the normally quiet house.

She moved to her dressing table and allowed Rae to perform her usual toilette, the curls of her hair being artfully tightened and arranged around her face and pinned up at the back. She suffered herself to be dressed in a butter-yellow concoction of a gown, and when Rae noticed the bright scar on her inner forearm, she'd laughed it off. "Silly me, scraped myself on a shelf I walked past," she lied airily, trying to appear casual. She'd held Rae's gaze for several tense moments before her lady maid looked away with a light shrug. Thankfully, her history of not exactly being known for her physical grace was paying off.

She slid her feet into the kid leather house-shoes before she thanked Rae and made her way from her bedchamber across the landing to the main upstairs drawing room.

Inside, she found her Mama, Prudence and Philippa already waiting – her sisters were perched together on the two-seater loveseat, whispering excitedly to each other, leaving Penelope to take the lone, cushy chair beside them. Mama was standing near the fireplace, and she recognised at once the Whistledown column that she was holding in her hand.

So it was published, then. Penelope smiled happily to herself. After she'd snuck back inside last night, and after their supper, she'd drafted the newest column as quickly as possible, although it wasn't difficult to write – she could scarce contain her glee at the banishment of Jack Featherington, and her joy had sped the words across the page.

She had managed to sneak the draft outside to tuck it underneath the Cupid statue – pushing her luck by standing around waiting for Colin had felt like too much after a day of such excellent fortune, and in truth, the idea of seeing him again so soon after their success was a little overwhelming.

Much safer to return to the safety of her bedchamber, and again, she'd watched, part concealed by the curtains, late that night as he'd stolen into the garden and retrieved the draft. And she saw the unmistakable way his gaze raked over the windows, beyond any doubt he was searching for her, and the knowledge was a thrill and a terror to her. But why? As a friend? From concern and care for her? Or something more?

She'd remained hidden, waiting breathlessly until he turned away and left the side garden, slipping out of sight to the street outside.

And here it was, her public declaration of victory, copies of which would be opened at breakfast tables and drawing rooms across the ton even now, as she watched Mama reflexively clutch at the Featherington household copy.

"Girls," Portia began, eyeing the three of them, and faltering. A slow, deep smile was spreading over her features, her green eyes lighting up, and Penelope fancied she could almost see the weights coming off her Mama's shoulders – the worried frown was gone.

"You'll be wondering why I summoned you here," Portia said, patting her auburn hair. "I have…received such news last night as I scarce know how to…well." She hesitated and then proffered the Whistledown paper to Prudence, the eldest, seated in the middle.

Prudence snatched the paper and began to read the article aloud, Philippa craning over her shoulder, but while Penelope took care to learn forward a little to seem sufficiently curious and alert, she hardly needed to read along with the words she'd written herself.

When Prudence finished, there was a brief, ringing silence.

"Cousin Jack…is gone?" Philippa said wonderingly.

Prudence looked sharply at their mother. "Surely this is Whistledown…g-gone mad or something, Mama, what she's talking about can't be true…"

"Is it true, Mama?" Penelope chimed in because it would've looked odd if she didn't question it too.

"Girls…" Portia held her hands up placatingly and allowed for one dramatic pause. "…it's true. Jack has taken ship to the Americas, last night." From the folds of her gown, she produced another piece of paper. Flourishing it, she began to read aloud, and Penelope recognised at once the fake letter that she had herself so helpfully written for Jack, copies of which clerks had evidently made and sent out last night.

"Signed by the hand of Jack Featherington….et cetera," Mama concluded, lowering the paper and regarding her daughters. "Jack returned home after supper last night, he handed me this and then walked off to his chambers." She was again trying and failing to supress the gleam of joy in her eyes. "He gave orders to the maids to pack, all the essentials, all in a flurry. He left at I know not what hour, frightfully late, I should think." She patted her hair again with a faint, pleased smile. "It is quite true indeed, as Whistledown says – he has decided society wasn't for him, apparently."

"But still," Philippa persisted, frowning, "why would he have gone to the trouble of proposing to Miss Cowper if he intended to leave so soon?"

"Within the week of the betrothal, in fact," Prudence observed, and there was a note of disparagement in her voice - Cressida may be Penelope's bully, but her sisters had hardly cared for Cressida's pointed comments against their family at the betrothal dinner either. Prudence smirked. "My, how horrid. How humiliated she must be."

"Indeed," Penelope couldn't help adding, "As Whistledown says, have you ever heard of a shorter time for a betrothal to be broken?"

It was a rare moment of commonality with her and her sisters as they ducked their heads to hide their smiles.

"Yes, well," Mama raised her eyebrows and smoothed out her skirt, a smile of her own playing around her mouth. "I am sure we can make our condolences known to the dear Cowpers, of course." She turned and called out for Varley, who appeared promptly in the doorway a few moments later, with a small curtsey.

"Ma'am?"

"Arrange for a bouquet to be delivered to the Cowpers, please," Mama ordered. "Something…large, and expensive looking. And pen a note, something suitably sympathetic, expressing astonishment and extending our thoughts at this time, with hope that that this does not impact on the good relations between our families, and that we were equally astonished about the decisions of Lord Jack – Mister Jack, beg pardon," she corrected herself, smiling again. "I shan't call him Lord, as he's reneged on that title."

Varley nodded, exchanging a significant glance and smile with Mama before she departed. Mama whirled back around to her daughters. "Should anyone question you about what's happened," she instructed, "you are to repeat exactly what Jack's letter says – he has chosen to withdraw permanently from public life and is pursuing his business interests in the Americas. He has ceded the title and all its holdings. Exactly as he said it in the letter."

"Why would we tell anyone a different version?" Prudence questioned, narrowing her eyes. "That's what happened, isn't it?"

Mama froze for just a moment – Penelope fought a sudden urge to laugh. Whoops – before she was all smoothness again. "Of course it is," she smiled sweetly at her eldest daughter. "That's all that we know about it. After all, those are the only details he's deigned to tell us before he's vanished in the night and left us all in upheaval. The Cowpers were hard done by," she sighed, "but so too were we."

Philippa was frowning, clearly trying to catch up to events in her head. "So, if Cousin Jack is now plain Mr Featherington," she said slowly, "where does the title go? Who do we call Lord now?"

"The next living male heir," Mama supplied with a little exhale, and Penelope would've bet good money what she was thinking – it was a pity that the title couldn't pass to a female relative.

"But there isn't any," Prudence pointed out. "Jack was Papa's last male relative."

"Ah!" Mama clapped her hands together suddenly, brisk and business-like. "Not yet, at least, my dear. That is the next item to discuss. We don't have Jack with us anymore," and Penelope thought her fake sad sigh was award-winning, honestly. "But thanks to his rulings, and this letter, we will have his funds from his mines."

Penelope couldn't resist a dig. "And we didn't have those before?"

Mama levelled her with a hard stare, and Penelope thought that she must be calculating, gauging how much – if anything – her youngest daughter might or might not know. Penelope stared back, blinking innocently. "Of course, we did," Mama replied levelly. "But this now gives us a wider…freer…reign than before with the funds."

"Wait…we can buy the title?!" Philippa gasped.

"No, you ninny," Prudence snapped. "The title must pass to a male."

"But we don't have one-"

"Girls!" Mama interrupted sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger in exasperation. "As I said, we don't have one, yet." She looked between all her daughters, and there was a dangerous glint in her eye that Penelope recognised – it only appeared when Mama had a plan.

Now Penelope straightened up in her seat, watching her mother warily.

"The season is about to end, which is a shame, really," Mama murmured to herself in an aside, "but that timing cannot be helped now. The season has ended very well for us, and that calls for a celebration. I think…we shall host the end-of-season ball."

Prudence and Philippa gasped excitedly, clutching each other's hands in glee, but Penelope was still waiting for the blow to fall.

"We shall host a farewell ball," Mama continued airily. "And that ball will be just the beginning of our hunt for the three of you young ladies…to find husbands."

Into the astonished silence, Mama spread her out her hands with a little shrug. "For there can be no male heir if there are no husbands," she explained sweetly. "And the three of you, thanks to Jack's contributions, have just gained considerable dowries, and thus become rather more enticing options for the eligible bachelors of the ton. This farewell ball is our chance to establish the Featherington name as a prize. And next season, I entirely intend to have all of you married off by that season's end." She looked amongst the three of them, ending on Penelope, and grimaced slightly in a way that was rather insulting, really. "Well…at least one of you. Hopefully two. Three would be a miracle."

Mama smiled now at them, and Penelope was surprised to see a sudden glimmer of tears in the eyes of her normally brisk and blunt mother. "At our ball, we shall celebrate the end of the season, and a fresh start to come." Mama's voice was thickening with emotion, and Penelope couldn't blame her – the stress from Jack's scheme had been considerable, and her relief now that it had seemingly resolved itself was palpable. "A fresh start for all of us."

"Husbands, for all of us," Prudence enthused, clapping her hands together in glee, before looking askance at Philippa, and they both looked then sideways to Penelope. "Well…if you're lucky," Prudence said pointedly, and both of her sisters laughed.

And although Penelope scoffed, the jibe stung, because as the youngest sister, (and admittedly the least flatteringly dressed, although that was not her choosing), Penelope knew she would stand in lesser stead in the eyes of society. But she thought again about Colin's hand on her chin in the garden, the speed with which he'd moved to defend her in the bar from Jack's attack. While she couldn't say anything about Colin to her family, that glow of hope was alive in her, and the possibility that just maybe, maybe she wasn't imagining this, made her feel giddy-

"What shall the ball theme be, Mama?" Philippa begged, cutting into Penelope's train of thought.

Mama tapped a finger delicately on her chin. "I want everyone," she said finally, "to be allowed to see how well we're doing. You girls need to sparkle. We shall end this season…" she paused dramatically, and Penelope and her sisters leaned forward in anticipation.

"…with some fireworks."

THE LADIES' FEATHERINGTON ARE PROUD TO PRESENT

THE FIREWORKS BALL

'FAREWELL THE SEASON WITH A BANG'

Featherington House

Monday, 20th June 1814

Colin blinked, a little disorientated, as he walked into the Featherington hall with his mother on his arm – the sight was rather a lot to take in at once.

Metallics everywhere. There was gold in everything – golden flowers, golden drinks in golden goblets, glittering garlands, set off by a magnificent sparkling chandelier centred in the hall. Where there wasn't gold, there was traces and splashes of silver, glinting in the reflected candlelight of the many candles lit throughout the space.

A rotating central platform had been set up for the musicians, with the space for dancing looped around them in an O shape. Fine tapestries adorned the yellow and white panelled walls, with breezy golden curtains hung across the windows that opened out to the summer evening.

It was like a repeat of the Summer Heat ball, he thought to himself, but instead of bright yellows, Portia Featherington had opted for sparkling, dazzling metallics in her décor. The gleaming lustre of the invitation card had set the hint for the guests, and they had complied in droves – the sparkling and glittering metallic gowns of the ladies in the room only added to the overall effect.

It was too much, it was over the top – it was very Portia Featherington.

"Violet!" And here was Penelope's mother now, sweeping forward to greet his mother with a delicate kiss on one cheek.

"Portia," Violet greeted, eyeing Portia's dark gold, sparkling gown with a faint smile. "You look lovely." She gestured around to the decorations around them. "What an impressive job you've done, to pull this together at short notice."

"I thank you," Portia nodded, smiling benignly. Her gaze switched to Colin, and she nodded politely. "Mr Bridgerton."

"Lady Featherington," he swept a gallant bow. "My compliments, it is a lovely set up." As Portia nodded politely and murmured her thanks, he searched Portia's face for a moment, absently looking for some hint of Penelope there – he thought he recognised the same button nose, and something of Penelope's determined chin and wide eyes, although Portia's were a hazel-green shade.

"And we are so sorry to hear of Lord Featherington's departure," Violet added, putting a kindly hand on Portia's arm. "The upheaval, one can only imagine."

Portia nodded seriously, affecting to delicately dab an (invisible) tear from her eye. "You have no idea," she sighed dramatically. "Do remind me to catch you up later."

"Of course," Violet tutted sympathetically, and she and Colin nodded to her and moved on, as the line behind them of guests making their way into the ball was building – everyone in the ton was eager to personally greet their hostess, and no doubt try and probe what information they could from her.

"She will have a full night," Violet murmured to Colin as they took a slow turn about the room, stopping finally beside a carved side table. "And I imagine she shall enjoy every moment of the attention."

"Mama," Colin chastised her, although they were both now laughing. "Careful, or one could accuse you of being a gossip."

"It is only the same that everyone else wants to know," Violet said defensively, sliding her fan from her sleeve and fanning herself a little. "And they did come to Anthony's wedding. Perhaps she will confide in me."

"Make sure you sell every last word to Whistledown," a voice quipped beside them, and they turned to find Benedict joining them with a sulky-looking Eloise on his arm. Kate and Anthony brought up the rear, whispering to each other in their own little world.

"For shame," Violet scolded Benedict. "And feed that gossipmonger? I would never."

A small, uncomfortable flip of his stomach reminded him of how… strange it felt now, to hear Whistledown mentioned in casual conversation, and for he alone to know that they spoke not of some anonymous crone, but of Penelope. His friend, Penelope. His Penelope – because it was difficult to think otherwise of her with the bond that they shared now. Plotting and successfully taking down a scheming relative together would generally have that effect, one supposed.

Speaking of… as his family bickered happily beside him, he scanned the crowd, searching for a flash of vivid red hair, or a yellow gown – although the sheer volume of gold dresses in the space made him suspect Pen would be difficult to locate tonight based on outfit alone.

He stopped short seeing bright red hair across the room, but on closer inspection, identified Penelope's sisters – Prudence, the elder, in a shimmering golden gown, and the middle one, Philippa, looking petulant in a gleaming silver gown. They were standing to the side of the dance floor, their arms carefully held in front of their chests, idly dangling their wrists as though emphasising their dance cards to the room. But, no sign of the youngest Featherington sister…

Frowning, Colin was drawn from his search by Benedict asking him a question, and he turned aside and answered his brother mechanically, although his attention remained scattered as the conversation continued. Where was she? This was her family's ball, an end of season triumph, and – it was difficult to dismiss the thought – although the ton did not know it, effectively for him and Pen, this should be their triumph, their celebration. She should be front and centre with her Mama, or at least with her sisters, something…

In his hyper awareness and peripheral attention to the room around them, he didn't notice Eloise slip silently away from the family circle of conversation.

Penelope, this time, was definitely not hiding behind a plant. Well. In fact, she was, it was just a different plant than her usual trusty shield on the top of the entrance hall steps.

Her hiding plant this time was placed to the side of the entry doorway that led from the main hall out to the terrace and the main Featherington House gardens. The doors had been flung wide open to let in some fresh air from outside into the hall, and the crowd numbers within were swelling as more and more and of the ton arrived for the end-of-season ball.

Soon enough, the press of people and the heat inside would force the guests to begin spilling outside onto the terrace and into the gardens as the night wore on, but right now, everyone remained inside for the start of the ball, which granted her this one moment of blessed peace and calm.

She fiddled with the lace trimming of her gown's sleeves. In one of the least subtle messages Portia Featherington had ever conceived of, she'd dressed her daughters according to the theme.

Prudence in gold. Philippa in silver. And Penelope in bronze.

Happy last place to me, Penelope thought furiously. While she admitted the deep bronze sheen of her dress did make the colour of her eyes stand out, it was difficult not to feel slighted, and resentful, about the outfit choice, and what was being implied. Her Mama and sister's dresses, all the decorations, were gold and silver, and she alone in the family was different.

She fiddled with her bronze satin gloves, watching the crowd inside from her position in the shadows, and felt one could almost laugh at the metaphor she presented, seemingly without even trying. Different from her family, isolating herself from society, always on the outside looking in. Wallflower, a voice that sounded distinctly like Cressida's hissed inside her head.

She could see from this angle her Mama holding court near the entrance, greeting the attendees, basking in the sympathy and praise from their guests. Every time she'd tried in the last few days to mentally process this plan of Mama's of 'finding a husband' for the Featherington girls, a mental block slammed up inside her mind. She could not, would not, venture further down that train of thought, because… well, it was the old story. In her heart of hearts, in her dream of dreams, if she were ever to marry, she could picture no husband worth having but Colin.

And she'd nailed her feelings for him into the friendship box for so long that even allowing the lid to crack open a tiny bit felt like something she'd be unable to contain, something that would be unleashed that she could not rein back in if she tried. Her control was wavering day by day, and oh, if she could just understand what he was thinking, with the signs she felt sure she was seeing…

Lost in her thoughts, she was startled from her reverie by a sudden movement of someone slipping through the doorway out onto the terrace, and she was pleasantly surprised to recognise Eloise. No bronze for the Bridgertons – Eloise looked lovely in her delicate golden dress. Penelope went to call to her friend, but something stopped her – Eloise had barrelled straight out through the doorway, eyes straight ahead, and hadn't noticed Penelope, evidently.

Eloise slowed a little as she went out on the darkness of the stone terrace, and Penelope watched her curiously. Eloise was now gazing up at the sky, hands on hips, taking a few steps in one direction, then turning aside another way, and in the quiet of the night, she could just hear the words Eloise appeared to be whispering to herself.

"…it's fine…just need to figure this out…need to investigate…find out who this is…find them…confront them…" Round and round the sentiment went as Eloise murmured over and over about figuring something out and finding someone and confronting them. Her back was to the entry doors, and Penelope watched, nonplussed, as Eloise turned this way and that, murmuring to herself.

She dreaded the moment that Eloise would turn and realise Penelope had been present the whole time, so as she cautiously kept an eye on Eloise's back, she gingerly slipped out and away from the plant, taking a few careful steps backwards into the doorway, and then walked forward normally, as though she was just casually coming outside from the hall. Honestly, the elaborate extents one must go through so that one's best friend doesn't think you're an odd, eavesdropping idiot. She even added the touch of a little double take, as though genuinely surprised. "Eloise?" she called.

Her best friend spun around, alarmed, but Penelope saw her shoulders drop and relax just a little once she'd realised who was calling out to her. "Pen," Eloise said with relief, before narrowing her eyes and studying her. "Have you…been there long?"

"Just came outside to get some air," Penelope lied breezily. "It's far too warm in there already."

"Oh yes," Eloise agreed quickly as Penelope drew level with her. "Same. That's why I'm out here too."

Penelope looked carefully at her friend. Eloise's toilette and her upswept coiffure was immaculate, but there was still that distant, vague look in her eyes. "Are you quite sure everything is alright, El?" Penelope asked her, trying one more time to connect. "You seemed so distracted at the wedding last week."

"I'm fine," Eloise said shortly, smiling mechanically. "Everything's fine, Pen, I swear it."

There was a sudden stutter and hush in the noise of the crowd inside the hall behind them. Turning around, Penelope could see the sea of heads turning towards the hall's entry doors, but she couldn't quite make out what they were all looking at.

Eloise, who was taller, was craning her head. "I believe the Cowpers have arrived," she commented. "I'll give it to them, it's awfully brave to show up tonight."

"Yes well, we know Lady Cowper will be keen to save face," Penelope muttered, as the whispers of conversation slowly commenced again inside, although the crowd were still evidently watching the Cowpers with interest.

She made a mental note of an objective for the evening – keep Eloise away from Cressida. She didn't know if Cressida had found any 'evidence' yet for her theory of Whistledown being Eloise, and one would assume the blonde had been otherwise occupied with the desertion of her fiancé. But a wounded Cressida was likely to be a dangerous Cressida.

Eloise swung her gaze back to Penelope, some of her usual razor-sharp focus coming back. "Wait, never mind me, how are you doing, Pen? I haven't seen you since the news broke about Jack. Tell me," And she lowered her voice, "did it all happen truly as Whistledown described?"

Penelope hesitated – she didn't want to lie, again, to her best friend. But she couldn't think of a way to outline the entrapment scheme without also explaining that it was Colin who had helped her unravel it. That and whatever remained in her of familial loyalty to her Mama prompted her to speak. "Every word," she said solemnly. "Overnight, he was gone. We had no idea."

"Oh." Eloise sounded fascinated, and Penelope was pleased to have brought her friend's mind off whatever was clearly troubling her. Eloise took her hand, speaking low and urgently. "You must tell me everything."

Despite the guilty twinge in her stomach, Pen laughed - there was the Eloise she knew. "Of course I will, El." She gestured through the terrace doors to the crowd inside. "Shall we?"

They walked hand in hand into the press of people inside, Penelope making sure to carefully steer Eloise in the opposite direction of the elegant blonde head of Cressida near the main entrance.

You had to hand it to Portia Featherington, Colin thought, taking a thoughtful sip of his glass of wine. When she had the resources at her disposal, she knew how to throw a party.

Drinks were flowing, and as the ton indulged in their end-of-season celebrations, the drinks loosened tongues and lowered inhibitions for many. As the night was wearing on, guests were starting to spill outside to the terrace and main Featherington garden, and the din of chatter and laughter increased. More and more guests were pairing off and taking to the dance floor too, and the sparkle of glittering metallic gowns was dazzling against the light of the chandelier.

Colin was drinking and listening to the chatter of some friends of his acquaintance – in fact, the main circle of gentlemen he'd invited to Mondrich's on Thursday night after he and Penelope had defeated Jack. Amongst their number was Lord Fife, who was already one too many glasses in, and the brothers Lord Lieber and Edward Lieber, tall, dark haired and dark eyed, much more composedly sipping their own drinks.

As the gentlemen laughed, chatted, and made jokes and comments about the ladies that were available to dance, Colin kept habitually scanning the room. He still had not seen one sight of Penelope, and he was starting to get truly agitated.

"Looking for someone?" Edward Lieber appeared at his side, smiling politely.

Colin shrugged nonchalantly – he couldn't explain to anyone why he was so eager to spot Penelope. Just to see if she was alright, that she was handling things okay since their battle with Jack… but he couldn't tell anyone of that, least of all this man who was someone he barely knew, just a friend's brother after all.

"Just seeing if I can spot a friend of mine," Colin finally settled to venture.

Edward nodded. "If I see Miss Featherington," he advised cheerfully, "I shall let you know."

Colin looked sharply at him, but before he'd even asked the question, Edward was answering him. "Forgive me, I merely made an assumption based on what I've observed," he said, holding his hands up. "My brother's told me your families are neighbours, and I've seen that you share a… camaraderie with the girl."

Colin eyed the younger man – he was unsure how to interpret this apparent interest in his affairs, couldn't tell if the motivations were benevolent or not.

"I'm looking for a friend too," Edward added placatingly. "A young lady I have been getting to know, but I have yet to have the pleasure of seeing her here."

Colin hesitated and then relaxed a little, giving a polite smile of his own and raising his glass in salute. Edward was a little odd, but he seemed harmless enough, and if he was occupied with his own courtship, then Colin felt satisfied that any heat on his and Penelope's…unusual bond, was safe for the moment. Still, he resolved to keep an eye on the younger Lieber brother moving forward.

Taking another sip, he again scanned the room, eyes skipping over the red hairdos of Penelope's sisters and Mama, no, hers was a particular bright shade that he was looking for…

He spotted it, and there she was – a group of gossiping guests had moved away outside, revealing Penelope deep in conversation with Eloise well off to the side of the room on the other side of the hall, and as he watched, Penelope laughed, her whole face lighting up, and he smiled a little to see it. He noticed the sheen of the new bronze dress she wore, and after he'd admired the way it made her skin look almost ivory, it took a few seconds to register - she was in bronze, when no one else was. Her sisters and Mama in gold and silver, all the guests in gold and silver metallics, and you just knew that Portia Featherington would've put in a special customised rush order for tonight-

Anger curled in his gut. There was just no way that this wasn't deliberate, a calculated affront to the youngest and, in Portia's eyes anyway, least important Featherington daughter. He watched as Pen's gaze drifted to the dancing couples, her expression wistful, and he would've bet his bachelor's lodging that the dance card dangling from her wrist was empty.

Well, he'd see about that.

He handed his now-empty glass to a nearby servant walking by with a tray, and he was hardly aware of the mumbled comment he made to his friends as he excused himself and walked away, heading straight towards Penelope and Eloise.