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54. Off to the Races

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Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Show warnings

Category:

F/M

Fandom:

Bridgerton (TV)

Relationship:

Anthony Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington

Characters:

Penelope FeatheringtonAnthony BridgertonColin BridgertonViolet BridgertonGenevieve DelacroixSimon BassetKate Sheffield Kate SharmaEdwina Sheffield Edwina SharmaEloise Bridgerton

Additional Tags:

HEAOff to The RacesRare Pairingscourting

Language:

English

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Published:2024-07-11Updated:2024-11-10Words:30,744Chapters:11/?Comments:293Kudos:2,000Bookmarks:466Hits:42,849

Off to the Races

ComfortWrites

Summary:

"You are both wrong."

It's out of her mouth before she can control it, and even though her back is to them she can feel the heat of their eyes as they direct their attention toward her. Two pairs of eyes boring into the back of her skull.

"Pardon me, Miss Featherington?"

Penelope Featherington, seated just one row in front of the Sharmas at the horse races, speaks up. Suddenly she's a whole new enigma, one Anthony Bridgerton is itching to unravel.

Notes:

While I'm absolutely a fan of both Colin Bridgerton and Kate Sharma in canon, this pairing is sticking with me for the moment!

Chapter 1: Chapter One

Chapter Text

Penelope

"You are both wrong."

It's out of her mouth before she can control it, and even though her back is to them she can feel the heat of their eyes as they direct their attention toward her. Two pairs of eyes boring into the back of her skull.

"Pardon me, Miss Featherington?"

The blush creeps onto her face as she turns quickly, offering a short curtsy to the Viscount. She's well practiced at keeping her mouth shut normally, but this is something she actually knows.

"I apologize, my lord."

She intends to drop the matter there, dwell on her misbehaving tongue when she's alone. She moves to turn back around, but he stops her.

"How are we wrong, exactly?"

She hesitates for a moment, weighing her options before sighing, turning to face them more completely. It's far better for her to have some sense of what they're thinking.

"While Miss Sharma is correct about Nectar," she nods toward the other woman, receiving a small nod in return before the other woman turns a smug smile toward Anthony, "and indeed about the course and the heat, you are both failing to take other variables into account."

"And what variables might those be?" He sounds somewhere between curious and irritated, much the same as Miss Sharma looks. Neither appear truly upset, however, so she forges ahead.

"The other horses. You are forgetting the rest of the field, dismissing them as unworthy of your attention just because no one else is paying theirs." She says, soft but passionate. They resonate with her, the ones that are looked over.

They both look at her in disbelief, and Penelope can't help the slight smile fighting its way onto her own face.

"Is that not exactly what we are doing, looking at those variables as we place our bets?" Miss Sharma insists.

"On the contrary. You are looking at the top horses. Those that have already been declared the likely winners of today's race. You speak as though they are the only ones racing when in fact there are ten other horses that will be on the track."

"The front runners are considered so for a reason." She argues back.

It's the first time the Viscount and Miss Sharma seem to agree on something. "They are proven winners."

Penelope just shakes her head.

"Be that as it may, a horse does not need to have won before to pull ahead in a race."

"And who would you root for instead." Anthony asks.

Penelope nods her head toward another horse, its fur so dark brown it's almost black. "Hamlet was sold at the beginning of the season."

"Because he has never won a race in his life!"

"With his old owner, certainly not." she agrees.

"Why should it be any different with a new one?"

"There is a new schedule, new care, new jockey. Every race so far he has improved in standing. He has every advantage that High Flyer has with one distinct addition: He is rising."

"But he has not won."

"Not yet."

"And that is your bet."

"Were I allowed to make one, that is the horse I would choose."

"And should you like to place a wager, Miss Featherington?"

"My lord, I do not wish to intrude—"

"Nonsense." He cuts her off, stepping over the row of seats between them so he is beside her. He offers his arm. "Shall we?"

They make an odd pair, him in his well-fitted navy coat and sharp white cravat and her in another nearly glowingly yellow dress, complete with bright pink and yellow fascinator. The beige of her jacket might tone it down slightly, but it doesn't do anything for her complexion.

The further they walk the more the stares and the whispers seem to follow them. It's nearly impossible to ignore until he speaks, pulling her attention.

"How did you come by your knowledge of the horses, Miss Featherington?"

"My papa." When she looks up she can already see the growing incredulity in his drawn eyebrows, so she hurries on. "I know he did not have the best of luck at the tables or at the fights, but for many years the horses kept us afloat. At least enough so my mother never realized how bad it had gotten. Unfortunately last season the fights began to consume him completely."

"I do remember seeing him at quite a few of Mondrich's bouts."

"I believe he was at every one. And some of the…less savory ones as well." She admits.

"And he always bet wrong?"

"Papa was good with horses, not people."

He ushers her toward the man collecting bets, but refuses to let her pull out her own money, placing her bet with his own.

"I shall not allow a lady to waste her money on a wager."

"And if I win?" She challenges.

"I am a gentleman. If you should win, any profit will be yours."

She nods in agreement, watching him tuck the betting slip into his pocket before they start making their way back to their seats. He never drops her arm.

The Viscount helps her back to her seat, but in their absence Lord Lumley has returned, taking the seat between the Miss Sharmas. The Viscount scrambles for a moment, looking around while Miss Sharma watches on, gloating. Penelope takes pity on him after only a few moments.

"You may sit with us, my lord." Her mama, sisters, and Cousin Jack aren't exactly paying any attention, but they're on the bench all the same. "So when I win, I should not have to search for you to collect my profits."

He gives a nod and a smile, and it looks like he's seeing her for the first time.

Anthony

When Anthony had pulled his entire family together to watch the races for the day his entire plan had been to thwart Miss Sharma's plan to keep him away from her sister. Miss Edwina Sharma was the diamond of the season and after countless conversations with simpering debutantes, he thought the Queen's pick would be his best option for a suitable wife, if he could just get past her guard dog of a sister to make it happen. But ever since they arrived nothing about the day has gone according to plan.

Lumley had been easy enough to distract, allowing him to steal the seat between the Miss Sharmas, but Dorset had not arrived as planned to pull the attention of the elder sister. Instead he had taken the brunt of her attention, keeping him from conversing with Edwina. At least, until Miss Penelope Featherington had spoken up, dragging his own attention to a new place entirely. One he never would have thought to look in.

When the race begins he still cheers for Nectar, but he's not as invested as he had been. Instead his mind is focused on the new mystery of Penelope Featherington. She's his sister's best friend so she's always been around, but he can't remember actually speaking with her beyond basic pleasantries before. She's a wallflower, simultaneously blending into the background and standing out in the bright, citrus colors signature to the Featherington family.

Anthony finds himself watching her reactions more than the horses, and he's startled to realize that she's a woman. Between Daphne and Siena he hadn't spared a thought for the eligible debutantes the previous year. And with Penelope being Eloise's best friend, she hadn't even crossed his mind this year. Eloise may technically be marrying age, but she was his younger sister and thus did not feel to him like a woman yet, so why would her closest friend? Clearly this had been a mistake.

She might not be loud, but he can see the pride on her face as Hamlet overtakes first Nectar then High Flyer, finally earning his first win. The smile she gives him lights her up and he can't even find it in himself to regret his pick. Not when her win makes her look at him like that.

It's a heady, terrifying thought.

"Congratulations, Miss Featherington." He says, leaning closer to be heard over the din of the crowd. "Shall we go collect your winnings?" He offers her an arm.

Her delicate hand reaches out, linking them together. "Thank you, Lord Bridgerton."

"Are there any more bets you would like to place for the day? Any more insights?" He asks as they start to pick their way through the crowd.

Penelope shakes her head and laughs, freer than he's ever heard her.

"No my lord, one was enough. I certainly wouldn't want to push my luck. It is quite thrilling though, isn't it?"

"Yes, winning can be a rush."

"It almost makes me understand Papa a bit more." Penelope muses. "Even if I do not understand why he could not stop."

"The mind works in mysterious ways." The two of them are quiet for a moment before Anthony redirects the conversation, pulling back from the somber topic. "How is the new Lord Featherington? I see he has finally arrived."

"He has. He is . . . not what we were expecting, but that is good. He has proven himself so far, although I am wary. He is already seeking a wife and I do not know what will happen when there is a new lady of the house. Mother is particularly worried every time she sees him speaking with Cressida Cowper, and I can't help but agree, unfortunately."

"I see." He very much does not.

"I am, however, grateful to be eating something other than potatoes again."

That is a concerning statement. He had heard from Eloise that all was not well at the Featherington residence, but he hadn't realized how bad it had truly gotten. He supposes now it's being remedied he doesn't need to worry, but he can't help it.

"I am glad to hear you are being provided for."

They turn to lighter conversation as they continue to make their way to the betting tables. When he hands over the betting slip his eyes go wide at the winnings.

"500 pounds?"

"Yessir, it's been a busy day." The teller counts out the bank notes, passing the neat stack over to Anthony who numbly takes it.

He guides Penelope away from the teller, letting the next person up before passing over the notes. She shakes her head furiously.

"I couldn't possibly take that high a sum, my lord."

"On my honor as a gentleman I assured you the winnings would be yours and I shall not be swayed."

He practically shoves the notes into her hands and reluctantly she grabs on, nervously fiddling with the money.

"Will you at least accept the amount you put forward on the bet?"

She tries to pull the top few notes but his hand shoots forward, almost with a will of its own, covering hers and stopping the movement.

"No. It is yours."

"If you are sure, my lord."

He watches her tuck the money into her reticule before her big blue eyes peer up at him through her lashes, a shy smile gracing her lips.

"There is . . . one thing, you can do for me," he murmurs, "use the money to get yourself at least one dress that is exactly what you want."

He pauses as her hand tightens briefly around his arm. Is he really doing this?

"I believe you would look particularly striking in blue, but don't allow me to sway your opinion." He is. It's bolder than anything he should really be saying to one of the gently bred ladies of the ton, but he isn't going to sensor himself around his wife—except perhaps with his anger—so it does feel a bit like a test.

"I shall take it under advisement, my lord." A pretty pink blush spreads across her cheeks accompanied by a playful quirk of the lips. "Blue has long been one of my favorite colors, although when allowed I have also been partial to softer greens."

He smiles back at her, basking in delight at her continued willingness to banter with him rather than defer to his every thought or disagree merely to vex him.

As he leaves her back with her family—who don't seem to have realized she's been gone at all—he makes his decision.

Tomorrow, he will call on Penelope Featherington.

Penelope

As expected, her mother doesn't notice when she reappears, never having noticed she left in the first place. Her apparent invisibility has been a boon in recent years, and she once again finds herself grateful for it as she watches Anthony Bridgerton walk back over to his family, the Miss Sharmas already having left.

She wouldn't know how to explain what just happened anyway.

She's not foolish enough to think she is a possible contender for the Viscount's wife, but her mother would surely do her best to shove her forward if it appeared to be even the slightest possibility. Or to shove Prudence forward in her stead. She doesn't know which would be more embarrassing, really.

Besides, she had just spent the off-season getting over a different Bridgerton. She had fancied herself in love with Colin, but as harsh as her cousin Marina had been, she had been right. It had been an infatuation, carried over from childhood for a boy who saw her as practically part of his family. The letters she had received over the summer only proved it. There were no grand romantic confessions, only tales of his travels, occasionally interspersed with questions on her wellbeing and that of her family—and his when they were being particularly slow to respond. Above all else, Colin prided himself on being a gentleman, and a gentleman wouldn't be exchanging letters with a marriageable young lady unless it was his sister.

It had been surprisingly easy to get over him after that.

When cousin Jack returns from visiting with Cressida Cowper—another nightmare of a situation she may have been too bold to hint at with the Viscount—he ushers the family out to the carriages to return home. The conversation quickly turns to Phillipa's wedding and she sighs, looking out the carriage window and losing herself in her thoughts.

While she and the Viscount had turned heads as they walked, given her close association with her family and the ton's lack of interest in her, she can't be sure it will make the rounds enough to be worth mentioning in Whistledown. Luckily the next edition is not due for a few days. She has time to listen. Besides, reporting on it will make it news, and she doesn't want the extra attention if she can help it.

"Penelope!" Her mother's voice is sharp, startling her.

"Sorry Mama, I was just . . . woolgathering."

The frown she gets back is disapproving. "I can see that." She sighs. "We are finalizing wedding planning this afternoon, so dinner will be late, likely after seven."

"Yes, Mama."

It would appear she had time to run to the modiste. She had no appointment, of course, so she could only hope the woman was not busy.

She fought the urge to pat her reticule, stuffed full with bank notes. If her mother asked after her new dress she'd just have to say it was a gift.

Penelope had struck up a tentative friendship with the modiste, Genevieve, after the woman had caught her at the end of the last season in Bloomsbury dressed as a maid. She had frozen, terrified, but the other woman had just bundled the two of them into a carriage and asked for an explanation. She had promptly burst into tears, having just delivered the column damning her cousin, her own family. But when faced with the choice between her harsh, neglectful blood family and the family that actually treated her like she belonged, how was she supposed to choose any different?

Penelope had sat on the couch in Genevieve's apartment sipping on wine as she told her every awful thing Marina had said when Penelope had begged her to choose anyone else, any other family, knowing it still made her a terrible person but desperately wanting to save the Bridgertons and her own relationship with them. Genevieve was patient and kind, letting her sob and confess to being Lady Whistledown on her own terms—or as close to as she could get—before offering her services.

Genevieve would pass on bits of gossip she heard in her shop or around town and assist with deliveries when necessary in exchange for good press—free advertisement in one of the most widely circulated publications in London.

Since the beginning of their friendship, Genevieve had been dying to get her hands on Penelope's wardrobe and completely overhaul it, but with the state of her family's coffers, followed shortly by the death of her father, there had been no way to even make her a new dress without raising suspicion.

Now the timing is right, and she has the perfect excuse.

She ends up commissioning two dresses. A lovely muted sky blue ball gown and a sage green day dress. Genevieve is decidedly opposed to her mother's habit of ordering gowns that cut across her bosom to make it appear smaller. Instead, she wants to accentuate Penelope's curves, including dropping the waistline to its proper place—or maybe even a bit lower. She's largely trusting Genevieve with the decisions.

"Are you sure only two, chérie?"

"Yes, I don't want to make Mama suspicious. One or two she is unlikely to notice, any more and I worry. Perhaps we can make two more in another week or two."

"Oui. I would be happy to work on some designs until then."

"Thank you, Gen."

"Of course." Her light, faux-French accent rolls over the words. "Are you planning these dresses with someone special in mind?"

The blush heats her skin and stains her cheeks.

"You know I have no suitors."

"Perhaps one you would like to be a suitor, no?"

The memory of Anthony Bridgerton walking her through the crowd floats through her mind, but she shakes it away quickly.

"No one who would truly be interested. I suppose I hope there will be new gentlemen still to arrive this season, ones who will not mind a wallflower for a wife."

"You should seek more from life, Miss Penelope, than a man who 'does not mind' having you as a wife. You are a rare beauty, you deserve to find love."

Penelope shakes her head against the tears burning at the back of her eyes, clenching them closed like she can unsee the words.

"A love match is not realistic. The best I can hope for is to be content and to have the freedom to do my work unimpeded."

Genevieve wraps her arms around Penelope, doing her best to spread comfort. She rests her forehead against the side of Penelope's before speaking in hushed tones directly into her ear.

"You will find something more. I am sure of it. Just hold on to your sparkle."

She smiles tremulously. "I will try."

Chapter 2: Chapter Two

Notes:

Thank you so much for all the love on the first chapter of this story!

I don't expect future chapters to go up as quickly as this one which was, admittedly, halfway written before I even had the first chapter posted, but hopefully things continue to flow.

Happy reading!

Chapter Text

Anthony

As he climbs up into the stands around the race track his mind is already racing, making plans. He's unfortunately sure he'll have to involve Eloise to select an appropriate gift—Penelope is clearly vastly different from what he had known of her and from the other debutantes he's spoken with. It won't do to work off bad information.

"What was that, dear?" His mother's voice interrupts his musings.

"What?" He brushes it off.

She lets it go, but her raised eyebrow and the stern set of her jaw says they'll be talking about it later. He isn't surprised, but he can't say he's looking forward to it. His mother's opinion on his approach to the season is already quite clear—not to mention he's sure she's been secretly planning Colin and Penelope's wedding since they first met.

It's the one thing that gives him pause, really.

He'll have to find a way to ask Penelope where she stands. It would not do to pursue a lady who has her heart set on his brother.

Of course, he could always try to change her mind if it is.

It's not until he's sitting in his study, having escorted the family home and escaped for a drink, that his mother confronts him again.

"Did you not bring us to the races to speak with Miss Edwina Sharma? I saw you distract Lord Lumley to take his seat."

He clears his throat.

"She was, yes."

"And yet you could not have said more than a few words to her. You spoke more with the elder Miss Sharma, and even that was nothing compared to the time you spent with Miss Penelope Featherington."

"That is how the day went, yes."

"Why?"

"As you may have noticed, Miss Sharma holds no fondness for me. She does not wish for me to court her sister and was in fact actively seeking to thwart any attempt I made, so I resorted to drastic measures. Of course the day did not turn out as I had planned, but it seems to have worked out for the better."

"Oh?" His mother raises an eyebrow.

"Will you just speak plainly, Mother? Ask me the question you have had burning on your tongue all afternoon." He's already losing his temper with this conversation and his mother hasn't even gotten to her point yet.

"What are your intentions toward Penelope Featherington?" And there it is.

"I intend to call on her on the morrow. I intend to determine whether she would be a good fit. And then I intend to court her."

"Anthony . . ."

"What, Mother? What objection could you possibly have to Penelope Featherington?"

He swipes the bottle of brandy from the shelf beside his desk and pours himself a glass.

"You misunderstand me. You know I adore Penelope, we all do, but she is not like Miss Edwina. She does not have an abundance of suitors waiting to take your place should you change your mind, which you did rather quickly, I might add. And I will not stand for Penelope being made to feel as though she cannot come to this house."

"Will you stop planning my failure before I have even begun?"

"I am not planning your failure, my dear. I am merely pointing out the risks."

He takes a long drink, avoiding his mother's beseeching gaze. She's trying to help—but he's not sure who exactly she thinks she's aiding.

"All risks aside, I cannot court the girl when I have spoken with her only once, as eye opening as it may have been, even if I do anticipate moving swiftly. Despite what this family may think, it is not a decision I take lightly."

"You must admit your approach this season has been rather . . . brash."

He finishes off the brandy, setting the glass down a little too harshly on his desk.

"I do not wish to discuss this any further, my path is set. Now, is Eloise in the drawing room?"

"Yes dear, I believe she is."

Without another word he sweeps out of the room. He's sure Eloise will be an absolute boar about him courting her friend, but anything is sure to be better than this particular conversation.

It's pulling teeth to get anything out of Eloise, but eventually he settles on Mansfield Park and plans to gift her some of the works of Lord Byron should their courtship progress.

As such he finds himself clutching the book and a bouquet of irises on the steps of the Featherington house at the start of calling hour the following day. When he walks in after the butler announces him, he's unsurprised to find all four of the Featherington women present with Lady Featherington and her middle daughter discussing wedding plans. He is surprised not to find the new Lord Featherington present, but then his own mother hadn't wanted his presence during Daphne's calling hours. It's entirely possible Lady Featherington was of the same mind.

"Good afternoon Featheringtons," He says with a bow.

"Lord Bridgerton!" Lady Featherington is up in an instant, practically racing across the room to stand in front of him. "To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I am here to call on Miss Penelope."

"I . . ." She seems momentarily at a loss for words, turning behind her to look at the equally shocked Penelope. "Yes, of course."

She steps aside and gestures him forward, her eyes never leaving his back as he walks toward the settee with careful steps. Penelope's lips are parted in her shock, frozen in place, making it feel almost as if he is approaching a frightened animal, weary it may turn and flee at any moment. Her day dress is a pale spring green, remarkably muted compared to the typical Featherington colors, with white daisies embroidered along the edges. It's not possible it's one she's had made since the races, but it makes him smile nonetheless.

"Miss Penelope. These are for you." He holds out the bouquet.

She hesitates for a moment before taking it from him, bringing it to her face and closing her eyes briefly as she inhales the scent.

"Thank you, my lord. They are beautiful. I shall have them placed in water immediately." She smiles shyly now, the shock starting to wear off.

Her lady's maid steps forward, carefully taking the flowers from Penelope's hands and leaving the room for a vase.

"You look lovely today," He says as he takes a seat beside her.

"Thank you. You look quite handsome yourself, very distinguished."

"Well thank you, I do try."

In front of them the remaining Featheringtons watch with rapt attention, not even pretending to go back to their previous activities. It's a bit startling, but when he stops to stare at them for a moment they snap out of it, allowing if not privacy than at least a veneer of peace.

"I did bring you a gift as well." He hands her the book, the bow wrapped around it just obstructing the title. "I wanted to make my intentions quite clear."

With gentle fingers she takes it from him and admires it for a moment before tugging the bow free.

"Mansfield Park."

"Yes, Eloise said you had enjoyed the writer's previous novels. I confess I have only brought the first volume so I may call on you again with the next two."

She beams up and his breath catches. She's radiant. Glowing. Beautiful. How had he never truly noticed her before?

"Planning ahead, my lord?" She teases.

"I greatly enjoyed speaking with you at the races. In fact I found it made my day that much brighter. I do not believe that will change."

"You flatter me."

"It is merely the truth, I assure you." He reaches forward to lay a hand over hers but thinks better of it, placing it instead on the cushion between them. It's as close as he's allowed to get, for the sake of propriety, when they are simply sitting like this. He can get away with a kiss on the hand in greeting or parting, holding her on his arm to promenade, or holding her while dancing as long as he keeps a respectable distance. It's maddening. His family has always been tactile and only got more so after their father's death. Even as Anthony himself had been sucked into his duties as Viscount he made sure to show affection for his siblings with hugs, kisses, and pats on the back.

"I do appreciate it. I enjoyed our conversation as well."

"So tell me, Miss Penelope, aside from literature and watching the racing horses in London, what do you enjoy?"

"She's quite skilled at the pianoforte, my lord. Isn't that right, dear?" Her mother pipes in from across the room.

Penelope immediately seems to sink into herself, some of the light around her dimming and he just wants to bring it back.

"Mama is correct, I do enjoy the pianoforte, though I'm sure I'm nowhere near as skilled as Francesca," she demures.

Anthony smiles at her, trying to reassure and redirect the conversation. "I'm sure Francesca would love to know you share a fondness for her passion."

Penelope smiles back, seeming to grasp the implication. The next season will be Francesca's coming out, and his Viscountess will be assisting his mother with it and with finding her a match. If all goes well it is a responsibility that will fall on her shoulders and she will truly be part of the family.

"I would be delighted to share it with her. Though I believe she is still in Bath expanding her talents, is she not?"

"Indeed she is, but perhaps upon her return you may."

They make polite conversation there in her family's drawing room until he has stayed as long as is acceptable, soaking up every hint of information he can get and sharing more about himself in kind. As he stands to leave he issues an invitation to promenade with him and his family the following day which she graciously accepts, once again under the probing eye of her mama. He plants a lingering kiss on the back of her hand before he leaves, meeting her eyes as he does and once again watching the tantalizing blush spread across her cheeks.

He had sworn off love at the ruin of his affair with Siena, planning for a marriage purely based on practicality and duty. But while everything about Penelope falls within his requirements—a practical match indeed—she is also exactly the type of woman he could fall in love with.

Walking into the drawing room is deja vu, the whole family gathered around as he gets ready to make an announcement of a public outing in the name of courting. It's only one day later and the circumstances have changed so drastically he's not sure who is aware of what.

"Ah, good. You're all here again."

Activity slows down, each member of his family turning to look at him.

"Brother! Did you arrive early enough to beat the other gentlemen to Miss Edwina then?" Colin asks jovially.

Anthony shakes his head. Evidently things hadn't spread through the whole family yet.

"I am no longer courting Miss Edwina, if I ever truly was. No, I have returned from visiting Miss Penelope Featherington. I invited her to promenade tomorrow and I would like you all to accompany us. Or, at least some of you."

It seems the rest of his family has not been paying attention as the only ones not looking shocked are his mother and Eloise, although Eloise still looks a bit miffed.

"Pen? You're courting Pen?" Colin has never been good at masking his emotions and this is no exception, disbelief and anger painting themselves across his face.

"Is there something wrong with Penelope, Colin?" Eloise challenges.

She may not have been thrilled when Anthony spoke to her, but she's nothing if not protective of her friend. She looks ready to strike if Colin says anything she dislikes, and being seated beside him puts her in quite an advantageous position to do so. Anthony finds himself feeling rather protective as well.

"No! There's nothing wrong with Pen!" Colin defends. "I just . . . I didn't know Anthony had an interest. You barely spared her a glance when she was here yesterday."

"I was rather . . . vexed prior to the races, and Miss Featherington and I had rarely spoken. Being the object of her attention was . . . eye opening. I find her to be quite intriguing and a witty conversationalist." He doesn't know how else to say it, to his family in particular. He's managed to switch so quickly from barely seeing her as anything but his sister's closest friend to seeing her as a woman he wants to marry. It's jarring for him let alone for his family.

"We know, brother. We have all spoken with her before and find Pen quite delightful, you need not convince us of that," Colin says, "It's you with Pen that gives us pause. That is what you must convince us of."

Penelope

The day had started off quite normally, really. She had awoken just before her maid, Rose, entered the room and the two of them picked out one of her preferred day dresses before her mother could interfere. It was more understated, as she preferred, more in keeping with the current fashion although the cut still left something to be desired compared to what Genevieve was working on. She had smiled, remembering the attentions of the Viscount the day before, his flirting as they parted. She had assumed, of course, that as a well known rake it was simply how he interacted with women and had been flattered to be considered one. She had not anticipated it might signify anything further.

Apparently she had been wrong.

The moment Lord Bridgerton is out the door her mother is beside her on the settee.

"Why did you not tell me you had spoken with the Viscount?" Her mother is quite put out, the not-quite-frown, while not uncommon, a telling sign.

"It is not as though I have never spoken to him before, although admittedly never as quite the focus of his attention. I did not think he would call on me, Mama."

"Clearly!" Her mother gestures, dramatically sweeping her arm at the entire room. "We were not prepared, Penelope! We should have had fresh flowers, biscuits. The new Lord Featherington wasn't even present! Although I doubt that would have helped anything."

"He invited me to promenade tomorrow, Mama, so I would say everything turned out well."

"Yes, quite." Her mother pauses for a moment before standing up, rushing over to Phillipa. "Why don't you see if Mr. Finch is available to promenade tomorrow as well and I will talk to Lord Featherington. Perhaps we can all go."

Penelope cringes. "Do you think that is necessary, Mama? I can simply take Rose as a chaperone." Her lady's maid would be more than happy to accompany her and it would save her from her mother's particularly zealous presence.

"Don't be foolish, a gentleman expects a girl's family to join them when they promenade. It would hardly be wise to ignore the custom. And with a viscount, no less."

She suspects her mother would be excited over any suitor, as she was when Mr. Finch expressed his interest in Phillipa, but a titled man is certainly going to make it worse. Part of the promenade will also be her mother trying to stir up suitors for Prudence, using the presence of the Viscount to draw attention. It's precisely why she doesn't want them to accompany her.

Nevermind if it doesn't work out. When it doesn't work out, as all her insecurities seek to remind her. She supposes what she should really hope for, out of this, is a confidence boost and a few additional suitors to truly choose from, when the time comes. Ones who won't leave as soon as the Viscount does.

She shakes her head to clear the thoughts. Better to embrace whatever is to happen than plan for the worst already. She has her Whistledown funds to fall back on should she need them. As unappealing as a solitary life of spinsterhood sounds, it would be better than living with her mother for the rest of her life.

Her mother becomes increasingly intolerable the closer they get to the promenade. She alternates between flitting around the house and hovering over Penelope to critique anything she's doing. She's harped on her reading, her hair, her promenade dress, her breakfast, and even the way Rose has done her makeup for the day. By the time they arrive at Hyde Park to meet the Bridgertons, Penelope is nearly going mad.

As such when she spots them she can't help but hurry ahead of her own family over to theirs.

"Bridgertons!"

"Penelope!"

It's Hyacinth who breaks away from the family first, rushing over to greet her as she approaches. Behind her the rest of them turn to watch, smiles on their faces. Gregory, never far behind Hyacinth, leaves Eloise trailing behind as the two of them make their way toward her as well.

Eloise gives a tentative smile, hooking her arm through Penelope's and pulling her close. "While you could do much better than my brother, selfishly I would be thrilled if you were to become my sister."

It's remarkably subtle for Eloise, quiet enough Gregory and Hyacinth don't seem to notice, and the idea makes Penelope flush in pleasure. She's known the Bridgerton family for years and Eloise has been more of a sister to her than her own for nearly as long.

It almost feels like Eloise is guiding her over to the rest of her family where the Viscount waits in front with a soft smile gracing his lips. He holds a hand out with a slight bow. She lifts her free hand toward him, allowing him to take it and place a gentle kiss to the soft satin of her gloves before standing back up, holding her hand for a moment longer than is necessary or proper.

Eloise shoots him a warning glare, one he meets with a quick nod of acknowledgment, before dropping Penelope's arm and stepping back. The Viscount steps forward, offering his own arm in her place.

"Miss Penelope, shall we promenade?" There's a hint of a jest in the slight smirk on his face and the tilt of his head for the performative nature of it. It's a side of the Viscount she's never seen before, his stern disposition usually on full display.

"I would be delighted, my lord."

She takes the offered arm with a light smile to match his smirk and then, under the watchful eyes of their families and the ton, they're once again strolling along, pretending not to notice. The difference, of course, is that one event could be a fluke. A promenade, one that is purposeful and accompanied by families no less, is a statement.

They're definitely going to be in Whistledown now.

Beside her the Viscount leans down toward her to speak, pulling her just the slightest bit tighter as he does. She can feel the heat of his body more fully against her arm, nearly distracting her from his words.

"Have you made it to the modiste yet for your dress?"

"Yes, I ordered two. Best not to order more lest my mother become suspicious of where my funds are coming from."

"And two will pass?"

"Now that Cousin Jack is here she is expecting us to acquire new dresses, and if she asks I will simply tell her you gifted me a small sum in thanks for helping you choose a winning horse." It's close enough to the truth without revealing the whole of it and keeps her funds, as always, out of her mother's grasp.

"And if you desire more?"

"Then I shall tell her they are gifts." She smiles, small and conspiring, up at him. "As long as you do not plan to ruin my ruse."

He tilts his head with a smirk of his own. "Far be it for me to work against my own favor."

"You are much too intelligent for that, my lord," she says with a hint of a jest.

His smile grows more genuine, softer. "I believe we've known each other long enough for you to use my given name, don't you agree?"

"Anthony." Her face flushes in pleasure and she ducks her head, peering up at him through her eyelashes. "You must call me Penelope then."

"That is most agreeable, Penelope."

They stand for a moment, frozen in place by this small, significant step forward until Violet Bridgerton clears her throat pointedly to get them moving again. Penelope can barely find it in herself to be embarrassed at the display, not when the Viscount— Anthony —looks so pleased with himself.

He waits until they are placed well enough ahead of their families again, still remaining close enough for propriety's sake, before he turns serious.

"There's something I wish to discuss, something I feel we must get out of the way before I may properly ask to court you."

Her heart pounds in her chest and the smile drops from her face. What could they possibly need to discuss before he can take the next step?

"What is it?" She aims for nonchalance, but she does not achieve it.

"I mean no offense, I swear it." He attempts to reassure her. "There was a point where I thought you may hold . . . affections for Colin, and I could bear it if my wife were in love with my brother."

"Oh!" She gasps. Somehow, the implied question catches her off guard. "Forgive me, my lord, Anthony, I . . . I suppose I had believed myself to be more subtle."

He turns toward her, face falling.

"In the past, I mean! I assure you, I no longer hold any feelings beyond friendship for your brother. He was a . . . childhood infatuation, I suppose. One I have grown out of." And it had been hard won, indeed.

"I am quite relieved to hear that." The tension in his body eases and the smile works its way back onto his face.

"I am glad, Anthony."

Chapter 3

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who appreciates this work!

I admit I'm playing fast and loose with regency era fashion and sewing timelines, as the show does. The sewing machine was not invented until well after the Bridgerton time period, so everything would have been sewn by hand.

Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Anthony

Relief.

Profound, abject relief flows through him at her words.

It would not do to have lost his Viscountess to his brother before he had even realized he wanted her.

Although the strength of the relief did truly surprise him.

Something to ponder at a later date, when he is not mid-conversation with the woman in question.

"I seem to remember your mother interjecting before you were able to answer me the other day, so let me pose the question again: what brings you joy?"

"I quite enjoy writing," she admits shyly.

"Writing? And are you able to indulge yourself often?"

"Quite possibly more than I should." A blush spreads across her face again. "And you, my lord? What are your passions?"

"My family. Riding. I admit I do have a fondness for literature as well, though I rarely have the time to indulge."

"You are not able to read often?"

"Not for pleasure."

"Are you able to take the time to ride often?"

"I exercise the horses myself as often as I am able." He pauses for a moment. "I have recently acquired a new horse, as well."

She sees through him immediately, catching the hesitation in his words and her eyes pierce into him, looking for answers. "How recently?"

He rubs his free hand along the side of his neck bashfully. ". . . Last night." Not even his family knew about the addition yet.

"Nectar."

It's not a question, but he nods anyway.

"I had heard rumblings when leaving the races that he would be put down following the poor performance. Yesterday it was confirmed and I offered to buy him instead. He's a good horse, even if his racing career is over."

She smiles up at him, soft, warm, and understanding as she hugs the arm she's tucked up against for the quick moment she can get away with in public.

"That's lovely, Anthony. I'm glad he ended up in a good home."

He squeezes her arm close again, much as she had done moments previously. It's a wordless thank you for seeing him through his practiced persona, understanding the glimpses she gets and not pushing.

"Do you ride?"

"I was taught the basics, enough to ride if necessary, but my mother has always considered it an unladylike pursuit so we were not afforded lessons beyond that."

His eyebrows raise involuntarily at that. He had ensured all his sisters were well versed in riding both sidesaddle to society's standard and astride for more casual ventures or necessity.

"Did you enjoy it?" He asks.

"I do not know, I never become comfortable enough to truly relax and let myself."

"Perhaps I shall take you riding, then. So we may learn if you find joy in it together."

"I believe I would like that very much."

He feels . . . light.

The next day he makes quick work of obtaining formal permission to court Penelope from the new Lord Featherington before he finds himself back in the Featherington drawing room to make it official with the woman herself. It's a much shorter visit than his previous one, but unfortunately he doesn't have quite as much time to spare on the fourth day in a row.

"Penelope. I hope you are well." He hands her a new bouquet, this one pink roses.

Their fingers brush, his bare hands against her lace gloves, and it sends a jolt of something through him. The blush quickly spreading up her face says she felt it too.

"Thank you. These are beautiful."

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman."

Her blush intensifies. "You flatter me."

"I only speak the truth." He lowers his voice, leaning in slightly as though sharing a secret. "And they compliment your flush exquisitely."

She takes a moment to appreciate the flowers before passing them off to her lady's maid and he watches the movement. How her eyes flutter closed as she takes in the scent. How her fingers curl around the air when it's gone like they didn't want to let go. She starts to lean toward him and he matches it, reaching a hand toward her face.

On the other side of the room Lady Featherington coughs pointedly and both of them correct their posture.

Anthony clears his throat. "Yes, well . . ." he tugs at the front of his jacket, a hint of nerves peeking through. "I am unfortunately limited for time today and I cannot stay long. However, the purpose of my visit . . ." This time he does take her hand. "Penelope Featherington, would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you officially?"

"I would be delighted, my lord."

He raises their joined hands, pressing his smiling lips to her knuckles through the lace. He lets them linger against the hint of her skin for a moment longer than propriety allows before pulling back just enough so that when he speaks his breath dances across the same spot his lips were.

"You have made me a very happy man indeed."

"Splendid!"

Lady Featherington claps to gain their attention and the attention of the housekeeper apparently standing on just the other side of the doorway as she pops into the room immediately.

"Shall I have Mrs. Varley fetch us some champagne to celebrate?"

"Mother," Penelope hisses, and this time her flush is not of pleasure but of embarrassment.

He shakes his head in answer, taking it all in stride.

"As I was just telling Miss Penelope, I am unable to stay long. There is much business to attend to today. I was eager to make our courtship official, but must be on my way."

Reluctantly, he stands from the settee, but he doesn't leave until he has captured Penelope's hand once more to press a kiss to her fingers.

"Until tomorrow."

Penelope

She's being courted.

Publicly. Loudly. In front of the ton.

By Anthony Bridgerton.

As long as she's known the Bridgertons—since barely a year after the death of their father—Anthony has been a stoic man, ruthlessly suppressing emotion as much as he is able, only letting them out when they burn brightly. He's been a man driven by duty, throwing himself endlessly into his responsibilities, unless he's been recklessly casting them aside. The incident with Berbrooke comes to mind. As does his affair with the opera singer.

She also knows how his initial foray into courting went and the softness with which he has been approaching her feels wholly surprising in contrast. Nothing has felt like an interview or a barrage—She's been seeing Anthony the man, not Anthony the viscount.

As much as she hates to see him carry the dichotomy, she's glad to be graced with the softer side and she can't help but wonder what he would be like as a husband. Would he be soft and doting, bringing her flowers and sitting quietly to read together in the same room? Would he be passionate, reveling in the marital act and spirited debates? Or would he turn cold, waiting only for the production of an heir and a spare before spending his time locked away or at the club?

She has no doubts he would be an amazing father, she's practically seen him take on the title already, but what of his own children? Would the pressure to rush and get a girl married off prevail as it had with Daphne, or would he wait for a love match, perhaps even allowing her to drift into spinsterhood as Eloise so desired? Boys would be sent to Eton when they reached the proper age, of course, but what of their lives afterward? And would he instill in them a proper regard and respect for the women around them? She liked to think so.

But nothing is truly certain on the marriage mart, a man can be anything he wants, a woman can only be what she is allowed.

She knows Anthony is an honorable man, she just has to trust that he, like the rest of the Bridgertons, wears his heart on his sleeve when it isn't caged.

The pink roses he brought her sit by her bedside, the slightly wilted irises now sitting on her dressing table. Rose is helping her dry a few of each flower, bringing them down to the kitchen to hang along the walls with other herbs and flowers. She wants to hold onto the memories.

She never imagined getting over one Bridgerton brother would see her being courted by another.

The modiste shop is empty when Penelope arrives for her fitting, and Genevieve quickly guides her behind the curtain to the back of the shop where a small pedestal is set up in front of a full-length mirror. Bolts of fabric and rolls of laces line the room while framed and loose sketches adorn the walls of the studio space. Through another door is the true workspace where she knows Genevieve has massive work tables and sewing stations for her and her assistants working at all hours of the day out of sight of the high society patrons.

They start with the day dress and Penelope admires the silhouette and the sage green against her skin as Genevieve circles her, snipping, pinning, and adjusting as she goes.

"You look gorgeous, chérie, and once it is completed it will complement your curves perfectly."

"It's already amazing, Gen." Her hand lightly grazes along the front where it cinches under her bust. It's not finished and she already feels more beautiful than she ever has.

"Wait until you see the ball gown." Genevieve says mischievously.

The ballgown, even just as a base layer, is enchanting. The sleeve is slightly longer than the popular cap sleeve, but falls in layers of sheer silk, giving it the look of petals or waves. The neckline is more round than square, with seams down the bust to fit it just so without adding excess bulk underneath. It skims down her body, flaring out at her hips and she knows the layers to come will swish when she walks.

"Oh, Gen . . ." she breathes.

" C'est magnifique." Genevieve declares, a proud smile adorning her face.

Penelope admires the gown in the mirror as Genevieve circles her once more with her pins. Genevieve lets the silence linger until she reaches the front of the gown.

"When we last spoke, not even one week ago, you said you had no suitors in mind, but I see this week's Whistledown says you have had a caller. Viscount Bridgerton, no less."

Penelope can feel the flush spreading across her face. It seems to be a near constant state she's finding herself in of late.

"Yes. It's been very sudden. We spoke rather in depth at the races earlier that day, though I didn't think anything would come of it. He shocked me when he called on me the next morning, Mama too. He made the courtship official yesterday."

"That is wonderful news!"

"It is quite exciting, isn't it?"

"And will he appreciate your new dresses, chérie?"

She thinks back to the lingering kiss, to his assertion that she would look striking in blue, murmured into her ear before they parted at the races.

"Yes, he will," she says with a soft, secretive smile.

"Good. He would not be worthy of you otherwise."

"Will you be attending the soiree this evening?"

Anthony sits once again beside her on the settee in the Featherington drawing room, the second volume of Mansfield Park sitting between them, still wrapped in a lovely pink bow and the most recent bouquet of flowers already whisked off to her bedroom.

"I was unaware there was to be a soiree." He furrows his brow.

"Yes, at Danbury House. Our invitation arrived just this morning. Perhaps yours arrived while you were not home."

"Ah, the soiree is at Danbury House," Anthony tips his head back in understanding. When it tips down again his jaw clenches. "I do not believe it is an accident I have not received an invitation," He admits.

"I thought Lady Danbury was rather close with your family."

"She is. However the Sharmas likely do not hold me in high regard."

"Since you ended your pursuit of Miss Edwina?"

"Since before that, I'm afraid, although surely it does not help matters. The elder Miss Sharma overheard a conversation with a few other gentlemen—one where I was not in good form, I will admit—and declared her disdain for me immediately. I believe the impression rather stuck with her."

"I can understand that."

At his offended look she laughs. She lays a hand on his arm to soothe, but the contact only charges the moment.

"I only mean to say . . . if I had not known you so long, seen you with Hyacinth and Gregory as they grew, the rest of your family, even how you have been with me since we spoke at the races, the stoic, duty-bound Viscount may have given me pause." She glances over toward her mother to make sure she isn't paying too much attention to their conversation. "Men are curious creatures, you behave one way with a lady, another amongst friends, and yet another amongst casual peers. Women are often left to wonder how you will behave in a home, which facets we see will hold the most truth. Miss Sharma, much like you, has taken on great responsibility to her family as the oldest sibling, but she is also an outsider to the ton. I cannot truly blame her for clinging to her early impressions."

Her hand drifts down his arm and she means to bring it back to her own lap but he captures it and his eyes bore into her own. The room seems to fall away under his gaze.

"Then I am grateful that you are willing to see me, flaws and all."

"And I am grateful that you do the same for me."

They both still hold secrets—granted Lady Whistledown is likely the largest one between them—but for now the willingness to allow each other to be their own complicated people is more than enough.

The soiree ends up an opportunity for gentlemen to attempt to impress Miss Edwina, nearly all of them embarrassing themselves instead. It's also the first time Penelope is able to truly speak to either of the Sharmas. Kathani Sharma is just as protective and stubborn as she had believed, in some ways reminding her of Anthony's attempt at guiding Daphne when she was the Diamond. Penelope watches her immediately strike up a friendship with Eloise, bonding over a general dislike of men.

Edwina Sharma, on the other hand, is sweet and sheltered while still having obtained a more well rounded education than the average debutante. A picture perfect Diamond, even going so far as to genuinely compliment Penelope's bright yellow dress. Luckily her mother was nowhere to be found at the time or else Penelope surely would have been forced to abandon her wardrobe overhaul plans for the season. Edwina is someone she can imagine being friends with if she remains in London. Someone who shares her love of literature and of balls. Someone, perhaps, who can gush over her own suitors and who will listen when Penelope gushes over Anthony as only Genevieve will do at present.

She asks Colin about his mystery woman during a break in the show, and when he spins a tale about trying to find himself and swearing off women she very nearly rolls her eyes. At four and twenty much of him is still a boy, unmoored by his brief romance with Marina. Of course, men are known to mature much slower, wading into the marriage mart well past the age women were expected to be married.

Later, as she stands by Kathani—who promptly gave permission to be referred to as Kate—she looks around the room, observing the number of lords once again vying for Miss Edwina's attention through performance.

"I have to wonder how many of them are truly ready for the commitment of marriage."

"You think they are merely wasting our time?" Kate asks sharply. "I apologize, I do not mean to be harsh, but I admit London has been a bit . . ."

"Of a lion's den?"

"Yes, exactly!" Kate laughs.

"It can be." Penelope smiles up at her, ignoring the man attempting to play the flute at the front of the room. "In terms of the gentlemen . . . I believe the least serious callers will fall off quickly, wanting to be seen in pursuit but not to win. There are others your sister would be wise to stay away from, but you have many people around you to point them out. I'm sure if Edwina truly desires to marry this season she will make an excellent match indeed."

Kate turns pensive, almost tense. "Of course."

She pauses for a moment and Penelope thinks the conversation has ended, but instead Kate turns to face her more fully.

"You seem to have a keen eye, even if your tastes are rather different from my own. I shall have Lady Danbury send you an invitation for tea. I would like to hear your thoughts on these . . . men."

"I would be delighted."

Anthony

The lack of invitation to the soiree, and particularly having to explain why he thinks he has not been invited to Penelope, stings his pride. It's been less than a week but the idea that he may be disappointing her is gut wrenching. He knows what these type of soirees are like, he's been to enough of them: the male ego on full display, each man trying to outperform the last with a better stunt, a more impressive talent, a more meaningful poem.

He hates them.

And yet he slumps into his chair at Mondrich's brooding into his whiskey at his lack of invitation while Benedict converses with some artist chap across the room.

"What did that poor whiskey ever do to you?"

He whips his head around and approaching the table, wide grin stretching across his face, is Simon Basset.

"Simon!"

He stands up to give the other man a quick hug and a firm pat on the back before inviting him to take a seat at the same table.

"I did not know you were in London!"

"I believed it was time to take up my duties in parliament." Simon chuckles. "And, Daphne tells me you are terrorizing the marriage mart. I thought surely, that is something I must see. The infamous rake attempting to woo the poor young debutantes of the ton."

"Your information is old, my friend. There is but one young lady I am trying to woo now, and she has accepted my suit." He tips his glass forward in a mock toast before taking a sip.

Simon raises his eyebrows in response. "That is quite the development. I'm surprised Daphne had not heard of it."

"It's rather new," he admits. "It only became official yesterday."

"Ah, you haven't even been to a ball yet as an officially courting pair. Tell me: have you danced with the girl yet or have you forced the poor girl to wait for your suit?"

Anthony coughs, slightly embarrassed, and takes another sip of his drink. "There, eh, haven't been any balls since I took an interest."

"There's a ball every bloody week, Anthony!" He exclaims. "Who is the young lady that has so captured your attention?"

"Miss Penelope Featherington. Third daughter of the late Lord Featherington."

"And a long time friend of the Bridgerton brood, is she not?"

"Yes. She has been Eloise's dearest friend for many years. It helps her . . . envision a future, I suppose, to have seen so much of my family's life."

"I suppose it would." There's a moment of companionable silence between them, then Simon raises his glass. "A toast, then. To family, to settling down, and to reformed rakes."

"Cheers."

The glasses clink, smiles on both of their faces.

It's odd, to have abandoned the pursuit of . . . discreet pleasure and thoughts of mistresses in favor of a woman he isn't engaged to yet. He always knew, even in a marriage of convenience, that he would cease all affairs once he was wed out of respect for his wife. He hadn't imagined at the start of the season he would willingly give it up before even an engagement, hadn't known at his last indulgence that it would be his last.

As he approaches Featherington House, once again as early as he can get away with, the morning after the soiree he can't bring himself to regret the lack of a final hurrah. Penelope is too sweet, too precious to him and his family to risk.

When she greets him in the drawing room with a relieved smile he's immediately on edge.

"Are you well? Is something wrong?" He nearly forgets the flowers in his hand in his haste to get to her side.

"I am well, do not worry." She grasps his free hand, rubbing soothing circles along the back with her gloved thumb. "I was worried I would not see you today if you came in the afternoon."

"Ah. I am relieved to hear that is all that troubled you." Reluctantly he drops her hand, passing over the bouquet of wildflowers instead. "These are for you, of course."

"Thank you, Anthony. They are beautiful."

"As are you." He smiles as the tension continues to drain from his body, letting himself relax marginally into the settee. "May I ask about your afternoon obligation?"

"I have been invited to tea at Danbury House with the Miss Sharmas. I believe they are looking for insight into the many suitors Miss Edwina has received, if there are any I am able to warn them off of or any I find of particularly good character."

She's watching him carefully but he can't help the tension oozing out of him at the development.

"This was the first time I have had the chance to speak with either of the Miss Sharmas and I found them both to be quite delightful company. I believe Edwina and I could develop a particularly close friendship, and Eloise was certainly endearing herself to Miss Kathani."

"Right." It comes out a bit faint so he shakes himself, clearing his throat before continuing. "Perhaps you can convince them to allow me back on the invitation list in the future. I admit it rankled to know I could have spent the evening in your company if their opinion of me was not . . . what it is."

He sighs and grasps her hand again, taking in the of-so-familiar blush that spreads across her face as he stares into her eyes.

"I am glad you are finding more companions amongst the other ladies. I hope they are friendships you are able to build and carry with you."

"I hope so, too."

Chapter 4

Notes:

As always thank you so much to everyone for reading and supporting this fic!

Chapter Text

Penelope

Danbury house is just as intimidating in the daylight, if not more so.

When she's shown into the drawing room both Miss Sharmas and Lady Danbury are already present. Their eyes are all on her when she walks into the room and she feels oddly exposed, like she isn't supposed to be there in spite of the invitation.

"Ah, Miss Featherington. Welcome!" Lady Danbury steps forward to greet her. "I shall call for refreshments to be brought in immediately."

"Miss Penelope, it is lovely to see you again." Edwina's voice is soft and melodic, a soothing balm to Penelope's nerves.

"It's lovely to see you all as well. Thank you for the invitation."

"You are most welcome," Kate says, "please, take a seat."

Kate and Edwina sit on one settee with Penelope opposite them on the other, leaving Lady Danbury to one of her usual wingback chairs. Tea service arrives as soon as they're seated along with a platter of finger sandwiches and another of biscuits and they make up plates and cups while exchanging pleasantries. When they all sit back Kate cuts to the chase.

"I would very much like to hear your thoughts on the men from last night now that we are away from the prying eyes of the rest of the ton."

Penelope nods. "I am happy to help, of course, but I do not know how much of what I share will be new to you. Most of the men seeking to court Edwina have not looked twice at me. Many would be unable to recognize me on sight."

"That itself is valuable information. For a man to be of the ton and not know the faces of the eligible young women? That does not sound like a worthy gentleman to me."

"You are too kind."

"I speak only the truth. I cannot forget you have seen much more of these men than I, and while Lady Danbury has been most generous in sharing her insights I am eager to hear yours as well."

Kate radiates earnestness, a remarkable difference from many of the equally beautiful debutantes Penelope is used to avoiding. It's rare to find a woman who isn't a Bridgerton so willing to connect with her, and she can't help the creeping hope that it lasts beyond this meeting.

"Well, to begin I suppose I can assure you that Lord Lumley has always been kind when I have spoken to him, though he is known to be a bit single minded in conversation. I did see Lords Fife and Cho at the soiree as well, though they can hardly be considered serious about seeking wives this season. Of course that is often true of men in society, not a bit of seriousness about them until their mamas nip too harshly, or their spirits settle, or perhaps until they meet a woman who truly ignites the desire to settle down. Much rarer, I know, but we all dream of a love match, do we not?"

Penelope takes a sip of her tea, admiring the flavor. The spices are bold and the milk incorporated before it was served, nothing like she's had before.

"This is lovely," she compliments. "But I fear I have run off course. Regarding the gentleman, are there any in particular you seek insight on?"

"Lord Lumley has been the most promising prospect for Edwina so far, so I am encouraged by your words. I suppose it is difficult to ask after every man of the ton, certainly, though I wish it were possible. I do not like being unaware. I have, of course, taken to reading Lady Whistledown when it arrives, though I have been unable to get my hands on the copies from last season." The frustration creeps onto Kate's face as she speaks.

There's a little thrill that shoots through Penelope, as there often is when her writing is spoken of as holding importance. Last season it was her voice, her only outlet for the wariness and isolation she felt amongst the ton. She hides a proud smile behind another sip of tea, though as she often does with Eloise she struggles to find the right words to respond.

"Whistledown is certainly a good source of gossip."

"Indeed." Lady Danbury speaks up for the first time in their conversation.

She holds an all-too-knowing eye on Penelope for a moment, making her desperately want to squirm in her seat. She does her best to resist until Lady Danbury refocuses on the Miss Sharmas.

"You will do well to remember that scandal and gossip is not the whole of a person."

"Of course, Lady Danbury," Penelope is quick to concede.

Both Miss Sharmas nod along, though only Edwina looks the slightest bit chastised. There's an awkward moment, a lull in conversation where the only sounds are clinking of tea cups and the rustling of fabrics before Penelope redirects the conversation, this time turning to Edwina herself.

"How are you finding the London season so far, Miss Edwina?"

"Oh, just Edwina, please."

"Then you must call me Penelope."

"I would be delighted!" She lights up. "The season is all quite entertaining, is it not? All of the callers? The balls? It is still so new I find myself feeling quite giddy, though it can be overwhelming at times."

"That is understandable." Penelope smiles encouragingly. "I am glad to hear you are enjoying yourself. I had quite a difficult time last season, but perhaps it was for the best. After all, Anthony was certainly not ready for marriage last year."

At the raised eyebrows around the room she realizes her mistake and her face burns.

"I mean Lord Bridgerton. My apologies."

"Things are becoming quite serious with Lord Bridgerton then?" Lady Danbury asks.

Penelope gives a shy nod, her smile bashful through the flush. "It became official just the day before your soiree. We have not even had the chance to promenade together since, but I am very much looking forward to the next ball."

"Oh Penelope, that is terribly exciting! He moves quite swiftly, does he not?"

"I suppose he does, though it does not feel that way. I have known the Bridgertons for nearly half my life and while I cannot say I had expected this turn of events—far from it, in fact—I do believe my attachment to the family has eased the way for our courtship."

"To have someone you have known for so long, who you know the character of, surprise you in such a way . . . it is so romantic." Edwina sighs dreamily. "While I know my own future will not come about in such a way, I am grateful to have my dear sister here to help me with my choice."

"Yes, as I had mentioned London is proving to be a bit more difficult to navigate than we had expected, but I am committed to helping Edwina find the best possible match for her future happiness."

"Are you participating in the season yourself, Kate? I would think you would also have luck amongst the suitors."

"No, I am merely here to assist Edwina, then I will be returning to India. I shall be a governess, live my own life. I shall be quite content."

Penelope can't tell if Kate is resigned to this future or truly looking forward to it. She seems secretive, almost protective of the idea, and the exasperation on Lady Danbury's face says this is a discussion they have had before, perhaps more than once. Edwina, on the other hand, looks torn between resignation and happiness for her sister.

There's something behind the assertion. Something Edwina clearly knows, that Lady Danbury has not been trusted with yet. Perhaps a lover waiting at home? A household she has made promises to? What secret could make Edwina, clearly so close to her sister, so accepting of her return to India?

She tries to shake it off, but as the rest of the tea passes the questions continue to swirl through her head.

Anthony

While Penelope is at tea with the Miss Sharmas, Anthony is enduring endless mocking at the hands of his brothers. Of course , they say, of course the woman he is courting is befriending the first woman he tried to court and her impossible sister. He had picked the most intelligent women in the ton, of course they would gravitate together. Doubly so as the Sharmas are new to Mayfair, their only connection being Lady Danbury. Why wouldn't they seek to make connections of their own?

His ill-advised and blessedly short attempt to court the season's diamond aside, he's all too aware of the impression he left the elder Miss Sharma with outside the first ball of the season. He winces just thinking about it. While it's not unusual to hear such types of conversation amongst the men at Whites, it's far from gentlemanly. And while describing his pursuit in such a way seemed fine with merely an abstract woman on the line, he can't imagine reducing Penelope to "good stock" or her ability to bear his children.

"Cheer up, brother!" Benedict says over a glass of brandy, "if the girl isn't aware of your failings already I'd be shocked. She's been Eloise's friend for long enough to have gotten quite the earful."

"That doesn't make me feel any better." Anthony stares down into his own glass, swirling the amber liquid before looking back up, alarmed. "Should I speak with Eloise? Find out what she may have said?"

"You want Eloise to sum up every complaint from the last ten years?" Colin asks, incredulous.

"Yes. Do you think she would?"

"No! I'm sure she barely remembers what she's said in the past week, and she's certainly not going to air all of it for you to scrutinize." Benedict shakes his head. "It is funny, isn't it? It is not your reputation as a Rake getting in your way, but how you've attempted to retire it."

"Quite," Anthony bites out.

"Besides, you must give Pen more credit. She's known you far longer than either of the Miss Sharmas. She will not be so easily swayed."

"Thank you, Colin."

"If anything it will simply bring her to her senses!"

Colin is jovial and jesting as he sips on his brandy, slouching back in his chair. With the three brothers being the closest in age they've all become rather adept at finding each other's sore spots. They have not, however, learned when to cease poking. At least Colin hasn't.

It takes a considerable amount of restraint for Anthony to resist slamming his glass into the table as his temper flares. Benedict, clearly seeing the shift, places his own glass down and stands, yanking Colin up with him.

"Perhaps we should retire to the drawing room, brother. Leave Anthony to his ledgers lest we be recruited to assist."

He isn't subtle, but Anthony appreciates it anyway as the door to the study thuds shut behind them. As he sits alone with his brandy in the blessed quiet his thoughts stay on Penelope, as they have been wont to do in recent days. It was startling to think it had been nary a week since she had revealed herself to be so much more than the meek debutante he had become accustomed to trailing after his sister. He had known, of course, there had to be more to her to hold his sister's attention, but he had never truly spared a second thought to what that might be, preoccupied as he often was.

Now she has injected herself into his life, into his thoughts. He's already itching to see her again after his morning visit. He wants to hold her delicate hands and press his lips to her knuckles as many times as he can get away with, to smell the delicate jasmine and rosemary scent that perfumes her hair, to make her blush. To make sure she still holds him in high regard.

He throws back the rest of his drink, sets the glass aside, and finally flips the ledger open. If his brothers are unable to provide a helpful distraction, this will have to do.

Penelope

Her completed gowns arrive the morning of the next ball and they are just as stunning finished as she had imagined, if not more so. The layers of sheer, shimmering silk in the ball gown skirt flow around her with every movement while the layers in the sleeves flutter, almost as though on their own.

She has Rose arrange her hair in a delicate, subtle updo with pearl adorned pins dotted throughout to pair with the dress without hiding it from view.

When she descends the stairs her mama, Prudence, and Cousin Jack are already waiting. Both of the women's jaws seem to have unhinged at her appearance, but Cousin Jack seems unphased.

"You look quite fetching tonight, Miss Penelope" he says, rolling over whatever her mother may have said instead. "I daresay Lord Bridgerton will be quite taken you."

"Thank you, I do hope so."

"Shall we go?"

He phrases it as a question but there's no time for an answer from the women before he's heading out the door to the waiting carriage, forcing them to scramble to keep up.

It's her first ball with a suitor and the nerves and excitement roil furiously in her stomach, refusing to give her a second of peace as the carriage rumbles along toward the Howard ball. Unfortunately, her mother seems equally disinclined to leave her alone.

"I don't believe I've seen this gown before, Penelope."

"It's new."

"Clearly."

"The modiste just dropped off this morning."

"I was not aware you were commissioning gowns when you were traipsing around Mayfair. Had we not already begun refreshing your wardrobe for the season? I had selected such lovely colors for you already."

"I have been thinking and I believe it is time I embrace a new look, especially now that the Viscount and I are courting. I plan to speak to the modiste tomorrow about any alterations that can be done to existing or previously commissioned gowns and perhaps order a few more as well."

Her mother sputters briefly, more questions on the tip of her tongue. Penelope knows exactly what she wants to know—where she got the funds—but she doesn't seem to want to ask in front of Cousin Jack or Prudence. She will certainly find a time to corner Penelope about it, though she can't be sure if it will be during the ball itself or upon their return.

Cousin Jack looks suspiciously curious as well, especially for a man supposedly possessing a great deal of wealth and profitably ruby mines in the former colonies. He's much less likely to ask, as far as she's been able to tell, but he's still such a new presence she can't be sure.

Luckily the carriage comes to a stop at the Howard estate before either of them decide to press the issue.

Inside the ball is resplendent, as all balls are expected to be. Fresh floral arrangements, all in white, blue and purple, line the room with refreshment tables placed strategically along the outskirts. Debutantes and gentlemen mingle around the room under the watchful eyes of the many mamas of the ton. The band plays beautifully, though not yet for dancing, adding ambience to the room. Penelope and Prudence each tie a dance card to their wrists before they descend into the ballroom, and for the first time Penelope knows there will be at least one name gracing it.

They greet the Howards at the bottom of the stairs, passing on compliments to the lady of the house for the lovely event and the invitation. As soon as she's given her customary curtsey Penelope's eyes are searching the room.

She doesn't have to look far.

Anthony approaches her just beyond their hosts with a look in his eye she's never seen before. He looks almost . . . hungry. Like he wants to devour her and it would be the best experience of her life. Her body is practically singing under his gaze as it sweeps up and down her form before they lock eyes. He presses a lingering kiss to her gloved hand and it zings through her, stealing her breath.

"You are a vision, Penelope."

She barely hears him over the fire in his eyes.

"I was right about you in blue. Striking indeed."

"Thank you, Anthony. You are looking particularly handsome this evening yourself."

"I think I should like to sign your dance card before we venture too far, lest someone decide to steal you away from me."

When she offers her wrist he signs his name first on the waltz, then on the first dance of the evening.

"Two dances, Anthony? What will the mamas think?" She jests.

"Hopefully that I have captured the attention of the gorgeous woman in front of me and am intending to court her quite seriously with all the considerable tools at my disposal."

"That is quite the statement."

"It is only the beginning."

Chapter 5

Notes:

Thank you everyone for your support!

Chapter Text

Anthony

Anthony has never been so eager to get to a ball in his life. He's early, for god's sake, waiting on his mother rather than the other way around. It would be embarrassing if he wasn't quite so determined. He paces the foyer, checking his well-loved pocket watch far too often and fighting the instinct to chase the rest of his family down. It would have the opposite effect anyway.

When he finally catches movement on the staircase he whips toward it to see his mother ushering Eloise down, his brothers still nowhere in sight. He sighs.

"Anthony, I wasn't expecting to find you down here already."

He ignores his mother's skepticism. "Are Colin and Benedict still planning to accompany us?" He asks instead.

"Yes they are, I'm sure they will be ready soon."

He checks his watch again. It's nearly when he had planned to depart. "Let us hope they are feeling timely."

Eloise smirks. "In a hurry, are we, brother?"

"This is the first ball since I began my courtship of Miss Penelope, I simply wish to be there to greet her," He explains impatiently.

"Yes, you have begun a formal courtship rather quickly." The nervous smile on his mother's face is plenty of proof for how she feels about the state of it.

"Mother . . ." It's part warning, part plea.

"You cannot hog her all night, I should still like to speak with my friend."

"I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunity for you to do so."

Eloise narrows her eyes. "I will ensure it."

Before he can respond Benedict and Colin appear at the top of the stairs. He checks the time again.

"Good, you haven't made us late." He snaps the pocket watch closed and strides toward the door as soon as their feet hit the foyer. "The carriages are waiting outside."

He helps his mother and Eloise into one carriage before joining his brothers in the other, only to be met with knowing smirks.

"What?"

"In a hurry this evening, brother? A pretty young lady to get to?"

"Is it that you haven't seen Penelope yet today, or that she has yet to pass judgment after her tea with the Miss Sharmas?" Colin joins Benedict in teasing.

"I merely appreciate punctuality."

Benedict snorts. "Says the man who was so wrapped up in fucking his mistress he nearly missed Daphne's presentation."

Anthony's face heats. "We need not discuss that now."

" I had to cover for you, Ant. You are not known to be punctual, but you are known to be motivated by women."

"Penelope is far from some mistress, she is a gently bred lady and I intend to treat her as such."

"I am certainly glad to hear that," Colin interjects, "but you have yet to answer my question. Why are you anxious to see Pen this evening?"

"Hmm, so it would seem." He pauses, waiting for the agitation to begin on his brother's face before continuing. "It is a bit of both, in truth. I would like to see her simply because she is on my mind, but I cannot deny that I wish to assuage any doubts that may have been introduced."

"I am sure there is no need for you to worry. In fact, perhaps Miss Sharma is indifferent to you now that you are no longer pursuing her sister. You may not have been mentioned at all."

"Indeed, you were one of many men pursuing Miss Edwina. Now you are simply one less. You mean much more to Pen than to the Miss Sharmas." Colin is much gentler than he had been the previous evening, almost certainly owing to whatever Benedict had said when he pulled him from Anthony's study.

"I certainly hope so."

They aren't exactly early to the Howard ball, but they do arrive before the Featheringtons, so Anthony situates himself facing the stairs as close as he dares to the hosts. He wants a clear line of sight without getting drawn into any conversations he can't get out of at a moment's notice. He doesn't have to wait long. No more than five minutes after he takes his post the tell-tale red hair catches his eye.

The Featheringtons.

The new Lord Featherington leads the family beside Lady Featherington followed by Miss Phillipa Featherington escorted by Albion Finch, Miss Prudence Featherington just behind them. When he spots Penelope trailing a few steps behind, he loses his breath. She shimmers as she floats down the stairs like her dress is truly made of water and it's as though he can no longer see anyone else in the room. She's stunning, and for the first time he fully appreciates how much of a disservice her mother's gown selections have been doing her.

He barely holds himself back as the Featheringtons greet their hosts, desire burning through him, and he practically stalks forward as soon as they've finished, eyes never leaving Penelope. He claims two dances on her dance card and he knows it's a statement. Anyone there will know he's courting her, if they didn't already, and that it's already serious. And if Lady Whistledown writes about it in her next issue everyone who isn't there will know too.

He offers her his arm and leads her further into the ballroom.

"I admit, I told Eloise there would be plenty of opportunity for the two of you to converse without me, but I am finding myself quite reluctant to consider leaving your side tonight."

"Oh is that so, my lord?" she jests.

"Of course."

"I'm sure there will be gentlemen looking to speak with you away from other guests."

"And I will endure it if I must, but strive to return to your side as quickly as possible," he says with a smile, partly jesting, "I could not bear it if another man were to gain your favor."

"Anthony . . ."

"I have made my intentions for the season no secret." He knows it comes off intense, but he's increasingly sure each time he sees her that she will be his viscountess. He's tempted to abandon the rest of the courting period entirely and simply declare himself now, but he's determined to be a gentleman and Penelope deserves to be courted and doted on properly, so instead he clears his throat and reaches for a new topic. "How was tea with the Miss Sharmas?"

She seems almost startled by the shift, but she handles it with grace.

"It was quite pleasant. I do not know if I was able to help as much as Miss Kathani would have liked, but they were lovely company. Or I suppose I was company and it was lovely to see them."

He smiles at the sheepish correction.

"You came up only briefly when I mentioned our courtship. Miss Edwina was particularly happy for us, though I believe Lady Danbury and Miss Kathani were as well, in their more subtle ways. I do hope I am invited back."

She is so earnest, her nerves causing her to wring her hands and all he wants to do is take them in his own to sooth her worries. Surrounded by prying eyes as they are, the best he can do is attempt to convey comfort with his own eyes and words.

"I am sure you will be. You are always delightful, and quite witty when your nerves loosen their hold on your tongue."

She blushes. "I am glad you think so."

"I know so." His eyes bore into hers in a bid to communicate just how deeply he means it. How much he wants her, body and mind. How he is already determined to wed her before the end of the season in a ceremony as grand as she deserves or as small as she would like.

The music changes, calling pairs to the floor for the first dance and Anthony offers his hand with a bow. She delicately places her hand in his and he leads them into position. As much as he has avoided dancing, the steps come naturally to him, as they do to Penelope, neither of them missing a beat. He relishes every time he pulls her body close to his own, and risks more than one look at the swell of her bosom—a truly magnificent sight.

At the end of the dance he guides her to the side of the room, stopping along the way to fetch them each a lemonade.

"I confess I am not used to having quite so many eyes on me at these events. In fact, I am used to none at all unless Eloise has me in her sights." she says between sips.

Anthony nods as he looks around, glaring lightly at the people—particularly the men—openly staring at the pair of them.

"There are quite a few more than I am normally subject to as well. Perhaps they are wondering how I had the good fortune to charm such a stunning woman onto my arm."

Penelope snorts. "I suppose Mama has been declaring our courtship to all who will listen."

It's not an agreement, not an acknowledgment of how captivating she is this evening, but he still feels a stab of pride that these people are in all likelihood staring as they know she is to be his.

"The untamable rake and the infamous wallflower. I suppose I can see why they are curious."

Penelope

"Penelope!"

She giggles at his startled face, peering up through her eyelashes over the rim of her lemonade. She thrills in catching him off guard.

"Surely you are aware you have a rather well-established reputation, my lord," she jests. "It has only gotten worse since word spread of your interrogations at the start of the season."

This time he bristles. "There is nothing wrong with seeking to determine if the women I am entertaining are suitable for the role of my viscountess."

It makes her smile. He's not truly offended, she knows, more thrown off kilter by her own frankness, something that she finds endlessly amusing in the face of the exact interrogations she's referring to. "Of course not, most are just rather less direct, as you have been with me."

"That is different, you have not been a stranger in nearly ten years. Whether we had spoken deeply before the past fortnight or not I know your character. I know how well you fit in with my family and how well they adore you. And since I began calling on you, you have never tried to prattle on about your watercolors or agree with my every thought as though you have none of your own."

"I have always been considered rather unusual," she allows, "I have not been known to be good at the typical activities or mannerisms of perfect debutantes. It is part of what has always made me feel at home amongst your family. You Bridgertons have always had so much personality! There is so much life in your home! Even when I have merely taken tea with Eloise in your drawing room, something about your family settles me."

His gaze turns soft and it warms her, too, as they let the ballroom fade away and melt into each other's eyes. It's more than she ever thought she would feel for a potential husband. More than she ever truly felt for Colin. She's not in love yet, she can see now she's never been in love, but Anthony pulls her in with every glance, every gift, every touch. Part of her is admittedly scared—she knows nothing of being a wife, and though she knows pieces of his reputation, more than most other young ladies of the ton, she is still sheltered—but the potential is exhilarating.

"Miss Penelope! There you are!" Edwina's bubbly voice knocks her out of her reverie.

"Edwina, it is good to see you again."

"Miss Sharma." Anthony gives a short bow, looking torn between taking his leave and sticking by Penelope's side.

"My lord." Edwina's answering curtsey is distracted as she grabs for Penelope's hand. "I have the most exciting news!"

"Oh? Have you already narrowed down your gentlemen?"

"No. They are all fine, of course, but nothing has changed with the men in London."

Penelope leans in, intrigued. "With the men in London?"

"Yes!" Edwina squeals. "We were summoned to see the queen this afternoon. Apparently she received word from her nephew in Prussia that he is coming to London for a few weeks if not the rest of the season and she wants to make a formal introduction! Can you imagine, Penelope! A prince!"

"The prince is coming back?" She exchanges a surprised look with Anthony before returning her attention to Edwina. "That is quite exciting."

Edwina glances between them. "What do I not know? Is there some history with the prince? Something bad?"

"No! No, of course not," Penelope reassures her. "It is merely that the prince was here last year. He courted Anthony's sister Daphne briefly, but a love match won out between her and the Duke of Hastings."

"It was an odd season," Anthony allows, "but I can assure you that the prince is a good man, both from speaking with him myself and from what I heard."

"And Anthony would have heard more than most. He was quite like your sister in regard to Daphne last year." She lowers her voice, pretending to whisper to Edwina. "Perhaps worse."

The mischief dances in her eyes, a playful smirk on her face as she glances back up at Anthony and meets his rueful grin. He's well aware of his shortcomings when it came to dealing with Daphne's societal debut.

Edwina giggles as she watches them. "I suppose I can only hope to find someone who suits me as well as you two seem to suit each other. Even if it does not end up being the prince."

Penelope beams back. "You will. And do not forget it is your match. For all that the queen and your sister and even Lady Danbury may give their opinions or put forth their preferences, you are the one who will be making a home with whichever man you choose. Do not let your own thoughts be overshadowed."

"I won't."

"Good. And I want to hear about all of it! I will, admittedly, be quite sad if my newest friend moves to Prussia when we've barely gotten to know each other yet, but I will be excited for you no matter what. I swear."

"I rather think you are the only thing I would miss from London. Well, you and Lady Danbury," Edwina grabs Penelope's hand to squeeze, the closest she can come to a hug in a crowded ballroom. "The tea here is rather horrible."

They continue to chat until Edwina is collected for her next dance with Lord Basilio. Based on her reaction he is a kind but underwhelming prospect, but she lets him lead her out to the floor with a polite smile anyway, leaving Penelope and Anthony once more to their own devices.

Anthony is finally pulled away not long after their waltz by Lord Cho and Mr. Dorset and Penelope is free to linger in the shadows as best she can. She manages to gather enough gossip to flush out her next issue, but even without Anthony by her side she's more visible than she's ever been.

The potential impact on her business is the downside to her courtship she hadn't thought of, but Whistledown was never supposed to be long term. She will inevitably end up telling Anthony if things continue to progress, at the very least before they are wed but she hopes to manage it before he can ask Cousin Jack for her hand. If it's going to cause the dissolution of their courtship she would prefer to minimize the surrounding scandal.

The idea of this ending hurts her heart, a deep ache that clenches in her chest and steals her breath in the worst way. At the beginning it felt inevitable, now it would be torture.

Eloise is inevitably the one to pull her out of her reverie, marching up and latching onto Penelope's arm like she can shield her from potential suitors.

"There you are! Last time I saw you was with Anthony. I thought he would never leave you alone, though I told him I should like to spend time with you as well."

"Yes, I believe he was pulled off to the smoking room by a few of his peers. We have had both of our dances, so I am unsure if he will decide to spend the rest of the evening there or not."

Eloise snorts. "I should think not. He was ready early for the ball! I do not remember him being the first one ready on any other occasion in my life, and I assure you it wasn't so he could smoke with the lords he sees any time he goes to the club."

"Oh!" She doesn't know what to say, not really. Anthony has been very straightforward with her, really, but to hear it from someone else, from Eloise is another thing entirely.

A grin tugs at her lips and Eloise catches it.

"You are pleased, good. I know Anthony is moving quite swiftly, but you are my best friend. If you are to succumb to the shackles of marriage I insist it be for your own happiness. I will not stand for anything less."

" You will not stand for it?" Penelope jests.

Eloise sniffs, faux imperiously. "No. As your best friend we all know I have final say over these things."

Penelope giggles.

"And, of course, he is my brother. I will be delighted both to have you as my sister and to keep him in line if needed. He may be the oldest, but I am certainly the better shot."

"Eloise!"

The giggles continue from their spot half behind one on the larger flower arrangements until Eloise's face turns serious again. Penelope can see the moment Eloise spots her mother by the stiffness that takes over her body and the anxiety once again swimming in her eyes.

"Mama is talking to eligible gentlemen on my behalf again." She shifts over, trying to fit herself fully behind the flowers. "I don't see why it is necessary, being my first season. I should like to stay on the sidelines. I would avoid all of this if I were allowed, except it allows me to spend more time with you now that you have debuted. Truly there is no other advantage. The refreshments are poor, the other ladies are frightfully dull, and I have no interest in any of the gentlemen Mama keeps bringing along."

"The refreshments are not always poor, as long as you do not mind lemonade. And did you not enjoy speaking with Kate Sharma at the soiree the other evening? I had thought you got along quite well."

"Yes," Eloise allows, "we did. Kate, however, is focused purely on her sister's season and potential matches. I should not want to interrupt and draw her ire."

Penelope nods. From her new vantage point she can see Kate, arms folded across her lovely purple gown, distractedly conversing with Lady Danbury. Both women have their eyes trained on Edwina on the dance floor where she twirls and sparkles, her smile a bit more real with each spin.

"She is quite focused."

Eloise pops out from behind the flowers to look as well, but the timing is just wrong. Lords Fife and Morrison spot them, spot Eloise and the lack of Anthony, and the two men are suddenly beelining across the room toward their hiding place. They move fast, taking advantage of Eloise's distraction and it's too late to duck out of the way by the time she's paying attention.

"Good evening, ladies."

Lord Morrison holds out a hand toward Eloise and her nose wrinkles like he was proposing an elopement rather than asking to kiss her hand or sign her dance card.

"What?"

"May I sign your dance card? I would like to claim your next dance."

Eloise looks to Penelope, horrified, but Penelope just nods. It's all she can do. Refusing is not allowed, not really. Eloise reluctantly lifts her hand to offer the card, allowing Lord Morrison to sign for the next dance. He nods and Lord Fife steps forward. Penelope and Eloise are both expecting him to follow the other man's lead, but instead he turns to Penelope.

"Miss Featherington, may I?"

Dumbfounded, she offers her own card forward. Lord Fife is . . . fine. He's entirely unserious about finding a wife, which she now finds remarkably reassuring, though she is also aware he has a rakish reputation among the men of the ton and a shallow one among the women. But really, there's only one thought running through her head as Lord Fife claims her next dance before walking away.

Anthony is not going to be pleased.

Chapter 6

Notes:

Thank you for reading!

Chapter Text

Anthony

For once in his life Anthony doesn't want to be away from the main ballroom, so naturally he's been unable to leave the smoking room for the past hour. Thomas Dorset is a friend from Oxford, one he had gone so far as to ask to distract the elder Miss Sharma during his brief attempt to court the younger. Once his attention had turned to Penelope, however, he had abandoned that plan and he had not even been sure if Dorset was at the races at all until he had apologized for not showing up.

Dorset had taken up his first half-hour, followed by a few acquaintances pulling him into discussions of parliament. It seems every time he tries to excuse himself he's pinned back down, frustration mounting every time he fails. How often he's checking his pocket watch is bordering on rude, or perhaps it outright is, but he doesn't care. Half of the men in the room are too deep in their cups to notice anyway, and the whiskey around the table he's seated at promises at least a few more to be soon.

He'd seen the way men were looking at Penelope all evening, and that was when he was by her side. Now he has to hope Eloise or Colin or, god, even the elder Miss Sharma are keeping them away from her.

"Anthony! Here you are!" Benedict's jovial voice grabs his attention easily, distracted as he is. "I see you left your lady unaccompanied."

"Yes. Hello. Has something happened? Am I needed?" He's eager to leave, already standing up from the table.

"Not precisely, no. However . . . Well, as you know Miss Featherington is attracting more attention than usual tonight. The wolves are circling, Brother. I believe Fife just escorted her to the dance floor."

"What."

He's halfway to the door when Benedict grabs him, stopping him in his tracks.

"Calm down. What exactly do you think storming out there will accomplish? You cannot interrupt the dance."

"Perhaps not without reason, but I can keep an eye on Fife. If he makes one wrong move I am most certainly within my rights to put a stop to it." Anthony protests, trying to wrench his arm out of Benedict's hold. He doesn't want anyone else's hands on Penelope, but especially not a man like Fife—one with little regard for women, even those of gentle breeding. The idea makes him itch, an unscratchable feeling under his skin, and he keeps moving forward, trying even hard to escape his brother's grasp.

"Debatable." Benedict deadpans just as Anthony breaks free. "You are neither her father nor her husband."

"I have every intention of being her husband."

"And yet you still must allow other suitors their chance."

"Must I?"

Anthony makes it out to the ballroom, Benedict still hot on his heels, and stops short as soon as his eyes fall on the one dancer he cares about. Penelope is dancing with Fife, making Anthony's blood boil. Fife is keeping his hands perfectly proper, but whatever he's saying has her polite society smile slipping, replaced by a rather fearsome glare.

It's only his brother's words as his hand once more clamps down on Anthony's arm that keep him from cutting in.

"Do not embarrass her. Cutting in will cause far more of a scene than your dances, and I rather think she'd like to avoid that sort of spectacle."

Penelope

The first thing Penelope notices is that Lord Fife is not nearly as skilled a dancer as Anthony. Or any of the Bridgerton brothers, really. He is technically proficient but far less comfortable on the floor, forcing her to adapt. She's practically leading the dance from the position of the follower, all while allowing him to believe he is the one in charge. A polite but distant smile stays painted on her face as they go, neither one acknowledging the awkward silence. For her part it's quite intentional. She will not be forced to lead the conversation as well.

Every time his eyes dip to her bosom her skin crawls, and it's happening often enough she may as well be covered in spiders.

"Miss Featherington. Forgive me for not saying so earlier, but this gown is quite becoming on you."

"Thank you, my lord."

"I was rather . . . surprised to hear of your courtship. No offense meant to you, of course. I, like many others, am simply aware of how Anthony Bridgerton's tastes tend to run."

"I should expect tastes should change when one decides to look for a wife, my lord."

"Perhaps. Siena Rosso was, of course, not the type of woman one marries."

"Who exactly is it you seek to insult? It seems that you do not intend to leave any party unscathed and I cannot believe you would seek to win my favor with such accusations, my lord. So what, then, is your purpose?"

"I do not seek to insult, Miss Featherington, rather I am contemplating the situation. I was not aware of your . . . assets before your courtship began. I simply wonder if Lord Bridgerton was. "

At the insult—for no matter what Lord Fife may claim it is most certainly an insult to not only her appearance but her honor—Penelope can no longer hold her society smile in place. Instead fury rages like fire through her veins as a glare overtakes her face.

"I do not care for your implication, Lord Fife. And as we both know you have no intentions toward me, my courtship is none of your concern. If that is all you wish to discuss I would prefer we continue in silence until we may leave the floor."

"It is bold of you to simply declare I have no intentions toward you. Is that not the purpose of seeking a dance? To show one's interest?"

"And yet were you to call on me tomorrow and find me in a yellow dress of my mother's preferred style your eyes would pass me over and you would think of an excuse to leave before you even sat down."

He doesn't look the least bit ashamed. "Is it not the purpose of gowns such as this to draw the eyes of men? To be seen as a woman rather than a girl playacting the role of debutante?"

Her glare intensifies. He is not wrong , exactly. The dress is meant to attract the eyes of a man—Anthony. But beyond that it is the first of her gowns in which her mother had no input and it makes her feel beautiful. It is for herself.

She would not let a man like Bertram Fife ruin it for her.

Anthony

He can't relax as he watches them dance. He's wound tight as a spring, ready to pounce.

At first it's the sight of Fife near her, one of her dainty hands in his. He swears he sees Fife's eyes dipping to her chest, taking advantage of their positions.

Then it's the glare that can't seem to leave her face.

She's not happy, clearly, and all he wants to do is storm over, spectacle be damned, and sweep her into his arms. He wants to wipe the glare from her face and see it replaced, not by the society smile but by a true one like she wore with him in both of their earlier dances. He wants to replace the feel of Fife with his own fingers against her waist and anywhere else she might feel the ghost of Fife's touch. He wants to replace any bit of Fife's scent that may linger in her mind with his cologne, just as he wants to replace the cigar smoke clinging in his nostrils with her.

Part of him feels like a child, under guard as he is, but he can't bring himself to care. With the number of times he's nearly given into impulse his brother certainly isn't wrong to guard him.

"Good God, is this dance nearly over?"

Benedict snorts beside him. They've both danced this dance countless times, though it's never felt like it has taken quite so long before, even when Eloise was trodding on his toes.

He shoots a half-hearted glare at his brother before turning back to the dance floor, watching Penelope and Fife finish the dance in silence. The smile only returns to her face when the dance ends and she snubs Fife's arm. It calms some of his own anger.

Penelope must have spotted them at some point as she immediately starts in their direction. Anthony meets her half way as soon as Benedict releases him. He cannot sweep her into an embrace as he wants, so he does his best to restrain himself and offers her an arm to pull her as close as he can.

With her on his arm, everything cools to guilt. "I am sorry. I should have been here. Fife would not have dared approach you if I was at your side."

" Anthony ," she sighs, "you cannot be by my side every moment, nor do I expect you to be. I am capable of handling myself."

"And you appeared to handle Fife admirably. I wish, however, that he had not had the opportunity to ruin your evening. It is our first ball courting, your first in a gown void of your mother's influence, and I had promised to spend as much time at your side as possible."

"We both knew that would not be the entire ball." She stops, turning to face him more directly, blue eyes as deep as the ocean boring into his. "He did not ruin my night, Anthony, and I refuse to allow him the space to ruin yours. He is but a small stain on what has already been one of the most remarkable nights of my life."

It's a testament to his restraint that he does not kiss her.

He's not in love yet, but god if he doesn't inch closer every time she's near. It's thrilling and terrifying in equal measures.

Chapter 7

Notes:

As always, thank you all for your support!

Chapter Text

Penelope

She only waits until after Anthony's visit the day after the Howard ball to go back to the modiste. Her mother's curious eyes follow her a bit closer than she would like as she heads out the door with Rose, but it can't be helped.

She doesn't want to heed Lord Fife's words, but there's part of her that thinks he's right. She wants to be seen as a serious prospect for Anthony, not a strange aberration among the other ladies of the ton. She wants to feel like herself, too, instead of like she's lost in a sea of citrus. She wants to feel beautiful.

Genevieve is in the back when she arrives at the shop, so she busies herself browsing through the bolts of fabric arranged throughout the room. She's drawn to cooler tones, admittedly in part to contrast with her mother's choices, but she also knows they work better with her complexion.

She's contemplating a lavender muslin when the Sharma sisters walk in. She waves to draw their attention and as soon as they spot her Edwina makes a beeline in her direction, Kate following at a more sedate pace.

"Oh, that is a lovely color," Edwina says, admiring the fabric. "You said you grow weary of yellow, planning to refresh things then?"

"At least for some of my wardrobe, though eventually I hope to only have dresses I have picked myself. Or, I suppose, just ones that are to my own taste."

"A worthwhile goal, I should think."

"I am sure when you are running your own household everything will be quite tasteful indeed," Kate adds with a soft smile, the kind she usually reserves for Edwina.

Penelope blushes. "Thank you, that's very kind of you to say."

"It is simply the truth. Perhaps if I have not left for India yet when you are returned from your honeymoon you will show me how things are coming along."

"Yes, of course! You will both be welcome to visit. Are you excited to return to India? I did not realize you would be planning to return so soon."

"Returning to India has always been the plan." It's not an answer, though the lack of one feels like a strong enough one in itself.

Once again Edwina is resigned at her sister's comment. Penelope furrows her brow, looking back and forth between the two. She opens her mouth to press just a tiny bit further, but Edwina cuts her off before she can speak.

"You must come have tea with us again!"

It comes out fast and a touch loud for the small space. Beside her Kate gives a fond sigh and nods her head.

"Yes, we would both very much like it if you would join us for tea later this week."

"That sounds lovely."

Genevieve emerges from the back with one of her shop assistants and another new debutante as they're working out the details. The debutante and her mama are out the door quickly, prompting Kate and Edwina to return to their original goal of purchasing some new ribbons and gloves. Before they know it just Genevieve and Penelope remain in the shop.

"Back so soon, chérie?"

"Yes. The new gown was most certainly noticed. By Mama and the ton."

"And your gentleman?"

"He was . . . pleased."

"Just pleased?" Genevieve pushes. "Or was there something else in his eye when he looked at you?"

"He looked ravenous, " She admits as the heat of a blush spreads across her cheeks. "He claimed two dances and was quite attentive. Unfortunately, when he had to step out another man claimed one of my dances. That part of the evening I did not enjoy nearly so much."

"Did this man have wandering hands?" Genevieve already looks ready to fight him on her behalf.

"No, and I am certain Anthony would have cut in if he had, no matter what the rest of the ton would have thought."

"Good. I am glad he has sense."

"Perhaps sense is not the right word. He apologized for not being there to prevent Lord Fife from claiming the dance at all."

Genevieve clicks her tongue. "I would say that is quite good sense, indeed. Now. Back to why you are here. The gown was a success, non? "

Penelope nods. "Yes, and since I was not able to slip it past my mama as I had hoped, I may as well commission more."

"Are you thinking to get a whole new wardrobe?"

"Not quite. I have a few dresses I do not mind, and a few more that I believe can be remade to be more flattering. Of course that will still leave the largest selection to be replaced. Would it be too much to ask for two more this week?"

A delighted grin spreads across Genevieve's face as she tugs Penelope toward the back room. "You are in luck, chérie!"

She leaves Penelope sitting on a velvet settee, ducking into the workroom. When she emerges there are two gowns draped over her arms. A day dress and an evening gown, just like her last order.

"I began working on these with your others. I had hoped you would be wanting more soon! If you are able I can do the final fitting today. Since I had the last two for reference I should think there will not be many alterations to complete." She lays them on the table, allowing Penelope to take a closer look.

"Oh Gen . . ." Penelope breathes out.

Both dresses are shades of purple this time, ones she had contemplated before settling on the previous dresses. There's a remarkable beaded overlay on the skirt and sleeves of the evening gown, embellishment on the top just waiting until after the fitting. The day dress is simpler, with lines of dark purple petals embroidered under the bust and along the neckline. These dresses, much like the last two, feel like they are for a woman rather than a girl.

The fitting goes smoothly, as predicted, followed by the two women spending over an hour looking through fabrics and trims for Penelope's new wardrobe. It is, perhaps, heavier on the blues than any other color, Anthony's hungry eyes lingering in her mind.

Her mother corners her as soon as she gets back.

"I hope you are not taking advantage of the new Lord Featherington's generosity, Penelope."

Her mother has her hands on her hips and she stands just inside the drawing room like she's been waiting for Penelope's return. More likely Mrs. Varley had told her the moment Penelope arrived home. Remarkably, neither of her sisters are present, though she can't be sure it's not by design. Cousin Jack's absence certainly is.

"Of course not, Mama."

"Then how, exactly, are you paying for this new wardrobe you seem to have commissioned."

"Mama . . ." she sighs, walking over to the settee.

When she takes a seat her mother sits down beside her. She looks far more worried than Penelope had anticipated. Greed, agitation, even anger were what she thought she would be facing. Not worry. Though after the past year she shouldn't be so surprised.

"It is nothing nefarious. I promise." She sighs. There's a strange instinct to take her mother's hand, but she resists, fiddling with her own in her lap. "When we were at the races I recommended a horse to Lord Bridgerton for his bet. It is why we began speaking. At first I believe he decided to place the bet merely to humor me, but the horse won. He gave me a portion of the winnings in thanks and I thought that to be the end of it until he called. It seems fitting, does it not, to use that sum for this purpose?"

Her mother sighs. "At least your father passed on something of use to one of you. Though really, if you are adept at picking horses we should have been taking advantage from the moment we set foot back in London. Perhaps we could have eaten fewer potatoes."

Penelope lets out a startled chuckle. "Picking the horse does no good if you haven't the money to lose, Mama. Living off potatoes hardly points to excess funds."

"I suppose not." She pauses, looking over Penelope in her pale yellow day dress. "Are you sure about the color switch, darling? You look quite fetching in yellow."

"Quite sure."

Anthony

The wedding of Phillipa Featherington and Albion Finch is small. So small, in fact, that the Bridgertons—the only guests outside the two families—are only invited once Anthony's courtship is official. It takes place in the Featherington drawing room and while the newly married pair look besotted, Anthony can't help but notice the lack of excitement from the elder Finches, and the lack of the new Lord Featherington entirely.

It's beyond odd for the lord of a family to be missing from a wedding, particularly one taking place in his own home. But then, the late Lord Featherington had never taken particular interest in his family either. Perhaps the new lord is more similar to his predecessor than Anthony had thought.

Penelope stands beside him in a dress far more simple than anyone else in her family, though her and Prudence Featherington are in the same shades of yellow and orange. It's impossible to tell if it's at the wish of the bride or Lady Featherington.

One hand cradles a champagne coup, but the other itches to reach out to Penelope. It's not their wedding, and likely nothing like their wedding will be, but he finds himself oddly sentimental anyway. He longs to kiss Penelope at all, even more so proudly before witnesses to claim her as his viscountess. Instead he smiles down at her before holding his hand out to Albion Finch.

"Congratulations, Finch!"

"Thank you! Thank you. As much as I have been anticipating this day, I find I am even more anticipating the days to come."

Anthony can't contain a smirk. "Yes, of course. A marriage, after all, is more than simply a wedding. Are you to take leave for your honeymoon this evening?"

His mother glares at him in warning, but he just takes a sip of his champagne.

"We are! Two weeks in the country. I do look forward to the fresh air, I'm sure it will be quite relaxing."

"Most certainly. I anticipate you will return in high spirits indeed."

With a nod and a smile, Finch turns his attention back to his bride.

His mother darts across the space, her society smile on her face as she congratulates the couple before leaning toward Anthony.

"Please keep your conversations appropriate , darling," she whispers. "Your . . . gentlemen's conversation can happen away from the rest of us."

"Our conversation was perfectly appropriate."

" Anthony ."

He winces. "Yes. Of course. I will behave."

He catches Penelope hiding a giggle behind her own champagne coup as his mother breezes away again and he smiles back, despite the reddening of his ears. He's a grown man, a viscount , being scolded by his mother like a boy. At least her laughter keeps him in good spirits.

"Yes, amusing, I'm sure," he murmurs.

"Quite. I do not believe I've seen Lady Bridgerton scold you before."

He raises an eyebrow and his glass in acknowledgment.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lady Featherington duck out of the room. Members of the Featherington household staff stand along the back wall, practically blending in with the chartreuse green wallpaper while the housekeeper takes her turn congratulating the newlyweds. On the other side of the room Eloise and Prudence look equally miserable to be there while Colin snags more biscuits from the refreshments table.

"I think our sisters may be bonding, however reluctantly it may be."

She giggles again. "A feat, is it not, for the two of them to bond so quietly?"

"It is out of character for Eloise indeed. Though with her disdain toward the marriage mart, I am unsurprised she carries the same feelings toward wedding ceremonies." He takes a sip of his champagne and clears his throat. "Admittedly it does make me wonder as to your thoughts."

"As I would think our courtship shows my thoughts on the marriage mart, I presume you refer to those on wedding ceremonies." She pokes fun at him, smirk playing at her lips before her expression morphs into a bashful smile. "Though I am unused to the eyes of the ton, or I have been for the past season, I do not believe I would mind them if I am marrying you."

He beams and there's no hiding it. Not from her nor anyone who may look their way.

He can picture her dressed in white, a dress cut to show her beauty like the blue ball gown from only a few days before, can picture his mother's ring gracing her delicate fingers, can imagine the feel of her lips against his own. It's like his vision narrows and he forgets everyone else in the room, and he's not sure if, in front of the ton and God, he will be able to keep a kiss as chaste as he should.

"While I may be used to the eyes of the ton on myself and the entire Bridgerton family, that does not mean I have always enjoyed them. In fact, more often than not I have wished they were less intent. I know we are still courting, but marrying you would be one of the best moments of my life. I would be proud to share it, to show you off on my arm for all of them to see."

When she beams back everything seems to settle into place.

Chapter 8

Notes:

As always, thank you for the support!

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

Chapter Text

Penelope

She dreams of Anthony's eyes.

They're a beautiful, rich dark brown and his gaze is full of warmth. She can almost imagine it's full of love. The warmth intensifies into burning hunger, more intense even than what she saw at the Howard ball, and her body is on fire. It licks through her veins and aches and even though he's causing it she knows he's the only cure. His eyes become a balm to her soul as she drifts, wrapping her in comfort and reassurance.

When she wakes up the dreams are long forgotten, except for his eyes.

They are unforgettable.

Anthony

There is part of him that still can't help but find visiting Hasting House odd. He had always known Daphne was well suited to be a wife and mother, and of course for the sake of the family she had needed to marry well, but Simon? Simon had sworn off marriage until his wedding and fatherhood even longer. Now, with a wife and an infant, he's never seen the man so happy.

It's amazing how things work out.

Since he's expected he's shown into the drawing room where Daphne and Simon are already waiting for him with a full tea service prepared. Even knowing he was on his way the two are snuggled up together on a blue striped settee. They whisper quiet words between them, eyes loving and hands clasped together.

He clears his throat.

"Brother!" Daphne springs up to hug him, still excitable as any other Bridgerton despite her new name and venture into motherhood.

The hug is quickly followed by a swat to the head.

"Hey!"

"I cannot believe you told my husband about your courtship before me! Luckily Mama had told me of your interest before it appeared in Whistledown and yet nothing from you until this very day."

She reaches out to swat his arm too, but he ducks out of the way.

"Well, I am here now, so you may pester me with questions as soon as I have my tea."

He nods at Simon who hasn't moved, just watching the two of them with clear amusement.

"Simon, good to see you."

"You as well."

Daphne huffs but lets him sit in one of the matching armchairs across from the settee. In response he prepares his tea purposefully slow, watching the irritation build on her face until he can't drag it out anymore and finally leans back in the seat.

"Ask away."

"How did this happen? Mama mentioned the races, that something pulled your attention from the season's diamond to Penelope." Daphne's gaze is intent as she perches on the edge of the settee instead of resuming her previous position against her husband.

"Yes. She . . . she told me I was wrong."

Simon raises an eyebrow at that. "Bold. I would not have thought she had it in her. She seemed to be quite the wallflower last season."

Right. He hadn't told him the full story either, had he?

"She certainly defied any of my expectations. It began when Miss Edwina asked which horse I had chosen. I had picked the front runner and when I told her, her elder sister scoffed, called me an idiot, and began to extoll the virtues of a different horse leading to a . . . disagreement of sorts."

Daphne rolls her eyes. A Bridgerton in a disagreement, when not handled carefully, can easily lead to disaster. The events of the previous season come to mind but he wills them away.

"Penelope interrupted to say we were both wrong then immediately apologized. It startled me out of the disagreement and I was curious. Put together I don't believe I had ever heard as many words from her as I did when she explained her pick. I placed a bet for her and we spoke without the usual trappings of a debutante. And when her horse won, she smiled and it took away any sting from my own loss. I simply wanted her to keep smiling."

"That's quite the statement." Simon sounds almost cautious.

Fitting, really, given Anthony's previous proclamations on the subject. He had been so determined that love would have no place in his quest for a wife.

But Penelope is feisty and challenging yet demure and polite. Witty, intelligent, capable of getting along with everyone in his family. She exceeds every expectation he had set at the beginning of the season. She's breaking down the walls he guards himself with so carefully, without even trying.

"She's everything I was looking for in a viscountess, and more besides."

"Are you in love?" Daphne asks.

He sighs. "I suspect I do not truly know what it feels like to be in love."

It's not really an answer, but is that not answer enough?

Calling on Penelope after his discussion with Daphne and Simon brings a new form of trepidation. Is he in love? Would he even know if he was? He suspects he is close, and it terrifies him. He has seen loss after love. The soul-consuming grief his mother wallowed in after his father's death.

There's a reason he is more parent than brother to Hyacinth and Gregory, after all.

And yet remembering his parents when all was well—even seeing Daphne and Simon in those small, sweet moments he is occasionally witness to and the partnership they have been able to forge in their marriage—makes him crave that love for himself. Is it not true that in spite of her loss his mother seeks a love match for all of her children? Even with the sadness she carries with her, knowing all the risks of such a connection, she wants them to experience the best of it.

He ponders it on the short walk across the square to Featherington House, though when he is led into the drawing room he does his best to put it out of his mind. It will not do, of course, to be anything but present with Penelope.

She's sitting in the same spot as usual, though the room is one sister down, wearing a lovely sage-green dress he hasn't seen before. It's an unusually sunny day and the light through the window glints off her hair like liquid gold. Copper. Fire. For a moment it takes his breath away.

"Penelope."

"Anthony, it is good to see you."

She holds out her hand to him, and as usual he lifts it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles and relishing in the warmth.

"You are beautiful, as always."

"Thank you." She blushes.

He hands her his gift, a leatherbound journal wrapped in a blue ribbon and while Lady Featherington doesn't seem to approve, Penelope lights up, reverently stroking the cover with a soft smile on her lips.

They make casual conversation until Lady Featherington seems to bore of them, meandering further away and giving them a small semblance of privacy.

"While I adore talking to you always, there was a more specific reason I called on you today," He murmurs.

He can see her shiver as the tone becomes more intimate.

"Oh?"

"As you know, my family is hosting the ton at Aubrey Hall in two weeks time. I wanted to ask you if you would be willing to join us a week early. Perhaps it will be an opportunity for me to take you riding. And of course there will be at least one game of pall-mall, though in truth you may rather avoid that."

"I should like that very much. Of course you will have to ask my mama, and I suppose Cousin Jack."

He nods in conceit. "I wanted to speak with you first, ensure you should like to come before bringing the matter to the rest of your family."

She reaches for him, hand coming off the settee and lingering in the air before she carefully rests it on his arm, a silent show of appreciation.

"And you must know, I have seen your family play pall-mall before." She laughs. "And I have heard tales of the more intense matches you have played. Rest assured I will participate, even if I do not seek to win."

With a smile he once again lifts her hand to his lips.

"I have yet to see how motherhood has affected Daphne's strategy, she has always been the ruthless sort. Though, she has always liked you. Perhaps she will go easy on you."

Her giggles follow him as he stands.

"I suppose I shall speak with your mother and your cousin, then, to make the plans for your visit."

He places a parting kiss upon her hand before reluctantly letting her reclaim it, instead turning toward her mother and cousin.

"Lady Featherington, Lord Featherington, I would like to extend an invitation to Penelope and the rest of your family to join us at Aubrey Hall the week before the rest of the ton, if you would be amenable."

The shock on Lady Featherington's face is both irksome and gratifying.

"Of . . . of course, my lord. We would be delighted."

"Excellent. I will ensure rooms are prepared and ready when you arrive. Now, unfortunately I must be off." He dips into a short bow and turns back toward Penelope, resisting the urge to grab her hand once more. "Until tomorrow."

Penelope

"Eloise! Where are we going?"

Eloise pulls her down the hallway with a sure grip of her hand and a determined stride, forcing Penelope nearly into a jog to keep up. They aren't headed to the drawing room but rather in the opposite direction down a hallway that, while still grand and tastefully decorated, is clearly not meant for the same number of eyes.

"Well I cannot take you to the drawing room, Anthony would steal you from me immediately, or even Colin!" She huffs.

They finally slow down, and Eloise pulls her into what appears to be a little-used study. Bookshelves full of old school books line the wall behind the desk while more academic texts, rolled up maps, and scientific-looking apparatuses fill shelves around the room. It's not a room she remembers being in before.

Eloise eases the door shut. "Now we should have some privacy."

"What is so urgent?"

"Whistledown! I believe she has revealed herself!"

Penelope freezes and suddenly it's as though the air has been sucked out of the room. It doesn't make any sense. She's been exceedingly careful. At least, she'd thought she had been.

"What?"

"I did not want to say anything, I know you think it foolish, but the pamphlets!" She grabs three sheets from the top of the desk, waving them in Penelope's face excitedly. The two most recent issues of Whistledown and a pamphlet on dog grooming she had grabbed at the races. "With the most recent issue I am certain they are from the same printer."

"Eloise . . ." A creeping sense of dread overtakes her, locking her limbs in place.

"I was already fairly sure, of course, so I paid a visit to the print shop."

"You did what? Did you speak to anyone?" She takes the last few steps to the chair in front of the desk and lets her legs collapse under her, falling heavily into the seat.

This is not good.

In fact it's very very bad.

"Just the printer's apprentice. He was entirely unhelpful, but I'm sure I can get him to tell me something, even if he does not know her identity."

"This is madness! You cannot mean to go back there!"

"Don't you see, Penelope—I am so close! I cannot stop now!" Her eyes burn with determination.

Penelope has seen the same spark before, many times over the years of their friendship. It says that Eloise has her mind set and nothing will deter her from her goal. It's the Bridgerton stubbornness. Known to overtake all of the siblings from time to time, and when paired with their competitive streak nearly unstoppable.

"You are putting yourself in danger just going to Bloomsbury, but to be seen going to the print shops?"

"I am sure no one saw me, I was quite careful. And I had John with me."

"You brought your footman? Do not tell me you took a Bridgerton carriage."

If she thought it couldn't get worse she's proven wrong when Eloise nods.

"How else was I to get there?"

"Eloise," she moans into her hands, "each time you speak it gets worse. Do you not understand what you risk?"

"It is not as though I ventured out at night, and with John I was perfectly safe. I suppose there may have been some risk to my reputation, but I do not care for that anyway. Truly I would welcome something that would prevent the so called eligible lords from asking to dance."

"There are still risks beyond your reputation! There is the reputation of the entire Bridgerton family at risk. Can you imagine what the queen would do if she were to suspect you of being Whistledown? Not to mention the harm that could befall every person working in that print shop if it were to come under scrutiny. You are putting all of them at risk. You are putting me at risk!"

"How am I possibly putting you at risk?" Eloise scoffs. "I am certainly not a deciding factor in your courtship."

Penelope surges to her feet. "Because I am Lady Whistdown!"

She's panting, hands clenched in fists at her side, adrenaline surging through her body and heartbeat pounding in her ears. Eloise stands in front of her, silent, lips parted in shock. This is decidedly not how she had intended to tell her.

Telling Eloise was something she had been coming to terms with—she couldn't tell Anthony and not her best friend, after all—but she hadn't come up with a plan yet, nor a way to soften the blow of keeping such a secret while her friend routinely confided in her about her quest to uncover the identity of the infamous author.

"This whole time?" Eloise's voice comes out hushed and a bit broken, like all the fight has been sucked out of her.

Penelope just nods.

"Does my brother know?"

"I had to tell you first."

"I suppose that is some comfort." She circles the desk and collapses into the chair on the other side, slouched down as she was wont to do.

Penelope cautiously resumes her seat as well.

"Why? How? How did it start? Why didn't you tell me?"

She sighs. "I suppose I should start at the beginning."

And so she brings Eloise back to weeks leading up to her debut, when her family, as many do, had arrived a month in advance for final preparations. The difference was they would be debuting all three daughters. Penelope, as she always had been, was brushed aside in favor of her sisters even as she was dragged along. With a few misplaced papers and the subsequent help of her father's solicitor, Lady Whistledown was born on the eve of her debut.

"Of course I thought about telling you, but you had already built Lady Whistledown up to be this great woman, a widow taking on the world, living her own life. To find it was just me? Little Penelope Featherington with even fewer opportunities in life than yourself? I did not think I could face your disappointment."

"Pen . . ."

Eloise reaches out across the desk and wiggles her fingers until Penelope brings her own hands up so she can grab them.

"Penelope Featherington, you are my best friend. The only person outside my family who sees who I am and the only person including my family who truly listens to me. This is . . . a shock and I will most certainly have more questions, but I will not forsake you."

Eloise squeezes her hands and she squeezes back. Tears prickle at her eyes as relief sweeps through her.

"Thank you."

Notes:

I didn't include the "k"s both because it was not fully necessary and because a printer would have far more than one "k" in order to set the pages for printing.

Chapter 9

Notes:

As always, thank you for the support!

Writers block and ADHD were a bitch trying to get this chapter out, but here it is!

Also, TW for dealing with grief over Edmund Bridgerton in this chapter.

Chapter Text

Anthony

He only manages to see Penelope twice more before the family packs up and heads to Aubrey Hall. Daphne, Simon, and little Auggie will be one day behind them and the Featherington's one day after that. Then he will have a whole week of fairly concentrated time with Penelope.

Time in which he will, barring unforeseen circumstances, be moving toward a proposal before the rest of the ton arrives.

Despite intending them to be his in-laws, he's aiming to spend as little time as possible with the remaining Featheringtons. The only exception being a scheduled afternoon of shooting halfway through the week during which he plans to officially ask the new Lord Featherington for Penelope's hand in marriage. For as little time as he has been in Mayfair, Jack Featherington has already become notorious for his passion for shooting. Even more so to Anthony, who walks past the ghastly gun display every time he calls on Penelope.

The carriages have barely left when a smirk grows across Benedict's face.

"Should we be anticipating the need for a special license by the end of the week?"

"It would be fitting, after everything that happened with Daphne last season, for you to require one as well, would it not?" Colin adds.

Anthony shoots a warning glare at the two and a pointed look toward Gregory. The youngest Bridgertons did of course know Daphne was married by special license, but he preferred to let them think it was a romantic notion rather than a necessary one.

"If you are wondering whether I intend to make our attachment formal this week, the answer is yes, I intend to propose. Assuming she accepts I intend to procure a Bishop's license, unless Penelope requests otherwise. Mother will have plenty of time to arrange the wedding breakfast I am sure she desires."

"Yes," Colin says, "I am sure Lady Featherington will also be quite eager for a wedding breakfast to show off her daughter's good fortune."

Anthony grimaces. "I will need to speak to mother about keeping a firm grip on things. Penelope and her mother have . . . radically different tastes. I should hate for her to be displeased with her own celebration."

"I am sure Mother will be thrilled to hear it." Benedict laughs.

They all know their mother only tolerates Lady Featherington, particularly after Colin's own bungled engagement.

"She must have known this would be coming."

"Must she have? She thought you rather flighty at the start of the season. Perhaps she did not think you would end up taking a wife at all," Colin says.

Anthony huffs. "Be that as it may, Mother has always liked Penelope, whether she thought she would make a good match for me or not. She will work with Lady Featherington if only for that reason."

"I think she is an excellent match for you, brother."

"Thank you, Gregory."

"Perhaps she shall even convince you to allow Hyacinth and me to join the pall-mall game!"

"Absolutely not."

The ride goes back and forth on which brother's are ganging up to vex another, though Anthony ends up the target far more than he would like. It doesn't get as racy as it would were Gregory not present and for that he is endlessly thankful. He does not need his brothers teasing him any more than they already are about his desire for a quick wedding. It is not as fast as a special license, of course, but a one-week wait is significantly better than the three weeks that would be required should they wait for the reading of the banns.

God help him, but with any luck he is less than a month away from being wed.

By the time they arrive the only thing he can truly focus on is the collection of family jewels safely stored away upstairs. Whenever it was quiet, as rare as that may have been on the hours-long journey, his mind drifted to rings. He had always planned to use his mother's engagement ring, had asked for it at the beginning of the season in fact. It is a tie to his father, something tangible, almost like a sign of acceptance for his future bride. When he hadn't known who that would be, it was nearly the only thing that would have served as that connection.

Penelope, though. Penelope had met the Viscount Edmund Bridgerton. She had known the family for only a year before his passing, but it was long enough that she had endeared herself. She was almost certainly the only young lady he may have married who would have met him.

It eases something in him. Eases the urge for that particular ring and instead leaves him contemplating the others in the family collection.

He would still like to keep the connection to his father, but there are more that had been gifted from his father to his mother, not that he knows each one by heart. Perhaps his mother will accompany him, point them out, lend her opinion. He wants to select one that is a perfect fit for Penelope's tastes and their ever-deepening connection. She should certainly be able to help.

He can't help but rush over to the women's carriage as soon as they all come to a stop, helping first his sisters then his mother out.

"Mother, I should like your opinion. Or your assistance, I suppose." He lowers his voice. "I plan to look at the family rings."

"Of course, dear, though perhaps we should all refresh ourselves first."

"I suppose that is wise," he concedes. "Shall I meet you in the study in a half-hour?"

"Yes, that will do."

He watches as the band of siblings race up the stairs, giddy to be back at Aubrey Hall, with not even Benedict and Colin trying to slow their steps, though none match the speed of Hyacinth. Anthony trails behind, basking in the joy and the bittersweet tang that always finds him here.

Penelope

After the invitation her mother is once again a nightmare.

A proposal is almost certainly impending—something Penelope is even more aware of than her mother based on her conversation with Anthony at Phillipa's wedding—and her mother has taken that to mean everything must be perfect.

She's dragged to the modiste so her mother can loudly insist on a rush order and then attempt to get Penelope back into citrus colors. She has to be quite firm when she refuses, and it clearly takes everything her mother has left not to insist on beginning Penelope's trousseau.

Her mother also goes back to harping on everything she eats, how much she's reading, what she's reading, and generally watching her like a hawk. The attention suffocating in a way she's still not used to, having spent so long as a wallflower even with her own family.

Of course, there's another issue an impending proposal throws into sharp relief.

Whistledown.

She's racing against time now to tell Anthony of her identity as the notorious gossip writer before ties become deep enough he may feel trapped. The last thing she wants is to end up married to a man who resents her. She's hedging her bets on Anthony not speaking to Cousin Jack until everyone is at Aubrey Hall, but even so the anxiety swirls up in her stomach every time she think about telling him. The idea that he might change his mind, might end their courtship in a bitter, hate-fueled rage won't leave her head. Just thinking about it is unbearable.

She needs a plan. Quickly

She manages a private conversation with Eloise before the Bridgertons depart two days ahead of her own family. They walk arm in arm through Hyde park, maids trailing dutifully behind them. It's a reprieve for both of them with no Mamas in sight and no potential suitors daring to approach Eloise.

"I need your help. I must find a way to speak in private with Anthony at Aubrey Hall. Or, perhaps not quite private. I shall need you to chaperone."

"Are you going to tell him? About Whistledown?" Eloise asks in a whisper. "I did not think you would so soon."

Penelope nods. "Yes. Mama believes a proposal to be coming on this trip, and based on my own discussions with Anthony I would not be surprised if she was correct. My family can endure the scandal of a broken courtship far better than a broken engagement should he take it poorly."

"He will not take it poorly. I should not allow him to." Eloise tightens her grip, pulling Penelope closer. "And if he tries I shall beat him with his favorite pall-mall mallet until he sees sense."

Penelope laughs. "I hope it will not come to that. Besides, assuming we wed I intend to retire at the end of the season. Surely that will quell some of his protests."

"You will give it up?" Her face is stricken. "You are a writer, Pen, and a talented one at that. You cannot give that up, even for my brother. Especially for my brother."

"Retiring Whistledown does not mean I should give up on writing entirely. I have always wanted to write a novel, perhaps that shall be my next venture."

"That is some reassurance, at least. Would you publish under the same name?"

"I do not know. It would seem a waste to change it, but then, Whistledown is not known for her fiction."

"She is not," Eloise agrees.

They are silent for a moment before Penelope shakes herself, remembering the purpose of their conversation.

"Back to Anthony. I should like to talk to him at the beginning of the week and I should like to do so before he officially speaks with Cousin Jack. The first or second day seem preferable, Anthony is not the type who likes to wait."

"No, once he makes a decision he tends to take action immediately, if he waits even long enough to think things through. In truth I am surprised he has not proposed yet, with how enamored with each other you two have become."

"The first day then."

"Yes, that seems best."

They work out the details as well as they can knowing there will be two eagle-eyed mamas hovering. The biggest determining factor, of course, will be whether she is rooming with Eloise or Prudence. She desperately hopes Eloise, both to make things simpler and to best enjoy her stay. Prudence can destroy even the best of moods when she's upset, and being the oldest and likely the last to marry is certainly not making her pleasant.

Anthony

In the back of the study there's a panel of blank wall with a portrait of the third viscount and a sconce on either side. It's nondescript enough, blends in enough, that most people's eyes would glance right past it.

Anthony walks right over to it.

It's only been twenty minutes but he doesn't have the patience to wait any longer.

He reaches up, twisting the left sconce toward the painting so it's parallel to the ground before grabbing the one on the right and doing the same. A skeleton key slides neatly into the metal plate below it and he gives it a twist, listening to the click of the lock. With a push the wall swings in, revealing a small, plain room covered in shelves. There are boxes, trunks, and books all around, and cloths draped over oddly shaped objects on a few shelves and a fine coating of dust over the whole room.

He doesn't bother to bring in a candle, he knows exactly what he's looking for.

On the middle shelf to the right of the door is an old wooden jewelry box that he grabs, placing it gently onto his desk and closing the door behind him. He takes a seat and opens the lid.

The family ring collection. Some of them go back before the first viscount, while others are ones purchased for or by his mother much more recently. One of them will adorn Penelope's hand as a symbol of their engagement. The others may as well once she has become his viscountess. Then they will be her family rings, too.

He picks one up, a single square cut emerald surrounded by gold filigrie, and twists it between his fingers. It's a color he hasn't seen her in yet, but is certain she'll look amazing in. He sets it back down.

"I see you've started without me."

His mother stands in the doorway, freshly changed from the carriage ride, with another small ring box clutched in her hands. Her betrothal ring. She glides into the room, passing it over when she's right beside him and he takes it almost reverently.

"You were quite insistent on this ring at the beginning of the season. Have you changed your mind?" There's no accusation or judgment in her voice, just soft curiosity and warm affection.

He carefully pops open the lid. He's always found her betrothal ring elegant, the cluster of tiny pearls surrounding a single diamond with minimal embellishments in the gold band. He can imagine his father at the jeweler, carefully pouring over every piece they had on offer, trying to find one to perfectly match his bride.

"I don't know," he says horsely. "I want to . . . to choose one that father had picked for you, even if it is not this one. It must match Penelope, but I would like to know . . . that he has had some hand in it."

"Oh, Anthony . . ."

She leans down and wraps her arms around him, leaning her cheek against the top of his head.

"He was always soft with her. Called her a little ray of sunshine until she told him she didn't like yellow and she was a little blossom." She presses a kiss to his hair, pulling back. "Even then we both wanted to see her join the family. Selfishly I thought of Colin, with how similar in age they are and how they met they reminded me of my own love story. Your father, he always said not to ignore that it could be you or Benedict. Or even that she may find a love outside of our family, as sad as it would be to see her go."

It's overwhelming. His eyes glaze with unshed tears, fidgeting with the ring box in one hand.

"I'm sorry I forgot that, my son. But he would approve. He already did."

He lets out a shuddering breath and turns to properly embrace her, hiding his face in her neck as hot tears finally spill down his cheeks. She pets his hair to sooth him until finally he pulls back, tears no longer flowing but the wet traces still on his face.

"Will you show me the ones he bought?"

She nods and he stands up, gesturing for her to take the seat. Slowly she walks through five different rings. There are more, of course, but they are ones she still wears, keeping them in her own jewelry box. The third one she pulls out makes his breath catch and he leans down for a closer look. It's similar to her betrothal ring with a cluster of five pearls, but the center stone is an emerald and small aquamarine stones dot either side of the cluster.

It's perfect.

His mother smiles as he gently pulls it from her grasp, turning it every which way in the light.

"This one."

Chapter 10

Notes:

Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this story!

Chapter Text

Penelope

Stepping out of the carriage in front of Aubrey Hall is settling and anxiety inducing in equal measure. The Bridgertons have always been her favorite people to be around, but she's under no illusions. Her entire future rests on this visit.

For better or worse.

Aubrey Hall, of course, if magnificent. It's a stately stone manor with the eaves draped in ivy and wisteria, intimidating in size and yet somehow still welcoming. Perfectly shaped hedges line the road and flowers just starting to bloom grow atop evenly spaced stone plinths along the front and up the stairs. She wants to freeze time for a moment, take it all in.

Anthony descends the stairs with quick, deliberate steps, smiling at her as he draws closer. Behind him Lady Bridgerton has a hand each on Hyacinth and Gregory, holding them back. As soon as he's within reach Anthony holds out a hand for hers, bringing it to his lips in a customary yet intimate greeting.

"Penelope," he murmurs, lips grazing the back of her hand, "I trust your journey went well."

She blushes as he stands, his fingers still lingering around her own. His touch alway affects her. His entire presence does, really.

"It did, though I am glad to be here. It may sound foolish, but I have missed you."

"I am pleased to hear it, I have missed you as well. Now we have the whole week ahead of us before the rest of the ton arrives. No courting hour restrictions or other social obligations to pull us away."

She shivers under his gaze. "I look forward to it." It sounds like heaven.

"As do I."

Behind her the new Lord Featherington, Prudence, and her mother disembark the carriage, forcing Anthony to turn and greet them. At the top of the stairs Lady Bridgerton finally frees her youngest to race down, following at a much more sedate pace to greet the guests herself.

Penelope smiles up at Lady Bridgerton in greeting before quickly redirecting her attention to bracing herself for impact by the children. They slow down just enough she only has to take a step back to steady herself when they crash into her instead of ending up flat on the ground. They extract a promise of at least one game of marbles from her before Eloise appears, threading her arm through Penelope's.

"Pen! Good, you're finally here. I'm sure you are exhausted from the carriage ride. Come, you're staying with me. Let me show you up so you may refresh yourself."

She tugs, breaking Penelope away from the rest of the group against the protests of Hyacinth and Gregory, and under the perturbed glare of Anthony.

"She's my best friend. You will see her later."

"Yes, I suppose she's right. Why don't we have someone show you all to your rooms to freshen up and rest before tea," Lady Bridgerton says.

Eloise gives another tug on Penelope's arm and the two of them scurry up the stairs. It's the first part of the plan, and all the anxiety bubbles under Penelope's skin. She's never told anyone her secret on purpose. And the risks that come with a widening circle are something she tries not to think about.

Still, if there is anyone who deserves to know, it's Anthony. She simply has to pray he takes it near as well as Eloise.

There's an extra single bed set up in Eloise's room, just a few feet away from Eloise's double. It's already made up and were it not for the more permanent decorations around the room it almost wouldn't feel out of place. Penelope sits on the bed, trying to calm her nerves with deep breaths and hands clenched against her thighs. Her fingers dig in through the fabric, the pressure grounding her.

"I was thinking we could go to one of the old school rooms. They're out of the way and no one will come looking for us there if we're missed for some reason," Eloise says as soon as they're alone in the room.

All Penelope can do is nod.

This is it. It's really happening.

"El . . ." It barely comes out above a whisper. "What if he hates me?"

She's distressed enough Eloise takes notice instead of shrugging it off. In an instant she's sitting on her own bed and meeting Penelope's eyes with honesty and compassion.

"Penelope, you are amazing, and cunning, and probably the smartest woman I know. Qualities I know my brother adores. All this will do is make those things more obvious."

Penelope takes a shaky breath, reaching out for Eloise's hands and squeezing tight. She wants to believe her, truly, but there's a voice in her head whispering that Anthony would rather have something less complicated.

"Besides, anyone with eyes can see the two of you are smitten."

Penelope giggles. Anthony has certainly been attentive, and she's been more than happy to receive the attention. Everything about him makes her feel warm from the inside out.

"Once he knows, if he asks me to marry him this week I think I will be the happiest woman in the world."

Eloise stands, pulling Penelope up as well and marching them toward the door.

"Come, let us go divulge your secret so that when he asks you may feel as free and happy as you should like."

Anthony

When Eloise comes marching into his study without Penelope in tow, he's on his feet immediately.

"Where's Penelope? Is something wrong?" He knows it's an over reaction, but he can't help it. He wants everything to be perfect this week.

Eloise rolls her eyes. "Honestly, the two of you. Penelope is fine. I am here to retrieve you."

He hesitates for a moment before Eloise starts trying to wave him over. "Quickly! Before anyone else comes this way!"

He crosses the room and follows her out the door, falling into step with her as they hurry down the hall. He watches bemused as she peeks around corners, at one point pulling him into an alcove when she hears footsteps nearby.

"Are you bringing me to a clandestine meeting, Eloise?"

"Shush," she hisses at him. "And obviously. Do keep up, brother."

It's funny, he thinks, having Eloise assist in some sort of secret meeting. Or really, he supposes, assisting Penelope. They are best friends after all. A disconcerting thought given Eloise's relentless curiosity and what that might entail once Penelope is his wife. He really doesn't need his little sister learning the more . . . intimate details about his life.

They end up in an unused corridor, one not even the staff visit for more than occasional cleaning, and Eloise shoves him through the door to one of the old school rooms. Penelope is standing in the window, wringing her hands, a nervous smile coming to her face when she sees him. It's quiet for a moment, neither of them moving as Eloise closes the door and joins them.

As usual she's the first to break the silence. "Okay, both of you sit." She waves at two wooden chairs haphazardly placed beside the old schoolmaster desk. "I'll be over here." She leans back against the door, almost like she's guarding it.

Anthony gestures for Penelope to sit first, nudging the other chair a bit closer before he sits as well. Her hands flutter around as though unsure where to land and he captures them with his own, rubbing soothing circles over her knuckles. Behind them he hears Eloise snort, but otherwise she does not comment.

"Anthony . . ."

The grip around his fingers tightens and he squeezes back, trying to provide reassurance.

"I have to . . . I mean, I cannot start a marriage without . . . I don't want secrets . . . I just . . . I don't know how . . ."

"You can tell me anything, Penelope, I swear it. Please tell me what troubles you," he pleads.

She must see the worry on his face because she takes a deep breath and smiles tremulously at him. Her eyes dart to Eloise and she gives a sharp nod, pulling her shoulders back even as her hands clutch his even tighter, pulling them onto her knee instead of the space between them.

"Anthony, I am Lady Whistledown."

He barely takes a beat to register it.

"Marry me."

"What?" she breathes out.

"What!" Eloise echoes.

"I know I haven't talked to your cousin or your mother yet," he rushes to say, "but I suppose it's rather fitting to ask you first anyway."

"Are you sure? Even with . . ."

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

It's true. That she trusts him with such a secret, without his ring on her finger and their vows sealed, is an astounding, humbling act. And Whistledown herself is a force to be reckoned with what is likely the most widely read publication in the ton, perhaps in all of London. To know Penelope is behind it . . . well, it will be better thought about when he is alone.

"I know I will have at least a thousand questions, but the most important one is still: Penelope Featherington, will you marry me?"

"I . . . Yes, Anthony, of course I will marry you!"

He brings a hand up, delicately cupping the side of her face. His thumb skims lightly back and forth across her cheekbone as he stares into her eyes. He starts to lean forward, gradually getting closer and closer to her lips.

"That is lovely, of course, but now this presents a new issue," Eloise pipes up from her post by the door.

Anthony jerks back. He had forgotten, for a moment, that Eloise was still in the room.

"No one is supposed to know of this meeting. You cannot march into tea engaged without raising questions. And that is not even considering what Lady Featherington and the new Lord Featherington might say."

Anthony huffs in irritation and Penelope squeezes his fingers tighter for a moment in response.

"Shit."

In the end it makes the most sense to simply revise his original timeline. He has never been a man particularly known for his patience and he does not want to spend a single second longer than he has to without the engagement official. Lady Whistledown only makes the prospect of their marriage more alluring, though Penelope was beyond what he could have pictured for a wife in his wildest fantasies even before that revelation.

Before he departs the room—ahead of the other two by at least five minutes to avoid suspicion—he asks if Penelope's lady's maid is aware of her other identity.

"Of course," Penelope says, "it would be much more difficult to manage were she not."

He nods his head before slipping out the door.

Humboldt, behind his typical unflappable facade, gives Anthony a look of fond amusement when he is asked to move the scheduled shooting day with the new Lord Featherington up. To tomorrow.

All he says is, "I will see to it, my lord."

And then Anthony is once again alone in his study.

He intends to get some work done, but the words blur together until he's staring unseeing at the pages. Whistledown. Penelope is Lady Whistledown. He is going to marry Lady Whistledown.

He is going to marry Penelope.

And he wants to know everything.

He wants to know why she started, how she found a printer, where she gathers gossip. He wants to know what she looks like when she wakes up in the morning and what she looks like coming apart. He wants to learn every inch of her body, every piece of her business, and every corner of her heart.

He shifts in his seat, trying to focus.

Her maid and Eloise both know of Whistledown, so there are two chaperones he may use to speak with her regarding her business. Not to mention they had spoken of riding and he longs to bring her with him so he may show her that simple joy. Perhaps in the morning the two of them might get up with the sun and go for a ride before the rest of the household wakes. The maid can chaperone and he could ask his questions away from the prying eyes and ears lurking in the house.

He gives a sharp nod to himself at the plan. He would ask at tea and have the stables alerted before dinner.

Reinvigorated, he pulls the papers back toward him. The next day will be quite busy, after all, best not to leave things hanging.

Chapter 11

Notes:

Thank you so much for your support! I'm sure you've noticed it's been awhile, but I expect updates to be sporadic. Unfortunately life calls!

Chapter Text

Penelope

She's light headed as she follows Eloise down the hall, barely paying attention to where she steps as they head back in Eloise's room. It's like she's floating, hardly aware of the world around her. It's overwhelming in the best way, his response above and beyond what she had imagined being the best case scenario, and she certainly hadn't been expecting to receive even that.

He knows. He knows and he still wants to marry her.

He seems, in fact, encouraged by her secret pursuits, judging by the proposal he rendered seconds after she revealed them.

Eloise gently closes the door behind them when they get back to her room while Penelope wanders over to the window seat. Her legs practically give out under her as she sits, and absently she realizes her hands are shaking.

"That went well," Eloise says.

All Penelope can do is nod, twisting her fingers together as she looks back over at her friend.

"You're not still nervous, are you?"

"No." She shakes her head. "I'm a bit shocked, I suppose. And relieved. You must agree that his reaction was entirely unexpected."

Eloise crosses the room, taking a seat beside her.

"Perhaps the proposal, but I always expected it to go well. He's smitten."

She wants to protest on instinct, but the events have made it undeniable. "I suppose he is, isn't he? I hadn't let myself believe it before. Not fully."

"Penelope, he has called on you nearly every day."

"And when I am with him I do not question it. Yet, when we are apart there have been doubts that creep into my head. They are not always there, and I believe in his affection fully. Anthony is very deliberate. He has always been honest, even if it is just in saying he cannot speak of something. He would not profess affection the way he has if he did not mean it. But the closer we have gotten, the more I have known I would have to tell him my secret. Every day since I told you, or really every night when I was alone with my thoughts, it has been like I am haunted by the worst that could happen."

Now it feels like the weight, one that had been growing increasingly pressing over the course of her courtship, has finally lifted. It has been a block, one preventing her from pouring all of her emotions into Anthony. A method of self-protection to keep her from falling in love.

His proposal is the last piece sliding into place.

Eloise wraps her arms around her in a fierce hug, squeezing with all her might. "Well, now you will no longer be haunted. In fact, the best has happened, and we are to officially be sisters. Perhaps this will satisfy Mama as well. A wedding to plan will surely turn her attention away from me for a short while. The rest of the season if I'm lucky."

Penelope squeezes her friend back. Sisters . It feels like a truer reflection of their relationship than merely friends ever has.

"Your mother raised eight of you, I'm sure one wedding will not distract her completely." She pauses for a moment. "Although, I would not mind giving her a more direct role. Certainly someone else to keep my mother's tastes from overwhelming things would be ideal."

"Precisely! Yes, our mamas can work together and both of us may have a respite."

She is powerless to stop the smile that lights up her face when she sees Anthony at tea. She's sure she looks like a lovestruck fool. Across the room he, too, seems overcome. He freezes in the middle of a conversation with his brothers the moment he spots her, and though she can't truly place his expression, it fills her with warmth and a desire to be closer. It's like he reads her mind when he deftly navigates across the room to her side.

He murmurs her name and she melts, though she tries to hide it from everyone but him. As far as the rest of their families are concerned nothing should have changed, so she does her best not to disabuse them of the notion.

Based on the look she catches exchanged between Colin and Benedict, it isn't working as well as she hoped.

"Have you ever seen the sunrise?" he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

"Once or twice, though I don't find myself especially predisposed to rising quite so early."

"Truthfully neither am I, usually. However, I do enjoy an early morning ride from time to time, particularly when we are in the country. I thought perhaps you would like to accompany me tomorrow. I'm sure your maid can accompany us as a chaperone."

She understands, then, the last question he had asked of her that afternoon. They now have two chaperones in whose presence they are safe to discuss Whistledown, and she's sure there are things he would not be entirely comfortable discussing were Eloise within earshot.

"That sounds lovely." She can picture quiet mornings together becoming commonplace, if a bit later than sunrise. She imagines breakfast on the terrace, just the two of them, once they no longer need a chaperone. Morning rides, whether they become something she enjoys or simply to please him, taken across the land at Aubrey Hall. Reading together by the fire in the winter months, perhaps even sharing a blanket to keep warm.

"I will have it arranged."

He stays close, even as he shares plans for an afternoon of shooting with Cousin Jack. His fingers dance across her arm or along her back from time to time as though he is trying to pull her into his embrace and thinks better of it over and over again. It sends tantalizing shocks through her body. She longs to return the touches, to see if she has the same effect on him.

Perhaps if they were alone she might be so bold.

Perhaps she will have the chance to find out on their ride.

Anthony

He gets dressed by candlelight, the pre-dawn light just making itself known as he heads down the stairs to wait for Penelope. Down at the stables he knows the grooms are preparing his horse, Chestnut, and one of their gentlest mares, Dahlia. He's had Cook prepare a small breakfast picnic to bring with them as well, honey cakes and tea to enjoy in the fresh air.

Penelope comes down the stairs looking delighted, nervous, and not-quite-awake. Her riding habit is a moss green, the cut more akin to her newer dresses than her old. But then, if she hadn't ridden often it may be freshly commissioned. When he compliments her on it she confirms the suspicion.

"When we first spoke of riding I spoke with the modiste to see if she would be able to create one. I'm sure it will be a perfect travel dress, as well, should I not become a regular at the stables."

He nods, eyes raking over her form a bit more obviously than he's allowed previously as he offers his arm.

"Shall we?"

As always she fits right against him like she belongs at his side, and he relishes in the thought that now she does. Or at least, she will in no more than a few week's time.

He will request the license as soon as he speaks with the new Lord Featherington. No use waiting any longer than he has to.

Getting Penelope and her maid introduced to their horses and up in the saddles is quick work and soon they're off. While she seems a little unsure, Penelope is a remarkably smooth rider once she starts to get a feel for the horse and they ride along beside each other. Her maid trails a little further behind than he would have expected, but he certainly doesn't mind.

"How many questions have you thought of since our conversation yesterday?"

"Oh hundreds." He laughs. "I certainly don't expect you to answer every one today. We will have the rest of our lives for that."

She ducks her head, but he can still see the pleased blush spreading across her cheeks. "I suppose that is a benefit of marriage. Getting to know each other without the need for chaperones. Not having to hide away to speak of secrets."

"Among other things," he says. He lets her sit with that for a moment before asking his first question. "I suppose first I have to ask how you began. If I remember correctly the first pamphlet was the week of your debut."

"It was."

"I would have thought you to be too busy with preparations. Daphne certainly was."

She shakes her head. "You forget, Daphne was the eldest Bridgerton daughter, first to debut. All of you anticipated her having many prospects and planned accordingly. My parents debuted all three of us at once, and Mama had much more confidence in the prospects of my sisters than myself. I was expected to prepare, of course, and attend the modiste, but I was not the focus."

He can't help the thought that it is a boon to him, indeed, that her mother allowed her to sit to the side last season. He was not ready for marriage then, and if someone else had claimed her, if he had missed his chance . . .

Well, it does not bare thinking about.

"It did not help, of course, that Mama has had her own ideas of fashion. I felt foolish and garish in every dress she had made for me, and the ton has always been quite judgmental. If I felt that way, no doubt that would become the primary view of me. Poor Penelope Featherington, bright as a lemon but unable to turn a single head."

There's still plenty of frustration in her voice, and were they not on horseback he would pull her into his arms.

"I knew it would be easier to fade into the background as I always had. I was already bitter, I suppose, before the season had even begun, and it came out in my writing. I wrote on a spare bit of parchment and left it in the drawing room where my father's solicitor found it. I was mortified, of course, but he encouraged me to publish, even got everything I needed set up with the printer. He hinted it would be good for me to have the funds kept away from my father, too. I certainly didn't know the depth of the problem at the time, but I knew enough to understand I might end up supplementing my own dowry, were I to find someone to wed. I didn't learn he had gambled away all of our dowries until shortly before his death."

He had suspected, of course, when she had mentioned living on potatoes, but it had also been possible that the Featherington inheritance rules were alarmingly tight.

"I hope you know I will accept whatever your cousin is able to offer for your dowry, and we can decide together what to do with it." It is unusual to do so, of course, but he never wants her to question his willingness to be open with her or her financial security. He wants her to feel safe with him. Always.

She smiles over at him as their horses crest a hill, and their destination, finally, is just in front of them. There's a pond lined in wildflowers with a small group of apple trees off to the right. The orange glow of sunrise peeking over the horizon reflects off the water, glittering up at them as they approach.

"It's beautiful," she says softly.

"It's one of my favorite places on the estate," he admits. "When I was young Father would bring us here to picnic. It's where Daphne took her first steps, right near the trees." He points to a small, flat space, where his father used to spread out a blanket for the whole family.

Once he had gone to Eton he hadn't been able to attend any of the gatherings, and when grief had struck at their father's passing, no one had been in the mood for such excursions. He still ventured out at least once every time they were at Aubrey Hall, though. Pleasant memories were strong here.

As they approach, Anthony veers toward a series of posts his father had put in a little ways away from the pond. He ties off his own horse before turning to Penelope. Her hands come to his shoulders as his find her waist. The warmth under his hands, the feel of her curves, is a nearly overwhelming temptation, tempered only by her maid dismounting beside them.

Penelope gives a light nod once she's removed her leg from the pommel and he lifts, placing her onto the ground in front of him. Her eyes never leave his and his hands linger until the maid coughs pointedly and he is forced to step away. To distract himself he grabs the blanket and cushions from his saddlebag and tucks them under one arm before offering the other to Penelope and guiding her to the same spot he had pointed to.

The blanket is laid out quickly and the cushions arranged before he helps Penelope sit. He takes his own place a bit closer than is entirely proper, causing her maid to raise her eyebrows at him though she doesn't protest as she spreads out their picnic.

"The sky truly is lovely," Penelope says, absently tugging her riding gloves off to eat.

It's the first time he's seen her bare fingers, and he watches their every movement. Watches them grasp the honey cake as she takes a bite. Watches her lick the remnants of sticky sugar off her fingertips.

He wants that to be his lips, or maybe his fingers. He's mesmerized.

He can feel his breeches tighten as he sway closer until she notices, peering up at him through her eyelashes. A groan tears itself from his throat and he leans in, ready to capture her lips.

"Heh- hem. "

The maid.

He closes his eyes for a moment as he eases his body back. He was so close to feeling her lips.

It's all he can do to will away the pressure in his breeches.

Just a few more weeks. Perhaps a fortnight?

He can only hope