Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“For God’s sake, Penelope,” Colin said, grabbing her hand and yanking her down. “Are you going to marry me or not?”

Penelope nearly tumbled to the pavement at that, but she gripped the carriage door’s frame to keep herself upright, also to hold onto some semblance of reality. Her mind must have been muddled from all that kissing. Because he couldn’t have said what she'd just heard.

She felt a strange relief when Colin laughed, then felt quite peevish. Of course he wasn’t in earnest.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he asked, still holding her by the hand, and still laughing, the lout.

She gaped down at him, frozen with one foot in the carriage and the other out, more than peeved now. “I’ll stand here day and night if that is what it takes for you to stop your nonsense. I don’t find this amusing at all.”

“You would if you could have seen your face.” He laughed harder, tugging at her hand.

She didn't step down, rather tempted to dive back into that carriage and live out the rest of her days there. "This jest of yours is not funny in the least. I'd like to see your face if I held you to it."

Colin laughed. "Then hold me to it, by all means!" Penelope could only gape at him, at which Colin laughed harder. “Good Lord, one might think I’d offered to walk you to the guillotine instead of to the vicar!”

“Will you keep your voice down,” she hissed, leaping from the carriage now, glancing up and down the street. There was a family walking on the other side, but they seemed occupied by their little sons fighting, thank goodness. “I’m sure this is all very amusing to you,” she whispered. “Your ilk might have the luxury of… of groping ladies in a carriage every other morning, but for me…”

His laughter stopped abruptly. “What are you suggesting?” Now he looked peeved.

“I’m not accusing you personally,” she said, stepping back. “I’m simply saying that your reputation won’t suffer the way mine would.” As it should, she supposed. Dear God! If anyone had played the wanton in that carriage, it was her. After all her years of enforced purity, she’d been insatiable. She blushed to think of the way she’d begged for his hands, his lips… She took another step away, tearing her eyes from his still-mussed cravat. “If people heard your little jest, they might think something happened.”

“Something did happen," he said, quite loudly.

"Would you keep your voice down?"

"And what jest?” he asked, still with no regard to volume.

“The... marrying one,” she hissed.

“That was no joke,” he said, his brows drawn together. “We will marry as soon as possible.”

She was beginning to think he might be serious. She shook her head, taking another step away from him until she felt her front steps behind her. “Colin, please stop.”

He didn’t stop. He took a step toward her. “I can assure you,” he said, no laughter in his voice now, “that I do not behave as I did with a woman of your background without rendering a marriage proposal.”

She backed up the first step, forcing a laugh. “How many marriages proposals have you—”

“Just the one,” he said, glowering at her as he chased her up another step. "So it would be nice if you would stop acting as if I were in jest."

"But you must be."

"I am not."

Her eyes must be as wide as saucers now. "Then allow me to protect you from such a foolish-"

"I don't want your protection," he said firmly… or was it petulantly? “I want your acceptance.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the words out. “You don’t want to marry me.” She opened them to find him looking like he might argue, so she put a hand up, while groping behind her for the door handle. “And you don’t need to marry me,” she said resolutely. “Not for something like this. No one knows what happened in that carriage but us and I certainly won’t tell a soul. You are safe on that.”

“Damn it, Penelope,” he said on a growl. “This is not an argument. This is what’s happening. You just said Briarly would notice my carriage and—”

“Yes, I’m sure he has.” She could actually feel the butler trying to pull the door open behind her even as she held it tight. “It doesn’t mean he’ll notice anything untoward. And, if he did, he wouldn’t tell.” Briarly had kept secrets for her before. He'd keep more, including this one, if she asked.

Colin leaned in then, a strange glint in his eye. “You think when he looks at the state of you, he won’t—”

“Briarly will think nothing of my hair… slipping its pins.”

“It’s more than that. You look indecent,” he moved closer still, “all flushed and breathless, like you’ve tumbled out of bed with a lover.”

A mad giggle escaped her as her insides heated. “If Lady Whistledown herself saw me…”

“You say that as if you weren’t her,” he said lowly.

“…emerging from your carriage completely undressed…”

He let out a breath, his eyes drifting downward. “You weren’t far from it.”

“… she’d not believe anything indecent could happen between you and I. And neither would anyone else.” She shrugged and forced a laugh. “Honestly, Colin. I think we’ve had enough of this silliness. You don’t want to marry me.”

“Dash it all, Penelope, I’ve just said I—”

“Have you even considered that I don’t want to marry you?”

He reared back, the look of shock on his face almost comical.

She finally released her hold on the doorknob, neatly stepping back just as Briarly succeeded in pulling it open.

“Oh, pardon me, Miss,” her butler said, aghast. “It seems the door was stuck. I shall have one of the footmen see to—”

“No need,” she cut in. “I’m sure it’s just the damp.” She dipped a curtsy to Colin. “Thanks ever so much, Mr. Bridgerton, for seeing me home.”

Colin caught the door as she attempted to close it. “We are not finished—”

“Yes, it’s quite a lively debate we were having, but we must continue another day.”

“I must insist we continue it now,” he said through his teeth, glancing at Briarly, then back at her. “Is your mother home? I’m certain she would take my part when I inform her—”

“Colin, please!” Good God, that was all she needed. Her mother in the middle of all this! “Today is not a good day because…” She glanced desperately at Briarly, hoping he might help her. He’d very often turned a blind eye to her mysterious outings and, though she’d sometimes sensed very mild disapproval or apprehension, he always aided her when it seemed her mother had too many questions.

“It is Tuesday and, as such, the Featherington family meeting,” Briarly said, glancing from her to Colin, a bit more suspicion in his eyes than Penelope would have liked to see. “Your mother and sisters are in the drawing room, as well as their husbands and…”

“Oh, my! Are they gathered already? I am woefully late,” she chided herself as if she knew it all along. Truth be told, she had completely forgotten her family was meeting today, or that it was truly Tuesday. She might have had some vague idea this morning, but after that carriage ride, after that kiss — those kisses really, as there were several — she barely knew what year it was. “I must beg your pardon, Mr. Bridgerton. My family awaits and—”

“Penelope,” he said darkly, his hand still not releasing the door she was attempting to close. “We have more to discuss.”

“I don’t think we do,” she said, lowering her voice as she leaned forward, “I’ve made my response perfectly clear.”

“Are you honestly trying to tell me you don’t want to ma—” He stopped himself, glancing behind her, where Briarly was surely hovering. “…want to make a different response?” he finished softly, but his eyes were hard as they met hers again, full of confusion and anger.

She almost understood his confusion. Though she hated to admit it, she hadn’t kept her feelings for him hidden well at all. Her heart practically leapt into her eyes every time he looked her way. He was perfectly reasonable to expect her immediate and unequivocal acceptance. But she couldn’t give it. She'd long since abandoned any thoughts of her and Colin and she wasn't about to entertain them again now just for a few kisses... and caresses... and breathless moments with his lips on not just her lips, but every secret part of.... No. It made no difference. This was an aberration. And she would not force one of her dearest friends into marriage because he felt obligated by such an obvious moment of madness. It would be unkind in the extreme.

Besides all that, she barely saw the Colin she knew in those eyes. She saw a very high-handed stranger that she’d only met today as he stormed into her church and stripped her secret away, as he scolded her for having a secret, as he kissed her insensible in a moving carriage. Obviously that last bit was much nicer than the others, but it was not enough for her to ignore the rest and marry a man she barely knew.

“My answer is no,” she said firmly, placing a hand upon his chest and giving a gentle push.

He stumbled back just enough that his hand left the door.

“I ask that you respect it,” she finished shakily as she closed the door, leaning against it, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to catch her breath.

“Miss Penelope… are you unwell?”

She opened her eyes to find Briarly peering at her closely, and a bit more knowingly than she might like.

“I am perfectly well. Just exhausted with debating these blasted Bridgertons.” She forced a laugh. “Colin is very much like Eloise. They never admit when they are wrong. And since I am also never wrong, it seems we always meet at an impasse.”

He smiled then. “I am quite sure, whatever the argument was, you had the right of it.”

She was sure he was, bless him. “Thank you for that.”

“Shall I inform your mother that you have returned?”

“If you could give me a minute first… perhaps several minutes to collect myself, I'd be much obliged.”

“Of course, Miss.” He bowed slightly and moved away.

She sagged against the door again, trying not to slink down to the floor, needing just a bit more time to acquaint herself with the undeniable reality that COLIN BRIDGERTON HAD PROPOSED TO HER AND SHE HAD REFUSED.

Was she mad? Hadn’t this been the very thing she’d wanted since she knew what marriage was? Wasn’t he the first boy she’d thought of as a man when she traded pinafores for corsets?

He’d been the only man she’d ever thought of in such a way because there was no one like him. No one as kind. No one as pleasing. No one as handsome. And that would have been enough to secure her fascination if it wasn’t that he always, always made her feel special. Well... apart from the times he didn't. Still, he was the only person, excepting Eloise, that she’d felt comfortable enough with that she might even joke and, wonder of wonders, have him laugh at her efforts.

But was he laughing now? He knew her secret now. He knew what she’d spent her days and nights doing and he didn’t find it amusing.

He’d been angry with her, offended… Just a few moments thinking further upon that should have him itching to yank that proposal from under her.

She’d been right to refuse him. She’d been right to say she didn’t want him. It wasn’t even a lie. Because she didn’t want him. Not like this. Not because he felt forced into it by a moment — or quite a few moments — of indiscretion in a carriage.

This was the right decision. Nay, the only decision. And she was certain he had already disposed of the notion by now. She was relieved.

She told herself that as she finally steeled herself to enter the drawing room and greet her sisters and their husbands, laughing off several comments about the state of her hair even after her attempts to repair it, forcing smiles at all the inane chatter. Though she did laugh at Felicity's thoughts on the poetry she had received from Lord Jennings, divided into five bursting letters, two on her hair alone. If she hadn't retired, Lady Whistledown would be quite amused to get hold of such a grand body of work. 

And she did smile quite genuinely when Phillipa announced she suspected she was in a family way again. She kept smiling as her mother waxed poetic on the future, on grandchildren, on how they would have to be kind enough to spend long visits with her and their "dear Aunt Penelope." She hadn't been called "dear" by her mother often, and she would have been flattered if she wasn't quite sure "dear" wasn't synonymous with "dutiful" or perhaps "unpaid servant."

She wondered if she could devise another “inheritance” so her mother might have a paid companion and Penelope could take herself to a cottage somewhere, perhaps on an island. Her mother did tend to get seasick, after all.

Sometimes she thought of telling her — telling all of them, but her mother specifically — that her mother’s comfort, her ability to keep herself in style, in London, was all down to Penelope’s own work and several machinations that turned her hard-earned money into sudden Featherington windfalls. But she wouldn’t do it.

That would mean revealing Whistledown, as the secret would get out in no time with her mother as its keeper and, much as she hated to admit it, she could never carry off such a revelation like it was a silly lark. Colin was right about that.

She might flatter herself that she was clever, fooling The Ton all these years, but really she knew her secret had only been safe this long because no one would suspect her.

If she were found out, no one would be amused by it, no one would admire her for it. In fact, everyone would be insulted that a nobody like her dared to laugh at them. She didn’t even want to reveal herself. She just didn’t want Cressida Cowper - or Twombley now - to take what she could not, to claim her life’s work as her own.

She refused to let that happen, just as she’d refused Colin’s sudden duty-bound proposal.

Later that night, after supper, she’d dismissed Jenny, brushing her own hair as she imagined how foolish Colin probably felt now. He’d likely come to his senses by the time he got into his carriage.

She suspected things might be a bit stilted when they met again, but he’d probably be grateful to her for her restraint once he was thinking more clearly. She could have held him to his initial proposal, but she’d been strong and she’d refused…

“There’s a delivery for you, Miss.”

“At night?” She turned toward the door as her maid waltzed in, giggling a bit, carrying an obscenely large bouquet of roses. Red roses. Penelope shook her head. “There must be a mistake. I’ve never—”

Penelope broke off, annoyed. She’d wager it was from her publisher, trying to coax her out of retirement… again. He’d sent her caramels before. They hadn’t worked, but she and Felicity had certainly enjoyed them very much.

“Oh, no. They’re for you.” Jenny held out a note, folded and sealed with wax, tilting her head when Penelope refused to take it. “It’s got your name on it and everythin’,” she insisted.

Penelope recognized the handwriting on that note, even though all it said was “Pen.” After this last week, she’d know those flicks anywhere. What was he thinking?

She snatched the note and the bouquet warily, holding both against her chest. “Did my mother see these?”

“No. She’s gone to bed. Briarly said they were left on the top step. He thought you might like them now rather than later. What a mystery! Perhaps the note—”

“Oh, Goodness me! Why, these must be from Eloise,” she lied. “I… I told her the hot house roses at Number 5 were so much more fragrant than ours and I might like to have them for my bath and she must have…” She pushed the roses into Jenny’s arms and opened the note, holding it close to her face, resisting a full-body shiver upon reading it, humming to herself, “Mmm-hmm. Very thoughtful of her. Yes.” She folded the bit of paper, holding it at her side. “What a dear she is.”

“Oh… I’d hoped they might be from an admirer,” Jenny said, cradling the roses.

Jenny looked a bit disappointed, the same as when Penelope told her the caramels were from a dear old friend of the family, which was nearly true. Her publisher had been a friend of her father’s late solicitor. She’d consider him much more dear if he’d accept that she’d made up her mind and was determined to retire her poison pen.

“Dear Jenny.” She chuckled. “Bless you for even thinking that.”

Jenny, plucked from the pool of upstairs maids for her skills with hair, had only been a lady’s maid for a few months. She was certain the first lesson had been to flatter her mistress. They’d always been flattering. Even when her mother dressed her in countless layers of orange and yellow, her lady’s maids had always made the best of it… until they couldn’t anymore.

Her previous maid had left her for a younger debutante, only in her second season, who looked likely to marry an Earl. She’d lost others before her. They all wanted to be maids with the confidence of a future lady of a grand house, even of the untitled mistress of a modest house. Much like the unattached men of the ton, no lady’s maid wanted to attend upon a spinster with no prospects. How long before Jenny would hone her skills enough to leave?

“Why shouldn’t you have admirers?" Jenny insisted. "You’re quite pretty!”

Penelope had nothing to say to that except, “That’s very kind of you.” She didn’t believe it, but it was nice to hear. It wasn’t even the first time she’d heard it today.

You are beautiful. I don't know why nobody else sees it.

He’d only said it while in the midst of kissing her silly and, though she didn’t have much experience to draw from, she imagined a man might say all kinds of nonsense at times like that. Kate told her and Eloise that Anthony had once shouted “Gadzooks!” in the throes of passion. She really shouldn’t have. Eloise had used it mercilessly, exclaiming it for everything from a dropped glove to a good muffin whenever she was within earshot of her brother. Poor Lord Bridgerton.

“Well, they are very fragrant,” the girl was saying. “Did you want them for your bath now? I can pluck them and have the footmen bring hot—”

“No!” She found herself snatching them back. “That can wait. I’d rather enjoy them a bit longer. Such… lovely blossoms.”

“Yes, Miss. I’ll fetch a vase.” Jenny said before ducking out.

Penelope took a moment to bury her face in the blooms. They really were lovely and it was nice to imagine, just for a moment, they were from an admirer, that someone had such strong feelings for her that only red roses would do.

But Colin could hardly be called an admirer. He was more of a stubborn fool. She’d been so convinced he would abandon this ridiculous proposal, but here he was, digging in.

It wasn’t even flattering. Much like every Bridgerton that had ever breathed, Colin detested having anyone disagree with him. But she must be strong, lest his misplaced sense of honor lead him to a life of regret.

Still, she couldn’t help unfolding his note one more time before she moved to the fireplace and tossed it in. It wouldn’t do for someone to find it. The words had been burned into her memory, anyhow.

So you need a little more convincing?

Then you shall have it.

— C

Penelope shivered. Why did that sound so ominous?

And just a little exciting?

TBC…

****************

Uh-oh. She’s in for it now!

More to come soon, I hope. I have no planned update schedule as I’m trying to focus on my originals. And since I’m at a very complicated section in my WIP, I thought I’d take a break with something less tricky and more fun for me, see if it gets the muses working again.

If you like this, you could maybe tide yourself over with my originals on Wattpad. The most popular is a silly Regency romp about a very flirty girl chasing after the grumpy love of her life who also happens to work for her family and refuses to be tempted by her… much. It also might have won an award or something. IDK

https://www.wattpad.com/story/135523324-the-lady-pursues

And feel free to talk to me on Twitter @AWheelerRomance

Chapter Text

"My answer is no."

Colin was taken aback... figuratively, but also quite literally. His hand left the door he'd just now had a pretty firm hold on as she pushed at his chest. Penelope was stronger than she looked. He stumbled back onto the stony landing before he realized it was happening.

"I ask that you respect it," he heard before he was left staring at the door that had been slammed in his face... or not too far from it.

That was not quite as jarring as the fact that she'd refused him.

She'd also pushed him.

Penelope!

Colin turned and started down the steps or, more accurately, stumbled down them, nearly missing a few before correcting himself enough to land on the pavement upright. He spun back to stare at the door, thinking it would surely open again.

It didn't.

Have you even considered that I don't want to marry you?

He hadn't.

Because Penelope loved him.... didn't she? He'd suspected as much for years, enough that he was uncomfortable with the idea of it — up until the moment he had her writhing underneath him in a carriage, at which point it felt a bit more comforting. Perhaps comforting was not the word for it.

What he'd felt then was surrounded by it, tempted by it, by her, by the idea that it was not such a frightful thing to be loved by a woman who was intelligent and funny and kind and quite gratifyingly passionate. Why had he ever entertained fear of it? It should make him feel a thousand feet tall!

Not at the moment, of course. He felt as if he were standing in a hole, staring a mile up at her door in abject confusion. And could anyone blame him? She had rejected him.

So much had happened and it wasn't even lunchtime!

And that was without the Lady W aspect of it all, something he hadn't the capacity to even think of right now. No, he'd much rather dispense of her and think about the Penelope who'd moaned into his mouth when he kissed her, sighed into his neck when he touched her, the one who loved him... Or at least near enough to it that he thought proposing marriage would be an easy question for her to answer.

Then again, she had answered him easily, and repeatedly, hadn't she? Just not way he wanted.

"What does she mean by it?" Colin gasped.

It couldn't truly be a refusal. She must mean he needed to ask again. He had to admit that "Are you going to marry me or not?" was not the most brilliant proposal ever rendered. Perhaps she needed to be asked more nicely, with prettier words, perhaps with flowers or candies or with a ride home before lunch?

He turned to his coachman, realizing that last had been directed at him.

Usually the word "lunch" would send him off to wherever lunch was, but he couldn't decide whether eating lunch was something he wanted to do at the moment, alarming as that was!

Still, he didn't want to keep the man waiting, so he sent his driver home and wandered aimlessly... until he found himself in front of Number 5 Bruton Street.

Or perhaps it wasn't aimless. He'd been rejected and sent on his way by one of the two people in this world who never failed to make him feel welcome.

He hoped the other wouldn't fail him. A man needed his mother at his lowest moments. She would surely be a comfort... if she were there.

He found only Eloise in the drawing room and she informed him that Mother was not home yet, that she didn't know where she was nor when she'd be back, and that her plate of sandwiches was not meant to be shared, that last was rather emphatic.

On a normal day, he might argue for at least one, but he was none too eager to stay in the room with her — not after the things he'd just done to her dearest friend — so he took himself off.

"Well, wait! You needn't be so sore about it," Eloise called after him. "You can ring for more, you know."

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry," he said, trying not to meet her eyes as he turned back briefly. He did catch a glimpse of her then, and she looked quite alarmed.

"You can't mean that," she scoffed. "Are you ill?"

"No. I only have some urgent business with mother and must not be delayed a moment longer!"

"But I just told you. She's not here."

"Yes, but she will be eventually." He quickly made his way across the hall to the library before she tried to keep him further.

He actually was hungry. He'd had nothing today but an omelette, only two scones with jam, some sausages and potatoes, kippers on toast, plum cake, and some biscuits, which he usually wouldn't have until tea, but since Cook informed him they were still warm from the oven, he thought it only polite to have one or two... or six.

But he could hardly be distracted by food at a time like this, at least not much. No, he'd do best to wait in peace with his thoughts. At the very least, he'd have to find some way to tell Mother he'd not only proposed to Penelope, but bungled it terribly somehow.

But there was no peace to be had. When he closed the library door, he found Anthony was seated behind Mother's desk, ledgers spread open.

"What are you doing here?" Colin asked peevishly.

"Good afternoon to you, too," Anthony said, not looking up. "And I am attempting to make sense of Mother's accounts. Do you know Hyacinth is spending nearly as much at the milliner's as at the modiste? She insists that proper ladies have bonnets to match every dress, but when was the last time you saw her in a bonnet, Hmm?"

"I can't recall." Really, if Colin had no thought for food, he had even less for bonnets.

"Precisely. Not that this bonnet nonsense will break us, mind you, but I'm going to insist on seeing Hy in the dratted things at least once, even if she parades it about the front hall. Stubborn girl."

"She'll probably refuse," Colin sneered. "That's what they do. Every time you think you know what a girl's about, they... they just pull the rug out from under you. Or push you."

Anthony chuckled. "You sound rather embittered. Eloise not sharing biscuits again?"

"No," Colin muttered, pacing from one end to the other. "Well, yes, and it was sandwiches, but that's not... Where's Mother and when will she be back?"

"I doubt she'll back for hours yet. I've no choice but to wait. She's with Kate, perhaps at the milliner's. My dear wife's likely buying out all the lace caps in London. I swear she does it just to torture me."

"Torture," Colin muttered. "Is that what she's doing? I suppose I shouldn't blame her. Maybe I deserve it." He'd known she loved him, and he'd squandered it!

Anthony looked up then. "Good God, you're quite dramatic when you're hungry. Ring for something if you're so—"

"I'm not hungry!" Colin growled, then mumbled, "Well, I am, but that's not the problem."

Anthony put down his quill and sat back. "Would you stop pacing and tell me what the bloody problem is?"

"She loves me!" Colin burst out, stilling. "Damn it all, I know she does." He shook his head and resumed his pacing. "Why would she say no?"

"Something tells me we're not talking of biscuits," Anthony chuckled.

"Who could talk of biscuits at a time like this? I offered her marriage and she—"

"And we're obviously not talking of Eloise and her sandwiches." Anthony rose abruptly and moved to the door, shutting it before turning back to Colin, his brows drawn together. "Marriage? And who, might I ask, is this... her? Someone you barely know?"

"It's not like that," Colin sighed.

"No one's seen you out and about with anyone. Mother hasn't mentioned any young ladies, neither has Hyacinth, and if anyone should know—"

"Hyacinth doesn't know everything. This is not some sudden—"

"Well, if you have an interest in someone, then you should come to me first and foremost. I have the means to look into the matter, uncover motives that the other party might be hiding. As a family of some standing, these matters aren't to be taken lightly..."

Colin rolled his eyes and turned to the sideboard. If his brother was of a mind to deliver a sermon, he'd not rest until he'd done it. He'd need a whiskey for strength. And none of that London swill. He searched until he found a Scottish blend and poured two fingers... then three, before turning back to his brother, schooling his face into a mask of receptive contrition, nodding where necessary.

"...and I know very well that you've traveled, but there are some things one only gains by a keen observance of society. As far as marriage, matters of money are still first and foremost—"

"She doesn't need money," he said hopelessly. He was certain Lady Whistledown wanted for nothing. "Likely rich as Croesus," he muttered. "Marriage to the third son of a viscount is probably nothing to her. And she refused me, anyhow. Perhaps I shouldn't bother..."

"Wait, wait!" Anthony held up a hand. "This chit refused you?"

"Yes, as I've been trying to tell you—"

"But... you're a Bridgerton," Anthony sputtered.

"That didn't seem to matter, not to her."

"But that's ridiculous!"

Damn it, she was being ridiculous! How he wished he'd called on her later in the day. She was probably miffed that he discovered her secret and didn't react how she wished. Aye, that was it! This was just some stubborn nonsense of hers. If he'd proposed without all that, his mother might be planning a celebratory dinner right now.

Then again, would it have even happened if he hadn't discovered her secret? If he'd simply paid her a call as he'd planned, would he have kissed her senseless, mussed her pins until her hair flowed unbound in his hands, bared her rather glorious breasts?

He finished his whiskey and poured another.

"...then perhaps this is for the best," Anthony was droning in the background. "This girl of yours might be showing more sense than you are. If you consider the..."

Though he did like to consider himself a gentleman with no ulterior motives when directing his coachman to the Featherington house that morning, he had to be honest, if only with himself. With the previous morning in her sitting room and that maddening, confusing, damnable kiss...

After that, holding her hand last night at the Macclesfield Ball felt like an illicit thrill. He was lying to himself if he thought he was calling on her for a simple morning chat.

Just being in her sitting room again, he'd have been tempted to amend their kiss at the very least. She'd barely got a chance to kiss him back, after all. Hadn't he told her a kiss was for two people? Shouldn't she receive the complete kissing experience she'd asked for, if only for her own sake?

And he was lying to himself again. This wasn't for her sake. Hell, there was one moment, as he had his driver follow her hack, that he thought she might be calling on him and... Well, before he was disabused of that notion, the images that entered his mind were less than chaste.

Whistledown or no, it would have happened. It didn't matter if it happened in a carriage, a sitting room, or — as he envisioned in one mad moment — in a curtained alcove in the corner of Macclesfield's ballroom. There was something about his and Penelope's lips, and the joining of the two, that felt inevitable.

"...and furthermore, there is the question of housing. Your lodgings might do for a bachelor but not for a married man." Anthony was still on his pulpit. "And what of your travels? Do you plan to quit them entirely? There are any number of other things to settle before a boy your age—"

"My lodgings are adequate, my wife would gladly join me on my travels," Colin interrupted, "and when I say I mean to marry, I mean I will do it with or without your leave. I'm not a boy anymore."

"You're near enough. You are only one-and-thirty," Anthony said with a scoff. "There is no need to rush to the altar. How do you know this mystery woman would want to live out of trunks half the year?"

"I'm actually thirty-three, you were married four years at my age, and Penelope is no mystery. I've known her nearly all my life," Colin said loudly, before finishing on a mutter, "or I thought I did."

"Still, this rash behavior is no way to..." Anthony trailed off, then smiled suddenly. "Penelope?"

"Yes, like I said, she—"

"You didn't say! And you should have because... Well, that's different!" Anthony strode to him and snatched the tumbler from his hand. "What are you drinking that swill for? This calls for a brandy, at the least!" He started digging into the cabinet, then straightened. "No! Brandy is for toasting a horse race, not a marriage." He moved toward the bell pull. "This calls for champagne!" 

Colin blocked him. "Anthony, there is no ma—"

"Mother loves the stuff. I bet she keeps it chilled."

"If you'd listen—"

"I don't even care if it's chilled. Hell, Mother would drink it flat and warm. She'll be overjoyed!"

"No, she won't," Colin growled, stopping his brother's hand from pulling the rope.

"But this is Penelope!" Anthony enthused. "You must know Mama's been after this for years. You sly devil! I remember you loudly declaring you'd never marry her."

"Well, that was—"

"I had to walk the poor girl home and watch her pretend not to be hurt. Rough stuff, that." Anthony shook his head. "We all despaired of you ever coming to your senses."

Colin started. "What? Did everyone—"

"But here you are, marrying Penelope." Anthony chuckled, nudging his shoulder. "So much for your declarations, eh?"

"I'm not marrying Penelope," Colin said loudly.

Anthony let out a hearty laugh. "Yes, very funny. You sound just like you did then."

"I'm not marrying her," Colin said through his teeth, "because she refused me!"

"I'd forgot that part." Anthony stilled, deflated, then slumped to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy, draining it and pouring another before turning back to Colin. "Why did she refuse you?"

Colin threw up his hands. "That's what I want to know!"

"That girl loves you!"

"You think so, too?" Colin had always thought she might before, but after today...

"Of course I do! Anyone who isn't half-blind sees it! I mean I knew since when... Well, when Kate told me," Anthony muttered. "But I always suspected even before that... in my own way."

Colin tossed himself onto the sofa in abject misery. "So why would she refuse me?"

"Hell if I know!" Anthony half-drained his second glass before taking the chair opposite Colin. "But maybe it was in the asking." He leaned back, tilted his head to study the ceiling. "My bachelor days might be in the past, but if I recall, ladies can be very particular about proposals. I consoled many an old chum after a rejection. Were you not sufficiently romantic about it?"

"Well... I suppose I wasn't romantic about it at all, but she has to marry me! It's for her own damned good."

Anthony sat up, then, his eyes narrowed. "And what does that mean?"

Colin had to choose his words carefully. He certainly couldn't tell Anthony, nor anyone, about Lady Whistledown. But that didn't mean he couldn't allude to it. "Let's just say that my marrying her could shield her from scandal."

"And what kind of scandal did you expose her to?"

"Why do you assume I—"

"I know you and I know Penelope and... Let's just say she's the more responsible of the two."

Colin was tempted to argue that. Spending over a decade running a scandal sheet was not responsible in the least. But he was certain Anthony was talking of more prurient things. And he was correct in thinking Colin had been the guiltier party. As willing as Penelope had been, he'd been the one who'd pushed things beyond the bounds of propriety in that carriage.

Anthony sighed. "Hell, I credit her influence alone with the fact that Eloise never ran away with a vagabond troupe of actors or some such—"

"I'd rather not talk of Eloise at the moment," Colin muttered. "She'd likely meet me with pistols at dawn if she knew..."

"If she knew what?"

"Very well, I kissed Penelope," Colin admitted, "quite a lot. And not just on her lips. And if that blasted carriage hadn't stopped, I'd have done more, damn it! Is that what you want to hear?"

"Not really." Anthony stared into his drink, his brows snapping together. "So you've compromised her."

"Not that anyone saw, but—"

"Well, that doesn't matter," his brother barked. "This is Penelope Featherington, not some tavern wench and you should have behaved yourself!"

"Like you did with Kate? You can't tell me that bee was the only incident—"

"Oh, very well." Anthony leaned back, his eyes a bit hazy. "I suppose I can sympathize. If I'd have known how it would be, I'd have compromised Kate sooner. Hell, if I could do it over, I'd have—"

"Anthony!" Colin sat up and snapped his fingers before his brother's face. "I need to know what to do now, not what you should have done before! That is hardly helpful." He shook his head. "Oh, never mind! I should have waited for Mother. She'd surely—"

"Oh, no! You're lucky I was here instead," Anthony said on a laugh.

"Yes, because your counsel has been so invaluable," Colin droned.

"I haven't even given my counsel yet. I'm getting there. But our mother... If she knew what you were about, she'd probably throw a party every day and night just to push the pair of you together."

"She would, wouldn't she?" Colin's eyes widened. "No, she would. She'd probably sit Pen right across from me and make all kinds of embarrassing—"

"Across, beside, locked in a closet... With Mother, it would be weeks of plotting, which will probably frighten poor Penelope right off. But you'll find no such machinations on my part. Just some damned good advice that I can sum up in four words."

Colin waited for those wise words.

Anthony took the time to sit up, straighten his cravat, then his vest, then dust what must be an imaginary speck off his shoulder, as if he were about to give a speech in the House of Lords, before he spoke. "Be firm with her," he finally said.

Colin stared at him. "That's it?"

"Does there need to be more?" Anthony stared at him as if he were a simpleton.

"But I did that."

"Obviously not well enough or we'd be toasting your nuptials right now. No, you need to be firm with them." He nudged his knee. "How do you think I got Kate?"

Colin shrugged. "Because you overreacted to a bee sting and it was witnessed and she had no choice but to—"

"Disregard that," Anthony said quickly. "Everyone tells it like that because they don't know the entire affair. I was very in control of the situation. See, Kate was trying to give me her blessing to marry her sister and I was about to shake or, dash it all, kiss some sense into her. I had been damned near ready to propose."

"You had?"

"Well, I... almost had. I was working my way up to it, or at least to kissing her more." He nodded to himself. "Yes, I'm sure I'd have got to the proposing bits soon enough after. Then that damnable bee came along and soured the moment and then Mrs. Featherington pops up to completely destroy it, along with our mother, and then... That's neither here nor there," he said with a wave. "See, Kate tried to act as if that blasted bee trapped us. She tried to cry off, but I did not allow it. I told her in no uncertain terms that we would marry. I told her what was what."

Colin narrowed his eyes. "Are you certain that's how it happened?"

"More or less."

"That doesn't sound like something that would work with Kate."

"But it did," Anthony insisted before waving his hand. "Very well. There might have been a bit of kissing to sweeten her up a little. She had some ridiculous notion that I didn't want her and... Well, I am an honest man. I couldn't let such lies go unanswered. I really had no choice but to..." He stood suddenly, then hastily headed for the door. "Blast it, is that woman not back yet?"

"Where are you going? You didn't even advise me!"

"Yes, I did!" Anthony stilled at the door "I told you to be firm with her, so do that."

"But I did that. I told her we were to marry! And it didn't work! She shut the door in my face. If you must know, she pushed me first!" Let's not forget that.

Anthony shook his head. "Hmm. Were you clear about wanting her? Ladies can be ridiculous about that sort of thing. I mean, even after we married, I told Kate I wanted her all the time, and showed her, but it took her months to believe it."

"Well, I think my actions made it clear. She should be in no doubt after this morning," Colin said before adding, "also yesterday afternoon."

"How much compromising have you been up to?" Anthony put up a hand. "Never mind that. I don't want to know. Did you tell her you want her?"

"I... assured her I don't behave as I did without offering marriage."

"Hmm. That's not quite the same. You might need to be more convincing. How did you ask?"

"I said, 'Are you going to marry me or not?'"

Anthony stared at him.

"And she chose not," Colin clarified.

"Hmm. First off, that does sound rather like a duty-bound proposal. But the real problem was how you worded it. 'Are you going to marry me... or not?'" Anthony leaned against the door, shaking his head. "Oh, Colin. You have so much to learn about women."

"I know it wasn't romantic, but..."

"You end with the words 'or not' and that's the last thing she hears. That's all she'll think about, reasons why not." Anthony started pacing, back and forth. "See, this is how their minds work. Women are constantly thinking things to death. Which is why you must be firm and decisive. 'You are going to marry me,' would have been best, then the last thing she hears is 'marry me,' so she's thinking about marriage. Hell, she'd probably start planning the wedding breakfast in her head. But 'or not...'" Anthony stilled and shook his head.

Colin pushed at him. "Oh, blast you! If you're not going to help..." He stilled. "You might have something there."

"Of course I do. Look, I can't say I completely understand the way a woman thinks, but—"

"Not that rot. The thing about... Kate not believing you want her. Because Penelope did insist I was joking at first, then said something or other about how I don't want to marry her, and then that I was only proposing because of duty or something like that."

"Because you weren't... firm... with... her," Anthony said emphatically.

"Well, I tried! If you were there, you'd have seen how impossible she is. Damn it, I barely got a word in!" He paced away. "God save us all from witty women! She kept talking circles around me until I barely knew what was what. But I won't let her get away with it this time!"

"See, now you're talking like a man," Anthony said proudly.

"I am a man! And I know my own mind!"

"That's the spirit!" Anthony slapped him on the back.

"If she thinks she can tell me what I want or don't want, then she has another think coming!"

"You tell her!"

Colin nodded firmly. "I'm going to march over there this minute and—"

"God, no! Don't do that," Anthony said loudly.

"But I—"

"You've had three whiskeys and you stole the rest of my brandy."

Colin looked down at the glass in his hand. "Ah, so I did."

"This is a delicate situation and must be approached rationally. You get yourself a good night's sleep."

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon."

"I mean tonight," Anthony said with a withering glance. "You can't go bombarding the girl more today. Do you want to muck it up further?"

"Of course not."

"Then you prepare your words — your very firm words — carefully and, with any luck, she won't talk any rings around you tomorrow."

Colin sighed. "Very well. But what should I—"

Anthony turned to the door suddenly. "Ah. I think I hear Kate." He turned back to Colin, gripping his shoulder. "Best of luck."

And then he was gone.

Colin didn't want to face his mother, nor anyone at the moment. He had too much to think about and would rather be alone. So he kept himself in the library until he heard Mother leave the hall before making his escape. And he'd nearly succeeded before practically plowing into Benedict at the door.

"Ah, Colin." His second-eldest brother smiled widely as he handed his hat and gloves to a footman. "I'd just been reminding myself to send you a note about it. This saves me the trouble."

"About what?"

"Tomorrow." Benedict smiled. "Shall we take my carriage or yours there?"

Colin tilted his head. "There to... what?" 

"Rubens? Don't tell me you've forgotten." Benedict sighed. "We'd been planning to go for a month."

"Er... I'm dreadfully sorry." Colin had enough on his plate for tomorrow. "You'll have to send my regrets to... er..."

"To Rubens?" Benedict shook his head. "I don't think I can. The man's been dead for nearly two-hundred years."

"Oh. Yes. My... condolences then?" Colin tried.

"Very funny. The Rubens exhibition is only in town for another day and you must come with me. You're the only person in this family with a true appreciation of art. Didn't you say they fascinated you in Antwerp?"

Ah, the painter. Yes, he had some vague memory of him, also of planning this outing, but surely none of that mattered in light of what had transpired today. "Yes, but you see tomorrow... Can't Sophie..."

"God, that's the last thing Sophie wants to do. Apparently, calling her Rubenesque was the wrong thing to do, in her condition. In my defense, it was meant as a compliment." Benedict groaned. "Still, she's holed herself up with a stack of novels and says she doesn't want to see hide nor hair of me tomorrow. I don't blame her. I've been told I hover too much or some such nonsense," he finished with a wave of his hand. "Anyhow, tomorrow. I'll come collect you at two."

"Yes. Very well. Two," Colin said absently before finally wandering out the door.

He'd rather get out of it, but he didn't have the capacity to argue at the moment. And he had a long walk home, considering he'd sent his carriage back, something he only remembered after staring up and down Bruton Street for far too long before he realized it wasn't waiting.

He supposed he should be glad of the two mile walk to Bloomsbury. It gave him time to think, also to stop at Covent Garden where the The Piazza served a very good lunch, something he thought would quiet his mind. But he quite foolishly drank down three cups of coffee along with it, which sobered him up quite well but had him vibrating out of his skin until he ended up walking all the way back to Mayfair, all the while replaying this disastrous morning and wondering where he'd gone so wrong.

He found himself in front of her house again and quickly turned the other way. As tempted as he was to march in there and try a bit of that firmness right this second, he resisted, collecting himself in front of a florist's shop... which didn't help since the scent of roses everywhere only served to remind him of her, of the smell of her hair when it tumbled over his hands. He let himself breathe it in for a moment, reminding himself that this morning wasn't all disaster.

"See anything you fancy, sir?" The older woman said, half an eye on him as she cleaned up for the night. When the hell had it got so late?

"Yes, I think I do."

A few minutes later, Colin set down the indecently large bouquet on the Featherington doorstep. He'd bought out every red rose the florist had. If that didn't convince her...

Well, there was always tomorrow.

TBC

**********************************

I wonder what Kate would think of Anthony's extremely wise advice that definitely won't backfire at all.

If you like this, you'll like my originals more. Trust me: https://www.wattpad.com/story/135523324-the-lady-pursues

The Lady Pursues is n ow in Paid Stories, but I promise it's worth it. Feel free to check it out or, if you want a freebie, my contemporary, Maybe It's Magic is free. It's some goofy, possibly magical, friends to lovers fun.

And catch me on Twitter @AWheelerRomance if you don't mind leftist snark, movie buff ramblings, and rants on fandom etiquette (don't even get me started on this fandom, y'all!)

Chapter Text

Penelope forced herself out of bed at half past six in the morning, which would usually seem like an ungodly hour to wake unless she had a very good reason — such as getting her column delivered if she hadn't managed to get it out the night before — but she had no such reason these days, unless one counted her strange situation with Colin Bridgerton, of all people.

She stared at the roses on her nightstand, fretting.

She'd held herself under her covers for an hour before this, telling herself this was no urgent matter and treating it as such was only making it worse. Yet she couldn't help it. She must speak to Briarly!

Briarly had turned a blind eye so many times, in so many situations. As careful as she was when sneaking out and back in, he'd still let her in through the back door nearly a dozen times, and pretended to believe her when she claimed she'd gone to retrieve her gloves from the carriage and got herself locked out, or that she'd left her shawl at the ball and had rushed back to retrieve it, or that she'd knocked her spectacles out the window and that was why she was wandering in from the back alley.

He must think her very forgetful, indeed, since her bedchamber faced the front, and since she didn't even wear spectacles. And that wasn't counting the necklaces with broken clasps that she somehow found in the gardens at midnight, the reticules she needed to retrieve from her last party...

A dutiful butler might make note of these moments, perhaps alert her mother that Penelope's forgetfulness was most concerning, but Briarly never did. Even on those nights when Penelope stayed awake, shaking in her bed, thinking he'd finally tell her mother all, she'd always come down to breakfast to find the same blissful ignorance of her doings that she'd come to depend upon.

Penelope was positive that Briarly knew all, including where the sudden windfalls that benefited the Featherington family came from. If nothing else, the day when he'd chased her halfway down the street with a previously rolled-up Whistledown draft that had fallen from her pocket might have tipped him off. It become quite unraveled, after all, and much too visible by the time he handed it off. But she also suspected that, as those same windfalls kept him employed, he wouldn't ask too many questions.

Briarly might very well be the best keeper of secrets in all of London. She'd once thought that title should belong to her, with all her years of hiding so successfully, but she'd slipped yesterday.

If she'd not been so set upon her mission to discredit Cressida, she might have looked more carefully in both directions before stepping into her hired hack. Such precautions had saved her in the past, when she'd found her mother, her sister, or Eloise in the vicinity.

She might have noticed Colin watching her, if she'd thought to look for it. But how could she? She'd so long thought herself invisible to the other sex, so much that the only warning signs she looked for on Mount Street involved bonnets. Even Briarly, on the rare times he seemed to see her stepping into a hack, quickly turned away, bless him.

But Whistledown wasn't the secret she needed kept today. And she worried that this secret would be beyond Briarly. He'd made a show of pretending he didn't see her mussed hair and her breathless state, but his eyes were always far too knowing. She must know what he'd witnessed yesterday!

"Yesterday?" he echoed, seeming to search his mind after she cornered him in the butler's pantry. "I saw nothing untoward when you returned from your... outing."

She let out a kept breath. "I'm so relieved. You see, Mr. Bridgerton was only... Well, he was..."

"I thought it very kind of him to take you home," he said when her words failed her.

"Yes! Very kind. You see, our argument was... was not even an argument. Like I said, it was a... spirited debate. Didn't I say as much?"

"Indeed you did, Miss. And though I might be biased, whatever the subject, I'm certain you had the right of it." He stared at her, his eyes hardening slightly. "But if his arguments caused you any distress, I'm certain he could be turned away until he had become more... agreeable."

Dear Briarly. Penelope was quite tempted to tell him to keep Colin away, as he was not likely to become more agreeable until he got his way. "No need for that."

She'd have to make him see sense. And if those roses were any indication, he was still set upon this ridiculous marriage. And speaking of the roses...

"Briarly, does my mother know about the... delivery last night?"

"Of course not," he said. "I'm sure she doesn't need alerting every time you receive a gift from...er..."

"Eloise," she supplied.

"Just so," he said with a nod.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "No need to bother her overmuch." She started away, then pretended she'd suddenly remembered something. "While I think of it, if Mr. Bridgerton might happen to come round to... to..." Damn it all, couldn't she at least remember what to say?

"To finish your debate?" Briarly prodded.

"Yes, precisely," she said eagerly. "It's such a nonsensical thing. I would much rather not have Mother roused too early for such silliness. I will meet him in the library, should he come." Her mother barely ever frequented the room, after all. And the drawing room might remind him of... other things that should not be repeated.

"Just so," he said again. "I shall direct him there, should he come, where you will be waiting for him. Alone."

She did detect a note of disapproval, then. A part of her wished to assure Briarly that she knew what she was about. But how could she? It wasn't like she knew what to do with... whatever this was. She wasn't even certain Colin would call today.

She had no idea what to do when he did... if he did. She shouldn't flatter herself that he would. Yes, he sent the roses, but he'd likely done that without thinking. Perhaps after a night to sleep upon it, he'd given it more thought and realized that a marriage to Lady Whistledown would be more trouble than it was worth.

Well, that was a relief.

Or it should be.

Why wasn't it?

Dear God, was she wishing he would renew his attentions? After she'd very clearly told herself not to? She shouldn't.

She reminded herself that Colin was under duress. He wasn't thinking clearly. He would regret it and she didn't want him, not this way.

But it was very hard to weigh the events of yesterday after years upon years dreaming of him, craving his company, his attention, his regard, his praise, his glances in her direction...

But what of all the effort it took to convince herself that Colin Bridgerton was not for her? His words to his brothers, years ago now, hadn't done the job just because they were said. It took a very long time to convince herself that his kindness to her wasn't hiding some hidden regard.

She was a fool. Did she truly think, if he asked again, she could be strong enough to resist?

Then again, perhaps he wouldn't ask.

She would prepare herself regardless.

That was what had her dressing in her best blue morning dress, the one Jenny said matched her eyes, and bidding Jenny to take care with her hair, but not too much. She'd long done away with the tight, fussy curls her mother preferred in favor of much more practical twists or chignons, but nothing so tight that some curls might not gently drape in careless whorls about her face, as if by accident.

She should look her best, so she had the confidence to refuse him. That was the only reason. "Now that I think on it, I look quite pale." She looked terrified. "A bit of rouge, perhaps?"

"Has this to do with the roses?" Jenny had inquired with an altogether too cheeky grin.

"The roses?" Penelope had echoed, feigning surprise. "Why would you think that?"

"Because we've both seen Eloise Bridgerton's handwriting," a voice said from behind her, "and we both agreed it's much larger and loopier."

Penelope glanced up to find her younger sister lingering in the doorway. "Have you been listening all this time? I should inform Mama that you have entirely too much time on your hands."

Felicity didn't even blink. "If you do that, then I shall inform Hyacinth of all I know."

"What... What precisely do you think you know?" she scoffed, hoping she sounded disinterested, but... God help them all if Hyacinth Bridgerton had an inkling of yesterday's events.

"Ah, look how she blushes, Jenny." Felicity laughed. "She doesn't need any rouge now."

Penelope gave her maid an accusatory glance. "Did you two read the note?"

"No, but we saw the name upon it," Jenny said with a slight blush.

"It only said 'Pen.' Now who do we know that calls you that?" Felicity tapped her chin. "Only one person I can think of."

She turned in her chair, ignoring her sister and facing Jenny. "You said no one saw—"

"I did not," Jenny said, glancing at the floor, "I said your mother didn't see. I didn't say—"

"I told her not to tell you I saw. I also bid her to tell me who you might claim the flowers were from, knowing it would be a blatant falsehood, which only confirmed my suspicions... after what I saw yesterday," Felicity said quite smugly, to Penelope's mind.

"Yesterday?" Jenny was glancing between them. The girl was too observant by half. As was her sister.

"Thank you, Jenny," Penelope said, trying to sound calm. "I feel I've been sufficiently primped."

Jenny looked disappointed, but she dipped a curtsy and left, thankfully closing the door.

"What did you see?" Penelope turned and leveled a stare at her sister. She also wanted to ask what would it take for her to unsee it, also to never, ever tell Hyacinth, but she wouldn't give Felicity such leverage unless needed. Felicity might be pretending she saw more than she had.

"When do you mean?" Felicity strolled about the room in a leisurely manner. "This morning, when I woke, I first saw my canopy, and then dear Jenny fussing about, and then my clock, and then..."

"Felicity," Penelope droned. "I do not have time for your playacting."

Her sister frowned. "Well, you should. It's one of my greatest talents. Just imagine me yesterday, at our family meeting, feigning interest in Nigel's sudden interest in entomology, so much that I sat upon the window seat — to spot any insects that flew by, of course, not because I was bored silly." She grinned. "I wasn't bored for long."

Damn it, she'd seen enough.

Yesterday, Penelope had comforted herself that no one else on Mount Street had looked their way, but she hadn't thought of her own house, outside of Briarly's notice. She might have been more careful, even two weeks before this. Her ability at keeping secrets had been obviously obliterated since she'd laid down her quill.

"Felicity, whatever you thought you saw—"

"Nay, nay! I saw nothing. Well... nothing I could prove."

Penelope might have relaxed at that, if she didn't know her younger sister all too well. Prudence and Philippa had barely ever noticed her doings, but Felicity was sharper and not as likely to let things slip by.

"What do you want?" Penelope sighed. "Or, should I say, how much?"

"How much?" Felicity was frowning at her. "Am I to understand you are offering to bribe me?"

"Yes. Name your price." If Felicity required more pin money to keep silent, she could certainly spare it.

Felicity's lips thinned further. "Never mind. You have my silence." She started away. "And I have yours, as always."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Her little sister turned back. "I mean that I thought we were a pair. Prudence and Philippa have their little secrets and whisperings and I always hoped, when I was old enough, you'd care to let me into your secrets. But you never have and I suppose you never will."

"My secrets?" Penelope struggled to look aghast. "What secrets do you imagine I have?"

"More than you're willing to tell. I've sometimes thought of following you, you know, on your strange little trips to the modiste or the milliner's or the lending library, after which you never come back with anything, you know. Mama might not take note of it, but I do."

She'd never really thought of Felicity noticing such things. "Well... They're sent later. You just do not see it." She shook her head. "Felicity, you are quite the prettiest and liveliest of us all. Surely you have better to do than notice my comings and goings. It's all quite a bore, I assure you."

"How flattering of you," she answered slyly. "But I don't mind being bored, now and again. The next time you go on one of your errands, I'd love to accompany you. It's much better than you going alone, without even a maid. I wonder that Mama hasn't remarked upon it. Perhaps she doesn't know. Perhaps she should know."

"Very well," Penelope said on a groan. Her days as Lady Whistledown were at an end, save for one last column that she was determined to deliver. What did she have to hide now? Then again, Colin had prevented her from leaving it. She would have to find another way. And she didn't want her little sister following her for that. She'd have to give her something. It was just a question of what. "You promise that you will never, ever tell anyone anything. Not Mama."

Felicity stared at her with great and sudden interest. "Well, of course I wouldn't—"

"And not even Hyacinth!"

She thought her sister might balk at not telling Hyacinth, but Felicity stood straighter, thrusting her chin out. "No! I shall not say one word to Hy about it. Or I swear I shall never touch a paintbrush again!"

"My, that is dramatic!" Penelope stalled. "Are you certain keeping my silly little secrets is worth such a price?" Felicity did so enjoy her watercolors.

"It's no price at all as I'd never tell your secrets. Not to anyone. Not if you trusted me with them. And I've no one else in this family that I can talk to about anything," Felicity said with wide, pleading eyes. "Oh, Penelope, please!"

Penelope's eyes softened. She'd never imagined Felicity felt shut out of this family the way Penelope always had. Felicity was so very pretty. But she was also clever and, though her family might reward prettiness, they had no use for clever girls.

Lady W was hers and hers alone — apart from Colin's discovery — but she saw no reason to hide everything. Strange as it felt, it could be nice to have someone in this house she might confide in.

"What you saw yesterday was... I mean, it wasn't... There's no reason to think anything of it because you see..." Penelope trailed off. Yes, it might be nice to confide in someone, but that didn't make it any easier to share, not for someone so accustomed to secrecy.

Felicity's eyes were so eager. But what could she tell her? About her wanton behavior, the unrepentant way she let him kiss her, bare her breasts? How she'd have let him do much more if the bloody carriage hadn't stopped?

She couldn't. She wouldn't want to encourage such behavior in her little sister. So she confessed what she could. "Colin Bridgerton has proposed to me, but I—"

"Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!" Felicity rushed to her, squeezing her quite hard. "I knew he would! I told Hyacinth this year, but she thought he was still too dunderheaded and that it should surely take another year entirely, but I just knew it would be sooner."

"What? Why in the world would you two talk about Colin and I as if there's some sort of... of..."

"Oh, we talk about everyone. Always have. We like to watch people, especially people we know. It's been ever so much easier since we both came out. Sometimes I think the two of us could give even Lady Whistledown some competition if we so choose. I'm quite certain we know everyone's secrets before they do."

"Colin... Mr. Bridgerton and I," Penelope corrected hastily, "don't have any secrets. Or at least not before yesterday, which was only a—"

"Oh, yes, you do. You've never hidden your preference well," Felicity said as if she knew all, "but he's much more obvious about his than he realizes and we knew it was only a matter of time before—"

Penelope cut her off, forcing a laugh. "Well, this certainly explains all the whispering and giggling the pair of you do at every ball. I shall grant you that I once had a certain... preference for Mr. Bridgerton. But it has long since passed. And this ridiculous notion that Colin... That Mr. Bridgerton—"

"Come, sister. What's ridiculous is how you can attempt to deny it. Your preference is plain to see. But so is his."

"Wh... What do you mean?"

Felicity leaned closer. "Every time Mr. Bridgerton comes back from one of his little voyages, he finds his way to you before anyone else," she paused, "...well, after his family. But now that he has new lodgings, I dare say, at the odd party he attends alone, he seeks you out even before..."

"Only because he considers me a friend."

"Then he must consider you a very good friend. Each time he walks into a ball, he's always looking about aimlessly until he finds you, even as well as you hide yourself, and then—"

"That's only because his mother kindly tasks him to dance with me. He's simply getting his duty out of the way."

"Hy says she doesn't even tell him anymore," Felicity countered.

"He's a good son who doesn't have to be told every time. If he forgot, I'm sure Lady Bridgerton would remind him."

"But he never forgets. And he rarely dances with another. He also gazes at you after the dance. Not quite as much as you gaze at him, mind you—"

"I do not... Well, perhaps I once did, but surely I no longer—"

"Oh, you do. But so does he. He looks at you more than anyone or anything else. I doubt he even realizes how much his eyes land upon you, but Hy and I do. And then he spends the better part of the evening conversing with you, either mostly you or only you, before he leaves early. I wonder that no one else has remarked upon it. Hy and I often say we must be the only ones with any sense."

Penelope wanted to shake her sister and tell her to stop. How many years had she spent convincing herself that Colin Bridgerton was not and would never be for her? She was not about to throw all that hard work away because of one obviously duty-bound proposal and because her sister thought he looked at her too much.

"How... How do you even know what he's looking at? It could be something near me. I'm often near the refreshments and we all know Colin loves his—"

"It's you. Hy and I are certain. Yes, he does sometimes partake of the refreshments, but not always. Yet his craving for conversation with you is consistently—"

"Felicity," she began slowly, patiently, "if Colin Bridgerton had... tender feelings for me, he would not hesitate to say so." If she'd learned anything after the events of this last week, it was that he was certainly not shy about speaking his mind.

"Not if he didn't know it, himself. I have it on good authority that he is an absolute idiot."

"From Hyacinth, you mean?" Penelope scoffed and paced away. "All sisters think their brothers are idiots."

"And what of the Smythe-Smith musicale. Didn't he spend the entire night at your side, and then held your hand at the Macclesfield Ball for far too long?"

"But that was only because... he... Well, he was..." She couldn't think of a blasted thing to finish that with.

"Not only did he stare at you all night, but it was like he was tethered to you," Felicity was saying. "And now you tell me proposed to you the next morning? Forgive me if I'm not surprised."

"No, he was just being silly. You see, that afternoon, we'd quarreled and I... I asked him to kiss me," she said, suddenly realizing that must be why. "Even without what happened in the carriage, he—"

"He kissed you?" Felicity practically screamed.

Penelope rushed to her sister and covered her mouth. "For heaven's sake, do you want all of London to hear?"

Felicity licked her palm, letting out a laugh when Penelope quickly pulled her hand away with disgust. "I knew it! Briarly said you had a visitor, but that I was not to disturb you. And when I passed the drawing room door, it was almost closed."

"Yes, he kissed me, but not really," Penelope said quickly. "I asked him to... Truly, I practically forced him into it! And I told him it didn't mean anything," she said, convincing herself as she said it. It made perfect sense. "I'd wager that, last night, he wanted to be close to me to... to assure himself we were still friends after my forwardness. Nay, I'm sure of it."

Felicity stared at her for a moment. "So, if that's what the two of you were arguing about in the carriage, why did it result in mussing your hair and skewing your bodice?" She leaned back, waiting.

Penelope had no ready answer for that, but she was starting to see the carriage incident and the subsequent proposal more clearly. "Obviously, after the kiss," she said, almost to herself. "Colin's sense of honor had weighed upon him. That was why he was so solicitous after. I'd bet he was foolish enough to think he needed to court me in the eyes of the ton, even before the carriage. Then after the carriage, he must have felt even more obliged and that is why—"

"Yes, if you could say what happened in the carriage... and with great detail, I'd be much obliged. I've not been kissed anywhere. Is it better in a drawing room or a carriage? Has he kissed you anywhere else?"

She flushed, thinking Felicity was far too young to hear the answer to how many places Colin's lips ventured yesterday. "Of course not! Only in those... locations."

"So there was kissing in the carriage!" Felicity sounded far too satisfied.

Drat! Her sister was a very tricky girl. Penelope couldn't imagine where she got it.

"Oh, don't shutter up on me now. It's just getting good," Felicity giggled, skipping to Penelope's bed and tossing herself upon it. "Hy thinks a carriage a very unromantic place to kiss and that the whole thing would be a mess with all the shaking. She professes she will accept a rose garden for her first kiss and nothing less. I think any place would be nice if the man knows what he's about. Miss Gladstone told us Mr. Hartley once trapped her in the garden and—"

"Felicity, you shouldn't be discussing such things and neither should Hyacinth."

"Why not? Just because we haven't done it doesn't mean we shouldn't speak of it. Geoffrey won't kiss anything but my hand. If us girls were limited to what they've done, we'd likely sit in silence at every tea."

"Well, that's just..." Penelope paused before going on, "... reasonable, actually."

She might not be Lady Whistledown any more, but those instincts were still there, the ones that railed against a society that trapped young girls in ignorance, never answered their questions, and always treated what they had to say with an indulgent pat on the head, as if they were particularly amusing puppies.

She sighed and sat next to her sister's prone form on the bed. "Very well. What did Miss Gladstone say?"

Felicity sat up eagerly. "Well, he'd been courting her for a week, so she'd been looking forward to it, but she said it was dreadful. He slobbered all over her and stuck his tongue in her mouth and squeezed her bottom. She gave him two slaps. Now, I would have kicked him, too. But then Miss Steele says Mr. Beaumont kissed her in a library and it was much more pleasant when he stuck his tongue in her mouth. Of course, she didn't give us any more than that, but they are engaged now, so he must have been particularly good at it if she wants to keep doing it."

"I suppose," Penelope breathed, thinking about her first kiss with Colin. He'd certainly stuck his tongue in her mouth, but it was more of a caress. And he'd grabbed her derriere, while she was thinking of it. And his tongue had ventured other places. But there'd been nothing dreadful about any of it. Even remembering it all made her...

"So Mr. Bridgerton must be more like Mr. Beaumont. You did let him kiss you twice, after all," Felicity surmised. "And now you're to be married, so he must have—"

"Felicity, we are not to be married! I refused him."

"Oh." She fell back against the pillows, frowning. "So he's bad at it, after all? I'd been hoping for better... for you. After all those years of—"

"It's not that. Colin Bridgerton kisses... quite well," she said, knowing it was an understatement, "but there is more to marriage than kissing and... and I refused him because I won't allow him to marry me out of—"

"Are you mad?" Felicity shot up then. "You're not going to marry Colin Bridgerton? Do you realize a chance like this doesn't come along every—"

"If you're trying to say I'm not likely to do better, I am quite aware—"

"Not that!" Felicity gripped her hand. "You are lovely and intelligent and I'd wager you'd have left a string of broken hearts all over The Ton if you only knew that and stopped hugging the walls at every ball. But your heart has always belonged to him. Why not marry the man who holds your heart?"

"Because he doesn't hold my heart! Not anymore. I've taken great pains to make it so," Penelope said hotly. "So I will not accept a proposal from Colin Bridgerton. I have worked too hard to... to accept that... that it won't..."

"What? That it won't happen?" Felicity scoffed loudly. "Even after it did? Pray, tell me... What is your reasoning now?"

Penelope was saved from answering by a knock on the door.

"Miss Penelope? You have a visitor," Jenny said from the other side, "in the library."

"I wonder who that could be," her sister queried, quite smugly.

Penelope couldn't argue that her sister wasn't right, unless Eloise had suddenly taken to waking before ten. Even her publisher wouldn't accost her before nine o'clock. She rushed to the mirror and stared at herself a moment. She certainly didn't need rouge. Nervous as she was, her color was high. She splashed some water on her face, hoping it might cool her face... and her nerves.

"Who is it, Jenny?" Felicity called out, sounding quite alarmingly like Penelope herself.

"It's Mr. Bridgerton, Miss. Mr. Colin Bridgerton."

"Tell him I shall be down directly," Felicity called out, still in Penelope's voice, before giggling and linking her hands behind her head. "I will be waiting for a full report," Felicity said, laying back against the pillows.

"I long for the days when sneaking you extra biscuits was enough to placate you," Penelope said before smoothing her skirts and moving to the door.

"You can bring some up when you're done," Felicity called after her. "We will need sustenance for our very long talk — that is, if your fiance leaves us any. Hy says he's the worst."

"He's not my fiance," she hissed before leaving. But she couldn't argue the rest. Colin was never likely to leave biscuits uneaten.

Blast Felicity, anyhow. She'd distracted her. Penelope had meant to be in the library before he arrived so that he would come upon her, calm and reading something nice and dry and silently repeating her resolutions.

You will not give in to him. He is only asking out of duty. You have your own money. You don 't need to marry. So why marry a man who will only resent you, in the end? He might be miffed about it now, but it's for his own good and — for God's sake — don't let him  kiss  you again or you might forget everything else!

She repeated them now, as she moved down the hall, descended the steps, then again as she made her way through the front hall and approached the library.

But what if I kiss him?

She wouldn't put it past herself. After yesterday's events, she wasn't quite sure she wouldn't grip his cravat and pull him down and meet his lips the moment she saw him, perhaps while sliding her hands over his shoulders, down his back, under his shirt to feel his heated skin again as she...

She pressed her hand against the door, taking several deep breaths, strengthening her resolve, telling herself that she was perfectly capable of keeping to her plan — as long as she also kept her distance.

Stay across the room. Don't let him get close, she reminded herself as she gripped the door handle, ready to sail in confidently, preparedly, assuredly.

It didn't quite turn out that way, as the door was jerked before she could turn the handle and she didn't so much sail in as fall in... right into the arms of Colin Bridgerton.

TBC

*************************

That Felicity is one sharp tack.

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Chapter Text

Colin had only meant to peek out the door, perhaps ask Briarly what was taking so long. He already suspected, upon being shown into the library, that the older man wasn’t happy about his presence. Colin had begun to wonder just how much Briarly had seen yesterday. It had to be more than nothing, as Penelope had insisted. Otherwise, why had his narrowed eyes followed Colin into the library as if he’d some secret plan to steal the contents of the room?

Then again, if Penelope were the contents, then yes… he did have certain plans of stealing her, but only in the most respectable way.

He was offering marriage, after all. He’d wager if Briarly knew that Penelope was the problem, he’d see things differently.

After a full ten minutes waiting, Colin started to suspect Briarly was torturing him, perhaps punishing him for yesterday’s indiscretions, and would very likely come back and claim Miss Featherington was not receiving callers after all.

He certainly hadn’t expected, upon pulling the door open, for Penelope to fall directly through it and into his arms. But he couldn’t help thinking it a fair omen for the day as he caught her, his arms wrapping around her waist quickly, turning with her fall, but keeping her from hitting the floor as she stared up at him with wide, astonished eyes.

He’d not expected to have her so close, so soon and — by the way her eyes drifted down to his lips — so willing.

Perhaps they could dispense with the talk. He’d rather not talk, anyhow. He’d sent roses to sweeten her up, just as a start, and there was a box of nonpareils on the table behind him he’d yet to offer her, but he’d bet a bit of kissing would sweeten her up even more.

He would certainly prefer that route. It would make this much easier as, despite Anthony’s advice, he wasn’t looking forward to the forceful bits of this ordeal. He had rehearsed it on the way from Bloomsbury and still didn’t feel as if it sounded right, coming from him.

You must be firm and decisive. 'You are going to marry me,' would have been best, then she's thinking about marriage.

That’s what Anthony had said and he’d tried to practice the words, on the carriage ride over, but they felt so strange upon his tongue. He’d never considered forcefulness a part of his nature. Perhaps it was something he had to learn, in order to be a proper husband.

“You are going to marry me,” he’d said to the empty carriage bench facing him.

He didn’t like it. It felt like an order. Even the imaginary Penelope in the seat across the way didn’t seem impressed.

“We are to be married,” he’d tried, firmly.

It felt a bit better. At least the both of them were being given the edict. And he was more than ready to comply. But was she? That imaginary Penelope still seemed reluctant.

“You will be my wife,” he’d said, staring at the empty seat more firmly, a frisson of excitement moving through his entire body at the word. That did sound tempting, if a little possessive. He liked it, but would she?

“I will be your husband,” he added. That also sounded rather thrilling. He tried to imagine her equally enthralled.

It was easy to imagine she would be, alone in his carriage, staring at the cushioned squabs where he’d laid her down yesterday, heard her moans, her sighs, her gasps of pleasure.

He couldn’t stop reliving the events… but in better ways. It was likely a waste of time. Reliving imaginary yesterdays did nothing to help him with today, or so he told himself. Still, it was hard to help. He especially liked the ones where he’d told his coachman to keep moving along for another half-hour, perhaps a whole hour.

With an hour, he’d have had his way with her to a degree that marriage was inevitable. There were other fantasies — not at all possible now, but lovely to entertain — where they traveled even longer, where he kissed her all the way to Gretna Green and didn’t stop until he had her over the anvil, then over a bed, in his arms, writhing beneath him…

As of now, he did have her beneath him... or at least over his arm, staring up at him -- or at his lips.

In the last two days, he’d learned Penelope didn’t argue when her lips were otherwise engaged. He should kiss her. Perhaps it was the sort of thing he must do every day. Yes, very strategic and not at all an uncontrollable impulse.

He leaned down, quite ready to give in to that impulse, when she slipped from his arms so quickly, he practically kissed the parquet floor. He did right himself before that happened as she sort of stumbled against the door, nearly shutting it. He thought that was an excellent idea and was quite prepared to help her close it the rest of the way but, by then, she was on the other side of the room.

“Good morning, Colin. How kind of you to call,” she said with near-perfect nonchalance — perusing the shelves, of all things — as if she’d come down to browse the Featherington library and he just happened to be in the room.

“You weren’t expecting me,” Colin prodded, “not at all? Truly, Penelope, after yesterday, you can’t possibly pretend—”

“The roses were quite lovely and… and kind. Thank you very much.”

Damned word again. "You're welcome, but you know very well I didn't come just to be kind."

“Well, it's fortuitous that you've dropped in. I’d been thinking of… of a book for you, one you would enjoy immensely,” she finished, plucking one from the shelf.

“Is that so?” He ate up the distance between them with quick strides, taking it from her hands. “And do you really believe I’d have an interest in… sea shanties?” he finished, a bit crestfallen. He’d truly expected it to be something less relevant to his interests, damn it all. He quite liked sea shanties.

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “As a traveler, you must have heard your share and—”

“And you were quite lucky to happen upon them,” he said over her, quite firmly, placing the book back on the shelf and leaning into her. “But they shall not distract me for as long as you wish. Now, as for yesterday—”

“Do you think I wish to distract you?” She quite neatly slipped away again, placing herself across the room and on a sofa. “Twas merely a thoughtful gesture.”

So she was going to play at nonchalance still, was she? He could do the same. “I quite like a good sea-faring tune. What a clever idea. We could learn some for our travels.”

“For our—”

“We will surely sail south first of all. We could journey north, I suppose,” he sighed, “but trust me, a long carriage ride isn’t nearly as exciting as a sea voyage, though I suspect you’d love the sights of both.”

Her eyes slid to his with a spark of interest before she looked down.

Interesting.

He strolled away from the shelves, quite at ease, thinking he’d found another way to sweeten her up. He sailed across the room and slid onto the sofa beside her. “Haven’t you ever longed to see the world? Can you imagine yourself staring up at the wonders of the Sistine Chapel, bathing in the Grecian seas, or lounging on a Parisian balcony, smothered in pastries…” He trailed off, with that image in mind.

Damn it, he was supposed to be tempting her.

She resolutely stared ahead. “You are too presumptuous, to say the least,” she said, planting a hand at her side, as if poised to up and flee at any moment.

He gripped that hand. “Of course. Perhaps it’s too soon to sail. We could very well take a carriage north if you prefer.” He leaned toward her, noting the way she shivered with pure, male satisfaction, murmuring, “It will take more time, but perhaps that’s for the best. I quite fancy a longer carriage ride with you after the last--" 

“I beg you, Colin, stop this!” She stood and paced away, wringing her hands.

He leaned back on the sofa, spreading his arms wide over the back as he looked her up and down. “Stop what?”

She turned back, obviously irritated that, whatever they were playing at, he was winning. “Stop… looking at me like that, for one thing.”

“It really can’t be helped.” She looked quite alluring today, her eyes stark against that blue dress and her hair twisted so intricately that all he could think was how to undo it. The flush on her cheeks and her lips was also very charming.

“Well, try! You’re not fooling me.”

“What? I’m not trying to fool—”

“And you can stop sending me roses as well.”

Colin had to laugh. “I only did it the once.”

“Then let it be the last.”

“You didn’t enjoy them? Not even a little?” He sat up. “Red roses are a symbol of desire, you know.”

“Are they now?" She puffed herself up like a school marm. "I thought them to be a very inconvenient symbol of your stubbornness.”

“Stubbornness? That won’t do at all. Red roses denote passion, or at least they should.” He stood and moved toward her, as she backed toward the door, gripping the handle behind her. He didn’t miss the fact that she didn’t turn it, however, not even when he was close enough that his breath stirred the tiny hairs along her forehead. “I’d imagined you breathing them in, caressing the petals, maybe brushing them tenderly against your lips. You even smell like them now.”

“Simply because my maid uses rose oil,” she said breathlessly. “She’s probably plucking your bouquet to bits as we speak.”

“So cruel,” he tutted. “If they are a nuisance to you, perhaps you don’t understand the spirit in which they were sent.” He leaned in, bracing a hand against the door beside her head, a hair’s breadth away from her lips as she inhaled sharply. “Have I truly been so unclear in my intentions?”

“I certainly wouldn’t say that,” she choked out before she sucked in a long breath, trapping it under that tantalizingly low bodice.

Colin waited for the inevitable release and… God, he felt boneless, nearly falling against her when she finally exhaled, his eyes torn between her lips, her neck, and her distractingly heaving breasts, damn them.

No. Bless them. May they heave forever.

“You’re doing it again,” she said, her eyes drifting downward. “Stop looking—”

“So are you,” he said, then corrected himself, “not staring at my breasts, that is. I do not possess such wonders.”

“It would be a silly sight if you did,” she said, trying to laugh, but landing on a sort of a weak wheeze. “Really, this is all silly. Can we not—”

“Your eyes have strayed to my lips more times than I can count.” He leaned his body into hers, sliding a hand to her waist. “Whatever could you you mean by it?”

“I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“I’m sure I’m not,” he whispered, gratified as her lips seemed to float upward, her eyes closing…

“Miss Penelope? I believe the door is stuck.” It was Briarly, sounding unconvinced that the door was, indeed, stuck. “I have quite a heavy tray.”

With a groan, Colin strode away fisting his hands, putting himself across the room and behind a high-backed chair to hide his very inconvenient condition.

Penelope seemed to force a laugh as she turned and gripped the door knob. “Trust you to remember yourself once food is on offer.”

“What does that mean?” he pouted as she let Briarly in, staggering under the weight of a generous tray of tea, sandwiches, biscuits, and fruit.

“So very sorry about the door. And thank you so much, Briarly. Mr. Bridgerton is not feeling at all himself, you see. I’m sure this will do him good,” she babbled as the man placed his tray down on the low table before the sofa she had so demurely re-taken.

Colin did note that Briarly’s eyes narrowed in his direction before he bowed out of the room, and that the door was left fully open now.

Yes, he’d definitely seen enough yesterday.

Still, it was good that he interrupted. He’d been far too close to mucking up the whole business. So far, she’d been more forceful than he.

“There we are. No wonder you’re so out of sorts,” she chirped, heaping in a generous amount of sugar, then thick cream, before pouring him a cup. “You must be starving.”

“I’m not out of sorts in the least,” he said petulantly, though he did take a seat and the tea, rather annoyed that she knew how he took his when he didn’t know the same for her. He watched now as she spilled cream into her cup before adding the tea, but no sugar. Preposterous. “And I happened to have a very large breakfast this morning,” he said petulantly, though it had been at least two hours ago…

“Really? You’ve been behaving so strangely, but now we know why. You surely need more sustenance.”

She was doing it again, acting as if his very reasonable attempts to propose to her were some kind of abnormality.

“But we shall just have to forget the rest and start this visit again,” Penelope went on. “And properly now. Cucumber or salmon?” she inquired, her hand hovering over the selection.

“Neither,” he grunted, though the salmon did look nice. It smelled like it had been smoked. And was that a hint of cheese beneath it?

“Well, I’m sorry,” she was saying, “I’m afraid there’s no ham or roast beef, but I could call for—”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. It was a blatant lie as he was always at least a little bit hungry, but it was worth it, seeing the look on her face, the confused tilt of her head. “I will not be put off the subject of—”

“Of your intentions, of course,” she finished for him, blithely. “While I think your sense of duty is admirable, it is misplaced. You see…”

Damn it all, why had he said he wasn’t hungry? Now it was all he could think about. He scowled as she hovered over a cucumber sandwich before dropping it onto her plate, a very obvious mistake. Only sandwiches with fish or meats or cheese were worth bothering with. He wished he could guide her toward the salmon even as he deprived himself.

“…and while I do recognize they were made with good intentions in my case, I am in no need of…”

The biscuits looked quite nice. Didn’t their cook put raspberry jam in them? He couldn’t tell under all that lovely powdered sugar, the smell of which was driving him mad. She wasn’t even eating them. Choosing fruit, of all things. Fruit might suffice when there were no biscuits, but instead? Never.

“…and especially at my age, these protective notions seem almost silly, don’t you agree?”

He considered trying to participate in this conversation, but she was now biting into a strawberry, her lips clinging to it just a bit as she pulled it away. “Yes,” he breathed, not thinking, before he shook himself. “What? No! You were compromised. I should know. I was the man who did it.”

“Indeed, I was not,” she said, still so blandly .

“How can you say that?” He stood now, raking his hands roughly through his hair. “Dear God, Simon barely did as much to Daphne, from all I know, and Anthony met him for pistols at dawn!”

“Well, no one saw us.”

“Briarly did. I’m sure of it!”

“Only in the aftermath and, whatever he saw, Briarly will not say. He is the soul of discretion. And I’ve no brothers to call you out.”

“Then, damn it, I call myself out.” He stood and strode away. “So you’d better accept me before I hurt myself!”

“Now you’re just making fun,” she tutted.

“Perhaps a little. It would be a sight,” he said, turning back to her, “and a lot more amusing than if I told your brothers-in-law what I did to you and they called me out.”

Penelope met his eyes finally, alarmed. “You would not!”

He shrugged. “If needs must…”

“Would you truly do that to me, expose my deeds to my family?” she asked, her eyes wide and hurt. “I would never do such a thing to you.”

“No!” He admitted it immediately. He’d toyed with the thought of keeping her in suspense… for the second it took before he drowned in those damned bottomless, blinking, blue eyes. “I wouldn’t do it to you. Nor to them. I’m sure Berbrooke and Huxley would very likely injure themselves immediately upon choosing a weapon, anyhow,” he finished on a grumble.

“I am relieved,” she said with a slight laugh. “And, as we both know, there is no reason.”

Colin scoffed loudly now. “There is every reason.”

Penelope narrowed her eyes at him. “I might be a virgin, but even I know what happened in that carriage is not enough to get me with child.”

He took his place behind that high-backed chair again as — Good Lord! — the mention of her virginity, then the idea of her being with child, his child, terrifying as it should be, was making what was already a very inconveniently strong affliction worse.

He couldn’t even begin to examine that, so he pushed it aside as he willed himself to imagine Nigel Berbrooke in a corset and stockings giving him “come hither” looks.

If he was going to win this day, he needed to keep his wits about him because… God, she was tricky! Why did he like it so much?

“Plenty of people have done what we have, and more,” Penelope went on as if it were nothing at all, “without getting forced to the altar. I should know. I don’t print everything I’ve heard.”

“Ah, yes. The harridan rears her head again,” he growled, leaning his elbows on the chair-back and his head in his heads.

“Pardon me?”

He lifted his head. “I was referring to that shrew, Lady Whistledown, not you.”

“But she is me!”

“Not truly.” How was he ever to reconcile soft, sweet, doting Penelope with that woman? Surely they were two different people.

“Yes, truly! And I don’t regret my time as that shrew. If it weren’t for her, I’d be just another naïve thing with no notion of the wider world," Penelope said hotly. "Thanks to her, I’ve listened and I’ve learned and, as awful as you think she is, she does have her uses for me and for the many girls left sheltered by a society that thinks them too simple to know any—”

“Ah, so Whistledown, a scandal sheet, is a noble pursuit now? Of all the preposterous—”

“What if it were Lord Whistledown’s Society papers?” Penelope broke in, quite passionately. “Do you think he’d have been called a shrew or a harridan. I can safely say not. Lord Byron made many more scandalous observations in speeches, in bon mots to gossip writers. Even in his own poems, he absolutely savages the women -- and men. I'm not as sheltered as you seem to think -- he claims to love. And he remains a romantic figure, an aspirational figure! Just because Whistledown is a lady doesn’t mean it’s fair that—”

“See, when you talk in that manner,” he said, rubbing at his eyes, “it makes me think that you’re not finished.”

“I am finished. Once this last column prints—”

“We did not agree to that,” he broke in.

There was silence for a moment. “Your agreement is not required,” she finally said, setting her plate down and turning to face him. “Just because you intercepted my column does not mean it does not exist. I could write it again and again from memory because I feel that strongly about not allowing Cressida, of all people…”

“This is yet another reason why we must marry,” he said over her, striding toward her sofa. “Someone needs to curb your reckless behavior.”

Penelope scoffed. “I beg your pardon!”

“You should! Even before yesterday, I’d witnessed you gadding about with no maid several times now,” he said, staring down at her, “and God knows how many other times I’ve missed. It’s obvious you make a habit of such things!”

“Really, Colin! What protection would a maid provide?”

“In the parts of London you visit?” He moved away from her and raked a hand through his hair again, pacing. “None. Which is precisely why you need a husband to protect you or, better yet, stop you from going to such places in the first—”

She stood as well. “I’ve been at this much longer than you’ve known of it and come to no harm. There are no brigands in Mayfair!”

“Ah, but you aren’t only traveling through—”

“And the hacks I make use of are from a reputable company that would protect me, if needed,” she said, advancing on him, “what’s more, I am not some green maiden. I am now seven years past the age of majority and beholden to no one. I will do as I wish without regard to you nor anyone else,” she finished, poking him in the chest now.

First pushing, now poking! Who was she now? He clasped her finger. “Very well. Let us not talk of physical danger.”

“There is none. Whatever you think, I am—”

“Let’s talk of what would happen should your secret be revealed.” He slid his grip lower, clasping her hand now. “My family’s position could offer a certain amount of protection that yours cannot, in keeping your good name.”

“That may well be true, but that’s all the more reason to stop your nonsense.” She tried to pull away, but he kept his hold on her hand. “Let me go.”

“So you can poke me again? No, thank you.”

She growled, giving up. “First my virtue and now my good name. Neither of those are what I consider reasons to marry. And would you truly want your family dragged into infamy with me? I would certainly not allow such a thing to befall those I love.”

“Agh! Must you have an answer for everything?” He took her by the shoulders. “Penelope, I am finished with this foolishness. I am protecting you whether you think you need it or not. We will be married and that’s all there is to it!” There, he’d done it. He’d been forceful, clear, left no room for argument.

She finally stilled her struggles. Sensible of her, as they were useless. She stared up at him then, her eyes wide and, if he wasn’t mistaken, filled with a sort of disbelief. “I cannot believe it,” she said, confirming it.

“Believe it, Pen." He gave her a magnanimous smile, sliding his hands from her shoulders to her back, pulling her closer. Anthony was right. Some women just needed to be told what’s what. And perhaps she was in doubt of his attraction to her. Anthony had said as much about Kate. He would certainly enjoy correcting her on that notion. Finally! The sweetening up was in order. "If you are in doubt we shall suit, allow me to..."

“No, not that. I did not believe that there was a proposal worse than ‘Are you going to marry me or not?’ but you've found it.” She pushed at his chest, then lightly clapped her hands. “Well done.”

“Hell’s bells, Penelope!” He growled. “Does it truly matter how I ask you? Is that what’s got you so upset?”

“No. The way you express it is nothing compared to your reasons and your ideas of what marrying you means for me,” she said evenly, moving to the sofa again, picking up her tea as if so very unbothered. “Forgive me if I am not tempted by the idea of you dictating where I can go and—”

“I did not say that.”

“You said you wanted to curb my reckless behavior.”

“Very well, but I didn’t mean it like—”

“I am not a child to be scolded. I am a woman of eight and twenty. And I notice you never addressed the matter of your family. Have you even considered the impact this would have on them? You offer up their protection, but do you truly know what that means?”

He hadn’t thought much of that, so he had no ready answer. 

She did, however. “To tie the Bridgerton family up with Lady Whistledown is folly,” she said. “As it is now, the two have nothing to do with one another, which is best. And it could stay that way if you only accept that my doings have nothing to do with yours.”

She wouldn’t be escaping him so easily. “But they do!” He moved to her, gripping her shoulders and pulling her to stand.

“They do not!”

“Well, I want them to!” Coln insisted.

“Colin, you are dear to me, m-much like all of your family are.” She pushed him away gently. “But I will not be told what to do,” she said, meeting his eyes resolutely while keeping her distance. “I should think you'd understand such a thing, the way you bristle at the idea of staying longer in London at your Mother’s behest, at being pushed toward this debutante and that the moment you come home. You want your freedom as much as I do.”

He couldn’t deny it. The worst part of coming home was always his mother tossing him at every girl in the ballroom with a pedigree. It was one of the reasons he often begged off and danced with Penelope instead, safe in the knowledge that, with her, he could enjoy the dance, enjoy her attentions, her enthusiasm, her witty observations. “Pen… Do you think you are not dear to me?”

“No, I…” She blinked rapidly, her eyes damp as they met his again. “I know you are perfectly sincere and that your motives are admirable and honorable and I do appreciate what you think you are doing for me.”

“Yet still you refuse me?" He leered at her now, changing tacks. "You should know not all my motives are honorable. In fact-"

"Please stop pretending this is what you want." She shook her head. “I refuse to be part of a marriage borne of obligation, especially when there should be no obligation. There is no reason for you to marry me.”

“Why must you keep insisting that? There are several reasons, as I keep trying to tell you, but you are not listening. I used to think you levelheaded, sweet even, but you’re as thick-headed as Eloise.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Considering Eloise is my dearest friend, I shall take that as a compliment,” she said stiffly. “She is a woman who knows her own mind. And I can only imagine how angrily she would answer a proposal such as this. You are quite lucky to be dealing with me.”

Though he could easily imagine what Eloise would do to such a suitor, he'd rather not think of his sister at the moment. Colin stepped closer, getting more irritated by the second, and a little something else. “You know, I’d never seen this willful side of you and I’d rather the pleasure had been indefinitely postponed.”

“It’s a part of me,” she said blithely, tilting her head. “If you never saw it, then perhaps it is because you never looked. If you’d ever read Whistledown for a purpose other than complaining about your description as charming — an assessment I now see to be wholly untrue — you’d know that I detest being condescended to, and since that’s all you men seem capable of—”

“Blast it! Men are not the problem. It's you women," Colin growled now. "Anthony’s right. The lot of you are unreasonable! You think everything to death and endlessly complicate what should be a simple—”

“And men must do very little thinking if this is how they propose," Penelope said, cool as can be. "No wonder Eloise has turned down every—”

“I have tried everything with you today! You are the one who keeps refusing my every effort!”

“My refusal is not the problem." Penelope drew herself up to her full height, which was not as impressive as she seemed to think. "Your refusal to accept it is why this nonsense has been drawn out far longer than it should be.”

“Nonsense? Is that all this is to you?” Colin stepped closer, gratified that she had to look up if she wanted to keep glaring at him. “Despite every reason I’ve given — all honorable reasons, mind you — you can dismiss this as nonsense without a care?”

“I’ve answered every one of your reasons, and quite logically. I will not waste another breath.”

“Yes, there’s obviously no point talking to you,” he breathed, staring at her flushed cheeks, her pinkening décolletage, cursing the heavens. This was a very inconvenient time to be aroused, considering he was beginning to think he might never get to the bit where he sweetened her up.

“Then we are agreed.” Her hand moved to his shoulder.

“Yes. I’m very… agreed,” he said dumbly, thinking his prospects were looking up… until she pushed instead of caressing, sidling her way around him. He turned to find her at the door, yanking the bell-pull. “Wait just a—”

“Yes, Miss?” Briarly appeared far too quickly.

“Mr. Bridgerton has somewhere to be, Briarly," she said coolly. "Can you call for his carriage and fetch his hat and coat, please?”

“With pleasure,” the man said, disappearing just as quickly as he appeared. Colin wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been listening and, if he had, why was he taking Pen's part? Had he no concern for her honor? God, they barely even talked about that!

“I have nowhere to be,” Colin said peevishly. “And we are not finished.”

“Oh, but I think we are." Penelope turned to him, lifting her chin. "At least I am.”

“We have yet to revisit the carriage,” he said loudly, “and Briarly might benefit from more insight on that.”

Penelope scowled, huffing, “No, I don’t believe he would.”

“What’s that, Miss?” Briarly appeared again, Colin’s hat and coat on his arm.

“Mr. Bridgerton is attempting to drag you into our latest spirited debate, but I find that wholly unnecessary.”

“Indeed," Briarly agreed, "as I would undoubtedly take your part.”

“How gratifying.” Penelope turned to Colin with a very smug smile, to his mind.

Briarly approached, holding his coat open, but Colin snatched it instead, grumbling as he shrugged into it, “If that’s what you must call it, then this debate is not over, not to my satisfaction.”

Penelope only shrugged. “Yet I am perfectly satisfied.”

“The both of us would be,” he muttered as he passed her and her co-conspirator, “if this damned day had gone as it should.”

Whether she’d heard or not, she only called out, “A good day to you!”

He turned back, passing her again as he stalked to the table he’d left the box of nonpareils, putting them under his arm before meeting her eyes again. “I’d wish you the same, but you’ve made your bed.”

“And so I shall lie in it,” she said with an arched eyebrow, “quite comfortably.”

He had no answer for that, and her saying it was doing nothing to calm his still-persistent erection, conveniently behind his hat now, leaving him with the image of her luxuriating in bed without a stitch on her. So he simply stormed out, not waiting for Briarly to get the door. He’d actually thought of slamming it, but it was far too heavy, dash it all!

“She did it again,” he mumbled to himself later in the carriage, angrily stuffing his face with nonpareils. He’d tried to see Anthony first, but he was apparently out at some meeting or other. “She damned well did it again!” He was certain she’d said three words to every one of his, talking circles around him yet again.

He’d done everything Anthony suggested and he was now farther away from her acceptance than before! Obviously Penelope was a much more unreasonable woman than Kate, the way she took everything he said and talked it into nonsense. “Tricky little thing.”

He felt no better, still restless and hungry, even when the entire candy box was empty. And he knew why. Because this wasn’t over. He would not be put off. In fact, now he was more determined than before!

He would try again. Perhaps he could talk to Anthony again and see what new stratagems they could… “Gah!”

He started to find his carriage door being pulled open, and by Benedict, who seemed to find his surprise hilarious.

“Aye, very amusing,” Colin droned, pushing past him and stepping down. “What are you doing here?”

“I know I’m a bit early, but it can’t be that shocking. Your face is just…” His brother sobered, peering closely at him. “…absolutely covered in chocolate.”

“I don’t care,” he grumbled. “And I’m not in the mood for company.”

“Lovely to see you as well,” Benedict scoffed. “But you’ll have to suffer me for a few hours, at least. You did promise.”

“What?”

“Rubens? The exhibit? Did you forget entirely?”

“Of course I didn’t.” He absolutely did. “Isn’t that... later?”

“Well, I thought I’d come earlier, see if that lovely cook of yours will feed us lunch.”

Colin brightened slightly at the word.

“Daphne's been feeding Sophie all kinds of strange concoctions,” Benedict babbled as they made their way up the steps. “I suppose it’s good for the babe, but why must Sophie make me eat them, too?”

“Because women think they know better than we do about everything,” he said bitterly. “Harridans, the lot of them.”

“I'll choose to imagine you exclude my Sophie from that lot," Ben said merrily, "but, oh my, that’s a strong sentiment for such a lovely day. Something the matter?”

“Yes. Everything,” he said. "But it will soon be resolved. I'll damned well see to it... after lunch."

TBC

*************************

Hope you're enjoying. Anthony's advice worked... about as expected. I wonder if Ben's is any better. I guess we shall see... and in less than a month this time, I promise!

If you like this, you'll like my originals more. Trust me: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AbbyWheelerRomance

And catch me on Twitter @AWheelerRomance if you don't mind leftist snark, movie buff ramblings, and rants on fandom etiquette (don't even get me started on this fandom, y'all!).

Chapter Text

Penelope stared into the hall, wincing as she heard, rather than saw, the front door slam shut. Her anger and indignation left her abruptly and she found herself rushing to the window, watching as Colin stalked past her window, then to his carriage, rather glad he didn’t look back to see her nor the sudden tears in her eyes.

“Miss Penelope?” Briarly asked behind her, his voice soft. “Are you well?”

“I thought I was.” When Colin had first stormed out, she’d felt strong, decisive, as if her position was unassailable, but now she was tempted to chase after him and… she didn’t know what she would do after that. All she knew was that she felt wretched. She didn’t like ending any visit on such a cold and angry note, least of all one from Colin Bridgerton, rare as they were.

The part of her that had always longed to please Colin was eager to run after him, hop in his carriage again, tell him that she would do as he wished, then perhaps repeat yesterday’s delights. But the slam of the carriage door, loud even from inside, seemed quite final.

It wasn’t as if marrying him wasn’t tempting. It was more than tempting. It was irresistible. And yet she’d resisted — twice now.  “Do you think I’ve made a horrible mistake?” she asked helplessly, turning to Briarly.

He seemed to consider it carefully, tilting his head. “May I tell you a story? It might help.”

“Please!” She moved to the sofa and gestured him to the over-stuffed chair she’d caught him napping in a time or two. She only hoped he would not fall asleep now. She needed him. Without a father to guide her and a mother that was lacking in sense, then the loss of the father figure she’d had in Mr. Abernathy, his solicitor, Penelope had come to depend on Briarly and his stalwart presence. She waited with baited breath for his answer now.

“When I was younger, though not much younger, some thousand years ago,” he said, grunting as he sat, “I’d grown too old to be a mere footmanand had no hope of advancement in my current house. So I applied for, and was happy to be offered, three positions as Butler. One was a wealthy household with an older couple of the gentry, but with no children, nor grandchildren. While I was over forty, I didn’t feel quite old enough to take a position that felt more like a retirement than a job. Another, this one a marquess, would have paid me almost exorbitantly, but the exacting standards put forth in the interview took me aback. I held off answering, held out for a better offer.”

“And did you get one?” she asked slyly, curious how her family, of all things, could be considered the better offer.

“It was a family with no noble titles and not as handsome a salary to offer as the first two, to be sure. They were also quite silly at times, but they had four daughters. Two very silly older girls, one just a babe, and one,” he said, also slyly, “who might have been the most intelligent young lady I’d ever encountered.”

Penelope dipped her head, blushing. “What possessed you to accept such an offer? Later, you might have grown quite fond of that silly family, but then—”

“It doesn’t make sense, does it? I thought having the most prestigious position possible was what I wanted, or what I should want.”

It was so close to her conundrum. A life with Colin Bridgerton was everything she’d wanted for so long, but she’d also spent just as long a time convincing herself it would never be.

“My mind told me that I would be a simpleton not to accept the marquess,” Briarly went on. “But my heart pulled me away. Something about that other silly family made me feel welcome, needed.”

“Well, we certainly did need you. I’m not sure what we’d have done without you. Especially after Papa departed.” She shook her head. “It’s not the same for me. It’s my heart telling me to accept the offer while my head disagrees so strongly.”

“Eventually, they will come together. For me, I thought upon it as long as I could, weighing everything carefully. In the end, I simply could not see myself being happy in such a position, no matter how prestigious. I wanted be somewhere I felt more at home here, perhaps more… needed.”

She’d thought she’d had her head and heart together all these years, but these last days had torn them apart. She’d stayed strong after their first kiss, knowing it was no more than kindness on Colin’s part, but then came the second… the third… the fourth… She hadn’t the presence of mind to count how many kisses there were in that carriage.

Her head and heart became strangers then. In the heat and rapture of those thrilling moments, her heart rhapsodized over him calling her beautiful, cooed that perhaps Colin was born for her as she’d always felt she was for him, while her head told her to enjoy it now as it might never happen again, that she might as well make a memory of it.

And after he proposed, her head had its way — as it should. It was much more practical. She just needed her silly heart to join it.

“Forgive my familiarity, Miss, but I’d like to think I know you fairly well and…” Briarly hesitated.

Penelope smiled at him fondly. “That is quite an understatement, Briarly. I’m certain you know me better than anyone in this house.”

He gave her a warm smile back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “The young lady I see before me is the same who often curbed the worst of her mother’s excesses and, when that failed, tucked her own pocket money into Mrs. Varley’s hand before she went to market. She’s the one who I’ve seen sneaking into the servants’ rooms on Christmas Eve to leave presents when it might have otherwise been forgotten. She’s the one who, when needed, provided more than her mother would ever know to keep this house — and all in it, including the servants — out of the workhouse. You have also been a dependable voice of reason in a family where it is sorely needed.”

“I’m not quite sure how to respond to such praise,” Penelope said with a dark sort of chuckle, “especially when it’s likely my dependable nature that has Mama bound and determined that I care for her in her dotage.”

“And can you envision yourself being happy in such a position?” He prodded.

“No,” she said quickly and loudly. She didn’t even have to consider it, since she’d thought of it with nothing but dread all year.

“It’s only the first offer. And what of your other offer?”

That, she had also considered, but only over the space of a day, if that. And as tempting as it was, how could she be happy in a marriage where the other party’s strongest motivation was duty? Colin had given his reasons and it couldn’t be plainer that, if he'd not lost his head in those heated moments, he would not be offering for her now. Her heart told her that he may grow to love her, but her mind envisioned, rather than happiness, loneliness. She imagined him resentful, perhaps even bitter, escaping on his travels again and again. Only this time, rather than avoiding the marriage mart and his mother’s matchmaking, he’d be avoiding her.

“No,” she sighed.

He stared at her, tilting his head. "You might take time to think upon it. After that, I trust you, above all, to make the right decision in the end.”

“But it is the end. He surely will not… I’ve twice now… I’m certain my decision has been made.” Now she had but to live with it.

“Aye, perhaps it has. Or perhaps you might hold out for a better offer from that party. I believe there might be room for negotiation.” He stood and started putting plates back on the barely-touched tray. “I’d best get back to work. I’m certain Cook can use some of this later.”

Penelope stood as well. Though she’d never do such a thing in company, in private, she’d often help the staff, when they allowed her. “That must be heavy. Can’t I take some—”

“This is just the sort of behavior that led to your first offer,” Briarly tutted. “Let’s not start your life of drudgery too early now.”

Penelope let out a slight laugh as he left the room. But it died as she stared at the doorway, thinking of Colin stalking out angrily… then back in for his candies, of course.

She wished he could understand that she was trying to save him from this hasty offer. Perhaps she could explain it when they next met, hopefully in a public setting where he wouldn’t be able to renew his proposal. She might not wish to enter into a loveless — well, a half-loveless — marriage with him, but she still wanted his friendship.

She turned to the window, seeing his carriage door slam again, as if he wasn’t long gone. Perhaps that was why she felt so wretched. They parted in anger and…

“I must say, that could have gone better.”

She turned to find Felicity leaning in the doorway. She sighed. “Were you listening at the door all this time?”

“No,” Felicity scoffed with an offended scowl. “I was waiting patiently for a full report, as promised… at the top of the stairs. You can’t expect me to mind my own business indefinitely! I might have gone mad!”

Penelope shook her head. “Well, you are wrong. It couldn’t have been better.”

“How can that be? I saw him stomp out. Twice! What did you do to make him so angry?”

“What did I do?” Penelope was offended now.

“You must have done something. Hy says Colin might be a dolt, but he’s a pleasant one. He always keeps his temper.”

“Well, that wasn’t the case today,” Pen huffed. “And all I did was very reasonably — and very politely, mind you — resist his proposals,” she finished, now feeling quite proud of herself.

Felicity stomped her foot. “That’s not how it was supposed to happen at all!”

“Yes, it was. I told you I aimed to refuse him and I did precisely that.” She’d been quite afraid she’d capitulate and give in to his kisses, at least. There was one moment when she nearly weakened, her body growing languid as he pressed her against the library doors. She’d felt nearly as feverish as she had on that fateful carriage ride, and that was without him even touching her lips! They’d merely hovered an inch from hers until she was ready to close the distance herself… until Briarly, bless him, knocked on the door. “I quite successfully avoided his… other efforts as well.”

“Well, that’s no fun.” Felicity frowned heavily. “I wish Mr. Albansdale would make ‘other efforts.’ He never kisses more than my hand. Really, you could at least have kissed him a bit more, for my sake!”

“Felicity!”

“What? I thought we’d have a nice little giggle over biscuits, but now there’s nothing to giggle about and,” she pointed at the empty table as if accusing it, “no biscuits! Did he eat them all?”

“No. He ate nothing, trying to make some sort of stubborn show of it. Really, he was quite easy to resist, especially when he started acting like a complete, utter boar,” Penelope grumbled, almost to herself, “what with his ideas about my freedom, or lack thereof, and his ridiculous opinions about women, which I won’t repeat and then…” Penelope found her righteous indignation returning. “Then there was that moment where he seemed to think my refusal was out of some sort of disbelief at my luck, rather than a reasonable response to ‘We will be married and that’s all there is to it!’ ”

Felicity stared at her, her mouth wide open. “He said that? Hy thought he was an arse before. Wait till she hears—”

“Felicity! That’s an awful thing to call someone!”

“What else should I call him? A buttocks?” Felicity winced, then mused, “Why does that somehow sound worse?”

“Whatever you call him, you are not to tell Hyacinth. You promised.”

Felicity huffed. “Very well. I won’t say a word, but I really can’t believe he’s bungled it so badly. I thought, after the roses, that he would be much more… courtly about the whole thing. How disappointing!”

“He did bring sweets,” Penelope said, feeling this odd urge to defend him. “Then again, he did take them with him when he didn’t get his way.”

“See, the next time he proposes, secure the sweets first. Then if he acts like an ar…” She trailed off at Penelope’s warning look. “…like a really disagreeable person again, at least you get something out of it. You could end up with so much chocolate!”

Penelope laughed slightly. “I doubt he will be repeating his proposal.” Her laughter dried up quickly. Her silly heart clenching at the loss, while her head, cooler as always, spoke for her. “All in all, I deem this morning a success and I’m certain, once he reflects upon it, he shall see it with relief. And our friendship will be as it was.”

Felicity snorted. “I doubt that very much. I think you and I both know the Bridgertons are as stubborn as they are impulsive. You wouldn’t believe the things Hy drags me into, practically against my will.”

“Something tells me I would rather not know, but a change of subject would be most welcome if—”

“Is this where you two have been hiding?” Portia Featherington exclaimed as she sailed in, securing her bonnet. “Such a dreary room! It’s all to your father’s taste. I’d rather—”

“You look very smart, Mother. Are you going somewhere?” Penelope asked quickly. Her mother had often threatened to decorate the library to suit herself, but nothing could distract her like a compliment.

“We are going somewhere, or have you forgotten?” she tutted, though she did pat at the curls peeking from her bonnet. “Felicity, you look hopelessly creased. Please refresh yourself. You’re never to catch the right gentleman if you don’t take more care to—”

“As I am all but engaged to Mr. Albansdale,” Felicity said dryly, “I think I may have already succeeded despite my hopeless creases.”

“Have you now? Has there been a proposal?”

Felicity lost her cool expression. “You know very well that Geoffrey intends—”

“Yet he still hasn't," Portia Featherington sighed. "But he might very well come up to scratch within the week if he sees you catching other gentlemen’s eyes. Have you thought of that? Now make haste!”

“But—”

“Quickly or all the fashionable people will have left!”

Felicity rolled her eyes, but slumped her way out the door.

“And if someone else catches her eye,” Portia said in a whisper to Penelope, staring after her, “perhaps someone with connections to the nobility, all the better.”

“Mama, we’ve talked of this," Penelope chided. "Felicity is in love with Mr—”

“Yes, yes. But it only happened over a month. She may very well fall for someone better even more quickly. I’m only thinking of her happiness." Portia tilted her head. "Do you think Colin Bridgerton..."

Oh, God! Had she heard he'd been here? What would she say if--

"...might be at the gallery?” she finished.

“I very much doubt it, Mama," Penelope said with a relieved sigh. She'd feared Varley might have told her, at least, but perhaps Briarly had convinced her to be discreet.

Portia frowned. “Yes. I expect we’ll only see the other one.”

“The other one?”

“The one who…” She waved her hand. “He draws, I think.”

“You mean Benedict. The one who paints,” Penelope said with annoyance. Really, she was quite protective of the Bridgertons and quite resented when people acted as if they were interchangeable. “Benedict Bridgerton? The one whose work hangs in The National Gallery?”

“Oh, you know very well I meant no ill.”

“Well, considering last week, when you were loudly lamenting that none of your daughters were Bridgertons,” Penelope muttered, “I’d think you’d care to know more about the family in question.”

“I can’t be blamed for forgetting his name. He is married, after all.”

Ah, yes. Marriage. The one thing that could turn a man invisible in the eyes of Portia Featherington.

“Now as for you, you should…” She sighed, gesturing to Penelope’s blue dress. “I suppose you look acceptable as you are. Single ladies like us do not need to attract attention anymore, do we?” She adjusted her overly ruffled dress of orange and purple. “But do wear a bonnet, at least.” She tipped Penelope’s chin up. “You don’t want to be old before your time, Darling.”

Penelope gaped after her, half-tempted to rush to a mirror and inspect herself for wrinkles, while the other half wanted to rush after her mother and inform her that they were not in the same situation. Then again, they were indeed both single ladies — a widow and a spinster with no prospects… not serious ones, at least.

Still, as she wandered to the front hall, she wondered what her mother would say if Penelope told her that she had, in fact, refused an offer from a Bridgerton, and twice! She’d likely rush to bring one of her horrid old yellow frocks down from the attics, then march her over to Colin’s lodgings — wherever they were, she was sure her mother could sniff them out — and prod her to apologize at once.

That or she’d laugh in disbelief and tell Penelope to stop bamming her, which was really most likely.

She frowned as she tied her bonnet, thinking that an apology might be in order. She still felt awful about the way they parted. Perhaps she’d think of one by tomorrow — not that it wouldn’t be sincere, but she’d also like to craft it so it was clear that he need not renew his proposals.

Not that he would, of course.

After today, she was certain he wouldn’t.

Which was a very good thing.

Yes, however wretched she felt about it, today had gone just as she’d hoped.

Truly.

********************

It was a complete and utter failure.

Colin stared out the window at the passing houses, stiffening when the carriage turned onto Mount Street, knowing it would soon be passing her house. The site of his spectacular failure.

How had it all gone so wrong? He’d come there with two very clear tasks: be forceful and sweeten her up.

He’d tried one, but it had backfired to the extent he hadn’t even been allowed to try the second, and much more attractive, part of the plan. She’d become far too sour to be sweetened, by the end.

The worst part was that, looking back, he should have foreseen that after what he’d learned yesterday. She did spend half her life pretending to be that shrewish gossip monger. That was the part of her he wasn’t prepared for.

“But she is me!”

Penelope had said those words and he still couldn’t believe them. He was still unable to reconcile the sweet Penelope he knew with that… that… harridan.

She was the one blocking him, not his sweet Pen. Even armed with Anthony’s best advice, he’d not been able to get past her.

Then again, Anthony’s advice was for courting Penelope Featherington, not Lady Whistledown. If Anthony had known about Whistledown, they might have come up with a more effective strategy. But that was just the problem. Anthony could not know about Whistledown. Nobody could. Nobody would if he could help it. Whistledown had retired, anyhow, so how did she signify now?

Of course, that was not an argument he’d use with Pen. She’d probably say it was all the more reason to dismiss his notions of curbing her reckless behavior.

“…and especially at my age, these protective notions seem almost silly, don’t you agree… no one saw us…There is no reason for you to marry me… There are no brigands in Mayfair!”

The blasted girl had an answer for everything.

“I am not some green maiden. I am now seven years past the age of majority!”

Simply everything!

“Colin, are you well?”

He started slightly, remembering that his brother was sitting across from him. “Perfectly well,” he lied. “Why do you ask?”

“Perhaps because you barely talked through lunch. I was able to get through all of my theories about Johannes Vermeer and that’s never happened before.”

“I was hungry… and listening, of course.”

Benedict stared at him, doubtful. “And now?”

“What about now?”

Benedict scoffed. “You haven’t said a word for ten minutes, at least.”

“Is it that long?" Colin pretended to be very interested in the view out the window. "We should be there by now.”

“And you should be chatting my ear off about Rubens. You’re the one who’s seen his work, after all.”

“I simply thought not to spoil them for you,” he lied… again. “Aren’t you the one always saying that art should be viewed with fresh eyes and without expectation?”

Benedict sat up, looking pleased. “That’s actually quite thoughtful of you. And it’s nice to know you listen to me, at least sometimes. But I know that was certainly not the case today. And I shall not rest until you tell me what is bothering you.”

He turned to the window again, noting that they were finally passing the Featherington house. He turned away with a grimace. “It’s just this damnable traffic. I feel as if we are barely moving and it’s so bloody hot.”

Ben shrugged. “I think it’s quite a mild day. But if the traffic bothers you so much, we could simply get out and walk. The gallery is barely a mile from here.”

“That actually sounds good.”

Ben knocked on the roof and the already-slow carriage rolled to a stop.

Colin scrambled out gratefully as Benedict instructed his coachman to come collect them at four. They hadn't gone far past the Featherington townhouse and he couldn't resist a look back as the carriage moved away... barely.

“Will you tell me now?” his brother prodded, standing behind him.

“There’s nothing to tell.” Colin turned away and started walking.

“Rubbish! There’s some havey-cavey business afoot," Benedict said, falling into step beside him. "You’re not the only one acting strange. Anthony was fidgeting and hedging when I saw him at Mother’s. He wouldn’t tell me why, but assured me nothing was the matter. ‘Quite the opposite,’ he’d said, practically rubbing his hands together with glee. And now I find you, moping about as if someone ate the last biscuit in existence. So pardon my curiosity, but—”

“Very well. There is something going on… or not going on, blast it. But I would much rather take my mind away from it. I’m sure it’ll put me right off the Rubens. And I’ve been looking forward to this for ages—”

“Hogwash! You didn’t even remember it was happening, yesterday or today.”

“Well, I was looking forward to it before that. I’ve just been distracted, but no more,” he said firmly, “at least not today. It’s a fair day and I am with my brother, who I’ve barely seen since… since…”

“Since Christmas, actually.”

Colin stilled. “Has it been that long? You need to come to town more often,” he said, walking on.

“What’s the use in that for you?” Benedict laughed. “You’re out of town more than you’re in it.”

“Very well. We shall make up for lost time by having a very pleasant walk, then a lovely time at the gallery and perhaps an early supper after… at the Piazza.” Yes, that would console him for now. A nice afternoon of brotherly devotion, fine art, and fine food. Tomorrow, he would awake, refreshed and ready to try again. He could see Anthony first thing, devise a new stratagem. He would not be telling him about the Whistledown business, obviously, but perhaps he could imply that Penelope has some traits, some unexpectedly stubborn traits, that must be taken into consideration.

“As nice as it is be fed, I’m not sure if I could muster up an appetite while sitting across from you woolgathering and frowning again.”

“Then I won’t.”

“You’re doing it now.”

“Then I shall stop." Colin resolutely turned his mind away from Penelope. "How does Sophie fare these days?”

“Miserably, according to her. Little Violet, or Victor since we seemed to be cursed with only rambunctious boys... We've just taken to calling the baby V. Anyhow, V apparently dances several energetic jigs inside her every morning, yet will not come out. We’re staying with Daphne. Did I mention that?”

“Er… yes.” Colin could barely remember what Benedict said before lunch, he’d been so damned angry, also hungry. But he thought he’d heard something about Daphne and strange concoctions.

“Daph insists she knows precisely how to get V to join the rest of us, after the way David made himself at home for so long. So she’s filling my poor wife’s belly with all kinds of noxious things. Spicy peppers, pineapple…”

“That doesn’t sound so noxious to me.” Colin was actually quite intrigued by the idea of the two together.

“It is when it’s soaked in vinegar.”

He nearly choked. “Gah! Why? Why would someone—”

“There’s also pickled herring, primrose oil, castor oil… Just imagine every possible thing Mother tried to shove down our throats when we were sick.”

Colin grimaced. “Stop! I’ve heard enough!” Such things were a vicious crime against food.

“Simon and I have taken to stealing down to the kitchen after every meal and begging for scraps and sandwiches, far away from the smell of whatever creatively disgusting thing Daphne is trying this time. Daph thinks we’re great big babies, but she must be immune as she did the same things to herself. Does she think to torture the baby out?"

"It might work," Colin said, considering it. "I know I'd like to escape castor oil, let alone the other concoctions."

"Well, it's not working so far. I think the problem is the boys. V’s brothers cause too much of a ruckus, especially with Daphne's David as their ringleader. I wouldn’t be too eager to come out and greet that, myself, the little scoundrels,” he said fondly. “Charles and Alexander have always followed where David led, but now even little William can’t be trusted. Yesterday, he painted Simon’s backside blue with my best cerulean and that’s nothing to what Alex got up to. Suffice it to say, Daphne’s favorite slippers suffered a terrible fate.”

“What’s wrong with a little prank? If we told them half of what we got up to—”

“Oh, God! Please don’t give them any more ideas! It’s not quite as fun from the other side. Trust me. You’ll find out, if you stay long enough, what little demons your nieces and nephews can be. You’ve bought their loyalty so far, with your exotic presents from afar, and with enough absence that they’re fearful of chasing you away."

"What?"

"They'd never dream of pranking you. They cry when you leave.”

“Do they?” Colin stilled. “Is that why I’ve been spared, that they’re fearful of chasing me away?” Something about it made him feel wretched. He’d rather be pranked.

Ben sighed. “Sometimes I think we all are. We always hope you might stay, even consider setting down roots near your family, but then you always—”

“What about my house in Bloomsbury? I have a house and four servants! That’s plenty of roots!”

“Yes, when you’re there.” Benedict shook his head, sighing again. “But it never seems long before you pack up again. Sometimes we think it’s us, that our company is so hard for you to bear that you must constantly escape—”

“What? I’ve never said anything like that!”

“Mother despairs, as do we all. Most of us think you might wish to be near us if you just found a nice girl and settled down. But you’ve barely—”

“No! I refuse to feel bad about that,” Colin burst out. “I’m trying.”

“How hard can you be trying?”

“Much harder than you know! I’m not the problem! She’s the one who—”

“Aha!” Benedict grinned. “So there’s a ‘she’ at the root of your misery.”

Colin walked on, glaring ahead. “Now, I see what you’re doing, making up all that stuff to make me feel guilty and annoyed so you can pry at me!”

Ben caught up, chuckling. “It’s not all made up. It’s partially true. Just... exaggerated a bit.”

“So the boys cry when I leave?”

“It’s more like pouting.”

“You’re an awful brother. I shall never look upon a Ruben with you again!”

“Come now, it’s not me you’re angry with,” Ben prodded, “It’s this ‘she’ of yours.”

“For the last time, I don’t want to talk about it!”

“It’s Penelope, isn’t it?”

Colin halted so fast, he nearly fell backwards. He turned back to his brother. “How do you know?”

“Because you never spend more than three minutes in the company of any young lady excepting her.” Benedict smiled widely, walking on. “Is that why Anthony was so gleeful? Of course it was. We’ve been waiting ages for you to finally look her way.”

“What?” Colin caught up, slightly miffed. “I know Mother has her hopes, but then Anthony acted as if he knew it all along, and now you—”

“I'll have you know I was much closer than Anthony. He predicted that the two of you would be married within a year and I thought it would take longer." Benedict huffed. "Then again, I thought it would take two years. Seven is a bit more than I anticipated, but it's closer than Anthony."

"How the devil would either of you purport to know? I certainly didn't... until I did."

"Who else would it be? You’ve never looked twice at another. I may not be in town much since I married, but on every occasion, wherever she is, there you are.”

Colin stilled. “I hadn’t realized…”

“Sometimes she’s the only one you even bother to dance with.”

“Well, I like talking to Penelope. She’s always been kind and witty. The others are always listing their fine qualities or flirting so hard I fear they’ll strain something, or just… so obviously trying to entice me into matrimony and Pen is just… Pen. She’s never flirted with me, only talked to me, entertained me with her observations and her open, easy… She’s never flirted with me,” he repeated, as if it was a new observation. But he hadn’t realized what that meant before. She’d never tried to entice him, even though he’d clearly been enticed lately. After that first kiss, when he’d made it painfully obvious he wanted more, she’d pulled away and thanked him. God, she may as well have patted him on the head and told him that was enough!

He’d been the one to attack her in the carriage. And yes, she might have participated, but perhaps that was only her having another last hurrah, like that first kiss. Another thing to do before she died some in some tragic, spinstery accident.

Had he been fooling himself, thinking that she loved him? Yes, there were her sweet gazes, but did they mean anything or was she simply just that kind to everyone? She actually was kind to everyone — without her naughty quill, that is. Perhaps he saw a little something more in her gaze simply because she was gazing at him and, perhaps, because he wanted to see it.

“She doesn’t love me,” he said, staring around him as if the world no longer made sense. “And she doesn’t want to marry me, not at all,”

“Because you’ve obviously made a hash of it,” Ben said with a laugh, “or you wouldn’t be in such a ghastly mood today.”

“What was there to make a hash of?” Colin miserably kicked at a rock and walked on. “She doesn’t want me.”

“Have you even considered that I don't want to marry you?”

She’d said that within minutes of his first proposal, but he refused to believe it. And today…

“My refusal is not the problem. Your refusal to accept it is why this nonsense has been drawn out far longer than it should be.”

She couldn’t have been clearer, and yet he’d persisted.

“She has no interest in marrying me,” he breathed, finally letting the words sink in.

“Nonsense! The way she looks at you—”

“Probably looks at everybody that way,” Colin grumbled. “Now it’s finally clear. It damned well better be with everything she’s said to me, but my stupid, thick head wouldn’t accept it. How could it be otherwise?"

“I highly doubt that. Why don’t you just tell me what you did and what she said?”

“There’s no use in—”

“And start from the beginning,” Benedict said with a tired sigh. “I need to know how badly you’ve mucked it up before I know if we have a hope of righting this mess.”

Considering how Benedict had mucked up his own courtship, according to himself during a drunken confession some years back, perhaps he could help. Not everyone was as competent as Anthony. In fact, Colin told Benedict details he’d never dare tell Anthony. He’d always felt more at ease talking to Benedict about this sort of thing. There were far fewer glowers and outraged exclamations. Benedict was more likely to laugh at the whole business.

He started with that very first kiss in her drawing room and, while he left out the Whistledown aspect, he did make it quite clear that Penelope tended to traipse about all parts of London by herself, and apparently had done so for years. And he also made it quite clear that the kissing— and other activities — in the carriage had been more than reciprocated, though the first kiss had ended with her thanking and dismissing him, so he could see how that might be confusing.

Benedict did, indeed, find the whole thing quite funny, particularly Anthony’s advice. “Our brother is a wise man, but definitely not in these matters.”

“I did rather think Anthony’s version of his engagement seemed to be missing—”

“Everything he did wrong?” Benedict finished for him. “As someone who freely admits how close I came to losing the best thing that ever happened to me since I first laid pencil to paper, I think I’ll be more of a help here. At the very least, forcefulness is not very effective with the fairer sex. There are much better ways to entice a woman.”

“But I tried! I tried tempting her with travels and pastries and everything. The woman is made of stone!”

“Those are bribes and I suspect our dear Miss Featherington is not susceptible to those kind of enticements. I’m talking about stoking her desire.”

“But I tried that, too. Or at least I wanted to, but she kept… slipping away,” Colin said miserably. “Maybe if I’d sweetened her up before I laid down the law, she’d have been more willing.”

Benedict groaned. “You shouldn’t have laid down the law at all.”

“You know, I did suspect she might balk at the forceful bits. Especially knowing she’s…” He stopped himself. While he was at ease with Benedict, he should take care not to let loose all aspects of Penelope. “Well, she’s less biddable than I originally thought.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Benedict said, nudging him as they walked along, “if there’s a biddable woman in the world, I’ve yet to meet her. They like to pretend they are, but they always get their way in the end — and often while having you convinced it was your idea in the first place.”

“If you’re referring to your wife, I’m not surprised,” Colin said with a laugh. Sophie did still seem like an innocent doe, at times, but after years spent messing about with Daphne and Eloise, there was a certain cunning behind her wide-eyed glances. He still remembered being cheated out of the last cinnamon bun by her. Such grievances were never forgotten. She’d whispered that she strongly suspected she was with child and that cinnamon bun was the only thing between her child and starvation. And even though he’d been holding Little Charles, who she’d given birth to not even a week before, he’d given it up to her. It took him several moments to realize he’d been bamboozled.

“Sophie is strong. She’d had to be, in her life before,” Benedict was saying. “Even after escaping her family, nightmare that they were, she’d had only dishonorable offers since — including mine, I regret to say. She was not tempted to be mine until I gave her an honorable offer.”

“But I did. I even made it clear—”

“Penelope needs the opposite,” Benedict interrupted.

“What?”

“Penelope isn’t a flirt and she’s not bold enough to try to entice a man in the ways other ladies might. I’d wager she’s never had a dishonorable offer in her life. She needs to know that you want to marry her for more than protecting her honor.”

“You think I should seduce her?" Colin sucked in a breath. This was some damned good advice. Best advice he'd ever heard. He was eager to apply it now. "I can’t say it’s not a little tempting -- quite a lot, actually. It would be a much quicker means to-”

“God, no! I'm not saying to seduce her, you little lech! At least… Well, not all the way. But she needs to be in no doubt that you want her.”

“How could she doubt it? God, ever since that damned kiss, she’s all I can bloody well think about!”

“And have you told her that?”

“Well… not in so many words, but it was certainly implied when… I told you about the carriage!”

“Look, just tell her. And don’t mince words,” Benedict warned, then he gave a low chuckle. “Also, it wouldn’t hurt if you manage to get your shirt off. Trust me.”

Colin stopped, scoffing, “How in God’s name am I to get my shirt off?”

Benedict stilled and tilted his head. “Ah, yes. London. There’s almost nowhere to swim here that wouldn’t leave one sick abed. Could you, perhaps, invite her on a little jaunt to the country? Kent is quite near. Some lovely little lakes.”

“So, even though she refuses to marry me or kiss me again,” Colin pouted, “I’m now expected to kidnap her to Kent and somehow strip down to my—”

“Doubt all you want, but it’s how I attracted Sophie, at least to start. Didn’t I tell you? She’d caught me bathing in the lake and, once she had a look,” he said quite smugly, “she was hooked.”

Colin walked on. “Aye, you did tell me. But that was more than a month before you married. So she couldn’t have been that hooked or you’d have reeled her in sooner. In fact, didn’t you—”

“Yes. Mistakes were made. You are missing my point entirely. You need to tempt her. Believe me, they enjoy the sight of us bare just as much as we enjoy their attributes.”

“I highly doubt that,” Colin said, half-dazed. “Have you even seen Penelope’s attributes?” Colin hadn’t even seen them fully bare and he was still laid low at the thought of them.

“As a married man who might be talking of my future sister-in-law,” Benedict began, “no. Never noticed them.”

Colin shook himself. Really, he hadn’t meant to ask that and was glad Benedict was respectful enough that he'd never…

“But also yes,” Ben said with a ribald chuckle. “And I can see the appeal.”

Colin felt his face heat up as he turned to his brother. “I hope pigeons peck out your eyes and—”

“What? You did ask. I’m just answering that your children will be… er… well-fed.”

Colin suddenly felt himself melting at the idea. Earlier today, the thought of Pen large with child — their child — had him inexplicably aroused, but the idea of her nursing one made him feel a comforting, enveloping warmth all over. It left him quickly, though, remembering where things stood.

He felt chilled at the loss. It was ridiculous, missing something he’d never even had.

“Colin?”

He glanced up to see Benedict, standing in the middle of the wide stairs along the front of the gallery.  “Yes. Of course. Coming.” He started up the steps, but Benedict stopped him, a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“You needn’t look so forlorn,” his brother said with a bracing smile. “It’s not over. All that’s happened is a bit of bungling on your end, for which you should really blame Anthony. The next time you see her, just remember that she is a woman who deserves be seen as desirable. Not some damsel you are rescuing for the sake of her honor. Let Mother drag you to the Dartmore ball tomorrow, then dance with Penelope, whisper in her ear, let her know how much you want her.”

Colin still thought he’d made it clear, but making it clearer might be enjoyable for both of them. Did it have to be words only or might he also show her?

“Oh, also tell her what an arse you’ve been,” Benedict said, effectively dampening his ardor as they neared the ticket man. “They always like hearing that. And it’s usually always true. Two, please.”

Colin waved Benedict off and paid his own admission. He’d do better to stop thinking of Penelope for now, anyhow, not until he could do something about it. He’d not planned to attend The Duke of Dartmore’s ball, since the invitation boasted a presentation on fossils and antiquities taking place before anyone could dance or even be fed. Really, viewing Rubens' work was all the antiquities and cultural education he could stand in a week, but he’d do it.

God, even if she never married him, he’d like to make up for their last meeting, with him stomping off like an angry little boy, taking his candies and going home. He’d surely do better when next they met.

For now, he’d think of nothing but the paintings before him as they sort of wound their way into the throng,  It was a rather large crowd, some older and some younger, the latter giggling and pointing, perhaps having their first look at society-approved nudity. They all moved in dutiful circles rather like horses in a pen, some stopping longer, some moving along to the next, some making quite a show of themselves, loudly gasping in wonder and delight, to be sure everyone saw them and how very much they appreciated art.

“Isn’t it remarkable?” Benedict shook his head as they stood before the first.

Colin was a bit arrested himself, staring at The Judgement of Paris, 1636. He remembered being enthralled by it the first time he’d seen it in Antwerp. It was so colorful and sensual. Really, all of the works were vibrant and delightfully free with nudity, but there was something about those ladies…

“Do you know he did four other versions of this very scene?” Ben supplied.

“Er… yes. I think I heard that. Anyhow, I like this one best.” There were three goddesses undressing, but his eyes were, as when he first saw it, drawn to the one who had shed the least clothing, her back to the viewer, her deep red robe in the midst of falling from her generous form, her red hair gathered on top of her head, baring her neck and all the skin below…

Benedict was already pulling him to the next, a rather ghastly depiction of war. Though Ben was rhapsodizing about the animation and seeming motion of the figures, Colin was already on to the next, a much more tempting work.

Samson and Delilah. Yet another woman with generous proportions, her golden-red curls falling over her face, her breast bare for no particular reason, but still drawing the eye. Yes, this was one he’d really liked.

He passed another one, poor old Daniel in the Lion’s Den. Though sympathetic — he’d certainly not wish to be surrounded by lions with barely any clothes to hide his bits — he was also much more interested in the next.

The Three Graces. Just as he did on his first viewing, he studied the one on the right, the one with the long, auburn hair loose down her back. All three were curved in all the right ways, but he supposed he must have a penchant for those red locks flowing…

He choked on air, backing away, then looking about him as the crowds moved in their little circle, glancing through the moving gaps at painting after painting, some depicting holy scenes or hellscapes, but quite a lot depicting women with dimpled flesh and bare breasts. He felt nearly faint at the sight of one of Rubens’ ladies actually offering her breast to a prisoner chained to the wall. The face was nothing to the one haunting him — the nose too straight, the lips too thin and the eyes not nearly round enough — but those unkempt red curls falling into her face had him seeing another head of hair, hopelessly mussed in his carriage.

“Ah, yes. Roman Charity. I’d seen etchings, but no more,” Benedict sighed, joining him. “Really, I thought perhaps this one would be too scandalous for the exhibition. Daughters breastfeeding fathers and all that. But the man is starving in prison, so if needs must…”

Colin groaned, rushing to the refreshment table, taking a glass of cool water and gulping it while contemplating emptying it over his head. It would have been nice if Ben’s rather incestuous knowledge of that last painting had worked in tamping down his lustful thoughts, but there had already been too many red heads by then.

It certainly cast his initial attraction to Rubens’ work in a different light, also his time in Italy staring dumbly at certain works by Titian and Botticelli, among others, specifically the ones with a certain sort of body and a certain shade of hair. Whether it was a strawberry blonde or a deep auburn or a violent red, those were the ladies he’d contemplated, sometimes for hours, wondering why they fascinated him so. He suppose he knew why now.

“Good God!” he gasped, causing at least three old ladies to glare in disapproval. This was a hell of a revelation to have in public. He needed air. He turned to the door as if to flee, but she was there, too, as if to tell him there was no escaping her. This time, she was cloaked in sunlight, her eyes wide with disbelief, her lips open on a gasp of his name.

“Colin?”

The door swung shut taking away the blinding sunlight. He expected the specter of her to leave with it, but she was still there.

“Pen,” he breathed.

Was this a good thing or a terrible thing? He wasn’t certain. All he knew was that it was a wonder he hadn’t dropped his glass yet.

TBC

That ’s all for now. But hey! It was extra long. And the wait was a whole week shorter than last time. May the next be even sooner. I just have an original that is on the front burner, speaking of that…

If you like this, you'll like my originals more. Trust me …

 https://www.wattpad.com/user/AbbyWheelerRomance

Chapter Text

Penelope was here, which felt strange after seeing her absolutely everywhere, as if he’d called her to him. But she must be real. Why else would he be seeing her mother and Felicity behind her? He’d never seen them in the paintings… Actually, that wasn’t true. He was sure he once saw a dragon with shrewd eyes that put him immediately in mind of Mrs. Featherington.

He saw those eyes now, looking him up and down. “Why, Mr. Bridgerton! We did not expect to find you here!” She actually sounded genuinely surprised, also far too happy about the prospect.

He glanced at Penelope, wondering if she’d told her mother that he’d proposed. He’d never thought she would, but why else would her mother be staring at him like a cat who’d got the cream? He smiled now, his eyes sliding to Pen. There was no way she’d have told her mother unless she meant to accept. He knew enough of the woman’s penchant for marrying off her daughters to know…

“How fortuitous to know you appreciate art, as does my Felicity.” Mrs. Featherington drew Felicity from behind her, practically shoving her at him.

“Ah, well…” So Penelope had not told her mother, not if she was pushing Felicity before him. It wasn’t as if Mrs. Featherington hadn’t tried it before. Though he quite liked Felicity, as much as anyone could like a disciple of Hyacinth and an actual child, he had no interest in courting her and he was quite sure she felt the same.

“My dear Felicity also has a great love of art," Portia Featherington cooed, "but I’m sure she doesn’t know nearly as much as you on the subject.”

Felicity scoffed at that from her place in front of her mother. Penelope seemed to be holding in a laugh.

Colin raised a brow at her before he turned to Felicity. “I assure you, that cannot be true.” He gave Felicity an apologetic look. “I am certain you know vastly more than I, Miss Felicity.”

“Oh, but you are being humble! Surely, we can use your knowledge to better appreciate these classics,” Portia said, glancing around, not quite hiding her lack of appreciation in the twist of her mouth.

“You know, you must be confusing me with my brother… Benedict,” Colin finished loudly, practically on a shout as he glanced about for rescue. “He is the artist in the family and knows much more than I could ever hope to learn.”

Benedict was suddenly behind him. “Praise? From a member of my family?” He moved to Colin’s side with a questioning glance.

Colin gave him a pleading glance in return and a very tiny nod to Penelope. “Benedict would be a much better guide. He’s the one who dragged this art novice you see before you here. I barely know a Ruben from a… a Rembrandt.”

Benedict laughed, squeezing him on the shoulder, as if to say he would suffer this for him. “My poor brother is right. Even in his travels, he’s not managed to become the art scholar. And how lovely to see you, Mrs. Featherington, Miss Featherington, Miss Felicity,” he said, nodding at each in turn.

“Yes, quite charmed,” Portia Featherington said curtly, then turned to Colin. “But now that I think upon it, I’ve heard so little about your travels and—”

“Oh, but Mama!” Felicity clapped her hands. “Mr. Benedict Bridgerton is quite famous among artists and he should surely give us an expert tour!”

“You are too kind, Miss Felicity,” Ben said, a hand to his chest as, Colin noted, he and Felicity shared a look and a slight nod. “I don’t claim to be an expert, but let me see…” He glanced around, tapping his chin. “There are the works out here, but there are also Ruben’s wooden panels in the back room. They are delicate and don’t often travel, so this is a rare treat!”

Mrs. Featherington looked less than pleased. “But, surely—”

“Wood panels?” Felicity clapped her hands as if this was the most delightful thing she had ever heard. Funny, that. “Why, I had no idea this exhibit contained Rubens' panel work. I’ve heard of them, but never seen them.” It was almost as if she, like Ben, knew he wanted Penelope alone. “Oh, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, turning to Benedict so there was no mistake. “Won’t you please show us the panels first?”

“Gladly.” Benedict took Felicity’s arm, then Mrs. Featherington’s with the other. “So the first thing you must know about painting on wood is that it is not as easily…”

Portia glanced back over her shoulder, opening her mouth several times, but no words seemed to come.

Colin had the same problem, staring at Penelope as they left. He wanted her alone, or as alone as they could be in a large, crowded gallery, yet he felt at a loss as to what to say now. He even felt strange looking at her now. Thus far, he’d been operating under the assumption that either Penelope had changed or he had in this past year, which explained these new feelings, but now… God, he’d been leering at her for years… at least in the guise of countless voluptuous painted ladies with red hair.

He tore his eyes away from her now, gesturing awkwardly around. “Should I give you the tour? It’s not as good as Ben’s but—”

“Please do.” She held out her arm and he pulled it through his as she said softly, “I’d been hoping to speak with you tomorrow, but today will do.”

“I was hoping for the same thing after this morning,” he whispered as they stopped before the first painting. “The way I bombarded you was—”

“No, it was me that was rude and far too quick to anger,” she protested. “I’m not usually so—”

“Why wouldn’t you be angry? I was a beast,” he said, turning to study her. “I thought, somehow, if I were forceful, you’d know that—”

“And I was no less beastly in return,” she insisted, turning to glance at him, then away. “I felt awful when you left.”

“You? I felt like the worst sort of boor when I left.”

“Can we not leave it behind us and say neither of us were at our best?”

“I still say I was worse, but let’s not argue anymore. It is best left in the past. I shall not repeat such behavior.”

“I’m so glad we agree,” she said as they moved on to the next painting. “We can now go on as friends, as if all this never happened.”

He stilled. “What? I never agreed to that.”

She turned back to him. “But you said—”

“I said I didn’t want to argue, not that I’d changed my mind about marrying you.” Did she truly think he would give up?

“Colin…”

“But yes,” he said before she could muster up whatever argument she would use to talk circles around him again. “I would very much like an end to the fighting. It has occurred to me that forcefulness is not effective with the fairer sex,” he repeated Benedict’s words, not adding that he’d also said there were much better ways to entice a woman. Ben’s advice was becoming more and more tempting, the more he stared at her decolletage. “I shall have to find other ways to… convince you,” Colin said, carefully not using “entice,” though it certainly was more apt to Benedict’s advice.

I m talking about stoking her desire… I’d wager she’s never had a dishonorable offer in her life… She needs to know that you want to marry her for more than protecting her honor… she needs to be in no doubt that you want her… Also, it wouldn’t hurt if you manage to get your shirt off. Trust me…

Obviously, none of that helped here and now, at a crowded art exhibition, and he rather suspected there were no easy excuses to get his shirt off, wherever he might be. But expressing his want for her… Well, that was quite easy. No, not just easy. It was impossible not to do. And, though it had been some time since he’d flirted with a young lady of her pedigree, he was quite skilled in the art.

“I should rightly point out that your efforts to convince me, in light of my refusal, are what led to us fighting in the first place,” Penelope said stiffly.

He was not discouraged. “Ah, but there I was trying to argue, not convince, and you are obviously my superior in that exercise. So I shall not attempt to continue it. I shall instead assure you of my admiration of you and my desire,” here he paused, drawing in a breath, noting that she did as well, “that we shall come to an understanding before long.”

Penelope shook her head, silent, obviously at a loss after what he’d said.

Good.

They moved on the the next work, Penelope staring ahead of her, still dumbfounded, Colin staring at her. He’d seen the paintings. He’d rather stare at the real article. “I do like that dress on you. Did I say so this morning?”

“No, I don’t think you did, but there’s no need to—”

“The blue of it brings out your eyes in a startling way. I’d meant to note that before. But that is not the only thing it brings out.” Standing beside her now — with the advantage of his height — that dress was even more entrancing. Even now, he could see her breaths coming fast, stirring the flesh above her neckline in ways that made his hands itch.

“For you to say such a thing,” she huffed, removing her arm from his, “in a public place—”

“I said nothing untoward,” he chuckled.

She moved to the next work. “It’s not what you said, it’s what you implied.”

He followed of course, standing behind her, but leaning in, grinning. “And what did I imply?”

“You know very well—”

“Yes, but I’d love to hear you say it.”

“Then I shall not give you the satisfaction,” she said, quite primly as she moved onto the next.

“Oh, Penelope.” Colin laughed darkly as he followed, “this conversation is giving me nothing close to satisfaction. Believe me,” he said, and he meant it, letting his eyes run almost mournfully over her decolletage. Maybe teasing her was the wrong tack to take, as it was torturing him.

He supposed he might have survived this before, but after the carriage incident, when she’d been laid out before him like a delectable buffet, he’d seen too much to go back to pretending.

He’d been blind… until he’d seen.

Still, he had to give himself some credit. It wasn’t as if he’d never noticed her breasts. He was a red-blooded man, after all. He was also quite a bit taller than her and, when they danced, he’d always had a spectacular view waiting for him if he just glanced down, which was why he tried not to do it, quite valiantly. Still, his eyes had dipped downward more than once… per dance, even as often as he told them not to. But he always quickly pulled them upward again out of respect.

He was surely mired in deep disrespect now. But he was finding it impossible to look away now that he knew what her nipples looked like. He’d yet to see her breasts fully bare, but he’d had them in his hands, and his mouth. How in hell was he to pretend her breasts were strangers to him now? How was he to pretend he had no urge to cup them, squeeze them, gladly put his head between them and let them smother him?

“Colin?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you please put your eyes somewhere else?” Penelope was twisting some papers in her hand, just below her bosom.

He was startled to find he was awfully close to her. “I was simply looking at your pamphlet.” He took it from her hands. “I must have neglected to collect one. Yes, this painting from his… er… oils period.” He leaned in, opening it up, leaning over her shoulder, pretending to read. “It’s hard to look elsewhere, you know, with such a tempting display.”

“Oh, piffle!” She pushed the pamphlet away, moving onto the next work. “I refuse to believe you suddenly find me so alluring after all these years—”

“Believe what you like. It doesn’t negate my torture.” Still, he really needed to stop thinking about her breasts as problems were arising, problems that had him following her closely to that next painting, thinking he might need to march her out of here, covering his front, yet he couldn't help telling her... “You know what I realized upon seeing these works? I’d seen them in Antwerp and was struck dumb at certain paintings. Those paintings all happened to have one thing in common.”

“Oh? Well, I didn’t expect an art lesson from you, but feel free—”

“They all had red hair and… generous figures. Till this day, I never realized why they entranced me so. Then I realized. They were all you.”

“I know what you’re about,” Penelope was saying. Still, she blushed. He could see it, even as she dipped her head and moved onto the next work. “You now think to flatter me into marrying you, as if I am some naive girl who’s head can be turned by—”

“I swear upon all I hold dear that I am in earnest. And I am under no delusion that you are naive, Lady Whistledown,” he whispered the last into her ear, reminding himself that there were higher stakes than just his unsatisfied lust.

She stiffened before him. “Yes, now we come to it again. The true reason you think we must marry. You think I need your protection. If I am found out—”

“When,” he corrected.

“Very well. Let’s pretend it’s as you say. When I am found out.” Penelope moved onto the next work, calm as she pleased. “I would be a pariah, yes. Perhaps I would be ruined, rendered unmarriageable, a spinster, permanently on the shelf,” she said, turning to face him, “but you are forgetting that all of that has already happened, only with time.”

“What? That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? What prospects do I have that would be spoiled?”

She was doing it again. She was talking her little rings around him. Wasn’t he supposed to be teasing her, tempting her? How had they got here again? He really should stop getting into arguments with her. It was a losing game.

Yet he couldn’t help it…

“And what about when you are given the cut direct all over town,” he tried. “What about when you are no longer invited to parties or—”

“With Whistledown at an end, those parties are much less tempting to me.” Penelope shrugged. “I have no reason to hover about on the fringes now, listening for morsels of gossip from those who’ve been ignoring me all along, or perhaps waiting for a Bridgerton brother to be kind enough to ask me to dance or—”

“Damn it, Penelope,” he hissed. “It’s not out of—”

“I wish you would stop denying it.” She turned away, moving to the next painting. “It’s very kind of your mother, and of all of you. But there’s no reason for me to be displayed on the dance floor anymore, parading about for suitors at my age, anyhow.”

“Ah, yes. Your advanced age. Should you be fitted for a wheelchair or will a simple cane do?” Colin huffed. “And I’ll have you know that, while my mother might have prodded me to dance in those early days, you were always one of several suggestions, but I always chose you as the least objectionable.”

“The least objectionable?” She let out a laugh. “My, what honeyed words. You are certainly looking to turn my head today.”

“You know very well I mean it in the nicest—”

“Oh, Colin, I’m certain you do,” she sighed. “But I am a woman grown and have long since accepted my lot in life. I have no need to be flattered, nor protected. And, truly, there’s no loss of reputation where there is none to lose. I am inconsequential by the standards of The Ton, and was long before this.”

He stilled behind her now, fairly growling, “What about that very inconsequential matter of your honor?”

“I told you, my honor is perfectly intact,” she hissed. “No one saw us. No one knows. And I am holding you to nothing!”

“And what of my—”

 “Not so loud,” she said, poking subtly at him behind her with an elbow.

“Blast!” He drew up beside her and took that elbow, hooking her arm through his. He'd spotted a door at the far side of the room. He knew not where it led, whether it be the gardens or a storage room, but it had to be a better venue than this.

“Where are you taking me?” she hissed, though he noted she didn’t pull away.

“Somewhere we don’t have to keep whispering,” he said, smiling merrily, strolling along as if escorting her to the refreshment table or the retiring room… Once they’d approached the door, he belatedly wondered if it was the retiring room, but he’d already started opening it by then and, as there were no outraged shrieks, it seemed they were safe enough.

It seemed to be some sort of exhibition room, with some red-curtained alcove at the front and chairs all in a row and all, blessedly, empty. He pulled her in before pushing the door closed… with her against it. He had some notion he might be crowding her and should certainly step back, but then she glanced up at him and breathed his name…

“Colin!”

At that strange blend of shock and delight in her voice, he certainly didn’t wish to move even an inch away. But he also didn’t allow himself to be put off the subject, either. “What of my honor, Penelope?” he demanded. “I told you before that I would never behave as I did, with you, without offering marriage. And I am a man of my word.”

“Then what of my behavior? Really, Colin!” She rolled her eyes, obviously quite finished with her initial shock... and delight, it seemed. “I was not some innocent lamb besmirched by the touch of your lips. And I was just as much to blame, possibly more so, considering I started this entire debacle with my request the day before, which—”

“Oh, so it’s a debacle now?”

“It’s certainly turning into one. And it needn’t because simply kissing is not a valid reason for a couple to be forced into matrimony.”

He kept his hands against the door on either side of her, though they were itching to take her by the shoulders and… he didn’t know precisely what? Shake some sense into her?

Perhaps. It wouldn’t be the first time he was tempted to do so in the last day or so. But he’d also been tempted to do quite a few other things and those were fast eclipsing the notion of shaking her, the more her cheeks reddened and her considerable bosom heaved.

“We did more than simply kiss, Pen,” he said softly, with a significant glance at said bosom.

Her face reddened further. “I am well aware that…that other things might have happened.” Her eyes were wide, her lips were parted and, he could swear, drawing nearer to his. “But those acts are still really just… just kissing in… in different places,” she finished, her words no more than a whisper of breath against his lips.

“And touching,” he added, his hands flexing slightly against the door. “We did a lot of that, too.” He wouldn’t mind doing more of it now. Maybe he was done arguing with her. She was far too good at it. It would be much more effective to use his own skills. He’d nearly forgot he had any, what with the way she’d turned his entire world upside down. But it was high time he dusted them off.

“Yes, I remember,” she breathed, practically panted. “I liked it all much more than I thought possible.”

“Of course you did, you shameless little vixen,” he tutted. “You, of all people, should know that ladies have been ruined for far less,” he said heatedly. “Nothing a wedding won’t correct,” he whispered, leaning in just a little, waiting for her to surrender, waiting for her to meet his lips.

She did not. In fact, suddenly, she was pushing against his chest, her eyes narrowed. “And is that what I am in your eyes? Ruined?”

He stepped back quickly. “God, no! That’s not what I—”

“I did not consider myself sullied by… by what we did. But if you now think of me as… as damaged goods—”

He put up his hands. Damn it. He’d put his foot in it again! “I don’t. I swear. I don’t.” He backed away further.

She bore down on him. “Because I’ve lived in the world long enough to to have my own opinions against this notion of enforced female purity.” She poked him in the chest now. “And I shall have you know that I enjoyed myself thoroughly and refuse to regret it, so you can put away your judgmental—”

“Good God, Penelope! I’m not judging you for enjoying our indiscretions. I’m glad — ecstatic, even! — that you did. It bodes well for our marriage if—”

“What marriage?” She moved around him now, pacing toward the front.

He turned to face her. “The one you keep rejecting,” he said, sullen now.

“Because you keep persisting!” She whirled on him, arms flying about as she spoke… or, more rightly, shouted. “I’ve told you time and again that I have no demands that you right some wrong against me. Should I speak plainer or do you finally understand?”

Yes, he understood now. He understood that he’d completely lost control of this conversation and he needed to put it right again. And he knew how. One of the less infuriating things she’d said begged to be answered.  “You actually didn’t, you know.”

“Didn’t what?” she demanded, her eyes were blazing, her cheeks were red with anger and her bosom was heaving significantly harder with outrage. He’d need to be cautious with his approach.

“Enjoy yourself. Thoroughly,” he added significantly, hoping she’d at least be more curious than outraged.

It seemed to work, as she tilted her head. “What does that mean?”

“It means that, if the carriage had not stopped,” he said, moving toward her slowly, carefully, “you would have enjoyed yourself thoroughly, but alas…” He stilled before her, sighing.

She stiffened, clearing her throat. “Then… then we should grateful things ended where they did before—”

“Before you cried out in ecstasy?” He took another step toward her. “Oh, Penelope. If you knew how ecstasy truly felt, you would not say such things.”

She was the one backing up now. “I certainly would,” she said breathlessly. “I have seen many unhappy marriages borne from momentary indiscretions. And it is really awful for all involved. Perfectly nice young men have been forced to live the rest of their days with shrewish girls who just happened to get them alone or, worse, innocent young girls forced to marry beastly old lechers or drunks and we shall not—”

“But you're not a shrew.” He kept moving toward her as she kept stepping back. She was nearly to that curtained alcove and, though he hadn’t planned this, she was falling right into his trap. “And I'm not old or drunk.” He looked her up and down. “Though I will say I have some lecherous tendencies when it comes to you.”

She let out a nervous laugh, her face flushing — and not with anger, he’d wager. “I’m not talking about us, but about the principal of the thing, which is that… that…” She took another step…

As did he, noting with satisfaction that she was nearly out of steps. “Yes?” he prodded.

“What I mean is that… that no one saw us.”

“Yes. You keep saying that. But I’m not sure how true that is as your butler—”

“Briarly is very discreet.”

“Good thing for us, I suppose,” he said with relish. “We certainly weren’t.”

“Yes, but none of the indiscretions we indulged in would result in a child.” She drew up against the curtain now, and seemed to try to step back again, but came up against the step to the alcove as well. She was well and truly trapped, yet she kept arguing. “To two reasonable people, such indiscretions need not result in marriage.”

“Of course not,” he agreed, smiling as he stepped up to her.

Her eyes widened. “You agree?”

“Of course I do.” He reached for the curtain now, sliding it aside. “If everything up to those child-bearing indiscretions is all well and good, then I suppose it doesn't matter if I do this.” He untied her bonnet ribbons, then knocked it to the floor before he gripped her waist firmly, picking her up and placing her on the dais.

Her eyes widened as they met his, and straight on for a change. “You shouldn’t be lifting me. I’m too heavy for—”

“And yet I just did,” he murmured. “It makes it much easier to…” He didn’t finish. He let his lips do that, fitting them to hers over and over, every angle, every measure of intensity explored. She softened against him, to his relief.

It looks like he had finally got to the part where he sweetened her up. And it was much better than arguing.

******************

Penelope had always been certain that putting up with her family without having a tantrum all these years would give her, if not sainthood, at least a heavenly seat. But now she was truly being tested. This was Colin Bridgerton and, even as much as she told herself he no longer held attraction for her, the last days had erased all that.

Even in a public place, every whisper in her ear, every touch, even the most innocuous ones, set her aflame. Why wouldn’t he stop? And why didn’t she want him to? His hands gripping her hips, his lips so gently adhering to her own… Yes, that was why. It would be very nice if she could just enjoy his closeness, his gripping hands, his drugging kisses… but without this marriage nonsense.

She would not allow him to throw his life away like this, throw away his own chance at true love, because of some misguided notions about her virtue. He might claim he desired her, might even act as if he did, but it was the same as those dances. It was duty. It was pity. It was not grounds for marriage, not for her or for him. Yet he was still persisting…

She really should pull away.

In a few more moments.

It was just so lovely, the way he held her against him, especially when his arms tightened around her when she let out a moan. She couldn’t help it, what with the way his tongue softly slid along the seam of her lips, begging entry.

She granted it, of course. She really shouldn’t, but the way his tongue delved into her mouth, gently coaxing her own, was too much to be borne. She defied anyone to resist such a thing, the way his lips consumed her own for what was either a few seconds or a few minutes, possibly hours. She couldn’t tell. Time was now meaningless.

That was bad enough without him sliding his lips along the side of her jaw to just under her ear, leaving a hot trail of kisses down to her neck, sucking gently at the place where her heartbeat thudded under her skin. She dearly wished he’d have mercy on her… that or never stop this assault on her senses.

She let out a whimper as his teeth grazed her skin, at which he let out a growl against her neck that shook her to her core before his lips left her, leaving her to moan in protest, but only for a moment, only until she felt his hands sliding into her bodice, warm and firm. When next she felt his lips, they were on her nipple.

“Colin!” she shouted, glancing around the empty room in mild panic, despite the delicious sensations coursing through her.

“Shhhh. Not so loud,” he murmured as he pulled her tighter against him, continuing his ministrations. “Somebody might hear.”

“Somebody might also very well see us!” she hissed.

He lifted his head, licking his swollen lips. “You’re quite right. Anyone could walk in,” he breathed, looking intrigued at the idea. Still, he stepped up onto the dais, nudging her backward.

“Yes,” she said emphatically, but she didn’t resist. In fact, she stepped deeper into the alcove. “What if… if the crowds come in to see the display and we are the display?”

“That won’t happen, at least not today.” Her eyes widened further as he gripped her again, walking them toward the wall, giving him a curious look. “There’s nothing on the podium and nothing on the wall,” he said teasingly, “at least not yet.” He gently pushed her against the left wall before he turned and closed the curtains behind them. “There.” He returned to press himself against her again. “We can enjoy ourselves — thoroughly now.”

The delicious pressure of his body pressing into hers with the wall at her back was almost too much for her. She nearly forgot to ask… “But how would we enjoy ourselves without… well…” She gasped as his lips skimmed her bodice. “Surely we cannot commit the act here and now.”

He breathed out a laugh against her skin. “Oh, Pen. You’ve got a lot to learn. Do you really think the only way to achieve enjoyment is the act itself?”

“Well, I…” She was panting now, as his lips skimmed just along the lace at her bodice, but didn’t delve below. “I always assumed that the act being enjoyable — for men, that is and, I suppose, some women — was so people would want to create babies.”

He lifted his head, sliding his hand down her side, then her hip. “Aye, that is the purpose, but we can find enjoyment without the act. And if a woman doesn’t enjoy herself, that is entirely the man’s fault,” he said, now kneeling before her, his hand sliding from her ankle to her calf. “I would never let that happen.”

“Surely, we shouldn’t—” She cut herself off with a gasp as his hand moved past her knee, then her garter, sliding up the inside of her thigh. By the time his fingers reached her alarmingly wet center, she couldn’t remember why she’d objected in the first place.

He straightened, looming over her now, her dress bunched up over his arm as his fingers did something that made her entire body jolt. “Yes,” he breathed, capturing her lips again before whispering against them, “I want you to feel it.” 

She was too overcome to say so but, whatever it was, she was certainly feeling it. His fingers, at first searching, were now circling some part of her that made her cry out, no longer capable of controlling herself.

He swallowed her cry with his lips, only drawing back to whisper, “Yes. That’s it, Pen. Let it happen,” before devouring her lips again, his other hand dipping into her bodice and pulling out her breast.

She still wasn’t certain what it was, but something was definitely happening. Her hands were gripping his lapels so hard she feared she might rip them right off. She couldn’t keep her hips still. Her heart seemed to be beating all over her body. She was unable to catch her breath. Her skin felt blazing hot just everywhere. If not for those sharp yet sweet tingles emanating from between her legs, she might think she needed to see a doctor.

She sucked in a breath, which came back as a low moan into his mouth, at which his fingers worked her faster and harder. It was a good thing his lips were still on hers as she shouted then, the sound muffled, yet still jarring. She could not help it. So intense was the pleasure. It burst inside her, then seemed to linger, radiating throughout her limbs until those very limbs failed her. Her arms fell limply from him as her legs ceased to hold her up.

Her lips slid from his and she herself started sliding down the wall.

“Whoa, there.” Colin hastily removed his hand from under her dress and the other from her breast, gripping her waist and pulling her upright. “Can’t have you slipping down there… not yet at least,” he finished with a chuckle.

“I don’t know what that means,” she said hazily, leaning her head against his chest.

He chuckled again, then murmured against her hair. “You’ll learn, I hope. Perhaps not today, though.” He drew back and lifted her chin. “You’ve done quite enough for today, you naughty girl,” he finished against her lips.

She let out a weak giggle, pulling back slightly. She quite agreed that enough had happened today. She felt wrung out and weak as a kitten, but as for the rest… “If anything, you’re the naughtier one. I never thought such a thing was done or that such feelings were possible.”

“Truly? You never heard any gossip about that?”

“Really, most of the gossip I hear about… er… marital relations has been less than favorable toward the act.”

“Yes, well most men are fools.”

“Are you attempting to exclude yourself from that accusation?”

“Never,” he said, leaning down to kiss her jaw. “I’m definitely a fool for you.”

She shivered as he reached her neck, not wanting to address what he’d just said. If she wasn’t careful, she might begin to believe he truly wanted to marry her. “Then again,” she said shakily, “so many women think those who enjoy it are harlots, so perhaps those women hold their tongues.”

“Mmm… Please never hold your tongue with me.” He nibbled at her earlobe. “And you’ve never touched yourself there?”

“Not outside of bathing.”

He sighed against her neck. “I would dearly love,” he kissed lower, “to aid you in the bath,” then lower still, “any time you wish,” he finished, his lips on her breast again.

She felt her knees weakening again. “I might enjoy that, too.” She couldn’t believe she was saying such a thing. “What have you done to me?” She felt herself sliding down again.

He caught her with one arm strongly hooked around her waist, nearly pulling her off her feet before his lips surrounded her nipple.

She whimpered, gripping his upper arms to steady herself, then squeezing, which sent a lazy sort of tingle through her. “How did you get so strong? You keep picking me up.”

He laughed against her. “You weigh nothing to me. I could toss you over my shoulder right now and take you home.”

“Oh, God! Please don’t do that. I beg you.”

Penelope and Colin both stiffened, as the voice was coming from outside the curtain.

Chapter Text

“Who’s there?” Colin called out, deepening his voice and hoping it sounded intimidating, spreading his coat over Penelope in case the cur on the other side opened the curtain. He would not have Penelope gawked at… by anyone but him, at least.

“Who do you think?” the other voice practically sneered.

“Ben,” he growled, partially relieved, but also annoyed. “How long have you been out there?”

“Not long. I started out on the other side of the room, covering my ears and waiting as long as I could for you two to be done with it, but apparently that wasn’t to happen unless I made myself known.” Colin could hear the wince in his voice as he went on. “Please tell me you are not undressed.”

“Of course not,” Colin said, deciding it was half-true, as he frantically tried to put Penelope’s breasts back into her bodice. It felt more difficult than the reverse, perhaps because he didn’t truly want to hide them away again. “But don’t come in here! Miss Featherington was feeling faint and I was… assisting her.”

Penelope let out a slight giggle at that and batted his hands away, setting her dress to rights.

Colin sighed at the loss. Once they were married, he’d insist she spend most of the day and night with her chest completely uncovered, at least for the first week… or six. He would do the same, of course, if she liked. He briefly remembered Ben’s advice about finding a way to get his shirt off. Shame that hadn’t happened here. He’d love to know if she admired his chest even half as much as he admired hers.

“Yes. A likely tale,” Ben scoffed. “Her mother is looking for her. You should both thank your lucky stars I found you first.”

Penelope’s smile dropped at that and she rushed past him to the curtain, yanking it open. “Is she upset? What did she say?”

“Don’t worry too much.” Benedict gave her a slight smile and bent to scoop up her discarded bonnet. “Apparently Rubens’ work is far too scandalous for her eyes. She wishes to go to Gunter’s where everyone has their clothes on.”

“Gunter’s actually sounds quite nice,” Colin said. “It’s very hot today. Nothing a lemon ice won’t—”

“Absolutely not,” Ben cut in. “I think you’ve had enough treats for today.”

Colin tried to laugh, but it came out like a weak wheeze. “Listen, what you heard was—”

“Much more than I wished,” Ben said peevishly. “I really hoped it wasn’t,” he gestured between them, “this.” He turned to Penelope, brushing off her bonnet and handing it to her. “I’d like to apologize for my brother’s boorish behavior.”

Penelope flushed, taking with her bonnet. “Mr. Bridgerton was actually quite… gallant in his aid to me.”

“Was he, now?” Benedict stared him down. “I apologize nonetheless. He knows much better than to abscond to empty rooms with unmarried ladies.”

Colin glared at him. “You’re the one that said to—”

“I gently advised you to make her feel desirable,” Ben said, glaring right back at him, “not to maul her in public!”

“Advised?” Then Penelope was glaring at him, too, and not Ben who’d opened his gigantic mouth.

It didn't even matter that he'd opened his own first, not when she was this angry.

“What does he mean by advised?" Penelope demanded. "Why would your brother or anyone have any advice to give on this? Why would you ask?”

Colin stared at the floor. “I only asked for some guidance on how to contend with you — you and your stubbornness,” he finished, lifting his chin.

Penelope gasped. “You are unbelievable!”

“Nice to hear you say it,” Colin said, holding her stare. “Of course, I think I received that message more clearly a few moments ago.”

“You know very well that I don’t mean it as a compliment,” she seethed, “and don’t you dare try to be… seductive with me now.”

“Yes, please don’t,” Benedict groaned.

“You’ve been running about telling people our private business,” Penelope went on. “If word got out, we would be forced to marry! Is that what you want?”

“I think I’ve made it perfectly clear that is what I want… apart from the… forcing bits,” Colin finished on a mumble. “And are you saying you didn’t ask for any advice of your own? Because I noted that Felicity seemed very helpful about being sure we were left alone.”

“I… I didn’t ask Felicity for advice. I didn’t even tell her,” Penelope reddened — even further, “at least not on purpose.”

“Aha!”

“She dragged it out of me through… through trickery," Penelope said haltingly. "And the only reason she suspected anything was because of your ostentatious bouquet and your note and—”

“And who is Felicity’s favorite friend?” Colin tapped his chin. “Benedict? Care to guess—”

Benedict put up his hands. “I am not helping you anymore. In fact, why don’t we—”

“One of the most notorious gossips and busybodies in all of London — Hyacinth!” Colin pointed at Penelope.

“That’s a fine way to talk of your own sister,” Penelope countered.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Benedict put in with a sigh.

“Anyhow, Felicity promised not to say a word,” Penelope added.

“And you believe that?” Colin huffed. “Hyacinth will get it out of her. At least Anthony is discreet!”

Penelope paled then. “Anthony?”

Colin felt his face drain of color as well. “I… I meant Benedict.” He laughed slightly. “Damned Bridgertons. All look so much alike that even we sometimes get confused about—”

“Anthony knows, too?” Penelope threw up her hands, her bonnet flying wildly from the string and nearly hitting him in the chin. “How many people have you told?”

“Look, it’s just like you with Felicity. They… they dragged it out of me! Didn’t you, Ben?” He turned pleading eyes to his brother.

“The only thing I will say on the subject is that I shall not be telling anyone.” Benedict turned to Penelope. “I swear it. But the pair of you caterwauling in here will likely alert half The Ton.”

“I hadn’t thought…” Penelope stared down at her hands — now wringing her bonnet strings. “I’m very sorry for my outbursts.”

Colin sighed. “I’m glad to hear you—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, not even sparing Colin a glance as she marched to the door.

Benedict started after her, then turned back. “Colin?”

“I’d rather not,” Colin grumbled. “I need to… stay a moment.”

“Aye, I’d bet,” Ben said with a roll of his eyes. “That’s your own doing.” Benedict joined her and held out his arm. “Miss Featherington, allow me to escort you to a retiring room where you can refresh yourself.”

“Gladly,” Penelope said, lifting her chin as she took his brothers arm. “I’d wish you ‘good day,’ Mr. Bridgerton, but I’d rather not be insincere.”

“Well, I’d rather not be… be…” They left before he could even find a thing to finish that with. “…rather not be a henpecked husband before we even marry,” he muttered to himself. “And we will marry.”

He was even more certain of it now that he’d had a taste. God, he could smell her on his hand even now, sugar and musk, and he wanted more.

Well, obviously, he wanted more. He’d — and quite selflessly, to his mind — seen to her pleasure, but not to his own. He’d never left an encounter such as this so unsatisfied… and yet so sated by the way she responded to him, the way his blood heated to boiling from her adorably inexperienced caresses, the way there was no one else but the two of them for several blissful moments…

Hell, he couldn’t get his damned cock to stand down, even after her little temper tantrum… or perhaps because of her little temper tantrum with her flashing eyes and her flushed cheeks and heaving… Had he just thought he’d been sated? No. He would never be sated with her. He’d never have enough. Since that carriage ride or, perhaps, ever since their very first kiss, everything she did made him want more.

And she wanted him, too, damn it! Yes, he might have taken things a bit further than he should have. And Benedict might even be right in his assessment that he’d “mauled her in public.” But he couldn't regret it. Everything that happened behind that curtain was raw, ravenous... real!

Desire like this didn’t come along every season — or even every century.

He’d never felt this way before, not even with the most skilled courtesans on the continent. He couldn’t even picture their faces nor their bodies now. All he saw was her.

This wasn’t just an ideal marriage. This was a desirable match — as in filled with desire. She just had to see it, too.

*************************

Penelope could barely look at Benedict Bridgerton when she came out of the retiring room. Her hair had been hopeless and she certainly lacked Jenny’s skills to fix it. She was quite grateful for her bonnet as she could tuck away the worst of it. If her mother had anything to say, she could just blame the heat for her disarray. Perhaps she could blame it for her bright red cheeks as well. She'd splashed her face and neck with cool water, but she could still see the flush remaining, feel the heat lingering, and not the kind that had blazed through her body in those ill-advised moments with Colin, but a mortified flush that might take years to abate.

“You didn’t need to wait for me,” she murmured, though she took Mr. Bridgerton’s arm, all the same.

“Of course I did,” Benedict said easily, leading her back into the still-crowded main exhibition room. “Who knows what sort brigands are hanging about in art galleries waiting to accost lone women? I've recently found that I’m even related to one such scoundrel.”

Penelope was tempted to laugh, but couldn’t quite manage it over her embarrassment. “I can’t imagine what you must think of me,” she hissed.

“If you think I am judging you, I assure you, I am not. I know quite well what it’s like when one’s passions get the better of them," he said kindly. "My wife can attest to what a boor I was during our courtship, if it can even be called such a thing.”

“You’re a man. It’s different for you,” she scoffed.

“Well, it shouldn’t be,” he said firmly. “And I assure you that I will tell no one. I didn’t see anything anyhow.”

Still, Penelope couldn’t help feel humiliated at what he must have heard. Her loud moans had surely echoed through the room. She was quite certain she even shouted at least once. It had been hard to help, with all she’d been feeling at the time. She’d felt something close to it in the carriage, and those delicious frissons during their kisses, but never imagined the explosions of pleasure that blazed through her body — nay, her entire being.

“Furthermore, I blame my brother. Little imp was always entirely too persuasive. I can’t tell you how many tarts he stole from our cook when he was little only to swindle her out of even more when she took him to task.”

Penelope couldn’t help a slight smile at the thought. Had it been only a week ago that she’d playfully teased Colin that he’d be able to charm his way out of any punishment? Of course, that was before she’d seen his temper, his willfulness. She dropped her smile, thinking of how he applied that charm to her today. “Yes, he can be very… enticing when he wants to be. What kind of advice did you give your brother,” she began, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nothing I thought would lead to this,” Benedict said hastily, “I assure you.”

“Of course not. I wasn’t implying—”

“I meant no harm.”

“No. I would never think you did, and no harm was done,” Penelope said, squeezing his arm, “truly.”

“I just thought, what with how obvious his preference for you has always been, he’d do better to show it than not.”

“Preference? For me?” Penelope shook her head. “Surely you jest.”

“Surely, I don’t.” Benedict stilled, turning to face her. “Have you ever witnessed Colin pay, to any other young lady, half the attention he does to you?”

“Only because he is so very determined now that he’s set his mind on—”

“I’m not talking about now. I’m talking about… well, always.”

Penelope shook her head. “I don’t know what Colin has told you, but this notion of marriage is something he’s only had in his head for days, certainly not always."

"But I'm not speaking of this notion of marriage. I am speaking of his preference for you." he leaned in. "It has been plain to see long before all this. We have all noted it and rather hoped-"

"I assure you, you mistake his intentions," Penelope croke in. "Colin has only been kind to me, as all of you Bridgertons are." 

Benedict shook his head. "Can you honestly say that now? His kindness has certainly gone beyond-"

"‘Tis no more than some fleeting fancy all tied up in his ridiculous sense of honor," Penelope said. "Everything he does now is in service of that. He’s convinced himself that we must marry and, in telling you and — I’m certain now — Lord Bridgerton, he thinks to force my hand.” It made her feel hemmed in and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Look, I love my brother, but I also know him,” Benedict sighed. “I assure you that, in asking our advice, Colin was not engaging in some clever, nefarious plan to compel you to the altar. He’s not the type for such machinations, nor for planning at all.” He laughed. “I doubt he thinks beyond the next meal, most days. And, in his defense, I did rather drag it out of him. As your sister did to you… or so you say.”

“She did!” Penelope insisted, turning to him. “She kept digging at me until, before I knew what was what, I had told her everything!”

“I well believe it.” He chuckled. “Any friend of Hy’s… Ah, Miss Felicity! We were just talking about you,” he said as her sister came into view.

“All good things, I imagine,” Felicity said, rushing to them.

“Of course not,” Benedict answered.

Felicity laughed. “How very reassuring. Thank you ever so much for the tour and have a lovely afternoon!” Penelope hardly had time to dip a curtsy in Benedict's direction before her sister pulled her away, asking quite slyly, “And where were you, all this time?”

“I was enjoying the exhibition.” Really, Penelope had been making an exhibition of herself.

“Ha! A likely tale.” She leaned in. “Did he renew his proposals?”

Penelope felt leery of telling Felicity anything further, considering the dressing down she’d given Colin over telling his brothers — though she did console herself that she only told one person to his two — it would make a hypocrite of her to share more.

Luckily, Felicity answered her own questions. “What am I saying? Of course he did. But what else did he do?”

“Nothing. We simply argued a bit and… and… in the end, I stood firm in my refusal,” she said, skipping the bit where she’d melted into a puddle and probably couldn’t stand if she’d tried.

“What nonsense. Did he drag you off and kiss you anywhere new?” she asked eagerly. “How does kissing in a gallery compare to a carriage or a drawing room?”

“Felicity, this is not something I am willing to discuss at the moment.” She shouldn’t like to tell her innocent little sister about any of the absolute debauchery of the last hour. “Let alone in the presence of Mama.” As they moved outside, Penelope could see their mother at the bottom of the steps, tapping her foot as she awaited the carriage, dabbing at her forehead, and looking quite put out.

Felicity snorted as she opened her parasol. “If you ask me, she should know above anyone.” She grasped Penelope’s arm and pulled her closer. “If you can believe it, Mama has some ridiculous notion that I should want to marry Colin! Your Colin!”

“He’s not my Colin,” Penelope grumbled.

“If he isn’t, then whose is he? Not mine, I assure you.” Felicity shuddered delicately. “He’s absolutely ancient!”

“He’s not ancient,” Penelope said, absurdly moved to defend him. “He is but three and thirty.”

“Well, that’s far too old for me. I personally wouldn’t look at a man over four and twenty, which is why my Geoffrey, at twenty-two, is perfection. If only Mama would stop her nonsense, she’d see so, too. Now as to you and Colin—”

“I told you. There is nothing to me and Colin. Nothing of consequence happened. We simply became lost in the paintings,” Penelope lied primly, perhaps gilding the lily a bit with, “I got quite caught up in the colors and the use of light and the strokes… the brush strokes, I mean.” More lies… or mostly lies. They had gazed at the paintings a bit, but it was Colin’s strokes that had captivated her. Angry as she was, those feelings — those unimaginable sensations — still lingered. She wondered how she was even walking now, her body felt so languid.

“I’d be more likely to believe that if you weren’t coloring up a bit, yourself.” Felicity snorted. “Are you telling me you didn’t allow him any liberties? Your bonnet looks a bit askew if you ask—”

“Mama!” Penelope called out, surreptitiously adjusting her bonnet.

“Penelope,” her mother said, thin-lipped, lifting her chin. “A fine time you must have had, lolloping about while we—”

“Oh, Mama! I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting in all this heat.” Penelope took Felicity’s parasol and held it over her mother, tutting, “I did note that this gallery is especially closed in and it cannot be healthful for those of delicate constitutions. Are you unwell?”

Her mother’s scowl lightened to a weak smile. There was nothing that mollified Portia Featherington quite like sympathy for her imagined ailments. “I confess, I feel quite overcome. Such a pounding in my head and I feel weak as babe. It certainly doesn’t help that this place, at such prices, provides barely enough refreshments to satisfy…”

Penelope and nodded dutifully as her mother excoriated the gallery… rather than her absent daughter. It was a tactic Penelope perfected through the years. She’d much rather her mother rail against things she had no power to change, so she quite carefully directed her ire in that direction. Usually, she felt quite justified in doing so.

“…and I can’t imagine where you’d got off to,” she ranted on. “We searched for over five minutes and found no…”

“Ah, look! It’s the carriage,” Penelope broke in, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Over five minutes. What torture. “Poor Mama. Perhaps we should go straight home so you can rest,” she said, bringing the conversation back to her mother’s supposed condition. “Gunter’s might be awfully crowded.”

“No,” her mother sighed, fashioning her scowl into a stalwart, long-suffering look. “I am certain that strawberry ice cream shall coat my very dry throat,” she said, clearing it delicately. “In fact, I’m certain I shall require more than one to recover.”

“Then you shall have it,” Penelope said, urging her mother to get in first, certain that all would be forgotten after Gunter’s. Her mother was easily distracted after a treat.

Felicity chuckled behind her. “You are very skilled with Mama,” she whispered, taking her parasol as she passed, “but I shall not be put off so easily.”

Penelope nearly considered insisting on walking, but that would only invite more questions. Perhaps, when they were home, she might suffer from a headache herself.

********

Colin could still feel the ache. He’d relieved himself in the men’s retiring room, putting himself behind one of the curtained areas for a bit of privacy. He hadn’t planned to, but there was a moment when he was about to wash his hands that he smelled her on his left. It made his arousal, which he’d gone to great pains to tamp down before, return with a vengeance.

It was rather embarrassing, resorting to such a thing in a public place, but he certainly wasn’t going to go to his promised supper with his brother in a state of arousal.

Having taken care of that business, things had been fine, but then, in the middle of a very good bowl of minestra maritata, he’d brought his napkin to his mouth only to realize he could smell her on his cuff.

“You’re doing it again,” Benedict said, sat across from him at their cozy bistro table at The Piazza.

Colin put his hand and his napkin in his lap. “Doing what? I wasn’t doing anything.” Except using his napkin after every bite so he could sniff at her scent on him like a degenerate.

“Precisely. You’ve not talked for nearly half an hour.”

Colin sat up straighter. “Very well. I shall make it up to you with a very amusing anecdote. You see, nearly twenty years ago, The Drury Lane Theatre was burning due to some fire left unattended and Richard Brinsley Sheridan, the owner and quite the playwright himself, sat in this very coffeehouse, perhaps at this very table for all we know, and drank. A Man may surely be allowed, he said, to take—”

“—to take a glass of wine by his own fireside,” Benedict finished for him. “You told me that one when we sat down.”

“Did I?" Colin laughed. "Must have forgot.”

“You forgot to finish your soup, too. Usually, supper out with you means listening to your rhapsodic thoughts on every dish. But here you are, silent, having asked for only one basket of bread," Benedict scoffed. "I’m surprised you remembered to order our supper.”

“Well, I did. And you’ll find everything to your liking.”

“You are the expert,” Benedict allowed. “Still, you are not yourself. It does help a little, knowing the reason for your odd behavior now, but it still remains that you are very poor company. Thank heavens the food is good.” Benedict said, nodding his approval as their plates of tagliatelle carbonara were set down.

“This is all down to her,” Colin hissed urgently, once the waiter had left. “I barely know myself anymore. This is what she’s done to me!”

“I notice you aren’t taking into account what you did to her.”

“You said you didn’t want to know about that,” Colin pointed out.

“I still don’t. Except to say that you took my very tame advice much too far.”

“You did not specifically say I shouldn’t—”

“I think I did. In fact, I corrected you when you mistakenly believed I had suggested seducing her.”

“No. You said ‘not all the way,’ and I clearly didn’t—”

“You got closer than you should have, from what I heard,” Benedict hissed, leaning closer. “And forgive me if I didn’t specify that you shouldn’t be despoiling unmarried young ladies in public places. I thought that was implicit.”

“Well, we were… hidden well enough,” Colin mumbled.

“Barely,” Benedict snorted.

“And she wouldn’t be unmarried if I had my way. My intentions remain honorable."

"Yet your actions are-"

"And I’ve heard your exploits," Colin growled, "or at least enough to know that such public displays are not out of the realm of—”

“Those were dalliances with willing women of a certain sort long before I was a married man. It is not the same as what you’ve done. And before you defend your actions again, let us look at the result." Benedict sat back, pointing at him. "You are even farther from your goal. Penelope feels manipulated, and quite angry with you.”

“Only because I told. Which she also did, so she hasn’t a leg to stand on there,” Colin had to point out. “She seemed quite pleased with the rest of it before you stumbled in.”

“Don’t remind me. I heard enough. But now I am to blame? Believe me, once the… glow wore off, she would have given you another refusal. She didn’t seem thrilled at being maneuvered into marriage by your seduction.”

“Half-seduction,” Colin corrected.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Considering how little experience she’s had, it’s more than enough for her.”

Colin felt himself drifting off. She’d actually had no experience at all. He’d been her first kiss, he reminded himself with more than a little satisfaction. He’d been the first to touch her breasts and parts lower. He’d be the first to kiss her all over. He’d be the first to slide into the wetness he’d felt and could still smell. The first and the last. He’d…

Benedict snapped his fingers in front of Colin’s face. “No. No more staring off into nothing and licking your damned chops. You did wrong today and that’s that. And here I told Penelope you weren’t one for crafting nefarious plots.”

“Well, it wasn’t a plot. It was more of a hope. I thought, if she experienced a little… enjoyment, she might be more amenable to a marriage where I will give her such every night… and morning… some afternoons as well.”

“Please! Let’s not talk about your planned prurient exploits. You’ll put me off the only proper meal I’ve had in a week.” He took a bite and hummed happily. “Thank goodness nothing is pickled here.”

“Funny you should say that. The Italians do actually have a nice dish of pickled peppers and it’s much tastier than you’d imagine, going by—”

“Tell me about it later,” Ben said around a mouthful. “I’m still recovering from Daphne’s concoction of pickled herring and pineapple, which I foolishly tried in solidarity with Sophie.”

Colin grimaced at the thought. It certainly helped with his arousal. Perhaps, the next time thoughts of Penelope set him off while in company, he’d think of that or the terrible congealed, over-salted stews or rancid porridges he’d be served on the ships when traveling. His meals abroad were usually delightful… on land, that is. Boats were always another story.

Yes, the next time he needed to control himself around Penelope, he would remember the meals in his last week on The Endeavor — a ship that, if it endeavored to do anything, was discomfit its passengers as much as possible.

By the time Ben dropped him home, with some thanks for supper, but even more chidings about his behavior with Penelope, Colin was beginning to resent it. Yes, he’d gone too far, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to regret it, not when this afternoon’s delights had proved how decidedly compatible he and Penelope were.

Then again, he had to wonder if that was only because the euphoria had yet to wear off. And he did reflect that thinking of unappetizing meals, horrifying as they were, wasn’t a catch-all solution to his lust for Penelope. But he was a grown man and could certainly control himself henceforth. Yet he wondered how well he’d do with that, considering that, more than once on the ride home, he’d manufactured a cough to bring his cuff to his nose to take in the fading, yet still tempting, scent of her.

“…and look, tell her you desire her all you want,” Ben was saying, stopping Colin from exiting his carriage — and slowly, as if Colin was unable to absorb things if not spelled-out like he was a simpleton, “but do not show her in places such as—”

“Yes, yes. I know!”

“Really? Because it didn’t seem like you knew before and—”

“Goodnight, Ben!” Colin slammed the door closed, then glanced on with some satisfaction as his brother’s carriage moved swiftly down the road before he stared at his boots.

God, perhaps he had mucked things up horribly. Perhaps Pen would run away, virtue aflutter, at the sight of him now. From her point of view, he’d tried to berate her into marrying him and, when that didn’t work, he tried to seduce her into it, which also didn’t work.

He hadn’t given up on marrying her. In fact, he was more determined than ever. But was that goal further away now, or closer than ever before?

He glanced up. It was still light out, but in Bloomsbury, after seven, the streets were empty. Those with families were dining with their kin and those without had gone off to the theatre or the odd salon to mix and mingle and drum up more business for their firm or their shoppe. It was a quiet place at night… which was why the carriage in front of his house gave him pause.

It wasn’t just any carriage. It carried his family’s crest — and not the stripped-down version he used for his own equipage, but the full Bridgerton Crest! There was only one possible explanation…

Dunwoody pulled open the door before her had even reached it, saying breathlessly, “The Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton are awaiting you in your study, sir.”

Colin only nodded and sighed as he handed over his coat.

Anthony had only visited Colin’s new residence on his own a few times, when Colin was still kitting the place out, but Kate had not been there yet and his butler was obviously beside himself at having such an illustrious couple to entertain.

“Cook has gone home for the night,” Dunwoody went on, “so I took the liberty of providing them a light repast as they insisted they preferred to await your return.”

“Very good of you,” Colin droned, knowing very well that light repast would likely contain half his larder, considering Dunwoody’s history. He’d made the biggest fuss when Colin’s mother had looked in on him a few weeks past, as if the Queen herself had deigned to visit. Mother had, of course, found him delightful and declared him “second only to my Wickham in his kind solicitude.”

Daphne had yet to visit his townhouse, but God help him when she did. Dunwoody would likely empty the entire larder, then run off to market for more, with a bona fide Duchess in the house.

Colin was obviously not as pleased as Dunwoody. After an afternoon of Benedict — his supposedly even-tempered brother — berating him, he was even less eager to meet Anthony’s scolding. Then again, Anthony had no way of knowing what Colin had got himself into today. And Colin had no intention of telling him.

The only other reason he could imagine for his brother, with his wife to boot, missing their own supper to wait on him still had to do with Penelope. It was obvious Anthony had told Kate.

Though Colin had thought this in the realm of possibility, he’d hoped not. Anthony had hinted at things a bit to Ben, he hadn’t outright said it, so he thought that was reason to believe he’d be discreet with his wife as well.

So much for that.

When Colin greeted them, after the usual pleasantries were observed, he confirmed that the light repast Dunwoody had laid out could handily serve a party of eight, but he couldn’t be too annoyed. Kate might be eating for two once again and Colin always enjoyed having someone about with a healthy and enthusiastic appetite so he didn’t feel like the only glutton at family suppers.

As Kate complimented the wallpaper in the foyer — all Mother’s doing — Colin filled a plate, his previous supper mostly forgotten. With his best roast beef on display, along with those raspberry jam biscuits Cook hoarded so he didn’t eat them all at once, he'd best take advantage.

He let Kate pretend this was all a pleasant little pop-in while Anthony silently fidgeted with Colin’s best brandy until Colin could take it no more, turning to his brother. “So I take it you told her?”

Anthony finally found his voice. “She dragged it out of me.”

“I did not!” Kate protested. “I simply asked you about your day.”

“And I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” Anthony countered, finishing his drink.

“And I only asked why not.”

“But then I said I couldn’t talk about it.”

“No, you said you shouldn’t talk about, but that you were bursting to tell me, and then you… Well, you burst!" Kate turned to Colin, "Really, I barely prodded him before he—”

“I well believe it,” Colin sighed. Anthony tended to be the one the family at large tiptoed around. Colin should have known, the minute he had a bit of gossip, it would not be kept close for long. He had little experience at hiding things, particularly from his wife.

Anthony waved his now empty glass about. “Let’s not go into the hows and whys of it all. Yes, Kate knows,” he finished on a grumble.

“And I couldn’t be more pleased,” Kate said quickly, “provided you go about things correctly,” she added  with a glance at her husband.

Anthony rolled his eyes and, Colin noted, helped himself to more brandy. “Apparently, my advice was sorely lacking and Kate thinks she can do better.”

“I know I can,” Kate said, with an eye-roll of her own before addressing Colin. “You are not presently engaged to Penelope Featherington, are you?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Colin grunted.

“I am not surprised, with the advice you were given,” she said, spearing her husband with a glance. “I hate to say it, but Anthony presented his version of our courtship in a way that, while not wholly lacking in truth,” she amended at his gasp, “was not wholly based in fact.” Anthony gasped again, but she waved him off, turning fully to face Colin. “In case there is any confusion on the matter, I do not respond well to being told what to do. And neither would any reasonable woman. Forceful displays of masculinity do quite little for us, if you must know.”

“Well, that’s not true,” Anthony scoffed. “Sometimes you respond quite enthusiastically to—”

“Yes, at the proper time and the proper place,” Kate said through gritted teeth, “a place which one doesn’t discuss in polite company.”

“Colin doesn’t count as polite company,” Anthony said on a laugh.

“I’m right here, you know,” Colin groaned, putting his eyes on his plate. “And I’d rather not know what the pair of you get up to out of polite company.”

Kate laughed awkwardly. “That has naught to do with aught.”

Anthony snorted, “What does that even mean?”

“If we are not to mince words, then I shall say it outright.” Kate turned to Colin. “You have badly misjudged the situation, no thanks to my my husband.”

Colin didn’t like hearing that, though Anthony’s ire was sort of satisfying.

“But it is not too late to set it right,” Kate went on.

“How? How now?” he pleaded hopelessly. The way Benedict talked, he’d mucked things up so badly, Pen might avoid the sight of him in fear of her virtue. But neither of them knew that, he reminded himself. Still, Kate might have some insights into the female mind. Yes! He should have gone to a woman first. Yes, women! They were the only ones who could untangle this absolutely impossible knot he’d tied himself into. 

Kate approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “First, you must imagine what it is like to be Penelope.”

Colin shook his head. “You mean stubborn, unyielding, difficult?”

“Yes, you might see her that way now, but Colin… Was she always so?” Kate prodded.

“Well, no. Pen was always the best of all of ‘em.” Colin frowned, remembering her unguarded laughter, her ready smile whenever he first saw her upon coming home, her sweet little inquiries into silly things like the state of his sea legs and how they compared to ballroom legs… “I don’t know why she’s suddenly become so—”

“Up until this moment, Penelope had never received an offer of marriage," Kate said firmly. "To receive an offer like yours, after years without anything like it, must be jarring. And you might think her response is stubborn, unyielding, and difficult, but for Penelope… She is protecting herself.”

“From me?” Colin scoffed loudly.

“Can you imagine how it feels to be Penelope?” Kate prodded. “To feel as if you are… romantically invisible to men? Because I can.”

Anthony seemed to take exception to that. “Kate, I always saw—”

“The only attention I received, for so long, was from Edwina’s besotted swains,” Kate turned to Anthony, “and that included you, Darling.”

“I was never besotted with your sister,” Anthony grumbled.

Kate sighed. “Still, you can’t deny that your courtship of Edwina was how it started between us.”

“What does that signify?” Anthony contested hotly. “I was kissing you within an inch of your life before that first week was out!”

“Yes, but that has little to do with this! Will you stop interrupting?” Kate stood and pushed him toward the study’s door. “You can go amuse yourself. Let me talk to your brother before you have him putting poor Penelope in a sack and dragging her to the altar!”

“What? I certainly never advised anything like—”

“There!” Kate closed the door on her husband before turning to Colin. “You’ve never courted anyone before, have you?”

Colin hedged, “I’ve flirted with many—”

“Flirting is not courting. You’ve never spent an evening attending upon a woman with the intention of winning her favor, never stood in line at her door with a bunch of other flower-laden men also bent upon said lady.”

That was true. “Why would I do that? There’s enough ladies crowding me at every ball without me seeking them out?”

“Yes, the young ladies of The Ton have quite spoiled you, which is why you have no idea what to do now." Kate shook her head. "Poor Colin. You’ve never had to struggle to get a young woman’s attention. I see you at balls, standing there and letting them and their mamas flock to you, then deigning to give one, likely one your mother might have mentioned approval of, a dutiful dance so it seems you’ve tried, when you really haven’t.”

Colin wanted to to scoff, but damn it all, she was right.

“Even Penelope has always favored you with her attention without you having to make an effort,” Kate added.

“I do so make an effort,” he grumbled. “I’ll have you know that Ben thinks I pay her marked attention. And I do. I always like talking to Pen.”

“Which is why she deserves your efforts more than any other. You’ve never had to try to gain her favor. She has always bestowed it most graciously. She deserves to know, without room for doubt, that she is the one you favor.”

Colin nearly stamped his foot. “But I’ve told her, for days now—”

“But have you shown her?”

“I sent her flowers. I bought her a very nice box of candies… which I took with me after our argument,” he finished on a shameful mutter.

“And?” Kate prodded.

“And ate myself.”

“Oh, dear.” Kate laughed. “Colin, I think you’d best tell me how that argument turned out.”

So he did. And even in his own telling, he somehow came off as in the wrong.

The same thing had somehow happened when he told Ben.

Was he not telling it right?

Kate even laughed several times at his recitations of Penelope’s rejoinders, yet hardly smiled at the shots he’d got in. He didn’t, however, tell her about the more scandalous events at the gallery as those moments should, by all rights, be something between himself and Penelope. Yes, Ben knew. But he couldn’t help that. He could help how far such a thing would spread and, as he was sure Ben respected Penelope too much to tell anyone that, he would also be certain not to tell such tales. But he did tell Kate that he and Penelope a demonstrably… passionate regard for each other.

“Aye, and Anthony had a passionate regard for me,” she said dismissively, “yet still insisted on courting my sister.” The door behind her shook a bit and she kicked at it. “Are you still listening?”

“No,” his brother’s muffled lie came from behind her.

“Penelope deserves more than just words. She deserves deeds. Public ones. Don’t just dance with her. Fetch her drinks, Tell her when she looks lovely, and in detail. Notice her hair, her dress. She deserves to be courted, to feel wanted. As much as I love my Anthony, I’d never been properly wooed and—”

“What?” Anthony, apparently unable to take any more, burst through the door behind her, catching her as she stumbled. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Kate pushed at him. “But no thanks to you, you brute!”

“Well, I certainly could not let such an accusation stand," Anthony said hotly. "I bring you tulips every week. And do you know how many of your private flute recitals I have attended? Because I do!”

“Aye, but all that was only after we were married. Before that, there was very little—”

“It still counts. And let’s not forget that I compliment your dresses constantly. Not those lace caps you keep getting to match, but that’s another headache—”

“You barely say a word about my dresses. You simply look me up and down and say some bit of nothing like ‘Hmm, that looks rather nice’ before attempting to remove it straight away, often even ripping—”

Anthony covered her mouth. “Perhaps we shouldn’t argue here.”

Kate drew away and cleared her throat, now looking him up and down. “Yes. We can continue this… discussion at home.”

“Or in the carriage,” Anthony put in.

“Yes, perhaps when I’ve… finished dispensing my advice to your brother,” Kate said, as if suddenly remembering whose house they were in. “Why don’t you meet me outside in ten minutes?”

“Five,” Anthony corrected.

“Brilliant.”

Anthony quit the room quickly, leaving Kate staring off and not dispensing much advice.

Colin only laughed and took a seat again. He had seen enough of the pair of them to know that neither would be much use once they’d set their minds on having each other. “You can go, Kate. I think I know what you mean by—”

“No. I did have more to say before my brutish husband interrupted us,” she said with a fond sort of smile before she sobered. “Penelope has never been courted and she, above most ladies I’ve met, most deserves to have such attentions. She’s worth it. Yet I suspect she doesn’t believe she is.”

“But she is! She’s—”

“Then show her! She deserves to have a besotted swain at her door. So be that.” Kate embraced him before pulling back, saying quite seriously, “Let her know that she is worth the effort you’ve shown for no other.”

Colin truly couldn’t argue with Kate on that. Penelope was worth that and more. How could he have neglected to show her for so long? The fact that she didn’t have ten men calling at her door after every ball was a damned crime!

He glanced out the window, cringing a bit as his Anthony and Kate fell into each other before stumbling into the carriage.

Cringing and envious.

He wanted that. He wanted the sort of marriage where, even after years together, one lusted after their spouse as if the honeymoon had never ended. After this afternoon, he was sure he might have such a life with Penelope.

Bringing his cuff to his nose again, her fading scent still sent him reeling, wanting, hungering…

He wasn’t sure how many times he might take himself in hand tonight before he could sleep, but such torture was sweet. It boded well.

Still, he’d have to put such lustful thoughts aside the next time he saw her. His future wife deserved wooing after all.

He fingered through the invitations on his tray and saw he’d had his regrets sent for the Duke and Duchess of Dartmore’s ball tomorrow night. If there was anything worse than a Smythe-Smith with an instrument in their hand, it was listening to Duke and Duchess of Dartmore drone on about antiquities. Still, Penelope had often claimed it was edifying and quite fascinating stuff.

He was certain she’d be there and so would he. He'd show her then that he was in earnest. He'd be her swain, if that was what she needed.

He’d court her as she deserved. And she'd be his before the night was out.

**********

Oh, Colin. So confident. Hope springs eternal....

I know I say this alot (and it falls on deaf ears because of course it does. I am nobody), but if you enjoy my fic, you might also enjoy my woefully neglected Regency originals over on Wattpad here : https://www.wattpad.com/user/AbbyWheelerRomance

Chapter Text

Colin was not looking forward to the Dartmore ball. Yes, they might call it a ball, but the dancing — and the food, worst of all — never came about until their captive audience had spent a good half hour being presented with the Duke and Duchess of Dartmore’s latest dusty find from whatever far-flung place they’d gone and dug up recently.

It wasn’t even that fossils and ancient artifacts were boring in and of themselves, but when the pair above were presenting them, it was deadly dull stuff indeed.

Yet Penelope was most definitely here. She liked this rot, as did El. They often complained about the many lectures, no matter how innocuous, ladies were so often barred from attending.

So here Colin was, arguing with a footman, begging not to be turned away at the door.

The things he was suffering for Penelope…

He groaned as he spied the footman coming back with the butler in tow now. He had half a mind to hide his face as the other footman easily let others by, but he brazened it out.

“Some mix-up with the invitation,” he said on a forced laugh to the couples passing him by. “I’m sure it will be remedied.”

God, this was galling. His own sister had passed him earlier as he waited like some miscreant begging for scraps. Eloise had been highly amused.

“Tell them I’m with you,” Colin had hissed, pulling her in. “I must get in.”

“To this?” she’d laughed, tapping her chin. “It seems I remember pleading with you to escort me to this very ball since Anthony’s carriage was full. And you said that if you wanted to hear someone drone on about dusty relics, you’d attend the next session of Parliament. For those of us who cannot attend Parliament or Oxford,” Eloise said, chin up in the air, “we must content ourselves to get our education where we can.”

“I very much regret saying all that,” Colin said hastily. “Now allow me to escort you.”

“You’re too late. I’ve already bribed Gregory.”

“How much?” he demanded over her head as Greg popped up. “I’ll double it.”

Greg seemed to consider it, but seemed to think torturing his brother was more in his interests, the little lout. Or louts, he should say. The both of them were snickering to themselves.

“Where’s Mother, then?” Colin demanded.

“Mama arrived earlier,” Eloise said, supremely unbothered. “I doubt she’d be much help. You know how she laments your lack of punctuality,” she tossed off before just leaving him there.

“I’m quite sorry, Sir,” the butler was saying now, “but chairs for the lecture have been set out precisely as have dinner settings and, since you had sent your regrets…”

“But that must have been a mistake!” Colin clasped his chest. “I’d meant to send my most enthusiastic acceptance. That butler of mine must have…” He trailed off at an affronted look from the butler. “Well, he must have been quite busy, as butlers often are. I’m sure I’m a great trial to him. Anyhow, I’ve been looking forward to this for months!”

“The invitations were sent out a fortnight ago,” the man said, not looking convinced.

“Truly? The time must have dragged. I’ve been dying to know more about the… er…” God, what had that invitation said? Was it Grecian urns or Roman gravy ladles? It was some kind of crockery. Blast it! His eyes lit upon the Duchess of Dartmore herself, greeting guests some distance away. “I say, Your Grace!”  he called out. “Ho, there!”

“Sir!” The elderly butler looked as if he might try tossing him into the hedgerows himself for that.

Luckily for Colin, the Duke and Duchess of Dartmore — dull as their interests were — were an uncommonly amiable couple. Her Grace approached with a delighted smile. “Why, Mr. Bridgerton. Here, I’d thought you’d sent your regrets.”

Colin made a note to add her excellent memory to her other virtues. “Isn’t it the funniest thing? I’d thought I’d accepted this and sent my regrets to another, but here we are. I’d been so looking forward to the… the exhibition and the… the royal crock…”

“Ah, yes. The Royal Antiquities Society’s exhibition on Ancient Crockery is not to be missed,” she said excitedly.

“The very one,” Colin said easily.

“My husband gave the lecture last month and I said to him, Eddie dear — didn’t I say, Standish?” She turned to her butler. “I said it was too sparsely attended. He quite agreed. Perhaps not enough people had that morning free. So I suggested — didn’t I, Standish? — that more of London simply must see your exciting discoveries! And what better occasion than our next ball?”

“Aye, very clever of you to combine the occasions,” Colin said, forcing a smile. Really, this kind of nonsense had him avoiding as many Dartmore balls as he could. Still, he was not above lying to get into one, much as he’d usually done to get out of one.

“Now the ladies can enjoy it all, too," she went on. "I personally thought ladies should have been allowed at the lecture. It would have had a much larger audience. My dear husband tried his best to convince the council, but alas…”

“Yes. I would have eagerly given up my own seat at such a lecture to any lady,” Colin said, quite honestly, then realized his faux pas, “though it would have dashed my hopes,” he amended, “which were dashed anyhow, confound it!” He snapped his fingers. “How I wish I had not missed the original lecture!” He sighed loudly. “I had my heart set upon hearing it now. But apparently…” He gestured miserably to her butler, who still looked unimpressed. “The chairs are quite precisely set out.” He shrugged. “I suppose, if I must leave—”

“Oh, you poor man!” The Duchess fanned her face, obviously distressed for him. “Surely, there is something we can do!” Her eyes lit as she spied her husband passing. “My Dear? Eddie, darling!”

“Ah, Fanny, my sweet!” The Duke left whatever conversation he’d been having dutifully, rushing to his wife. “Whatever is the matter? Is it the violins? I did note that they might be bit intrusive, but surely they will quiet before the presentation is underway.”

“Oh, no, my dear, it’s Mr. Bridgerton,” the Duchess lamented.

“Ah, Mr. Bridgerton.” Dartmore smiled widely. “I’d thought you’d sent your regrets. Awful nice to see you’ve changed—”

“Oh, no, dear, he didn’t! He’d sent his regrets by mistake,” the Duchess said urgently. “And he’d missed the exhibition before. And your lovely lecture.”

“Yes,” Colin supplied eagerly. “I was in Cypress, you see.”

“And here we have three cooking pots from Cypress,” the Duke said, “nearly intact!”

“So you can imagine my disappointment,” Colin sighed.

“Eddie, let’s not deprive him,” his sweet Fanny pleaded.

“Indeed, we shall not. I’m sure we can scrounge up another chair for the lecture, and for supper,” the Duke added to Colin’s great relief. He’d likely be hungry after looking at all that cracked up cookware. “Why, I shall have you sit in the very first row once the presentation starts.”

Colin paled. He’d rather hoped to be in the back — in case he fell asleep. Really, it was the ball he was after. He couldn’t very well play the lovesick swain during a lecture. “There’s no need for all that. I am perfectly fine with whatever—”

“Nonsense!” The Duke exclaimed. “I’d no notion you were so passionate about antiquities. Did you, my darling?”

Then again, this could be useful. “Well, I’m eternally grateful,” Colin said slyly. “In fact, a dear friend of mine would also dearly love to sit in front, if you’d be so kind…”

And that was how Colin finagled his way into getting Penelope Featherington especially escorted to the front row with him.

Pen looked confused, yet pleased as the butler himself brought her to the front. But her expression turned wary once she saw Colin, grinning and patting the seat next to his.

***************************

Penelope hadn’t thought she’d be confronted with the sight of Colin so very soon, and certainly not at this ball. He’d oft complained about the Dartmore soirees, how they lured the unsuspecting with dancing and good food and drink only to first force them to sit through a lecture.

“As if my brother doesn’t talk one’s ear off about every supposedly glorious half-crumbled statue he once saw,” Eloise had often scoffed at Colin’s excoriations of the Dartmore parties.

Though Penelope quite liked hearing of Colin’s travels and had never joined El in her censure of his tales, they did both agree that it was nice to find intellectual stimulation at a ball, dry and dusty as the subject matter may be. And they quite admired that the Duke of Dartmore’s wife traveled with her husband, even sometimes with their children in tow.

The Duchess herself… Well, she was not unintelligent, but she was a chattery thing who talked a great deal more than one might care to hear. But sometimes they were able to get enough details of her travels — through her many flighty deviations from the subject — to be wildly envious of all she had seen.

Eloise had often lamented that The Royal Antiquities Society, while they made an exception for The Duchess, did not generally allow ladies on their tours. “Can you imagine the pair of us, traveling the globe?”

“I thought you wanted us to retire to a cottage  in the wilderness,” Pen would point out, “and be bothered by no one for the rest of our days.” She wasn’t always quite as passionate about that last part as El was, but if “no one” included her mother, then solitude had its charms.

“Well, one must get out and about on occasion.” Eloise shrugged.

Pen might agree with the sentiment, but even with the freedom they would enjoy as spinsters with independent means, they weren’t likely to see such places. Lectures and exhibits — those that allowed ladies, at least — were all they would see of the wider world.

So she was quite delighted to find the Dartmore butler bowing before her and insisting she take a seat in the very first row… until she saw who she’d be sitting beside.

After yesterday’s torments… and delights, she’d hoped she’d have more time to prepare herself to see Colin again.

Now, here he was, whether she found herself ready or not, patting the seat beside him with a smug grin reminiscent of the cat who’d got into the birdcage and, when she stilled at the sight of him, he rose and took her hand to escort her over, as if to tell her there was no possible escape.

“I imagine you’ve have arranged this somehow,” she said lowly as she took her chair.

“Indeed, I did. And for you. You adore these lectures, do you not?” he asked, all kind solicitude. “When our gracious hosts offered me such a prime seat, I informed them you were also quite keen on the subject.”

He had yet to release her hand, so Penelope gave it a tug, nearly leaving her glove with him in the process. “I am quite keen on any subject that I know little of. So I’d also be quite keen on you not distracting me,” she said coolly, “or I shall go sit with Eloise as I had originally planned.”

“As if Eloise would not be distracting.” He chuckled. “Besides, I’ve been informed the chairs have been set out precisely,” Colin said, still smiling, “so you shan’t find an empty one there.”

Penelope glanced back to find Eloise between Penelope’s mother and her own, tossing confused and annoyed looks her way.

“I am your only option,” Colin said, leaning back in his chair and looking entirely too satisfied with himself.

“Is that another proposal?” she remarked with cool disdain, hoping to wipe that smirk off his face. “I dare say it’s worse than the others so far.”

He just laughed. “Oh, I would not dare get down on one knee again so soon.”

“I don’t recall you getting down on one knee at all,” she muttered.

“Oh, is that the problem?” He shifted in his seat. “I can remedy that easily this very mo—”

She gripped his arm, hissing, “Don’t you dare make such a scene!”

“I wasn’t going to.” He glanced at her hand, still smiling. “And it seems to me that you’re the one making a scene.”

It galled her that he seemed so amused. She had left their last encounter angry with him and was quite determined to stay that way. And she’d much rather not be angry all by herself, drat him!

She gentled her grip with a false laugh, reaching for his lecture program, leaning over and pretending she only took his arm because she urgently needed to look at it. Never mind that she had her own clutched, possibly crumpled to smithereens, in her other hand.

Luckily, people rarely ever paid attention to her, but Colin was another matter, so she did glance around. No one was looking their way as the Duke was now approaching his dais. “You’re up to something,” she whispered to Colin, “Whatever it is, I shall not let you—”

“I am up to nothing,” Colin said, innocent as a lamb, “except learning about ancient artifacts.”

“Bosh! You don’t care a jot for any of this,” Pen scoffed. “Eloise said you begged off.”

“Is that why you’re here?” he murmured, putting his head close to hers, pretending to look at the program as well. “Did you think yourself safe from me?” His breath stirred the tiny curls over her ear. “Poor Penelope…”

She suppressed a shiver, drawing back as if suddenly remembering she had her own program to peruse. She turned resolutely away from him, studying it. “So you admit it? You came here with the purpose of tormenting me?”

“Tormenting you?” He laughed. “I have no such nefarious plan.” He paused. “But I freely admit that I wouldn’t bother being here if you were not.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “After the events of this afternoon, I would rather you not bother being here at all.”

“Do you truly mean that?” he prodded.

No, she didn’t. Blast it all!

Happily, she was saved the trouble of answering either way as the Duke began to speak.

Though Penelope had been initially angry with Colin for telling not only Benedict, but Anthony, about his proposals, the more she thought about it, the less she believed he’d done so with some idea of entrapping her into this honorable marriage of his.

How could she truly judge him for seeking a friendly ear from his siblings when she did the same with Felicity?

Yes, Colin had more friendly ears among his siblings than she did, but she had to admit that a part of her liked having someone to talk to about all this. Felicity was understanding… if a little unrelenting.

Upon arriving home yesterday, her little sister had practically interrogated her, demanding to know why Penelope was even more determined not to marry Colin Bridgerton. Felicity seemed to think her aid in assuring they had time alone would result in an engagement — an engagement that should have happened that morning, according to Felicity, if Penelope had not mucked it up.

No matter how Penelope tried to explain it, Felicity seemed incapable of grasping that Colin’s high-handed masculine posturing was what had mucked it up… or at least assured that Penelope was not at all inclined to accept his proposal.

“What I would give for Geoffrey to just give me a little masculine posturing,” Felicity had gasped, tossing herself onto Penelope’s bed. “Instead, he’s gone off to ask some person neither of us know for permission to marry me, when I’d rather he was like Petruchio, carting me off, all ‘will you, nill you, I will marry you.’ Not that I don’t love Geoff, the silly darling. But he is far too proper.”

Penelope sighed. “Life is not Shakespeare, Felicity. These things are fine for plays and poems, but I’m certain you’d find such antics less attractive when actually confronted with them. And men are bad enough now, let alone two hundred years ago. ‘The submission is to reason, and not to man,’ as Mary Woll—”

“Oh, please don’t start Wollstonecraft-ing at me,” Felicity groaned. “She’s far less fun to quote than Shakespeare.”

Penelope might agree, however she couldn’t help pointing out, “But she’s far better for women.”

Though Penelope did find her younger sister much more appreciative of her thoughts than her older sisters or, obviously, Mama, Felicity was much more traditional as to women, men, and the roles they play.

How Penelope wished she could talk to Eloise about this business, but considering the man in question was her brother… God, she couldn’t decide if Eloise would push her into his arms or catapult her far away from them! And which would be worse?

Perhaps Eloise would just rather not know. She decided that must be the case since she was mortified at the thought of telling her any of this.

And why should she know? Colin would get this idea out of his head soon enough and all would be as it was. She and Eloise would live out their days doing just as they pleased. Spinster, as Eloise often pointed out, was just a derogatory term for a woman of independent means. Eloise had her Bridgerton portion and Penelope had her Whistledown portion… or her sudden inheritance from a maiden aunt, as the world would know it when the time came.

“I think Geoff could do with some antics, personally.” Felicity turned onto her stomach, giggling and kicking her feet behind her. “Colin Bridgerton is practically tossing you over his shoulder and dragging you to the vicar. I’m enjoying this immensely. So you must be enjoying all this, at least a little.”

God, Felicity didn’t know how right she was. After today, what with the way she wantonly moaned all over him, she’d have the devil of a time pretending she didn’t enjoy certain aspects of Colin’s antics. Not that she’d be telling her sister any of that. Before today, she didn’t know such feelings were possible. Still… “I assure you that I do not enjoy refusing a proposal only to be told my refusal is not accepted.” That much was true. “Colin has been absolutely barbaric in his—”

“Yes,” Felicity said gleefully, leaning her chin on her hands. “Just like Petruchio. So?”

“So… what?”

“Will you or nill you?”

“Nill me… Or I… nill…” Penelope let out a frustrated growl. “Look, I have refused him soundly.”

Felicity shrugged. “Not soundly enough. Or he’d have given up.”

Dash it all, her sister was right about that, too. However cool she’d been to him after their interlude behind the curtains, she’d must have given him far too much encouragement during it, since he was now seated beside her and didn’t seem the least bit discouraged, what with the way his knee kept bumping hers throughout the lecture, or the way his elbow kept brushing hers as he adjusted in his seat.

She pointedly tucked her knees or arm away from him until she was nearly leaning into the lady on her right, who seemed quite annoyed with all her fidgeting. Several times, she gave her an apologetic glance before spearing Colin with her hardest glare. It must not be very effective, since he only glanced at her several times — all wide-eyed innocence as he pulled his knee or arm away… until he did it again!

Through the lecture, Penelope had heard nothing as she’d been too busy quieting the riot within her. Perhaps, any other day, she could tolerate the warmth of his sleeve against the skin between her sleeve and glove or the press of his knee against hers. But after this afternoon, even with the layers of cloth between them, every touch or even brush felt illicit. Her skin was tingling, nearly itching, as if hungry to feel his skin against hers.

He’d touched her bare flesh several times now. Between that first kiss and the carriage, he’d caressed her face, her lips, her arms, her shoulders, her neck and — almost reverently — her breasts. Behind that curtain at the gallery, he’d touched her in all those places again, then also her thighs and the secret place between them, making her almost insensible. She’d been too overcome to even give thought to feeling more of him. It was almost unfair.

Her hands had only touched his injured hand or gripped his neck helplessly or, for several heated moments, caressed the bare skin of his back. How she would like to explore more of him, not just feel him in her hands, but pressed against…

Colin suddenly stood, applauding quite loudly, jarring her back to the lecture… which had ended now.

“Bravo,” he shouted, prompting others to stand as well, joining him in applause.

Whether they were clapping in appreciation of the lecture or relief that it was over, Penelope could not say. She hadn’t even heard it.

And she’d truly been looking forward to it.

“Fascinating stuff.” Colin turned to her, holding out his hand, as if she was incapable of rising without his aid. Still, as he was offering…

“I wouldn’t know,” she said under her breath as he let him pull her up, then quickly snatched her — thankfully — gloved hand away.

“Didn’t quite catch that,” he said merrily, oblivious to her rebuff, jutting out his elbow now.

She thinned her lips and took his arm. “I said I wouldn’t know. You were quite distracting. I wonder if you were listening either, with all your… shuffling.”

“I heard enough to be glad it was over,” he said, leading her away.

“I wish you’d stop pretending to be oh-so-solicitous,” she muttered. “You know very well I’d look churlish if I refused you in public.”

He chuckled. “I haven’t seen you concerned about that lately. You’ve made quite an art of refusing me in private.”

“Do not say such things,” she hissed, looking helplessly around them. Happily, no one was looking their way, all keen on the refreshment tables off to the side as an army of footmen came to clear the rows of chairs from the ballroom. “If someone should hear—”

“Very well. I shall mind my tongue,” he said, then leaned in murmuring, “though I am far more interested in yours… for the words it speaks, that is.”

“Co— Mr. Bridgerton,” she said in a warning tone. “I beg you not to—”

“Ah, so I’m Mr. Bridgerton now.” He sounded almost petulant.

“Perhaps you should have been all along. We’ve been far too familiar with each other and look where it’s led.”

“To several delightful encounters,” he tried.

“Colin!”

“Aha! Good to have my given name back.” He stopped before the drinks table, plucking up a glass before she could do so herself. “Lemonade?”

She took it with the hand she quickly removed from his arm. “I wish you would not speak so plainly about our folly in such a public—”

“I’ve said nothing that could not be construed as wholesome.”

“To anyone but me,” Penelope grumbled before leaning in. “You must acknowledge that yesterday was… I… I fail to find the words…”

“Indescribable then?” He gave her a wolfish sort of grin. “I can think of a few words, but—”

“Improper,” she hissed primly.

“Well… I can’t argue that. But delightfully so.”

“And this is after you’ve exposed all to your brothers,” Penelope chided, ignoring his innuendo. “That’s a very dangerous thing you did.”

He did finally look chastened at that, taking a glass for himself and staring into its contents before he spoke. “Look, with Anthony… I didn’t mean to tell him. It just slipped out all of a sudden.”

“How does something like that just slip out?” Penelope tried to look as if the contents of her glass were also absolutely riveting as she took a sip.

“I could ask you the same about Felicity.”

Penelope choked a little.

“The way she acted yesterday,” he went on, “she was obviously in on the whole scheme.”

Penelope turned to him, aghast. “I wasn’t the one scheming. You were.”

“I admit it.” He shrugged. “And I meant she was in on my scheme, which makes her a very sensible girl despite her friendship with a silly girl like Hyacinth,” he finished on a chuckle.

“Hyacinth is not silly,” Penelope said. “I think she’s rather—”

“Very well. Hy’s not silly. But nor is she sensible and she’d likely pillory anyone who called her so. But I shall not let you change the subject to my sister when yours is the more pressing matter. Felicity knows which means you told her.” He tutted and shook his head, throwing her words back at her with a little grin, “Very dangerous thing you did.”

“I didn’t just tell her,” Penelope insisted.

“Ah, yes. You claim she dragged it out of you because she saw that I sent you flowers,” he scoffed.

“She saw more than that.”

He frowned now, his playful expression vanishing. “How much more?”

“She saw us from the moment we stepped out of the carriage. The rest she… Well, she dragged it out of me before I could blink.” She sighed, looking up at him apologetically. “If it helps, I made her vow not to say anything to Hyacinth, nor to anyone else, obviously.”

“God, I can only imagine what Hy might do with such information. Nothing that won’t drive us all mad, I imagine.” He was still frowning. “As a friend of Hyacinth, do you think Felicity can be trusted?”

“As my dearest sister, I’m certain she can be trusted,” Penelope said defensively.

“Hmm. Must be nice. I don’t trust any of my sisters,” he mumbled. “I trust my brothers a bit more, excepting Greg. He’s far too often in league with Hy to be fully trustworthy.”

“I suppose I cannot be too angry with you for confiding in your brothers, especially Benedict. He has a certain way about him which moves one to confide. He assured me he will say nothing and I’m inclined to take him at his word, but Lord Bridgerton…” She shook her head. “I confess, the minute you said he knew, I feared he might force us to the altar and that, perhaps, that was your object in telling him.”

“Penelope,” he said softly, his hand reaching for her arm before he seemed to think better of it. He kept his free hand to his side and leaned in, lowering his voice even more, until his words were no more than a whisper against her ear. “I know you might think me quite ruthless in my proposals, but I would never want you to feel forced to be with me.”

She drew back slightly, tilting her head up to him, this man who she had tried so very hard not to love. Forced to be with him? She craved his company, his nearness, even in the moments when she wished him away, she wished him back again just as quickly… which was precisely why she should step away now.

She took a step back, forcing a laugh. “That is a relief to know. I’m… I’m certain you meant no ill in telling… er… you know… the… er...”

“Anthony?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Him. Your brother. The viscount. Lord Bridgerton.”

“Now that we’ve established all of his titles…” Colin looked rather amused at her bumbling.

“I’m only being respectful.” Penelope lifted her chin. “He is quite intimidating at times. I’m certain I might have confessed to him as well, so I cannot blame you for being compelled to tell him. How did he drag it out of you?” she asked, sparing him a sympathetic glance.

“Well, he… erm… You know how he is.” Colin looked less amused now, though he let out a rather nervous laugh. “Very imperious and all that.”

“Either way, I’m certain he is the soul of discretion. Surely, he will tell no one.”

Colin glanced about. “All this lemonade has left me rather sour. Do you think there are sweets about?”

“Colin,” she began suspiciously, “does anyone else know?”

“I suppose they are saving dessert for after supper,” he went on, “but I wish—”

“Colin…”

“Colin!”

“Eloise!” Never had Colin greeted his sister so enthusiastically, at least not that Penelope had seen. “We were just wondering where you were. Penelope was just saying how eager she was to discuss the lecture with you. I’d been ready to go off in search of you for her, but well… here you are.” He smiled widely.

Eloise smiled back, though hers looked a bit more confused. “And just as I’d been about to scold you for monopolizing her.”

“I do not—”

“Oh, but you do. Whenever you’re back in town, there you are, talking her to death. Especially this time.”

“And here I thought you weren’t scolding me.” Colin’s smile dropped. “And if anyone talks her to death, it’s you.”

Eloise scoffed loudly. “Well, if that isn’t the pot calling—”

“Please don’t quarrel on my account. I’m perfectly happy to talk to the both of you,” Penelope said before turning to Eloise. “But your brother and I were discussing a matter that—”

“That can wait,” Colin said eagerly. “I’m sure the pair of you have much to gab about.” He started away.

Penelope was tempted to loudly stomp her foot. “But Colin—”

“Ah, but how remiss of me.” He suddenly turned back, taking Penelope’s hand. “I wish to claim your first dance, Miss Featherington,” he announced loudly, “if you are not otherwise engaged.” 

“I am not,” she said with gritted teeth.

“Excellent,” he said before neatly making his escape.

She glared at his back as it disappeared into the throng.

“Lord, I’m sorry I took so long to find you,” Eloise said. “If I’d known you’d been stuck with Colin so long, I’d have been more diligent. He does tend to rattle away about his travels.”

If only that had been the subject. “I would have liked to have heard more about this last one.” She felt she’d been quite magnanimous at him telling two people to her one, but to know that there was a third…

“Well, I’m certain he can tell you during your dance.”

“Yes, that’s true. There’ll be no escape then.” She could hear the instruments warming up even now.

“I must apologize,” Eloise said with a sigh. “Every time I’ve turned around lately, there he is. I’ve tried to save you from him, but people keep getting in the way. Mama always seems to find just that moment to drag me to meet some bore or, a few times now, Lady Danbury has waylaid me before I could come to your rescue. It’s quite annoying — and odd.”

Penelope frowned. It was odd. Since Colin’s return, she’d found herself alone in his company more than ever. And while she hadn’t thought herself in need of rescue, it was strange that Eloise was so rarely there to give it. She doubted Lady Danbury was someone Colin would confide in. Penelope might like her very much, but Colin still turned stiff as a board at her presence, as did most men… or most people.

But Violet Bridgerton… Yes, she could see Colin confiding in her. Penelope also knew — after the rather embarrassing events of 1817, in which Colin loudly proclaimed he would certainly not marry her — that the elder Lady Bridgerton had been a proponent of the match, much to Colin’s annoyance.

She likes me. Your mother, that is. She can ’t see beyond that.

That was what Penelope had said to Anthony, way back then, as he walked her home. She’d even been flattered at the thought that Lady Bridgerton, or anyone, could imagine her with Colin before she reminded herself that Colin could not imagine such a thing at all… until all this madness now.

She’d thought Violet Bridgerton might have given it up, seven years later. And perhaps she had, but if Colin had gone and told her… Whatever fear she’d held that Anthony Bridgerton might force them to the altar paled in comparison to what Violet Bridgerton might do. She might end the night with a sack over her head in a carriage bound for Gretna Green.

“Anyway, enough about Colin,” Eloise said, taking her arm.

“Indeed,” Penelope agreed eagerly. She’d certainly let Colin occupy her mind long enough. 

“I must know your thoughts on the lecture.”

“Yes, the lecture.” The one she’d barely heard a word of. “I… thought… the discoveries in Mesopotamia were rather surprising.” There. That word had been said at least a few times, whether anything about it was surprising or not, she actually didn’t know.

“I quite agree. And to think that so much has been preserved for ages and we have but to…” Eloise, bless her, had something of substance to say. While Penelope often found herself without words — outside of the page, that is — Eloise always had something to say.

It was one of the reasons Penelope never quite feared spending the rest of their days together. Spinsterhood didn’t seem scary when one had someone interesting to share it with.

Sometimes she wondered what they were waiting for. They were both high up enough on the shelf that their participation in the season was more of an afterthought than something they felt required to do. Penelope was quite certain the only reason Eloise attended most events was because Penelope would be there. And Penelope only attended because Lady Whistledown needed to be present.

With that not being the case any longer, perhaps their happy retirement could begin sooner rather than later. If she could just get Colin to stop his nonsense.

Things had gone too far yesterday. Even Colin had admitted that. But now that three — nay, four — people knew…

“…almost a crime that they acquire these objects, display them, but who shall tell us what it all means?” Eloise said heatedly. “It’s more a rich man’s hobby than a true scientific study, which I think is a shame, don’t you?”

Penelope turned to Eloise, once again wishing she’d paid any mind to the presentation or to anything Eloise had just said. She’d love to have a strong opinion on it, but all she’d thought of was Colin, drat him! “I think yours is a question that requires a lot of thought,” she said, hoping that was vague enough.

“Does it?” Eloise seemed surprised. “I thought you’d see it as I do. After all, haven’t we often agreed that knowledge should not be an endeavor only for the wealthy?”

“Well, I… er… I was thinking of it more philosophically,” Penelope tried.

Eloise seemed intrigued then. “How do you mean? If you’re thinking that those with wealth have a duty to… Oh, good Lord! Colin!”

“Oh, it’s Colin!” Penelope turned, dubiously grateful for his presence now. Here she was, trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. As for the devil, he was approaching with a strange smile on his face. It wasn’t the same one he’d been sporting all evening. That one had been more mischievous. This one seemed almost… befuddled.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing seemed forthcoming.

Eloise spoke first. “Can’t you take her second dance instead? We were in the middle of a very interesting debate.”

“Now, Eloise, I did promise him,” Penelope said, choosing the devil and taking his arm. She actually felt more prepared for that debate. If they were truly to finally put this nonsense behind them, there were several things they needed to address.

*****************

Colin was not in the mood to talk, so he was quite grateful the first set was to be a country dance. They might exchange pleasantries as they spun and stepped, but there wasn’t room for excess conversation. Still, he chided himself for asking for her very first dance.

At the time, he thought was a very suitor-like thing to do, perhaps even some sort of swain requirement. But as the musicians played their fanfare and couples had already begun spilling onto the floor, he lamented that there had been so little time to compose himself, to plan his next move.

Even sitting next to her during the lecture, he’d not heard a word of it, yet he also made no plans. He’d only sat there, acutely aware of Penelope’s every movement. Every time she pulled away, he was practically chasing her with his knee, his arm, his elbow. It was like a little game, invading her space. He’d been so caught up in it, he only noticed the speech when it looked like The Duke was finally finished. Whether he was or not, Colin stood and applauded as if to say they’d all suffered enough.

He certainly had. He had an objective this evening – to make it clear to Penelope that he would court her… and properly now.

Did he even know how to court a woman properly? He’d done nothing of the sort with anyone else. And his time spent wooing Penelope so far had been anything but proper.

He’d only had a few minutes to hunt down a whiskey in the games room and pour it down his throat, chasing that lukewarm lemonade, then dodging many pleasantries from many men who suddenly decided they “hadn’t seen him in an age.”

He did find another whiskey as he made his escape. It was actually in Gregory’s hand, and he’d decided his little brother was better off without it before the gambling started in earnest, despite Greg’s protests.

He was waylaid a last time by none other than Cressida Cowp… No, it was Lady Twombley now. Not that her name mattered. She was still the same old… Well, he couldn’t think of a word to call her that wouldn’t have him excised from polite society.

He was ready to push past her and the simpletons surrounding her, likely hoping she’d pick one of them to be the next in her bed, without a thought when she actually placed a hand on his chest, of all things.

“Oh, Mr. Bridgerton,” Cressida cooed. “How nice to see you’ve finally escaped Miss Featherington.”

He stilled, staring her down. “I beg your pardon?”

“You certainly should,” she said with what she probably thought was a seductive pout. “It’s been so long since we last danced.”

“No, I meant that you should speak more plainly,” he said, not giving her an inch with which to take her mile. “Why should I escape Miss Featherington? I enjoy her company and always have.”

“Yes, of course. Always. Poor, dear thing.” Cressida smiled, then. He didn’t like the look of it. “She’s been around so long. Most of her peers have married and yet… there she always is.”

Not for long, he thought with a sort of relish. He’d like to say it, if only to wipe that smirk off her face. “I wonder why you take such an interest in Miss Featherington,” he said, then snapped his fingers. “Ah, but of course. You watch everything. You claim to be Lady Whistledown.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, though she kept her shark-like smile. “I hope you’re not accusing me of a falsehood.”

God, why was he even challenging that? Didn’t he want her to take the blame? That was just the problem, though. For Lady Twombley, it was just another thing to enjoy lording over her underlings. And he didn’t think she deserved to enjoy anything. “Unless and until Lady Danbury is convinced, I shall withhold my judgment. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of proof, after all?”

“But where’s the fun in that?” She drew nearer. “Just because I am a widow doesn’t mean I don’t require,” here she slid a finger over his lapel, “some amusement.”

He was tempted to grasp her hand to stop it, but he couldn’t help feeling she would only see any touch as some form of encouragement. He stepped back instead, letting her hand drop limply from him. “I suspect I have no interest at all in your kind of amusements, Lady Twombley. I bid you good night,” he said before walking away. It was the closest he could get to giving her the cut direct without causing a stir.

He did understand now, at least a little, why Penelope was so against Cressida of all people claiming to be Whistledown. She was enjoying the notoriety. Even if everyone thought Cressida was lying, she could pass it off as her having a laugh and still come out unscathed. Even in her reduced circumstances, she wielded power by being just cruel enough that people feared her vicious little barbs.

Penelope had no such cruelty, not even with Lady Whistledown’s razor sharp quill. She might savage a silly gown, but never the wearer of it. People would eventually work it out that Cressida could not be her. If Cressida had attention and anonymity, she’d have been even crueler than she was in public.

His only hope was that this hunt would die down and that Lady Danbury’s bounty would go unclaimed. Cressida’s lie would linger and fade. Perhaps that would satisfy Penelope.

He stilled as he spotted her not far from where he’d left her… or rather something in him stilled. Perhaps it was the whiskeys taking hold or perhaps it was just… Penelope.

There was something about her, about that first time seeing her after a long journey. Whether it was coming upon her at Number Five or seeing that flash of auburn at a ball, she was a comfort. Even now, with her secret looming over them, the sight of her was a balm. He sighed and smiled as he approached… until his sister made him feel very unwelcome indeed.

He was gratified when Penelope took his arm rather than continuing her debate with El. Until she spoke…

“Are you going to tell me?” Penelope hissed beside him as he led her to one of the lines now forming.

Ah, yes. She wanted to continue their debate. Not that it would truly be a debate. It would likely be more of a berating of him and all the ways he’d mucked things up. Surely such a thing could be put off. Yes, this was the woman who was to be his wife and there should be no lies between them, but somehow the thought of telling her that yet another person knew of their peculiar situation made him uneasy.  “That you look lovely tonight?” He smiled. “Did I neglect to say so before? That shade of blue is lovely on you.”

She groaned as she took her place across from him and curtsied. He felt a bit peeved at that. Yes, he was avoiding other topics, but that didn’t make his compliment less true. “I mean it,” he said as they skipped toward each other, linking arms. “It’s nice to see you in the family colors. You must have thought of that while dressing.”

“I certainly did not.” She blushed as the dance separated them.

“Not even a little?” he prodded when they joined again, facing forward with another couple on either side before they split. “Many call that color ‘Bridgerton Blue’ did you know that?” Colin said as they met again, circling each other. “But of course you do.” He leaned his head closer, whispering. “I think Lady Whistledown herself coined the term. One of her best moments.”

“I didn’t believe you thought she had any,” Penelope countered before the dance parted them again.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Colin said when they finally met again, a tepid grasp of her gloved hands that left him wanting more. “Lady Whistledown, for all her faults, has kept all of London in her thrall for years now. I’m starting to wonder how I didn’t know it was you.” He couldn’t even look at another. He kept his eyes on her as she moved away, even as he twirled with others, dipped and stepped his way down the line again, she was all he wanted to see.

Penelope looked irritated when they drew close again. “I will not be put off by your flirting. We must discuss—”

“If my flirting puts you off, I must be doing it wrong. I shall change tacks.” He slipped his ungloved hand around her bare upper arm, knowing very well that every other gentleman’s hand was gloved and resting lightly on their lady’s shoulder, leaning in. “Has anyone told you how maddening those little curls that hover over your neck are?”

“Colin, please, just tell me if—”

“It’s a much more pleasing topic than you being cross with me.” He noted, with some satisfaction, her little shiver as his breath stirred those little hairs.

“I am not cross,” she said, stiffening. “Even though I only told one person and you told three now…”

“Sounds cross to me,” he got in before the dance parted them again.

He’d seen it time and again. Not with his own parents. He’d been far too young when Father passed to truly observe them at odds, but he’d seen enough with his siblings by now, when half the couple — usually the female half — claimed not to be angry while quite obviously holding a grudge. It was actually very wifely behavior from Penelope. Perhaps he should find it encouraging.

He stared at Pen, down the line, grasping hands with some older fellow, barely noting the lady he was now partnering, who seemed to think it very important that he know that she thought this spring was especially cloudy.

“Yes, it’s England,” he said absently before forgetting her existence completely.

He really didn’t want a marriage filled with bickering and grudges. It would be best to confess all now. Anthony, in particular, had once advised him that it’s no use postponing the inevitable. “I can try to tease or please Kate all I want,” he’d said, “but that will only make her angrier when it’s time to discuss how it’s all my fault.”

Having known Anthony longest, Colin couldn’t help but agree with Kate as to who was likely at fault. Anthony was the one who’d landed Colin in boiling water now. Really, if Pen should be angry with anyone, it was Anthony, so why should Colin protect him at his own peril?

“I didn’t tell anyone else,” he said quickly when they finally met again.

Penelope blinked up at him. “Then why did you say—”

“But Anthony might have told Kate,” he broke in. “I told him not to, but he—”

“Kate? Oh!” Penelope laughed then. “Oh, thank goodness!”

They bowed and dipped, realizing the dance had ended. He let out a relieved laugh as well. Apparently, he’d been worried for nothing. “Why? And who did you think I told?”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “It was actually a terrifying thought, but… Oh, never mind. Kate would never tell. She and I have a certain understanding, wallflower to wallflower.”

Colin scoffed. “Kate is certainly no wallflower.”

“Not now. Though she certainly started out that way.” Penelope tilted her head as she took his arm easily. “But I could tell it was never the life for her. She was far too outspoken to be on the wall with the likes of me.”

“The likes of you?” He placed a hand over the one linked through his, drawing her closer. “You think you’re not outspoken? Considering your secret doings, I’d beg to differ.”

Penelope seemed to realize how close they were then, drawing away, keeping her arm only loosely looped through his… damn it!

“My secret doings are all over now,” she said a bit shyly. “Anyhow, I have no fear Kate will tell. All this can be put behind us now.”

“Indeed.”

She gave him a surprised glance. “So you agree?”

“So you’re truly not cross with me?” he countered.

“I told you before that I wasn’t.” She sounded a bit impatient now.

“Yes, but I thought you were doing that wifely thing where you say you’re not angry, but you very obviously are and are only waiting to—”

“Wifely thing?” She gripped his arm harder, pulling him tightly to her side. He’d be thrilled about it if not for her next words. “Colin Bridgerton…”

He laughed. “Both names! Oh, my!”

“Why must you say such things?” Penelope’s voice was an angry hiss. “I thought you just agreed that we were to put this behind us!”

“If by this, you mean our quarrel, then yes. I agree it’s in the past. As to the future—”

“Are you still insisting…” She stilled, turning to face him fully. “I thought, after yesterday, that we both understood that things had gone too far…”

“Yes, much too far to be remedied by anything but a trip to the altar,” Colin pointed out.

“Please don’t, Colin…” She was begging him now. “Can we not stop this now? Can we not part as friends?”

He stared down at her face, genuinely moved. Her eyes were sincere — sincere and a little bit scared. He’d do anything to make her feel safe again. He’d give her anything she wanted.

Anything but this.

“No. We don’t part as friends, Pen,” Colin said firmly. “We don’t part at all.”

***********************

More to come! This chapter was getting long. What can I say? Once I got Colin publicly wooing Pen, I realized that I wanted MORE of it!

I ’m going to work on YMRT up to the finish (and maybe updated my newest one), but I promise it will not be as long a wait before I’m back to this one.

I borrowed the characters of Edward and Fanny (The archaeological enthusiast Duke and Duchess of Dartmore) from one of my originals. They ’re just side characters, but I liked giving them a little moment here. Thank you for putting up with their sweet, silly selves for a sec. There might be a few more of my OCs showing up (Hell, I created them. Might as well use them once in a while), but never in an intrusive way. :)

You can look me up on Wattpad if you want to see more of my originals: https://www.wattpad.com/user/AbbyWheelerRomance

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine: Colin Goes A'Courting (part two)

“ No. We don’t part as friends, Pen,” Colin said firmly. “We don’t part at all.”  

Penelope shivered slightly at his words, at the intensity with which he said them. So much of her wanted to believe him, believe that he meant it all, that a life with her was what he truly wanted.

But she could not. This had all happened within days. Why should she not be wary? And whatever days-long fascination he had for her did not compare to the decade-long fascination she had endured for him. If she had got herself past it, he certainly could.

But was she past it? Was she truly?

The way his words shook her seemed to make that feel like a lie. She forced a laugh. “Well, I’m afraid we must part for now.”

“Why?” He drew her closer. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to dance the next with you.” His glib smile was back, his eyes losing their intensity. Now there was the Colin she was most familiar with.

“You are quite mad,” she laughed, even as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Two dances, one after the other—”

“People do it all the time in the country.”

“But not in London,” she pointed out. “There are far too many people watching.” Was that why he was being so very solicitous? Was he trying to start gossip about them? Lady Whistledown may be finished fleshing out society’s foibles, but there were others who’d been trying to replicate her success for years. Most of the time, they simply dissected what she’d already written, attesting to its veracity or claiming there was a lack thereof. Now that she’d retired, they would have to pay even closer attention to everything she had spent years observing… or hiding.

And it wasn’t as if she had anything to hide. Colin was friendly to her, much as he was to everyone. Still, Whistledown rarely, if ever, noted when they danced or even spent too many minutes together. Lady Whistledown had barely ever mentioned Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington in the same breath, except for the column where he loudly declared he’d never marry her — as if anyone would ever believe the reverse. But for him to now court scandal…

“You are right about that,” he sighed, tucking her arm in his and leading her away from the dance floor. “We don’t want anyone seeing anything illicit between us.”

Perhaps he was being solicitous in truth. She didn’t fool herself that he’d given up, not after everything that had happened, but he surely would not expose her to scandal. She knew Colin well enough that his sense of honor would not allow for that.

She thought he might take her back to Eloise, but instead he was bringing her toward her mother and Felicity. She tossed him a surprised glance.

He leaned toward her. “What better way to thwart gossip than to be sure I return you to the bosom of your loving family?” He smiled widely as they approached them. “Good evening, Miss Felicity,” he said with a nod. “Mrs. Featherington,” he bowed slightly lower, “I have very reluctantly returned your daughter to you.”

“Why, Mr. Bridgerton!” Her mother fluttered her fan and tittered. “How very kind of you to bring us back our dear, old Penelope.”

Penelope would like the “dear” part more if her mother hadn’t also called her “old.” But she expected nothing else. Her mother had made it very clear she wanted a Bridgerton brother for Felicity and the idea that this Bridgerton brother in particular was making his partiality for Penelope, misguided as it was, plain was probably not even a glimmer of a thought to her.

Once again, Penelope wondered what Portia Featherington might think if she were apprised of the true situation. But she was quite sure her mother would refuse to see it.

“Well, I would argue she’s very dear,” Colin said, turning to Penelope with an easy grin, not yet surrendering her arm. “But old? Never!”

Penelope couldn’t help but feel a little mollified by that.

“So kind of you,” her Mama went on. “You must have sensed my poor Felicity was desolate without her sister. But of course you did! You Bridgerton siblings are so very close to each other. My own daughters are also just… inseparable!”

As if to gainsay her, Felicity turned her head, pretending to be surprised to see her sister. “Ah, Penelope! There you are. Could you perhaps aid me in finding my dear Geoffrey’s family? His sister is somewhere hereabouts,” Felicity said, as if determined to remind their mother she was practically engaged.

“Felicity!” Her mother softened her tone with a little laugh. “Are you not even going to greet Mr. Bridgerton?”

“But of course,” Felicity said with supreme disinterest. “Good evening, Mr. Bridgerton. Have you seen my fiance’s sister, Miss Albansdale?”

“Fiance!” Mama laughed again, though it seemed more strained. “Need I remind you that you are not—”

“I think I spotted her over by the champagne,” Colin supplied quickly.

“Excellent.” And with that, Felicity was gone, much to her mother’s chagrin.

“Such a social butterfly, my Felicity,” her mother said, recovering. “She will make some man a very lovely hostess. But, you know, she spoke wrong, Mr. Albansdale has yet to declare—”

“Albansdale…” Colin tapped his chin, then smiled. “Is that Geoffrey Albansdale? I know him well. Capital fellow. What a lovely match you have secured for your daughter, Mrs. Featherington.”

Penelope cast a sidelong glance his way. She very much doubted Colin would know Mr. Albansdale if he was sitting on top of him, but she supposed him helping to discourage her mother’s sad attempts at matchmaking was best for all.

As for her mother, she seemed torn between thanking him for his compliments and denying the inevitable match once again, her mouth working soundlessly.

Before she could work out what to say, Colin went on, “As for myself, I’d like to secure your eldest daughter…”

Penelope pinched his wrist.

“…for that one last dance before supper,” he finished, wincing slightly.

She let out a sigh, relieved that he was just teasing her rather than declaring himself to her mother, of all people. She still didn’t know how the woman would react… apart from disbelief.

As it was, her mother just dumbly nodded her assent.

Colin finally took her arm from his, but kept her gloved hand, pressing a kiss on it before he bowed and walked away, a rather cocky swing to his gait.

Penelope stared after him, wondering what had him so satisfied.

“What awful luck,” Mama groaned. “If only Felicity hadn’t rushed off, he’d be dancing the supper set with her.”

Penelope turned to her mother. “Mama, Colin didn’t ask Felicity. He asked me.”

“Aye, of course. Because your sister could not be had,” she said, not even noticing Penelope’s stricken glance. “Don’t you think he seemed slightly jealous at the mention of Mr. Albansdale?”

Penelope held in a growl. “I think he seemed very little interested in—”

“If they danced the supper set, they could have dined together,” her mother sighed. “That is a very significant mark of attention and interest.”

It was, wasn’t it? How many times had Lady Whistledown marked with which lady a gentleman danced the supper set? It was one of the most notable moments of the evening. It meant that they wished to spend more time with the lady in question.

She’d never danced a supper set.

She had once been, quite publicly, escorted into supper by Viscount Bridgerton at Aubrey Hall. It was actually the most triumphant moment of her life, as far as society was concerned. He was only doing it to be kind and perhaps to put Cressida Cowper’s nose out of joint, but Penelope had been thrilled by it. She wasn’t the only one. Kate had once confided that it was that very moment that she truly began falling in love with Anthony Bridgerton. Perhaps Penelope herself would have fallen for him if her heart had not long been taken by yet another Bridgerton performing an act of kindness.

Though Colin hadn’t performed such a noted mark of favor, it was what he hadn’t done. She still remembered that moment they first met, the agony she felt, waiting for his anger or perhaps his cruel remarks and mocking laughter. And then he laughed, but not at her.

She was barely even out at the time, but she’d been to enough events, thrust in with the younger girls and boys. Girls had never been kind to her, not even her mother and sisters, growing up. They didn’t truly mean to be unkind. They were just so involved in their own lives that hers hardly mattered. They dismissed her looks, her wit, her very sensible advice on over-spending… They just plain dismissed her.

But that was nothing to how she was treated, out and about in society, once children stopped climbing trees and starting climbing the social ladder after their parents. And she was quite clearly reminded that she was on the bottom rung and always would be. 

She remembered it so vividly, approaching a group of girls at a birthday party, while her very yellow dresses were still short, hopeful that she might find a friend among them. She hadn’t found one among her sisters. Much like Mama, Prudence and Phillipa thought books to be both dull and dangerous all at once. They were certain excessive reading dulled a woman’s beauty. True, she did have Felicity by that time, and she was always especially friendly. But she was an infant and was much more interested in pulling at Penelope’s curls than discussing books. Even now, that was true. Felicity was always fussing with her hair and never wanted to talk about what Penelope wanted her to read.

It turned out, these girls had no desire to discuss books either. In their little pack, they interrogated her on who her father was, her mother’s family, where she got “that dress.” Penelope had been foolish enough to believe their interest in her was genuine, but they soon revealed that it was all a cruel ploy, that every word was being mocked. And that was even before Cressida Cowper, who seemed to live to torment her, came into play. Thank God for Eloise, and the other Bridgerton sisters, came along or she’d have thought all society girls were horrid.

And boys, or supposedly young men after a certain amount of schooling, were no better. Sometimes they were worse. At least the girls tried to pretend at civility. The boys had no qualms about telling her she was too fat or plain to be worth talking to. Even when she tried to join in when they spoke of books, they made it clear her thoughts were unwanted and of little to no value.

Was it any wonder that she expected Colin Bridgerton, third son of a very rich, well-liked and prestigious family, who she'd just blinded and knocked off his horse, to berate her, to mock her, to make it clear that Penelope Featherington (daughter of a near-impoverished gentleman who had married beneath him) was not the sort he associated with? He should laugh at the notion.

And he did laugh, but at himself. It was entirely her fault for not having her bonnet properly tied, to the point where it would fly in his decidedly handsome face and make him look clumsy when he was decidedly not, yet he laughed at himself, mocked himself, and not her.

After that confession from Kate, of Penelope’s small part in her romance with Anthony, Penelope went over her first meeting with Colin decided she would have felt the same. If she witnessed Colin being sweet to another girl who’d ruined his ride, she would have loved him still. Because he was kind even after that. When Eloise first invited her to tea, he’d marveled that she had finally brought home a sensible friend, then teased her by threatening to steal Penelope away.

Very well, then. Colin Bridgerton had shown her marked favor, even if it was mostly in jest and with the object of annoying his sister.

Regardless, Penelope had never been favored so baldly. She’d never danced a supper set.

She narrowed her eyes, deciding that she now knew very well why Colin had sauntered away in high spirits. It surprised her that it had taken her so long to notice what his plan was.

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it,” her mother sighed. “We must do what we can with it, even if he will be dining with you…”

“And what does that mean?” Penelope snapped. She was annoyed enough with Colin without her mother adding to it.

“Oh, Penelope. You know I mean no ill. But he can gad about with you any time. It’s high time Felicity had a turn with him.”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “You speak as if he’s some toy I’ve been keeping to myself.”

“You have, in your own way. Don’t think I miss the way the pair of you always end up talking at every event,” her mother chided. “I daresay he’s danced with you more than Felicity.”

“Shouldn’t that tell you that he’s not interested in—”

“The least you could do is make the most of it, for your sister’s sake. Sing her praises a little, commend her to him.”

“Mama, I assure you, I always speak well of Felicity. In fact, I shall go find her now,” Penelope said, quite finished with her mother at the present.

She’d lied, of course. She didn’t find her sister. She found a small balcony overlooking the gardens. The Dartmore townhouse was large, but that did not stop her from feeling stifled, overheated, or perhaps just plain mad. She stared at the rosebushes below, wondering that she didn’t set them afire with her glare.

She saw it so clearly now — Colin’s solicitude, his securing her seat with him, escorting her about, fetching her lemonade, saying things to make her blush, insisting on dancing the first with her, then trying for another straight after, and now the supper set!

He was not exposing her to scandal. It was even worse. He was exposing her to… courtship.

That absolute fiend!

**************

Colin was quite satisfied with himself. Yes, he might have come on a bit too strongly at certain moments…

“We don’t part at all.”

God, what was he thinking? Poor Pen looked almost frightened at that.

He was supposed to keep things light tonight. No pressing proposals. Just simple wooing, perhaps a bit of flirting. He’d meant to be urbane, charming, make her feel properly courted.

Still, he hadn’t failed completely at that. He’d made it quite clear to her mother that his intentions toward Pen were serious. He’d secured her supper set and her company for said supper, after all. Mrs. Featherington would have to be a simpleton indeed not to see his purpose in that.

Now, he only had to wait. He’d already decided he’d dance with no one else. He had to make his intentions clear to all. Dancing with the odd debutante would only muddy the waters. And it’s not as if he wished to dance with any other girl. Really, now that he’d decided on Pen, it was very easy to stay clear of the odd flirtatious Miss or her determined Mama without feeling the least bit of guilt. He was practically an engaged man, after all.

He made it clear to all that he was not inclined to dance. Yes, there might be the odd disappointed pout, but he shrugged them off until he, luckily, found himself with a sister — Daphne, to be precise. He made his greetings before presenting his lamentations.

“Really, these ladies are relentless,” he said as he sidled up to her. “You tell them you are not inclined to dance and it’s all ‘Why?’ or ‘Are you ill?’ or ‘Have you injured yourself?’ It’s exhausting!”

Daphne laughed. “Perhaps it’s because they’ve already observed you dancing. With Penelope, was it not?” she asked with a sidelong glance, as if she didn’t know for certain, the sly thing.

“Yes, it was. Of course it was,” he said, lifting his chin. “I always dance with Pen when I have the chance.”

“Obviously. But you usually squeeze another girl in to satisfy Mama that you’ve tried before you make your escape,” Daphne observed. “Or are you escaping early?”

“I have no intention of escaping tonight. A man has to eat, does he not? I’m dancing the supper set,” he said… as if he always did such a thing. He didn’t. Suppers at balls were almost always late and cold and disappointing. But the Duke of Dartmore had a very good chef and the fare was usually quite appetizing — once a person got past the lectures, at least.

“Oh, the supper set,” Daphne looked surprised. “And who is the lucky young lady?”

“Penelope, of course,” he said, cringing a little, hoping she wouldn’t try to make something out of it. Yes, he did want people to make note of his favor, but… Well, it was bad enough that Anthony, Ben, and Kate knew. Penelope had actually seemed relieved that it was Kate and not… Well, Pen hadn’t said who she was afraid might also know. He’d thought it might be Mama, but perhaps it was Daphne.

Daphne knowing meant Mother might know. The pair of them were thick as thieves.

Daphne knowing might mean Lady Danbury would know. She did call on her most weeks.

Daphne had many other callers. She was a duchess, after all.

Daphne, at this moment, turned fully to him, eyes wide and smiling. “Ah, Penelope! How delightful!”

“It’s not as if I’ve never sat by Penelope for supper before,” he grumbled, deciding he would giver her nothing. 

“Ah, but those were intimate suppers with the family,” she said, “not something so public as…”

“Hastings!” Colin called out, spotting Simon among the throng. “I think your wife is begging for a dance.”

“I am not,” Daphne insisted. “I am quite content to converse rather than—”

“Does she now? And you’d claimed you’d rather not dance tonight,” Simon drawled, drawing nearer, giving his wife as rather lusty smile before sliding a hand around her waist. “I certainly wouldn’t mind.”

God! Colin didn’t want to see all that.

“Well, I would mind,” Daphne said, blushing a bit. “These new slippers pinch awfully and—”

“And there’s no better way to break them in than a dance. Off you go!” Colin gave Simon what he hoped was a significant glance. Yes, his loyalty was usually to Daph, but there had been times he’d stood with the Bridgerton men against a wall of women opposing them.

Once, when playing some game Eloise invented involving Shakespeare quotes, pitting the men against the women, there had been a very heated argument about Macbeth’s witches and whether they said “bubble, bubble” or “double, double” before going on about “toil and trouble.” And Simon had joined them on the “bubble” team. They were wrong, but at least they’d stood united. Perhaps this would be one of those times.

“I’m certain you shall glide about as gracefully as ever.” Simon gave Colin a slight nod. “Come now, let us show them all how it’s done,” Simon said.

Daphne twisted back toward Colin as her husband led her away. “We will speak further,” she said, quite ominously.

“Not if I can help it,” Colin muttered through a false smile.

He didn’t get to celebrate his victory for long, however. When the crowds parted as couples gathered for the Cotillion, he spied his mother and Lady Danbury across the floor, their heads bent close together. That couldn’t be good.

He froze as his Mother lifted her gaze to him, then Lady Danbury as well. He willed his legs to move, but they refused. Any moment now they would start toward him and… give him a little smile and a wave as they passed.

That was odd.

He expected his own mother to greet him with more than a little waggle of her fingers. Hadn’t Eloise said the pair of them waylaid her several times tonight alone? Why wasn’t anyone waylaying him? Even Lady Danbury should at least come over to complain at him or…

What was he looking a gift horse in the mouth for? He should be relieved. In fact, he decided he was before remembering he had other women to escape. He managed to find the delicate balance between hiding from debutantes and their mothers and keeping an eye on the dances so he could collect Pen before the all-important supper set.

He spent some time in the library where Gregory was predictably losing at cards and wasted a bit more time listening to some Scottish viscount regaling others about his crop rotations, nodding and pretending interest, wondering when the damned waltz was coming. He was never one to wait upon a dance. They were usually something to get over with, but now…

Waltzing with Penelope would be a whole new experience now. He’d always been so respectfully focused on their conversations before. He’d never truly thought of what an illicit thrill it was to have his hand on her waist, her gloved hand in his, the ability to hold her against him, the tantalizing view from his vantage point. He was most eagerly looking forward to it.

Not that he would be disrespectful. Tonight was about wooing. And that meant no improper touching. Well, maybe not none at all. But there’d be no outright caressing. Or kissing. Or licking. Or biting that spot where her neck meets her shoulder and listening to her high-pitched gasps of… None of it, damn it all. He was going to seduce her respectfully. With a waltz and then supper, and then perhaps another dance, then dessert, and then turns about the room in full view of her mother, and then a chaperoned morning call.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that the rest of it would come after the wedding. Or perhaps after the engagement would be enough.

Or maybe just the next moment they had alone, he decided as he spied Penelope. He’d meant it when he told her she looked especially lovely tonight. That gown, with its certain shade of blue and its sparkly little overlay made her eyes and hair simply glow. As for the neckline… He’d do best not to dwell on that too long, especially as she was standing with Kate.

Kate must have decided to attend without Anthony, as he felt the same way about these Dartmore parties as Colin did — up until tonight, that is.

He’d been enjoying this one immensely. Perhaps it was all about having the right companion.

He decided to approach her early, since Kate was surely helping his cause. Even now, she was leaning toward Pen, whispering in her ear. Perhaps she was helping Penelope to see reason and accept his proposal as she ought to.

Whatever she was saying, Kate stopped as he neared them, smiling widely. “Ah, Colin. What perfect timing. I do believe the waltz is about to start.”

“I do believe so as well,” he said, giving Kate a little wink before turning to Penelope and holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

 Pen gave him a wary look, but placed her hand in his, letting him lead her to the floor.

“Best of luck,” he heard Kate call out.

“Thank you,” he said, surprised when Penelope said the same.

He glanced at back at Kate, wondering which of them she had been talking to. Surely it was him…

*******************

“He’s really as bad as his brother,” Kate was saying. “I know he endeavors to be a bit more suave, something Anthony feels is beneath him somehow, but he’s just as stubborn and relentless when he’s denied something he wants.”

“I’m so relieved you think so,” Penelope sighed. After telling Kate her version of the last few days, with some bits left out for propriety, Kate seemed to agree that Penelope was perfectly reasonable to refuse Colin.

“And how delightful that you are making him work for it. I’ve never seen him put any sincere effort into courting a girl.” Kate nodded. “It’s high time he knew what it’s like when things don’t come so easily to him. I’m sure he’ll value you all the more when he—”

“Kate, you mistake me,” Penelope cut in. “I’m not making him work for it with the goal of him succeeding. I am quite determined that he should give it up.”

“As you should be,” Kate said with a sly smile. “That will show him that you are worth the effort.”

Penelope sputtered, “I-I don’t want to be worth the… I don’t want him to court me at all!”

Kate leaned closer. “That’s the spirit,” she said on a whisper. “He’s coming this way now. Just keep up the good work and he’ll be at your door with flowers before you know it.”

“Nay, that’s the last thing I—”

“Ah, Colin,” Kate said more loudly. “What perfect timing. I do believe the waltz is about to start.”

Penelope glanced down, huffing in annoyance. Could Kate truly think she was trying to heighten Colin’s efforts?

“I do believe so as well,” she heard Colin say, glancing up to see him winking at Kate. “Shall we?”

Ah, so Kate was conspiring with him. That answered her question, she supposed. Kate was deliberately misunderstanding her.

She reluctantly let him cart her off as Kate wished her “Best of luck.”

“Thanks,” she said dully, annoyed that Colin said the same. At least she could console herself knowing Kate agreed that no reasonable woman would have accepted his proposals so far.

She sighed, looking off to the side as he led her in the dance, feeling quite put out. Why did everyone seem to be pushing her into this marriage? First her sister, now Kate. Even Benedict seemed to be under the impression Colin had some sort of marked preference for her, which was so ridiculous a thought that…

“What? No conversation?” Colin prodded. “I thought that was the chief advantage of a waltz, among other things.”

“What good does talking to you do? You can’t be dissuaded.” She glanced up to find him glancing down… or staring. She gasped, annoyed that her hands were engaged in the dance and she could not slap them over her bodice in outrage. “Colin! Stop looking there,” she hissed.

He lifted his eyes to hers... then to her forehead, his face a bit red. “I was just admiring your gown again. That shade of blue is truly fetching on you.”

She decided to pretend she believed him. “You said that before. You don’t have to repeat it.”

“I think I should, since you don’t seem to believe it,” he said smoothly. “Perhaps I shall remind you until I’m as blue in the face as your stunning—”

“You’re laying it on rather thick, you know.”

“Very well. I might have briefly glanced elsewhere. It’s rather hard not to with such a tempting display. But my attentions tonight will be entirely honorable. Starting… now!”

“You really are incorrigible,” she said, wishing her blush was from anger.

He laughed. “As a gentleman, I will answer your insult with civility and call you… irresistible.”

“Good Lord.” She rolled her eyes. “Then I shall call you irritating. This supposed civility of yours is not fooling me.”

“Shall I give it up, then?” He leaned down a bit. “If you’d rather I be improper, I could easily be persuaded—”

“I wish you would just stop,” she hissed.

“Stop dancing?” He started to slow.

She pinched his shoulder to prod him back into motion. “You know very well I didn’t mean that. Stop flirting. Stop acting as if you find me so… so…”

“Intoxicating?” He smiled. “It’s only because my feelings have run away with me.”

“Stop pretending you have feelings.”

His smile dropped then. “I would, if you’d stop pretending as if you don’t have feelings. You’ve tortured me long enough with your… indifference. There’s an I word for you.”

“Long enough? By my count, you’ve been tortured for a mere three days,” she muttered. “My torture was much longer than that.”

He smiled again. “Aha! So you admit it.”

She paled, missing a step. “I have admitted nothing.”

He pulled her closer then, keeping them in step with the other circling couples. “You have been tormented by your unrequited affection for me and now you wish to punish me with the same.”

“I have not been… I never said I was tormented by...” She forced a laugh. “What nonsense. And I never said I had any unrequited…”

“You’ve never said it, but you felt it, didn’t you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to imply?”

He narrowed his as well. “What are you trying to deny? You’ve never held any affection for me? Not at all? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

She lifted her chin. “I hold the same friendly regard for you that I have always have since the first day we—”

“That’s not what I mean and you well know it.”

Her feelings for Colin Bridgerton were her most closely-held secret, even older than Whistledown, something known to only her… or so she’d thought. And he expected her to admit to them, here in the middle of a crowded ballroom? Well… if that’s what he wanted…

She dipped her head, as if trying to mind her steps, then lifted it, widening her eyes and striving to look adoring enough. “Oh, Colin. Perhaps I’ve just found it hard to believe that all my dreams have at last come true. How soon could we marry? Should we do it this very night? How many miles to Gretna Green?”

Colin missed a step then. “Er… three hundred, I think?”

“I’m certain we shall fly over them on the wings of love,” she sighed. “I cannot wait until we travel together just everywhere. Keep in mind that I get ill on the seas, the shores, the mountains, the plains. It all makes me terrible dizzy and nauseated,” she lied. She hadn’t set foot on a ship in her life, but perhaps she had inherited her mother’s maladies. One never knew. “But surely you can put up with it easily… with such devoted feelings as yours.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Colin said with a withering look. “You think to dissuade me.”

“What?” She blinked up at him. “My only thought is to love you. Most passionately!”

“Well, I rather like the sound of that,” he drawled.

“Did I say passionately? No, that’s too tame for the violence of my affections,” she said, changing tacks. “I meant fanatically. You shall be mine and mine alone. So you cannot so much as look at another woman till the end of your days. Just me. Only me. Forever and ever and ever and–”

“It’s not working.” He smirked. “Because I’ll take it, Pen, if you are now accepting—”

“I didn’t say that,” she cut in, grateful when the dance ended. “You are impossible!” She dropped her arms from him and stepped away.

“And you are…” He all too easily slipped her arm through his, following the throng heading into supper. “Give me a moment, I shall find one… Does it have to begin with an ‘I’? Drat, this is hard!”

“What?”

“This game of yours. Still, I find it… invigorating.” He laughed. “There. Told you I’d find one.”

“I’m not playing any games. You are! And I, for one, shall no longer be party to it.” She slipped her arm from his and lost herself among the others piling into the dining room. She just couldn’t take it any longer. His little jokes, his teasing glances, his way of turning everything she said into some sort of flirty banter or little game. It was almost worse than his high-handed, masculine posturing. At least that she could answer with anger. This barrage of charm was more than she could possibly bear!

She glanced around, panicked, unable to find Eloise in the sea of other brunettes. If only El wasn’t so averse to adorning her hair. A brightly colored feather or so would make her much easier to find. She spotted a young lady already seated, one with curls redder than hers, wondering if her own hair would make it easier for El to spot her. But would that happen before Colin pressed her into dining with him?

She glanced back to find Colin pushing his way through the crowd. She needed to find a seat and soon! She made her way to that red-haired lady she’d noted and called out, “Cousin!”

The young lady glanced up, surprised, as did the older man seated next to her.

“Sir, would you mind terribly if I sat with my dear cousin?” Penelope pleaded. “I haven’t seen her in ages and—”

“Oh, no! Of course not.” He stood quickly and bowed. “Pleasure dancing with you as always, Lady Douglass. Give the viscount my regards.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Ferguson,” the lady — an actual Lady, apparently — said with a curious glance at Penelope. “Thank you so much for allowing my dearest cousin… er…”

Penelope sighed in relief as the man held out the chair for her, glad this Lady Douglass had decided to play along. “Penelope Featherington,” she said lowly as she took her seat.

“Yes, darling Cousin Penelope,” Lady Douglass said with a little wink. “It really has been ages.”

****************

All the apologies for how long it ’s taken me to get back to this fic — and to get back to writing in general. My work, family, and personal life has been all-encompassing to the point where finding the time and headspace to write has been impossible. But things are about to settle down for me after the holidays (on the work front at least) and in the next two months, I will have much more time to dedicate to all of my stories.

If any of you reading this have read my originals, you might recognize the name Lady Douglass. I hope you enjoy the little cameo to come!

ETA: As some of you may have noticed, I've changed the rating from M to E. I just can't help it. There's some spicy stuff coming (something the book was sorely lacking in) and I wanted it to be just wee bit spicier than what I consider M to be (though I know such things are usually subjective).