Entwined Hearts

by TeaWitch13

Summary:

He needs a wife, and she needs a husband. They were never meant to be together, but they find solace in each other after unforeseen circumstances leave them heartbroken. And that is how their hearts became entwined.

"Love has been often likened to a fire, due to its unpredictable nature. Just like a fire can provide warmth or cause destruction, love can either bring comfort and happiness or lead to pain and heartache. The outcome of love, whether positive or negative, remains uncertain until it unfolds."

Notes:

This is for everyone who wanted the story in chronological order. Please check the edit of the series as I have re-numbered everything as I am posting this.

Chapter 1: Nightly Escapades

Notes:

This is for everyone who wants the story to be in chronological order.

The inspiration that started at all:
https://www.tiktok.com/@fuesfej/video/7357383458135592225is_from_webapp=1&web_id=7405030053275780639

 Late August 1814

“Your frown lines are showing,” Cressida’s mama says as soon as they are alone at the Featherington Ball. And she cannot take it.

The cooling breeze proved to be the catalyst.

It was late August, and her attire, a tight, itchy, and predominantly pink garment, clashed with her personal preferences. Her hair, manipulated excessively throughout the day, compounded her discomfort. A deep breath offered little relief as the constricting dress limited her movements, prompting a desire to discard it entirely. Despite her long-standing aversion to the color pink, a sentiment at odds with her mama’s predilection, it remained her designated attire.

August breezes can be hot, humid, and uncomfortable. The week has been rainy and muggy, and she is tired of it. She wants the fall to come, with its calm winds and changing leaves.

Cressida wants the season to end.

She dreams of crisp, cool mornings and cozy evenings by the fire, surrounded by the comforting scents of cinnamon and pumpkin. Cressida can already imagine the sound of leaves crunching beneath her feet as she walks through the park, admiring the vibrant red, orange, and gold hues.

Cressida takes a deep breath again and attempts to relax, but the dress again prevents her. She wants it gone.

She tried to remember how her hair used to look, remembering how soft and healthy it appeared when she presented it. These days, she finds herself spending less time looking in the mirror as she notices how dull and frayed the edges have become with each passing day and with every hairstyle she tries.

She yearns for the change in the air, the promise of new beginnings that autumn always brings. The end of summer may be bittersweet for some, but it can't come soon enough for Cressida. She is ready to embrace all that autumn has to offer and bid farewell to August's sticky, humid days.

But that would mean the end of the season.

The stakes were high - the end of the season loomed ominously, symbolizing failure. Her father's lack of tolerance for her was evident. He saw her as a blunder, a mere placeholder to be replaced. Despite her Mama’s repeated efforts to provide a male successor, her father's dissatisfaction was palpable.

So, she became Cressida.

Cressida, the girl.

Cressida, a young girl of tender age, was just eight years old when her mama’s belly swelled once more. She was truly happy then, truly her. There was an air of excitement in the household as her father anticipated the arrival of a new member of the family, and for a fleeting moment, joy abounded. However, this jubilation was short-lived. Several weeks later, their happiness turned to sorrow as it became apparent that her mama would not bring a new life into the world but a life that had ceased to be.

The atmosphere at home was heavy with grief and sorrow after Cressida's mother suffered a devastating loss. The once joyous anticipation of a new sibling had given way to a palpable sense of pain and sadness that weighed heavily on the entire family.

In the days following the loss, Cressida observed her parents' ongoing struggle to cope. Her mother, though physically recovering, was emotionally shattered. Meanwhile, her father's demeanor grew increasingly distant as he grappled with his own grief and his cooling personality as the days rolled by.

Cressida, the lady.

In a particular phase of her life, she eagerly anticipated her debut in high society. However, her initial excitement waned and became mundane within the first social season. Event after event, she found herself indulging in the sumptuous cuisine and occasionally engaging with the company present, although not always. It gradually dawned on her that she was repeatedly partaking in similar conversations, albeit with different individuals, each bearing unique names, titles, and wealth. She vividly remembers telling the same story to the same suitor on three separate occasions, hoping that he would recall it the next time they met. However, to her disappointment, he never seemed to remember it at all.

She is now in her second season, which is too long for her father's and mama’s liking. The Ton and their parties had lost their luster, lost the finesse.

Cressida, the doll.

These days, Cressida is more like a doll. She dresses up, dawned in her gown, paints her skin, and wears her mask. She finds that her mama prefers her this way, this hollow, empty version of herself, lacking dreams and ambition. So, Cressida, the doll, does what dolls do, and she pretends. She pretends she is cheerful. She portrays herself as the focal point of the social gathering. She reminds herself in her innermost thoughts that there is nothing amiss with her family and that she, like any other young woman making her debut, is in search of a husband. A husband with power, status, and enough money to keep her comfortable, and if she must trade an heir to secure a match, she will do what she must.

But deep down, buried beneath the layers of expectations and societal pressures, Cressida longs for freedom. She yearns to break free from the strings that control her every move and dictate her every decision. She dreams of a life where she can be true to herself, pursue her passions, and chase her own ambitions. To be cut free of her father's strings, which seem to be tangled up and keep her hanging.

The crack in her façade was growing.

So, when she stepped outside into the breeze, she broke. She did not cry, yell, or scream. She stopped. Cressida, the doll, was rotting. And it was rotting away at her. She needed to get out, but she did not know where.

Marriage was one way of leaving. But who would want her? She was clever and ambitious and could be quite pleasant if she put her mind to it. But the men of the Ton had proven to be monotonous.

Cressida has always presented herself as the epitome of grace and beauty, exuding an image of perfection. However, beneath this facade, she grapples with the burden of societal expectations and feels stifled by the confines of her upbringing. The prospect of entering into a loveless marriage fills her with apprehension.

Cressida finds herself standing near the entrance to the ballroom, just close enough to hear the lively music and the hum of conversation filtering through the doors. Feeling overwhelmed by the energy inside, she decides to take a solitary stroll into the garden, seeking refuge amidst the tranquility of nature. She needs some time before she repairs the crack in her facade and spackles over her face with a sneer or a very pointed smile.

As she ventures deeper into the garden, she intentionally positions herself out of sight, allowing the foliage to create a shield between her and the rest of the Ton.

“What of Miss Featherington?” Lord Fife inquired about the whereabouts of Miss Featherington to the foolish Colin Bridgeton. Despite his striking appearance, the Lord was accompanied by his less attractive companions, both his and Colin's. Just beyond the ballroom entrance, a stifling heat lingered in the midst of the summer breeze.

Colin, the fool, Bridgerton, seemed to be caught off guard by Lord Fife's unexpected question. The buffoon stumbled over his words as he tried to come up with a response. He glanced nervously at his friends, who were equally clueless about Miss Featherington's status.

Lord Fife, a man of impeccable taste and refinement, raised an eyebrow at Colin's fumbling attempts to answer his inquiry. The stumbling fool did not realize what he had in Miss Featherington. What a pining mess she was for him.

“Are you really courting Penelope?” The lord clarifies for the idiot with a smug smirk.

“Miss Featherington?” She heard Collins’s voice question. Cressida came around the bend of the bushes to see the gaggle of men standing outside the doorways, chatting, drinking, and smoking.

As the conversation continued, Cressida couldn't shake the envy she felt towards the redhead as their conversation went on. Penelope Featherington was perceptive and compassionate, never resorting to cruelty. Despite appearing harsh to others, Cressida saw her mama as kinder than her own. Portia Featherington protected her daughters from their father's foolishness and never sugarcoated the harsh realities of the world, making them stronger in Cressida's eyes. Better then Cressida.

Despite the stifling heat that hung in the air, Cressida couldn't help but feel a chill run down her spine as he realized that Fife was far superior to the Bridgerton boy in every way.

“I would never dream of courting Penelope.” He declared openly. “I'm certainly never going to marry Penelope Featherington.”

What an idiot, was her first thought.

As the laughter echoed around them, and before Colin could say another word, Cressida caught sight of a small, fiery-haired girl darting across her field of vision. The girl moved swiftly, almost as if she were a fleeting spirit, disappearing into the wondrous expanse of the Featherington family's vibrant gardens.

Cressida can only imagine the depth of heartbreak the young girl is experiencing, and a wry smile plays at the corner of her lips. It's evident to her that the girl's misfortune is well deserved, considering all that she had done. Cressida’s debut season had been marred by difficulties, making it nearly impossible for her to overcome the initial impression she had made on the influential members of the Ton. It was all Penelope Featherington’s fault.

Both of them made their debut in the same year. It was cringeworthy to watch her, and her sisters stumble and wander aimlessly in front of the queen. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the Featherington girls, who seemed ill-equipped for the challenges ahead. Having been meticulously trained for years in debutante etiquette, she knew how to captivate a man with her charm and conversation skills. Despite the initial setback, she found solace in the fact that it meant less competition for her.

She would have been fine if the girl had stayed away like her sisters, but the little redhead did not. Penelope had ruined Cressida's moment in front of Lord Fife. She felt humiliated. The little ginger girl got in her way as she was trying to approach the lord during one of the opening events of her first season. The girl didn't even seem to care or notice her presence. Cressida was trying to make her move when the laughingstock Colin took her off the dance floor. She stood there talking to him while Cressida was attempting to get to the lord.

Seeing little Penelope Featherington waddling away in her lemon-colored, ill-fitting dress makes her want to laugh. It makes her want to cry. Watching her waddle away with tears streaming down her face makes her preen inside. Watching her walk away, tears streaming down her face, evokes a mix of emotions—amusement at her clumsy gait, sadness at her tears, and a deep sense of pride in her resilience.

As for the Featherington family, a palpable sense of peculiarity seemed to be constantly lingering in their midst, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact cause. Despite their appearances, manner of speech, and lavish spending mirroring those of the upper class, there was an indefinable quality about Penelope's family that seemed to irk her deeply.

Archibald, their father, received a title through inheritance, a common practice among the ton. What sets him apart is that his father didn't inherit the title but earned it.

Portia, their mama, unusually pragmatic and constantly calculating, added an intriguing dynamic to the family.

Prudence, the eldest daughter, exuded a strategic prowess, appearing cold and calculating at times. She held her cool demeanor like a shield, using it to maneuver through social interactions. However, she had a keen sense of art and dance. Out of the three, she was the best dancer, practically silent on the dance floor as she graced it with her presence.

Philippa, the middle daughter, came across as dimwitted and peculiar, adding to the enigma that surrounded the family. Despite her outwardly dimwitted persona, those astute enough to look beyond it noticed flashes of brilliance and intelligence, particularly when engaged in discussions about plants and their well-being. And then there was Penelope.

Penelope, the youngest and most enigmatic member of the group. She seemed to emit an aura of peculiarity, not stemming from status or power but from her exceptional intelligence and astute calculations. Cressida had long realized that Penelope possessed a remarkable talent for strategy and adeptness in games. And it seems she inherited this “intelligence” from her mama.

According to Cressida, Penelope Featherington was the embodiment of aristocratic desire. Her charm and grace captivated the attention and piqued the imagination of many lords, solidifying her status as an ideal figure of admiration within aristocratic circles. But it was her oddness that kept them away—her oddness kept her separated, like her sisters, and invisible.

The Bridgerton boy was reckless, foolish, headstrong, and imprudent. Despite the Bridgertons' wealth in the Ton, it became clear to Cressida that it didn't guarantee the finest gentlemen.

Cressida slowly wanders away from Lord Fife and his friends to find a more secluded spot, gathering her thoughts before she must reappear at her mama’s side.

As she meanders through the thinned crowd, Cressida's train of thought is abruptly interrupted as she is jostled by a tall, imposing young man. At first, she doesn't even notice him, but he soon comes into view. 

He knocks into her. He is in a rush and silent.

“My deepest apologies.” Lord Bridgeton utters as he steps back out of her space. Cressida notices Lord Bridgerton dressed in an eloquent, formal attire: a white shirt, black overcoat, and pants. His hair is trimmed, and even his face is clean-shaven.

Cressida's painted face showcases a beaming smile, sparkling eyes, and a radiant expression—the ideal debutante, just as her mama taught her. It is not the first time she has had to dawn her painted face, or her veneer but it is the first time she’s had to place it on so fast, and she fears that it is ill-fitting. As she embodies the epitome of a poised debutante, dutifully following her mother's guidance, she reflects on the familiarity of this age-old ritual. However, the urgency of the moment leaves her apprehensive, as though her carefully crafted facade may not seamlessly align with her inner emotions.

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, I failed to notice your presence," she responded, giving a slight bow to the lord in front of her. Cressida noticed the redness and puffiness around his eyes, suggesting that he had either been crying or trying to suppress tears.

"Everything is forgiven," he muttered with a grimace, almost as if an afterthought, attempting to hasten the conversation. She pondered what had compelled the lord to venture outside. Cressida had heard rumors that Lord Bridgerton disliked social gatherings, preferring the solitary tranquility of his study over the company of others.

“Are you in want of company?” She asked, with a hint of sickly sweetness.

Cressida, always observant, could sense the turmoil within him, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the usually stoic lord. She knew that behind his stern facade, there lay a heart burdened with sorrow and loneliness. She knew about his failed wedding to the younger Sharma, Edwina, and subsequent failed romance with the elder Sharma, Kate. She had heard of the failed proposal that Lord Bridgerton had offered the girl not once but twice and received a decline.

Poor, poor Lord Bridgerton, she thought sarcastically. What a sad sap.

“While I appreciate the gesture, I do not require company.” He replies sternly as he moves again to move out of the way.

She hesitated, trying to gauge how much longer she could maintain the strange, awkward tension between them. Quietly, she pondered how far she could push him before he would begin to unravel.

“Are you sure, Lord Bridgerton?” Cressida asked with a tight but cheerful-looking smile, “I can be great company.” She concluded.

She hears him sigh, “Rest assured,” he stated through clutched teeth, “Miss Cowper, I will manage on my own.”

“But it would be remiss of me to see you leave so dissatisfied.” She replies, “But if one insists. I can’t help but oblige.” Cressida ends with a slight bow to the Lord.

Lord Bridgerton stands tense and rigid for a moment before bowing his head slightly to her and walking away into the gardens.

She observes him heading in the same direction as the Featherington girl, which strikes Cressida as odd. For a moment, she considers following him. After all, Lord Bridgerton is quite wealthy. The scandal of discovering the two of them together, secluded in a garden, would surely be reported by Whistledown. This scandal would provide enough assurance for him to marry her.

Cressida makes her decision and walks after him, keeping in mind to keep a distance enough away so that she may not be heard but close enough so that she may see him. He walks through the twisted turns of the maze, which is Featherington’s gardens in full bloom, lighted by moonlight. The slights and sound of the ball fade as she follows him.

She moves as swiftly as he does, deftly navigating her way through the intricate gardens, keeping a close distance behind the frustrated Lord. Her aim is to incite a confrontation in the hopes of securing a marriage. Cressida often finds herself lost in daydreams of what her life could be like as a Bridgerton Viscountess. In her vivid fantasies, she envisions the opulence, influence, and prosperity that would accompany such a prestigious title. These daydreams provide an escape from her current reality and offer a glimpse into a world where she has everything she could ever desire, as well as freedom from the constraints imposed by her father.

And then he stops. And then so does she.

Lord Bridgerton knocks into someone again as he did just moments earlier with her, except the person he knocked into has vibrant, red hair, and she is weeping. He pulls the girl in closer before letting go. The lord and the red-headed girl seem to exchange a few words, as she is not close enough to hear them when they whisper before sitting on opposite sides of the pavilion.

She watches and waits to see if there is anything worthy of note to whisper about at future tea parties.

They stay like that on the opposite sides of the pavilion, simply existing in the sounds of the garden that surrounds them. And Cressida becomes bored of watching them as she tries to inch closer. She creeps along some taller hedges, hoping their height covers her movements. Cressida picks up her feet to mute her steps as she edges closer to the pair.

She can't hear them clearly, but she can catch a few words. It's only when she moves closer that their conversation becomes more distinct. Cressida observes as they sit in the quiet of the night and become very bored quite quickly.

“I must take my leave, Lord Bridgerton,” Penelope said after a while.

Lord Bridgerton nodded, not looking at the redhead but at his own hands instead.

Penelope suddenly stopped just as she was about to exit the pavilion, her eyes turning back to Lord Bridgerton with a thoughtful expression.

"Time may not heal all wounds, but it certainly can dull them," she said, her words laced with a hint of melancholy. The girl hesitated, a flicker of realization crossing her face as she recognized the audacity of her words in the context of society's rules. As she turned to leave, the lord gently caught hold of one of her arms.

"Thank you, Penelope," she overheard the Lord says, his tone filled with a mix of gratitude and concern. In that moment, Lord Bridgerton seemed torn, as if deciding whether to release the girl's arm or not, his expression reflecting a myriad of conflicting emotions.

“Lord Bridgerton?” Penelope questioned.

“I…” He pauses.

Lord Bridgerton then pulls the girl in and kisses her—a short and soft brush of their lips lasting just long enough for the span of a breath. Their breath mingles as their eyes both close, seeming to savor the brief but profound connection—Cressida’s heart races.

How fascinating, she thinks with a grin.

As they pull away, Cressida watches as Penelope opens her eyes to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed with excitement and anticipation. Lord Bridgerton's eyes are filled with longing and tenderness, a silent promise of what could be between them.

“Lord Bridgerton,” the girl states with a grasp, raising her freed hand to her lips.

“Forgive me,” the lord whispers. The lord stands with one hand still on the redhead’s arm, seemingly caught in the spell of that brief and gentle kiss.

The fiery-haired woman cast her eyes downwards, her skin tingling at the touch of the lord's hand, which held her arm with a tender grip. His finger moved slowly across the bearskin of her arm.

Lord Bridgerton seems to remember who and where he is and releases the girl’s arm, then steps away.

“I apologize,” the lord whispers softly with a bow as he turns to walk away.

Cressida watches in both horror and fascination at the exchange.

She can’t wait to see what Whistledown writes about these two, for surely a clandestine meeting between the youngest Featherington girl and the Anthony Lord Bridgerton, ninth Viscount to his line, would create such a scandal. Bridgerton and the Featherington have been family friends for years. It would only be polite for the Lord to marry the little girl.

The prospect of a union between the two families would be met with both excitement and trepidation, as the Viscount's reputation as a notorious rake would precede him. At the same time, the Featherington daughter is known for her innocence and naivety. The Featheringtons and Bridgertons have long been intertwined through friendship and familial ties, making the potential match between the Viscount and the young lady seem almost predestined if it was not so sad that the youngest Featherington was head over heels in love with the third brother, Colin, the fool.

And then, of course, there’s a deer sweet Eloise, the Viscount's sister and best friend to the youngest Featherington, to be a fly on the wall when the Lord must announce his engagement to the little girl.

She envisions the young couple delicately treading through the perilous realms of high society, where the alliances among the elite are fragile, and reputations can be instantaneously and irrevocably tarnished by the relentless whispers and rumors that permeate their circle.

Cressida can see it now, reveling in anticipation of their impending suffering.

If only I had been faster, she thinks, she could’ve gotten what the Featherington is now going to receive.

Despite the facades she puts up for the world, there are moments when glimpses of the real Cressida shine through. Moments when her eyes betray a spark of defiance, a hint of rebellion against the life that has been carved out for her. She holds onto these moments, cherishing them like precious gems in a sea of conformity.

But, for now, Cressida will hollow herself out and make room for nothing—the way her mama wants her to be as she walks back to the ball.

For now, she is a doll, but not forever.

 

Chapter 2: Moonlight Dances (Part 1)

Summary:

Anthony and Penelope dance together for the first time.

Notes:

FYI-I have broken up certain chapters and parts to make them make sense chronologically. So some chapters might be a lot shorter than previous parts, but that's just to make sure that everything follows the chronological order.

Mid – Late March 1815

If my calculations are correct, I may be able to buy—, her thoughts trail off.

The air is nippy, and Penelope wraps her golden-colored shawl tightly around her as a shiver runs down her spine, exhaling a puff of misty air. Despite the calendar saying it's mid-March, winter still has a firm grip on the weather. Penelope eagerly anticipates the arrival of true spring, yearning for the chance to finally showcase her collection of exquisite ball gowns in the warmer weather.

Exhaustion clings to her like a heavy cloak, wrapping around her shoulders and weighing her down with every passing moment. Once a beacon of excitement and promise, the Humlie Ball now drags on endlessly in her eyes, each twinkling chandelier light feeling more like a mockery than a celebration. The clock has struck past midnight, and with it, her energy dwindles, flickering like a candle in a drafty room. This marks her third season in the relentless cycle of balls and soirées, and she vows it will be her last.

The endless anticipation of being selected, of being desired, has worn her thin, fraying the edges of her spirit. She watches as other young women flit about, laughter bubbling from their lips, their eyes sparkling with hope and ambition. But for her, the thrill has long since faded, replaced by a heavy sense of resignation. She yearns for a different life—one nestled in the tranquil embrace of the countryside, surrounded by her beloved books, their pages whispering secrets of adventure and romance. She dreams of the solace of her writing, where her thoughts can flow freely, far removed from her mother’s watchful gaze and the relentless pressures of society that seem to suffocate her.

The moment she understood that Colin would never view her as anything beyond a friend, a mere friend in a sea of eligible young ladies, she felt a profound shift within her. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the stark reality of her situation. The precious time she had squandered in his shadow, hoping for a glance, a smile, or a hint of something more, now felt like a cruel joke. She resolved then and there to leave it all behind—the glittering gowns, the endless chatter, the superficiality of it all.

In her mind, she could already picture the rolling hills of the countryside, the scent of wildflowers wafting through the air, and the sound of her pen scratching against paper as she poured her heart into stories that would never be judged by the standards of society. She envisioned a life where her worth was not measured by her ability to attract a suitor but by the depth of her thoughts and the richness of her imagination.

As she stands amid the swirling crowd, the music playing a lively tune that feels like a distant echo, she knows that this season will be the last time she allows herself to be swept away by the tide of expectation. She finds a place just for herself, secluded from the rest of the party. With a deep breath, she steals herself for the coming season.

"Can't a lady have a moment to herself—" Penelope was on the verge of yelling out loud when she was bumped into for the fifth time that night. Whirling around to face the offender, she suddenly faltered upon seeing that it was none other than Lord Anthony Bridgerton, causing her to stumble over her words.

“Oh, Lord Bridgerton, … what brings you out…mm…” she mummers, unable to meet his eyes.

“Miss Featherington,” Lord Bridgerton states as intake in the slight that is Miss Featherington radiant in her attire. Her ballroom dress was a soft, pale golden yellow adorned with delicate, paper-thin yellow flowers. Her pristine white gloves contrasted elegantly with her gown. Adorning her head was a small golden tiara encrusted with small diamonds, perfectly complementing the matching dangling earrings that swayed gently with her every move.

Lord Bridgerton stands tall, holding a crystal-clear glass of effervescent champagne. The sweet aroma of the bubbly drink mingles with his rich cologne. He is impeccably dressed in a black and white formal waistcoat, and his hands are adorned with satin white gloves, adding a touch of sophistication to his ensemble.

They stand facing each other, their eyes locking in a moment of stillness. The gentle breeze weaves its way between them as they maintain their intense gaze. On the second floor of Lord Humlie's magnificent estate, a sprawling and opulent property above the bustling ballroom, a lofty walkway offers a space for guests to come together and socialize. Penelope found herself drawn to one of the balconies that overlooks the breathtaking grand lake situated at the rear of the estate.

The moon, a soft golden orb, hangs low on the horizon, casting a gentle glow that filters through the windowpanes and spills into the room. The flickering candlelight adds a touch of warmth, creating a play of shadows and light. As he stands with his back to the window, his features are partially obscured, leaving her to imagine the way his face is illuminated by the mix of candlelight and moonlight. She can only imagine what she looks like to him, illuminated by candlelight and obscured moonlight.

“You look…” Lord Bridgerton begins to state, trying to exude some authority, but fails.

“I was just…” Penelope begins to say sheepishly.

Both opened their mouths to speak at once, but when they realized they would be talking over each other, they closed their mouths again.

“Miss Featherington,” Lord Bridgerton states, “It is a cold evening, isn’t it?” Lord Bridgerton, she notices, seems a bit stiff. She had known the man for almost a decade but only as Eloise's elder brother. She had never interacted with him as Lord Bridgerton before, and she doubted that she would interact with him again after tonight.

“Yes,” Penelope replied tensely, “It is.” She shivers from the cold and hugs herself, trying to warm herself.

“I was just…” Lord Bridgerton states again, trying to start up a conversation.

“You look…” Penelope says.

Once again, they both attempted to speak simultaneously, but the cacophony of voices made them realize they were talking over each other. They exchanged a knowing glance and silently agreed to give the other person the floor. He appeared to be acutely aware of the awkwardness of the situation, and with a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head, he made the decision to restart the conversation.

“Greetings, Miss Featherington,” Anthony greeted her with a slight nod of his head. Only then did Penelope notice the glass in his hand and the slight glassiness in his eyes.

“Greeting, Lord Bridgerton.” Penelope replies in greeting, “Escaping the ambitious mamas and the ravenous daughters?” She asked boldly.

Penelope notices a spark in his eyes and replies, “Mmmh,” he answers.

After a few more awkward silences, the Lord speaks again. "Anthony," he states, raising the glass in his hand and taking a sip.

"What?" she questions in surprise as she reaches behind her to hold on to the balcony railings.

"Please, call me Anthony," Lord Bridgerton insisted, his warm smile aimed at her as he spoke softly. "Our families have a long history together, and I hope you feel comfortable enough to call me Anthony."

As she gazes upon the Lord’s handsome face, she responds with a soft smile, "Then call me Penelope." Gracefully stepping away from the ornate railings, she gives the Lord a slight, elegant bow of her head.

Meeting her gaze, Anthony savors the name on his tongue, repeating, "Penelope," with a sense of reverence.

“Anthony,” Penelope stated with a smile.

As he stepped beside her, a gentle breeze carried the scent of the blooming flowers from the gardens below, mingling with the cool, fresh spring air. Together, they gazed out over the vast, tranquil lake, its surface shimmering in the moonlight. The couple stood side by side, moments of peaceful silence enveloping them as they savored the serene beauty of the surroundings. Anthony raised his glass to his lips, savoring the last remnants of the drink before carefully placing the empty glass on the ground before them.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Anthony states quietly.

“It is,” Penelope replies.

As they stood there, gazing into the expanse of the night, she felt as though time had slipped away from them, lost amidst the twinkling stars above. Far below, the fireflies wove intricate patterns in the darkness, their soft glow illuminating the swaying branches and the delicate, almost-blooming flowers. The gentle breeze carried the mesmerizing dance of light, creating a magical, enchanting display in the tranquil night.

“Do you like to dance?” Anthony asked as he turned his head towards her.

“I spent the evening watching people dance,” Penelope replies, meeting his eyes.

"Do you enjoy dancing?" Anthony inquired. "I've never seen you dance except with Colin. He mentioned that you are quite a skilled dancer."

Penelope turns away and scoffs, almost seeming offended by the notion. She realizes that she isn’t completely over Colin's comments from last season.

"A lady must be asked to dance, Lord Bridgerton," she exclaimed, her voice laced with irritation.

The ballroom below them was alive with laughter and music, the air thick with the scent of roses and candle wax, yet her heart felt heavy.

"No one wants to dance with an insipid wallflower. Who would want to dance with A Featherington?" Her words trailed off, tinged with a hint of melancholy as if she were lamenting her own fate and the fate of all those who felt unseen in a world that celebrated only the vibrant and the bold.

Penelope caught a glimpse of him from the side, surprised by her remark. Lord Bridgerton stood there, his tall frame silhouetted against the flickering candlelight, his expression a mix of shock and sorrow. His dark hair fell slightly over his brow, and for a moment, she could see the conflict in his eyes.

“Do you like to dance?” Penelope asked quickly to divert the conversation. The less time she focused on herself, the better.

The dance had spilled out into the courtyard below. Penelope and Anthony could hear the music travel from inside the ballroom to the dance floor in the courtyard.

Penelope felt a pang of regret. She had not meant to cast a shadow over the evening, yet the truth of her own insecurities had slipped out unbidden. She had always been the one to linger at the edges of the dance floor, watching as others twirled and spun below, their laughter ringing like bells in her ears.

“Yes, when I am not in front of a crowd.” Anthony, he answered low and close to her ears.

She pivoted toward the voice, her heart racing as she realized how near he stood. He was barely a foot away, their eyes locking for a fleeting moment. Penelope anticipated that he might close the distance between them as he had before. Memories of the previous season flooded her mind. Initially, she dismissed it as a figment of her imagination, a way to shield herself from the sting of Collins's words. Yet, even in her dreams that night, she couldn't shake the truth that her partnership with Lord Bridgerton was both her first and the only experience of its kind. She had never known anything else.

After the unexpected kiss, he quickly apologized, leaving her puzzled. She wondered if it was a mistake or if he had mistaken her for someone else. However, as he tenderly held onto her hand, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, "You are delightful, Penelope. Do not let my brother tell you otherwise." She unintentionally shivered in the last days of summer at the comment as he whispered into her ear.

The kiss itself was brief and unexpectedly wet. She could taste the sweetness of sugar and lemon, then a tingle on her tongue, and something that slightly burned her throat. She wondered if it was alcohol that she was tasting on the Lord’s lips or something else entirely.

Some nights, as she lay in bed, she couldn't help but ponder over whether the fleeting nature of their kiss had altered its impact. Would their embrace have sparked different emotions if they had held each other closer? Would she have relished it as much or found it overwhelming? Penelope had kept silent about the kiss she had shared with Anthony, reluctant to express how it had made her feel truly alive and how it had filled the void of never feeling truly desired.

“Stage fright, My Lord,” Penelope replied, hoping to keep the exchange friendly but cordial, keeping both an eye on the partygoers below and the man beside her.

“No, and it's Anthony, remember,” Anthony replied with a smirk.

“Of course, Anthony,” Penelope smiled with a nod back at him.

Anthony leans forward, his fingertips gently gripping the cool metal of the balcony railings. The soft glow of the moonlight highlights the weariness in his eyes as he speaks. "I just wish to avoid the piercing stares of the judgmental mothers and their daughters," he explains, pausing to take a deep breath. "After my failed wedding, their scrutiny has only intensified. They've realized that Edwina called off the wedding, not me, and it's been a constant ordeal ever since."

Penelope let out a soft 'Mmm' in response. As she stood on the balcony, she could hear the members of the band fine-tuning their instruments, from the elegant strings to the soulful winds, all in preparation for the upcoming waltz dance.

She sighed, watching as everyone below in the courtyard found their partners for the dance. She must have sighed too loudly.

Anthony graciously extends his hand towards Penelope and asks, "Would you like to dance, Miss Featherington?" She hesitates, fully aware that she should refuse, but propriety dictates that a lady should never decline a dance without a valid excuse. As she contemplates her response, the thought crosses her mind that she could always feign the need for a chamber pot as a handy diversion.

“Yes,” Penelope says after a moment, placing her gloved hand in his. While she had been asked to dance, Anthony also tended to continue their conversation when they were not dancing. She had never been asked to dance by another gentleman before.

“What does one do when they dance?” she asked as she was pulled in closer and got into a dance stance.

“They talk," Anthony responded in a subdued manner.

The enchanting strains of the waltz enveloped them, wrapping around their senses like a soft, silken shawl. As the music swelled, they floated into their places with an elegance that seemed almost ethereal. Each step brought a delightful warmth from his gloved hand, a gentle reminder of the connection they shared, as if the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in this moment. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a seamless blend of grace and rhythm as they danced the complex box step, a dance that required not just skill but an unspoken understanding between partners.

“Any plans for the season, My—, I mean Anthony.” Penelope quickly corrected herself, wondering if he would try his hand at courting once more or take a season to reassess what he wanted.

“The plan is to be scandal-free this year,” Anthony answered seriously. He twirled her before bringing her back to him again.

“Sounds difficult.” Penelope quipped.

"It can be," Anthony replied with a smile. "And what are your plans?" She got the sense that Anthony Bridgeton, as serious as he might seem, had a softer side that not many outside his family got to see.

Even with the confined space of the opulent balcony, adorned with intricate wrought iron and draped in delicate fairy lights, they glided effortlessly, their movements fluid and unrestrained. The night air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming jasmine and roses, mingling with the soft notes of the music, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightened their senses. They swayed side to side and back again, each turn and dip executed with precision, embodying the very spirit of the waltz—a dance that spoke of romance, elegance, and a timeless connection.

As they twirled beneath the stars, the world beyond the balcony seemed to dissolve into a blur, the laughter and chatter of the party below fading into a distant hum. At that moment, it was just the two of them, lost in the music's rhythm and the night's magic. His eyes sparkled with delight, and she felt a rush of exhilaration with every spin, her heart racing in time with the tempo. The delicate fabric of her gown swirled around her, catching the light and adding to the enchantment of their dance.

“My plans…” she started, “My plans are to decide where I should live as a spinster.” She felt the hand on her back stiffen, and his grip tightened around her hand.

A look of surprise spread across Anthony's face as he exclaimed, “A spinster? You can't be serious!” His tone conveyed genuine disbelief. “I am sure you will find a husband.” As he spoke, she couldn't discern whether he was being sincere or not. She wondered if he was under the illusion that every debutant would find a husband or at least every debutant he knew would find a husband.

“Anthony,” Penelope stated, as she was spun again, “Not one of the gentlemen of the Ton has ever asked me to dance.”

“That can’t be true,” Anthony remarks. I have seen you dance with Colin and Benedict many times over the last few seasons.” He gives her a soft smile. “Surely, there have been others.”

“No, Anthony, there have been no others.” Penelope states, “I have not received one proposal of courtship. No one wants me, and I’m in my third season without any prospects.” she continues, her voice quivering with a deep sense of sadness.

She felt Anthony's firm yet gentle embrace as they glided across the floor, their movements seamlessly synchronized with the enchanting melody. In the midst of their graceful waltz, Anthony drew her closer, his confident gaze locking with hers.

“I have reached a decision," Penelope uttered. Each step and turn was executed with precision, evoking a sense of timeless elegance and grace. “It is time to move on. No one will miss me,” she says with a sense of finality, looking just past his shoulder to see the dancers below.

“Eloise will miss you,” Anthony states quickly as he looks at her.

She meets his eyes as they spin again. “We are no longer talking,” she said, stepping away in time with the music.

With each passing moment, they became more attuned to one another, their movements instinctive and fluid, as if they were two parts of a harmonious whole. The music swelled, and they responded, their bodies weaving together in a tapestry of motion that was both intricate and beautiful. The balcony, with its breathtaking view of the moonlit garden below, became their own private stage, a sanctuary where they could express their joy and passion through the art of dance.

“Colin?” Anthony asks hopefully.

As the final notes of the waltz began to fade, they held each other close, savoring the lingering warmth of the moment. The world around them may have been bustling with life, but in that instant, they were suspended in time. They faced each other, locked in a dance embrace. She sensed his finger gently tracing her back. He tightened his grip as she attempted to pull away, drawing her closer.

"Colin has stated that he sees me no more than a friend," Penelope laments. The exact words he said last season are etched in her brain. She would have forgiven him if she had received an apology within a few days following the ball. However, as a few days turned into a few weeks and eventually into a few months, she realized that he had no intention of apologizing, or perhaps he realized he had nothing to apologize for.

"I apologize for my brother's behavior," he said, his tone apologetic. "He can be quite oblivious at times," Anthony stated with a gentle smile, acknowledging his brother's quirks. As he lowered his gaze, he noticed their intertwined hands and their stance, and with a slight sense of embarrassment, Anthony released her and took a step back.

“As much as I appreciate your apologies, I am afraid I cannot accept it,” Penelope said.

“I understand.” Anthony nodded and leaned against the balcony railings.

As he stood on the balcony, he gazed down at the other partygoers and observed how they eagerly made their way back indoors while a few others meandered off into the lush gardens. Together, he and Penelope savored the melodious tunes emanating from the band below as they embarked on another round of the quadrille. Penelope, compelled to reunite with Anthony, gracefully leaned over the railings, stealing a glimpse of the guests adorned in resplendent gowns and the gentlemen bedecked in their most dapper coats.

“Where will you live?” Anthony questioned.

“The countryside,” she answered, “I have an aunt who lives in Lavenham. She would be able to help me buy a small cottage where I could live.”

As she contemplates her plans upon settling in the countryside, she debates whether she should disclose the next part of her strategy to the Lord. After careful thought, she concludes that it may not significantly impact the situation either way.

"Perhaps I'll find a dance partner there," Penelope remarks with a hint of anticipation, observing his response to gauge if he catches the underlying implication.

“A dance partner?” Anthony raises an eyebrow at the statement.

“Yes,” Penelope replies. She takes a moment to lick her lip before continuing, “My lady’s maid has enlightened me on what happens in the marital bed. She indicated that I might want a dance partner once I’m declared a spinster.”

"Marital bed?" Anthony is taken aback by shock. "Lady's maid?" he questions. "Wait, are you indicating that you intend to seek a bed partner after your departure?"

"Yes," she states with a sly smile. "Is that such a crime?"

“But you are a gentle bred lady.” He argued. She watched as his grip on the railings tightened.

“No, I will be a spinster,” she clarified, “Spinsters do not need to be chaperoned. They also do not need to be as considerate with their virtue as a lady would.”

“Penelope, you still have time,” Anthony continued, arguing, “And what will you become if you find yourself with child? What then?”

She sighed, looking back over at the partygoers, “The Featheringtons have lots of cousins, my Lord.” She stated, “It would not be unusual for me to care for a child who just happens to be my ‘cousin.”

She observed him as he attempted and subsequently failed to comprehend her intricate plans. However, his understanding was inconsequential, as she had already decided that her mother had been taken care of by her father. With her Whistledown money, she foresaw the ability to sustain herself for the remainder of her life, provided she made shrewd investments.

"Anthony," Penelope said with a reassuring smile, noticing the concern on his face. "I don't think it would be such a heavy burden. In fact, I've already experienced my first kiss, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Penelope, I-…” He started.

“You have already apologized,” Penelope stated.

As they stood on the balcony, the cool breeze laced with the sound of distant music filled the air. She felt a sense of serenity wash over her as she contemplated making an appearance at the lively party below before attending to the printing of her column. With a gentle brush past her dance partner, she took a moment to survey the surroundings, allowing the ambiance to guide her as she made her way back into the house, carefully planning her approach to the evening's festivities.

As she looked back at Anthony, she noticed his fingers slowly releasing their grip on the railing as he backed away. It seemed like he was accepting the fact that the girl he had known for almost ten years would no longer be a part of his life soon. That she had given up on the idea of marriage and a partner and that children may not be in her future.

Anthony turned around to face Penelope, locking eyes with her. "If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to let me know," he said gently.

"Of course, My Lord," Penelope responded, inclining her head respectfully.

"Call me Anthony," he urged, his voice tinged with vulnerability as he longed for a more familiar connection with her.

She moved towards the balcony doors and stood in front of the doorway momentarily before turning back to Anthony. “Thank you for the dance, my Lord,” Penelope uttered. She turned back around, ready to step through the door and back into the party.

“Would you like to dance next time?” Anthony says, causing her to stop and turn her head to look at him again.

After a moment of reflection, she realized that she would gladly dance again with Anthony Bridgerton. He truly was an exceptional dancer, after all. The way he moved across the floor was nothing short of mesmerizing. Each step seemed to flow effortlessly into the next as if he were gliding on air. His confidence radiated, drawing the attention of everyone around them, and she found herself captivated not just by his skill but by the way he made her feel—light, free, and utterly alive.

In the past, she had often hesitated to join the throngs of revelers, preferring to observe from the sidelines, but with Anthony, it was different. He had a way of making her feel as though they were the only two people in the room, as if the music swelled and pulsed just for them. The laughter and chatter of the crowd seemed to fade, and all that mattered was the rhythm of their movements, the warmth of his hand on her waist, and the spark of connection that ignited with every twirl and dip.

The thought of dancing with him again filled her with anticipation. She could already envision the elegant gowns swirling around them, the soft glow of candlelight reflecting off polished floors, and the enchanting melodies that would beckon them to the dance. It was a world where worries faded away, and all that remained was the intoxicating thrill of the dance and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them.  

“Next time,” she said, turning away and walking back into the ball.

Notes:

Please let me know what you all think.

Chapter 3: Breathe

Summary:

Anthony Bridgerton finds himself lost in the Featherignton gardens.

Mid – Late March 1815

You need to breathe, he thinks to himself.

He stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, seeking refuge from the chaos of his home. The moment he crossed the threshold, the cool mid-morning breeze wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, starkly contrasting with the heated atmosphere he had just left behind. His mother was at it again, her voice rising in frustration as she pressed him about Kate, the name echoing in his mind like a persistent reminder of a past he was trying to move on from. She insisted that since Kate was back in the city under Lady Danbury’s watchful eye, he should reach out and mend their fractured bond. But he couldn’t fathom why his mother failed to see that his feelings for Kate had faded. The thought of her possibly leaving again, of her making a choice without informing him, was a burden he no longer wished to carry.

But he couldn’t fathom why his mother failed to see the truth that lay before them both. To him, the idea of rekindling anything with Kate felt like trying to revive a long-dead ember. His feelings for her had faded, dulled by time and distance, and the memories that once sparked joy now only served as reminders of a relationship that had unraveled.

It was a weight that had settled heavily on his shoulders, one that he had tried to shake off but found impossible to discard. He remembered the last time she had walked away, the way it had felt like a part of him had been severed, and he had no desire to relive that pain.

As he stood there, inhaling the crisp air, he closed his eyes and let the sounds of the city wash over him—the distant laughter of friends gathering, the soft hum of conversation, the occasional clatter of a passing carriage. It was a world that felt vibrant and alive, a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within him. He longed for peace, for a moment of clarity away from the relentless pressure of his mother’s expectations.

A profound emptiness gnaws at his core, a fleeting fragment that remains just out of reach, like a whisper lost in the wind. It is a void that seems to stretch infinitely, a dark abyss that swallows the light of joy and hope. A tumult of sounds crashes in his ears—distant voices, the hum of life continuing around him, the relentless ticking of a clock—each noise amplifies his sense of disconnection. His heart races wildly as if desperate to break free from its confines, pounding against his ribcage like a caged bird longing for the open sky. Air slips away from him, elusive and intangible, as if it has conspired to abandon him in his moment of need. This feeling is hauntingly familiar, a ghost that lingers in the corners of his mind, yet he finds himself ensnared in a relentless loop where the comfort of normal life feels like a distant echo, a memory fading into the background of his consciousness.

His chest constricts under an unbearable heaviness, the pressure intensifying with every fleeting second, each tick of the clock a reminder of his mounting despair. It feels as though an invisible weight is pressing down on him, squeezing the breath from his lungs and leaving him gasping for relief. His breaths become shallow and labored, each one a struggle to capture the air he so desperately needs, a reminder of his fragility in the face of overwhelming turmoil. The world around him blurs, colors fading into a muted palette of gray as he grapples with the suffocating reality of his existence.

In a frantic search for liberation, he yearns for a spark of hope to guide him through the consuming shadows that threaten to engulf him. He reaches out, grasping at the remnants of optimism, but with every attempt, he feels himself sinking deeper into the chasm of his own anxieties and doubts. The crushing weight of his troubles becomes too much to bear, suffocating his spirit and leaving him isolated in a barren expanse of despair. It is a desolate landscape where echoes of laughter and warmth are mere phantoms, and the vibrant hues of life have been replaced by a monochrome existence.

It could have been a few minutes or even a few hours. Each moment stretches into eternity, and the shadows whisper insidiously, feeding his fears and amplifying his sense of loneliness. The world continues to spin, indifferent to his plight.

He had experienced this before, after his father died. He could count on his hand how many times this has been. All except the first were hidden from his family. The little ones didn't need to see him like this.

“Anthony?” a muffled and distant female voice calls out. The female voice he heard seemed both close and far away. 

He opens his eyes to focus on the face in front of him. It’s Miss Penelope Featherington. She crouched in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

"Lord Bridgerton?” Penelope called out once more, and she was shaking his shoulder.

“Anthony? Can you hear me?” Penelope asks again. He meets her eyes, focusing on her fiery red hair. 

“Lord Bridgerton?” Penelope calls once more, almost yelling.        

He blinks and watches as the world comes into focus. He blinks again and takes a deep breath. As his consciousness slowly returned, he became aware that he was lying on the ground, propped up against a tall, scratchy bush, feeling a sharp branch poking into his back. He takes a deep breath, trying to figure out how he ended up on the ground.

“Penelope?” Anthony questions breathlessly, “What…where am I?”

“The Featherington Gardens.” Penelope answers, “I do not know how you got in, but here you are.”

As he gazes ahead, Anthony spots Penelope mere inches in front of him. Her vibrant red hair seems to be illuminated by the sun itself, casting a mesmerizing glow. It dawns on him that the sun is positioned higher in the sky than he had initially perceived. Overcome by a feeling of overheating, he struggles to catch his breath. Desperately attempting to retreat, Anthony finds himself thwarted by the dense brush behind him.

“I am sorry for intruding,” he said quickly as he attempted to get up. Anthony's surroundings seemed to tilt and spin as dizziness overcame him, causing him to stagger and then collapse back to the ground. Penelope rushed to his side, her arms wrapped around him, attempting to support his weight and prevent him from falling further.

As they leaned into each other for support, Anthony gradually managed to push himself upright. Stepping forward, the world swirled around him, and his hope for the dizziness to subside quickly faded. With Penelope's steady guidance, they made their way out of the Featherington Gardens. It dawned on Anthony that he had strayed farther into the gardens than he had realized, as they found themselves just a stone's throw away from what he would assume was the servant's entrance of the Featherington house.

When they enter the house, he realizes that it’s not the servant’s entrance but an entrance into a bedroom. Penelope helps him sit at one of the tables near the fireplace.

“Thank you,” he says as he sits down.

“It is no problem, Lord Bridgerton,” she replies, “Please don’t rush.” In that instant, he becomes acutely aware that he is sitting in more than just a bedroom. Every detail he notices—the pristine sheets on the bed, the intricate tapestries adorning the walls, and finally, the writing desk cluttered with ink bottles, scattered papers, and a myriad of books—indicates that he is in her bedroom.

“I should go home,” he mumbled to himself.

Anthony becomes aware that he's grasping his top hat tightly in his hand as he looks around the room. He finds himself in the lady's bedroom unaccompanied. Penelope is wearing a delicate light pink day dress adorned with tiny fabric flowers. Her gloves, once pristine, are now marred by dirt and dust as she removes them before striding to the other end of the room. With swift and deft movements, she unveils a tea set embellished with an elegant design of gold and azure birds.

“Amelia, can you get some water ready for tea?” Penelope said, placing the tea set down on the sitting table. She looked over his shoulder to the maid dressed in lime green in the doorway.

The maid, Amelia, nods before leaving, shutting the door behind her with a click. Anthony takes a deep breath, wanting to say that he should leave and not be darkening her bedroom without some accompaniment.

As she gracefully arranges the tea set, she carefully places a teacup and saucer in front of both her and Anthony. She then steps over to the glass and wood tea cabinet to select a variety of fresh herbs, a pestle, and a mortar. Returning to the table, Penelope stands near the fireplace as she lovingly gathers the fragrant herbs and transfers them into the mortar. With a gentle yet deliberate motion, she begins to crush and blend the herbs, allowing their delightful aromas of lavender, chamomile, and lemongrass to waft through the air. Penelope then places the ground-up herbs into a metal strainer and places it into the teapot.

As quickly as she left, the maid returned with a canister of water, with steam raising from it. The maid then poured the hot water into a small silver canister, emitting wisps of steam. With practiced grace, she carefully poured the hot water from the canister into the delicate teapot, the aromatic steam swirling upward as she worked. Setting the canister down gently beside the fireplace.

Penelope, with a warm smile, gently inquired, "Would you like something to eat?"

After a moment of self-assessment, he nodded in acceptance. Returning the smile, Penelope turned to the maid and gestured for her to leave the room, which she promptly did. After a brief wait, Penelope meticulously removed the metal strainer and carefully set it aside.

“Here you are, Lord Bridgerton,” she said as she poured the tea from the pot, “Tea.” Penelope then pours herself a cup before sitting across from him.

“Thank you,” Anthony replied, staring at the pale purple-looking tea.

“It is my pleasure,” Penelope says.

Amelia gracefully walks back into the room, carefully balancing trays of delectable treats. The trays are adorned with a delightful assortment of pastries, including flaky croissants and buttery scones, as well as an array of vibrant, freshly cut fruits. Nestled among them are tiny, golden shortbread cookies, their delicate aroma wafting through the air.

“Do you need anything else?” Amelia asks as she sets down the tray.

“Yes,” answers after she takes a sip of her tea, “Please bring papers to the study I’ll review them later.”

The maid nods with a smile. Anthony watches as the maid gathers what appear to be accounting books and tenant contracts. He made a mental note to ask why a Lady of her standing has account books in her room when she should be focusing on her daily pursuits of the pianoforte and embroidery.

He can feel his strength returning and his dizziness subsiding. Anthony takes a sip of his tea, picks up a shortbread cookie, and eats it. He wants to ask her about the accounting books, but something else on the sitting table catches his eye.

Intrigued by the sight of the extensive, tattered novel, Anthony inquires, "Miguel de Cervantes?" as he carefully lifts it up.

“Light reading,” Penelope replies with a smile. She picks up one of the cream-filled pastries and places it on her plate.

“Light?” he questions, “It is in two parts and over one thousand pages long. I would not consider Don Quixote light.”

“Ok, not light, pleasure reading,” she admits. “Everything else that I read tends not to be entertaining.” she grimaces at the remark.

Penelope inquired, “Are you feeling well, Lord Bridgerton?” as he indulged in a strawberry.

As he sipped his tea, he responded, "I'm doing okay, just got a bit lost." Anthony pondered whether he should disclose the truth, clicking his tongue in contemplation. Aware of the current strained relationship between Eloise and Penelope, he hesitated to avoid further straining their families' rapport.

“Less than 20 meters from your house?” Penelope questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Anthony parted his lips to speak but quickly shut them again. It was time for him to leave and return home. If he had been discovered in Penelope's room by one of her family members, by the end of the week, he would be walking down the aisle. He hesitated to share his thoughts, not wanting to weigh her down with his troubles.

His struggles revolved around his mother and the complex dynamics of his family, a web of expectations and disappointments that seemed to tighten around him with every passing day. The thought of disappointing his mother, of failing to live up to the image she had of him, gnawed at him relentlessly.

Deep down, he understood that Penelope, too, grappled with her own family issues and personal challenges. He had seen the flicker of pain in her eyes when she spoke of her own past, the way her smile sometimes faltered when the conversation turned to her family. Both struggled to communicate with their families about setting boundaries and discussing their fears.

He ought to wrap up this discussion and head back home. The urge to return was strong, yet the moment Penelope caught sight of him, a wave of relief enveloped him. A profound tranquility settled in as he sank into his seat and sipped his tea. He was determined to hold onto this sensation. For the first time that day, he felt as if he could truly breathe.

However, he was a Lord alone in a Lady's chamber. If his mother were to learn of this, the consequences would be dire. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the rigid social structures that governed their lives. He could almost hear her voice, sharp and disapproving, echoing in his mind. The scandal it would cause, the whispers that would follow, the potential damage to his reputation—it was all too much to bear. Yet, as he looked into Penelope's eyes, he felt a flicker of rebellion stir within him.

What was the point of living a life dictated by fear and obligation? He had spent so long adhering to the rules, playing the part of the dutiful son and the respectable Lord. But here, in this moment, with Penelope, he felt a sense of freedom that was intoxicating.

“How is the tea?” Penelope asked, pulling him from his thoughts. Anthony glanced at his hostess and realized that he had been sitting in the chair for the last few minutes, his mind drifting as he debated whether to leave or stay.

“It is wonderful,” he said with a small smile. “I appreciate the snacks.”

“Of course, Lord Bridgerton,” Penelope smiled. “It's Eloise's favorite. It's supposed to promote calmness and serenity.” She continued sipping tea and eating some of the fresh fruits from the tray.

Anthony reached for his teacup, expecting to savor the warmth and flavor of the tea, but he was surprised to find it empty. Placing the teacup back on the table, he took a deep breath. "I don't know how I ended up in your gardens, but I appreciate you looking out for me," Anthony said with a sense of gratitude. “I…I do not know how I got there. I remember taking a walk after I had a talk with my mother.”

Anthony scoffed at himself, continuing, “Despite my mother's efforts to persuade me to speak with Miss Sharma again, I firmly declined. Naturally, she wasn't pleased with my decision.” He bit into a strawberry jam-filled pastry.

“I see,” Penelope said. She placed her cup of tea down and stood up to pour another cup of warm liquid for both of them.

He nodded in thanks. “She has been trying to persuade me to attempt to – you don't need to hear this,” he said.

“You are not the first Bridgerton to regale me of your woes,” Penelope states with a smile on her lips before taking another sip of tea.

"Eloise?" Anthony guessed light-heartedly.

She nodded with a small laugh on her lips.

“You are not the only one that has had a bad fight with their mother.” Penelope states, then places her half-finished cup of tea.

“My mother can’t stand that I read.” Penelope sighed. “As you can see,” she gestured towards her writing desk, which was adorned with stacks of books and an array of writing utensils, indicating her deep love for reading. “I am very fond of reading. She believes that books will ‘confuse’ my mind.”

“I, you can see I have a collection of books, but if my mama had her way, they would be gone. Thankfully, most were gifts from my father.” Penelope states while sitting at the table.

“Confuse your mind?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. He carefully places his teacup on the saucer and shifts his gaze towards her writing desk. Standing up, he walks over to the desk, observing her meticulously arranged collection of novels and writings.

She nods, taking another sip of her tea.

As Anthony browses through the diverse array of books, he observes the vast array of topics they cover. Nestled among the shelves are volumes on economics, mathematics, and science, mingling with a delightful selection of romance and mystery novels. The scent of aged paper and ink fills the air. He runs his fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the textured bindings and reading the titles that promise adventures, knowledge, and intrigue.

Yet, something on the table draws his attention. It’s a small, unassuming stack of practice questions from a mathematics textbook, but it seems out of place amidst the more fanciful literature surrounding it. Curiosity piqued, he leans closer, his eyes scanning the pages for any hints of what might lie beneath. As he carefully lifts the top few sheets, he discovers a signature. It reads "Lady Whistledown," or so it seems, the elegant script flowing gracefully across the page.

The name sends a thrill through him, for Lady Whistledown is a figure of great intrigue in society—a mysterious author known for her sharp wit and keen observations of the upper echelons of society. Her gossip columns have captivated the hearts and minds of many, weaving tales of romance, scandal, and the occasional revelation that sends ripples through the ton. Anthony’s heart races as he contemplates the implications of finding her signature here, hidden among the mundane.

"Anthony," Penelope called, bringing him out of his thoughts.

As Anthony hears her voice behind him, he whips around rapidly. Momentarily, his head feels a bit dizzy before he manages to regain his focus and finds himself staring directly at Penelope.

“My mother wants all of her children to have love matches,” he continues. “I thought I found mine last season with Miss Sharma.” He watches Penelope give a questioning look.

“The elder.” He clarifies.

“But?” Penelope questions.

Anthony looks around the room one more his hat on the sitting table, her books, and the lime-colored paint on the fireplace.

“But … she decided that her family was more important than her future with me,” he states, then walks back to the sitting table and takes a seat, “While I value the importance of family loyalty, I had hoped that seeing her sister was safe, she might consider her own well-being. It seems, however, that my efforts of assuring her were insufficient.”

“Mmm.” She takes a sip of her tea

“I…my mother wants me to try again, but…it feels like…it feels like there is this void inside of me,” he said, “And no matter what I try do to convince myself …I can’t risk….” He trails off.

“You do not trust her,” she confirms.

Anthony remains silent, grappling with the weight of Penelope's words, unsure of how to respond. She’s spot on, and he can’t help but ponder when she transformed into such a sharp thinker, a change that had slipped past his notice. Yet, reflecting on their past, it’s clear that she must possess a keen intellect to have matched wits with Eloise for all this time.

He shifts in his seat, the silence stretching between them, heavy with the weight of unexpressed thoughts.

“It appears that you may benefit from taking some time and space to process your thoughts.” She replies while taking a grape from the silver tray, “It is important to note that while time may not always heal wounds, it allows them to scar. Notably, like a scar, the memory of pain may persist, yet with the passage of time, it will gradually fade until the scar becomes the sole recollection."

“A scar?” he asked.

"Yes," Penelope replied quietly, her voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia. “But there's something intriguing about scars, don't you think? They tell stories of resilience and overcoming challenges. They remind us how far we've come and the battles we've won."

Anthony raised an eyebrow.

“They make us remember so that we can learn.”

Anthony took time to absorb Penelope's words during their conservation.

Scars? Do I have scars? he thought to himself.

He adjusted his position in the chair, leaning in closer, his elbows propped on his knees as he pondered Penelope's words. The room around him faded into a blur, the soft hum of the world outside muffled by the weight of his thoughts. Gradually, it dawned on him that he bore numerous scars, both prominent and subtle, each one a testament to the battles he had fought, the losses he had endured, and the moments that had shaped him into the man he was today.

Is that why I can detach myself so easily?

Some of these scars were etched into him from the time of his father's passing, a wound that had cut deep and left an indelible mark on his soul. He could still remember the day vividly—the way the sun had shone through the window, casting long shadows across the floor, and how the air had felt heavy with unspoken words and unexpressed grief. That loss had been a turning point, a moment that had altered the course of his life, leaving him with a gaping hole that he had tried to fill with various distractions and pursuits, but nothing had ever truly sufficed.

As he sat there, the weight of his past began to feel less like a burden and more like a tapestry of experiences that had colored his life. Penelope's words echoed in his mind, urging him to embrace his scars, to acknowledge them as part of his journey rather than as blemishes to be hidden away.

Anthony settled into the chair and glanced back at Penelope. "The tea was delicious," he said as she watched him curiously. "Thank you," he spoke softly.

“You're welcome,” Penelope said with a gentle smile, gracefully responding to the conversation. After delicately placing her intricately designed teacup on the satin tablecloth, she reaches for a small, ornate golden bell, its intricate engravings catching the light. With a soft, melodious chime, she elegantly signals for her maid.

“Have a good afternoon, Lord Bridgerton.” Penelope states.

Amelia, her maid, walks through the doorway with stacks of paper and ledger books in her hands. She sets the books on the writing desk and turns towards Penelope.

“Miss?” Amelia asks with a smile.

“Please escort Lord Bridgerton off the property through the gardens, please,” Penelope's statement resounded in the room, prompting Amelia to respond with a graceful smile and a courteous bow.

She proceeded to make her way to the opposite side of the room, her gaze fixed upon the door leading to the enchanting garden beyond. As she approached, she couldn't help but notice how the door seamlessly blended with the surrounding walls, its design rendering it nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the chamber's architecture. It was as if the door itself had been meticulously crafted to resemble an integral part of the wall, a cunning feat of construction that could easily deceive the unsuspecting eye.

As the maid leads him towards the door, he steals a lingering glance at the pile of account books resting on her desk, each one proudly displaying the Featherington family crest on its cover. Strangely, they bear a striking resemblance to the very same books he once used when overseeing the Bridgerton estate for the first time before he commissioned simpler ones that cost less.

“This is estate paperwork.” Anthony points out, ignoring the looks of the maid as he looks over Penelope’s writing desk again, “Why are you…?” he questions.

She stands from the sitting table, looks over to her maid, and then back to Anthony.

Penelope seems to be on the hunt for a plausible reason as to why the late Lord Featherington's account books are in her possession. The light of the room casts shadows across her face, highlighting the furrow of concentration on her brow. She fidgets slightly, her eyes tracing the edges of the leather-bound volumes as if they hold the key to her salvation.

He watches her intently, his gaze unwavering, as she puts the finishing touches on her explanation. The air is thick with tension, and Penelope can feel the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on her.

“I took over the estate when my cousin left,” Penelope admits, exhaling.

“I have been taking care of the family finances for quite some time under the disguise of ‘Aunt Petunia,” Penelope says.

“But… this should not be your concern.” Anthony thinks back to when his father first died and when he took over the estate.

“Unfortunately, I must do what my cousin failed to do,” She replies.

“But… it was his duty to take care of you, your mother, and your sisters,” he states. He remembers the feeling of duty, of honor, and the protectiveness of his family when his father was buried.

“That may be so, but he left as a coward, and now the estate is in such disarray that if somebody doesn’t take care of it, then it will never get done, and we may end up in a boarding house,” Penelope said, looking slightly angry.

Anthony looks at the books again and remembers what she has done for him.

“Let me repay your kindness.” Anthony pleads, “Let me help you with your finances.”

He is acutely aware that he should remove himself from the situation, understanding that her family's financial matters should not be his concern. However, an overwhelming sense of gratitude and debt drives him to desire to offer help. After all, she did extend her assistance when she discovered him within the confines of her gardens. If anything, she would have been within her rights to expel him from the premises at that moment.

“Anthony,” Penelope sighs, “You don’t have t—”

He cuts her off, “Let me help you.”

He clenches the brim of the hat with his fingers, feeling the fabric bunch up under his grip. His knuckles whiten as he tightens his hold, and he swears under his breath, knowing that if he doesn't stop soon, he'll leave a permanent mark on the once pristine hat.

“Ok,” Penelope accepts after a few tense moments of silence.

Anthony's face broke into a wide smile as he witnessed the acceptance he had been hoping for. With a sense of relief, he loosened his tight grip on the hat he had been anxiously clutching. His eyes then turned to the maid, who had revealed the existence of a secret door, and then back to Penelope. A gentle breeze from the garden brushed against his skin as he stood there, offering a moment of respite. Penelope acknowledged the maid with a nod and observed as she skillfully closed the secret door once again.

“Amelia,” Penelope said.

“Yes?” the maid replies.

“Can you get me the current ledger from the study and inform my mother I am not feeling well?” Penelope says.

“Of course,” Amelia nods, walking across the room towards the entrance of the room.

With a graceful nod, Amelia made her way across the room, her steps echoing softly on the polished floor. Meanwhile, Anthony retraced his steps back to the sitting table, perhaps with a thoughtful expression on his face. With purposeful strides, Penelope moved to her writing desk, where she carefully selected two books and a stack of papers before making her way back to the sitting table, her mind clearly focused on the task at hand.

“Let's get started, shall we?” Penelope states.

“Let’s.” Anthony agrees.

Chapter 4: An Afternoon Snack

Summary:

As Anthony tries to escape his mother’s watchful eye, he unexpectedly meets someone.

Notes:

Happy holidays to everyone! I’m currently working hard on the next installment of the series. However, with the holiday season, my mind has been a bit overwhelmed. I appreciate your patience, and I hope to post a new piece by the end of this week.

Early – Mid-April 1815

His eyes find her across the room. She is dressed in one of her most blinding yellow dresses, and yet she seems to be no more than decoration as he watches another patron almost sit on her. The patron in question apologizes profusely to the girl.

He was seated comfortably by the large window, with a newspaper spread out in front of him, enjoying the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Having just savored the last bite of his pastry. He was now savoring the final sips of his coffee while immersing himself in the words on the page. Soon, he planned to go to the market before heading to one of the tenant housing that he owned to meet with his manager at the tenant complex.

The Abbey Deli has been bustling with activity. Anthony carefully observed a constant stream of customers flowing in and out of the establishment, eagerly grabbing their freshly brewed hot drinks and delicious picnic lunches. The enticing aroma of toasted bread, fragrant tea, and rich coffee permeated the air. Amidst the hustle and bustle, the deli provided a welcoming and comforting retreat, particularly after the intense process of interviewing debutantes of last season. It was one of the last places his family would find him. He had never mentioned how much he liked this place or its patrons.

Anthony couldn't help but ponder if he should intervene. For the past half hour, he had been discreetly observing her from the moment he arrived. She sat alone, her demeanor evoking a sense of unease in him. Upon her arrival, she was accompanied by her maid, who stayed with her for a while before departing with some documents in hand. Anthony contemplated approaching her to offer an escort home, but before he could act on his impulse, a sudden flash of red and yellow caught his eye as it swiftly darted out of the café.

He rapidly folded his newspaper, tucking it under his arm before placing a couple of shillings on the tabletop. With a determined stride, he followed her out of the café. Stepping into the street, Anthony was met by a gentle gust of cool April air. Despite the approaching mid-day, the days retained a lingering coolness as early spring slowly gave way to warmer temperatures.

The wind whispered through the surroundings, causing Anthony to pull his dark brown coat tighter around himself. The rich, velvety fabric provided a comforting barrier against the cool breeze. His choice of attire was carefully coordinated to fend off the cold, with a dark brown coat complementing his light brown trousers. The sturdy, dark shoes supported him as he navigated the day, and his dark top hat, adorned with a matching cravat, completed the stylish and practical ensemble.

As he walks along, he notices her a few paces ahead. She is elegantly dressed in a cream-colored bonnet and matching silk gloves, gracefully making her way through the muddy streets. Her purpose becomes clear as she stops to purchase what appears to be a set of new quills before continuing on her way.

He manages to catch up with her at the next stall she stops at as she looks over a variation of hairpins. Penelope doesn’t linger too long, and on any particular hair pen before stepping away from the stall and moving forward again.

“Shouldn’t you be with your maid?” Anthony whispers into her ear.

He anticipated that she would spin around, caught off guard by his proximity, maybe even shove him away for invading her space. What he didn’t foresee, however, was her turning to him with a playful smirk and quipping, “Aren’t you supposed to be with yours?”

“How did...?” Anthony stammers.

"Observing people has become a hobby of mine," Penelope remarked with a hint of amusement. "However, it can be quite bothersome when I notice someone like a brooding Bridgeton repeatedly glancing over at my table while trying to savor my hot sandwich and tea."

Anthony returns her smirk with a smile of his own, “I apologize,” he starts, “I only meant to ensure your safety. When I saw you walk out of the establishment without a chaperone, I was concerned.”

They meandered through the bustling crowd, walking shoulder to shoulder. The multitude of shoppers and merchants swarmed the streets, each peddling their wares. The air was filled with a heady mix of scents—aged paper, ink, quills, savory food, and an underlying hint of dirt. The air exhibited a significantly fresher aroma following the rainfall that occurred the day before.

Penelope looked at Anthony with suspicion. “My safety?” she asked, tucking her newly purchased quills into her reticule. “More like your pride.”  

Penelope scoffed and continued, “If you must know,” she took a breath, “I am going shopping at the market. Then I am set to meet my family and my maid at the Modiste as planned.”

The proposal seemed sensible, yet he needed to clarify why she was without a chaperone. In a society that placed great importance on propriety and decorum, the absence of a companion raised eyebrows and invited speculation. A refined woman of stature, like Penelope, should always have a companion by her side when away from her family, as it was not only a matter of social expectation but also a safeguard against the potential dangers and improprieties that could arise in public settings.

Penelope, known for her grace and poise, was accustomed to the company of trusted friends or relatives who would accompany her on outings, ensuring that her reputation remained untarnished. The lack of a chaperone in this instance suggested a departure from the norms that governed their world, leaving her vulnerable to gossip and judgment.

Moreover, the absence of a chaperone could imply a level of independence that was both admirable and alarming. While some might view it as a sign of modernity and self-assurance, others would see it as reckless and unbecoming for a woman of her standing. The proposal, while well-intentioned, overlooked the complexities of social expectations and the delicate balance that women like Penelope had to maintain to navigate their societal roles.

“What about you?” Penelope asked pointedly.

“What about me?” Anthony bristled at the question.

He watched as Penelope rolled her eyes at his response. “I reiterate, where is your maid to chaperone you?” She asked again, making a show, looking around him to identify this invisible chaperone.

“I’m a man,” Anthony answered proudly.

“And?” Penelope raised an eyebrow, waiting a moment to see if Anthony would give her a better explanation as to why he shouldn’t be escorted.

“A Lady of High Society should not be unchaperoned alone, even if they are just attending the market,” Anthony replied.

Penelope shook her head disapprovingly, scoffing, and came to a halt at another stall. She meticulously examined the array of small glass and metal trinkets on display. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she marveled at the intricate metal and crystal animals nestled among the other items. After a moment, she turned her attention back to Anthony.

“What is so funny?” Anthony asked.

“Your protectiveness.” Penelope replies, “My Lord, you know I’m not one of your sisters, correct?”

Anthony noticed a twinkle in her eyes, a radiant blush in her cheeks, and a captivating warmth in the tone of her voice. It dawned on him that she was playfully teasing him, a departure from their typically mundane interactions. During their recent exchange, they had only exchanged polite pleasantries, but now, there was an unmistakable shift in their dynamic.

With a playful tone, Anthony responds, "Yes, I am fully aware." He laughs slightly to himself.

He had no clear idea of his intentions when he began trailing her, but now his priority was to ensure she reached the Modiste safely before he returned home. The streets of London bustled with life, the distant sound of horse-drawn carriages clattering over cobblestones. He felt a strange mix of anxiety and determination as he followed her, his heart racing with each step.

After a heated argument with his mother about Kate a few weeks back, he had been steering clear of her like the plague, making it a point to either be out of the house or holed up in his study for most of the day whenever she was around. The memory of that confrontation still stung; his mother’s sharp words had cut deep, leaving him trapped between familial duty and his burgeoning feelings for Kate.

Today, however, was a rare occasion where he had wrapped up most of his work earlier in the week, granting him the luxury of time. He had taken advantage of this unexpected freedom, deciding to spend the day wandering about the city. He planned to spend the day ensuring that the coffers at the various shops frequented by the Bridgerton siblings were well looked after.

“And what happened to you calling me Anthony.” He spoke.

As he walked by side Penelope, he couldn’t help but steal glances at her, admiring the way her hair caught the sunlight and how her laughter seemed to light up the dreary streets. She was a force of nature, vibrant and full of life, and he found himself captivated by her spirit. The thought of her being in the company of others, perhaps even flirting with some dashing suitor, sent a pang of jealousy through him. He shook his head, trying to dispel the unwelcome feeling. He had no right to feel possessive. After all, she was Eloise’s friend first.

Anthony noticed a shift in Penelope when she turned to him and said, “Fine, Anthony.” She sighed, “I wish you a good day.” She began to walk in front of him, speeding away from him.

“Penelope,” Anthony called out as he caught up to her, “I least let me walk with you through the market, for my sake,” He pleaded.

She stopped, and he stood in front of her. She looked up at him and then over the street filled with shoppers.

“Fine,” Penelope decided, “Please refrain from interfering with my purchases. I have worked diligently to build strong relationships with several vendors, and having you undercut me would reflect poorly on our business interactions.”

“Fine,” Anthony agreed.

They strolled down the energetic street, the air filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, the enticing aromas of street food wafting around them. The sun cast a warm glow over the scene, illuminating the vibrant stalls that lined their path, each one bursting with an array of colors and textures. Brightly colored fabrics fluttered in the gentle breeze while handcrafted trinkets sparkled under the sunlight, beckoning passersby to come closer.

As they walked, Penelope and her companion paused frequently, drawn in by the lively displays that seemed to tell their own stories. With their friendly smiles and animated gestures, the stall owners invited them to explore the treasures they had to offer. Occasionally, they would meander through the colorful displays, their fingers brushing against the intricate patterns of woven baskets or the smooth surfaces of handmade pottery. Each stall was a little world unto itself, filled with unique items that reflected the culture and creativity of the artisans.

“No,” Penelope would say at one stall, when he was hovering too close over one of her shoulders when she was looking at different journals to purchase.

But more often than not, Penelope took her time to choose a special item, her eyes sparkling with delight as she examined each piece. She would hold up delicate jewelry, admiring how the light danced off the gemstones, or run her fingers over the soft fabrics of scarves, contemplating which one would best suit her style. With each decision, she felt a sense of connection to the item, as if it held a piece of the vibrant atmosphere around her.

“Shhh,” Penelope said she would mutter to Anthony when she saw he was about to speak at another stall showcasing their many feathers.

Anthony shot her a puzzled glance, his brow furrowing as he tried to decipher the emotions flickering across her face. There was a tension in the air, thick and palpable, and he could sense that this was not the time to press for answers. He felt a familiar tug of concern, the instinct to reach out and offer support, but something shifted within him as he studied her expression.

It dawned on him, slowly but surely, that perhaps the wisest course of action was to keep quiet and back off. He recalled the countless times she had made it abundantly clear that she preferred to handle her own affairs, to navigate her challenges without his interference. Her words echoed in his mind, a gentle but firm reminder of her independence.

When she finally made a purchase, it was always accompanied by a sense of satisfaction that radiated from her. The exchange was more than just a transaction. It was a moment of joy, a small victory in her quest for something meaningful. As she walked away, her new treasure carefully wrapped in her arms, she couldn’t help but smile, knowing that she had acquired a beautiful item and a memory of this lively street and the stories it held. The day felt rich with possibility, and with each step, Penelope felt more alive, more connected to the world around her.

Anthony realized after a while that he enjoyed watching her. He watched her talk with vendors, bargaining prices, eventually walking away with something that she enjoyed having or stepping away from a poorly priced item.

When Penelope was distracted by one of the other vendors showcasing another set of hairpins, he walked over to the florist on the other side of the street. With a soft smile and winking eye, he purchased a yellow carnation. When he went to pay, the girl at the stall dismissed his payment and allowed him to keep the single yellow carnation.

He heard Penelope scoff behind him. Anthony turned around to look at Penelope, who was placing another purchase into her reticule. He felt a bit dumbfounded by her reaction.

“Does that come naturally?” Penelope asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Anthony questioned.

“That?” Penelope points to the yellow carnation in his hand.

“The flower?” Anthony responded playfully as they began to walk side by side down the street again. He could tell that they were close to the dressmaker's shop, but he didn't want this moment to end, so he slowed down his pace. Whether or not Penelope noticed, she didn't comment.

“The free flower,” she answers, emphasizing the word free, almost implying that he excahnged something else to get the flower.

Anthony smiled as he looked down at the flower, then met Penelope's gaze. A particular phrase, "a Capital RAKE," came to mind. This was how Lady Whistledown had referred to him not long ago. While he wasn't surprised that she engaged in the gossip, he was astonished that she still remembered. Interestingly, most debutantes with whom he had conversed towards the end of the last season and the beginning of the current one seemed to have overlooked that particular phrase from Lady Whistledown's early season papers.

He handed the flower to Penelope and confidently stated, "I want to assure you that I dedicated countless hours over several years to meticulously refine and master my craft, ultimately attaining this level of notoriety."

“Your craft? Or do you mean your rakish behavior?” Penelope questioned. “Is this how one accumulates as many dance partners as you to achieve the rank of rake?”

“What,” Anthony nervously laughs. “Penelope, that is not for a Lady to hear.”

Anthony is keen to underscore his identity as a gentleman above all else. Yet, there are instances where he feels inclined to deviate from this persona and engage in playful banter laced with suggestive remarks or risqué jokes. He believes that she not only comprehend such humor but also derive enjoyment from it.

She laughs, high and light, “But why?” Penelope asks.

“It is not proper,” Anthony quickly remarks.

“Proper?” Penelope replies, “It is not proper for women to manage a household, and yet…” her voice trails off.

Anthony grasps the underlying message she conveys. A woman of her stature shouldn't be the one running a household, yet here she is, the anchor that keeps her family steady and united. Just as he took charge after his father's death, she has stepped into the role of the family's leader, navigating paperwork, overseeing finances, and making savvy investment choices to secure a stable future for herself, her sisters with their dowries, and her mother. She exudes a sense of entitlement, convinced that she is worthy of all the advantages that come with her position. This demeanor leaves him feeling uneasy about her implications and anxious about the repercussions if her actions were to come to light. To the world, she is known as Penelope, the third daughter of the late Baron, a man who squandered his estate, livelihood, and wealth on indulgences like gambling, women, and unpaid debts.

In the quiet moments when they share a space, Anthony can sense the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her, even as she maintains an air of confidence. Penelope's ability to navigate the complexities of their financial situation is impressive, yet it is tinged with an unsettling edge. She has become adept at masking the desperation that lies beneath her polished exterior, presenting herself as a capable leader in a world that often dismisses women in her position.

Her actions, while necessary, carry an undercurrent of rebellion against societal norms. Anthony admires her tenacity but is also wary of the lengths she might go to protect her family. The stakes are high, and he knows that any misstep could lead to scandal, not just for her but for both of them. The shadow of her father's legacy looms large, a constant reminder of the pitfalls that await those who dare to defy convention.

As he watches her maneuver through the intricacies of their lives, he can't help but feel a mix of admiration and concern. Penelope is a force to be reckoned with, yet her conviction that she deserves the privileges of her position makes him question the morality of her choices. He wonders if her sense of entitlement will ultimately lead to her downfall or if she will emerge victorious, having rewritten the narrative of her family's legacy.

Anthony and Penelope stroll slowly down the street, no longer stopping at stalls or vendors, simply enjoying each other's company. Only when Penelope finishes putting her last purchase into her reticule does she notice a familiar set of lime green servants' clothes in the distance.

She came to an abrupt stop, causing the people behind her to collide with each other. "Oh no," Penelope exclaimed, her eyes darting through the crowd in search of her mother, other family members, or the familiar faces of the servants up ahead.

"What's wrong?" Anthony inquired, coming to a halt next to her and following her gaze. He observed several servants bustling up and down the street, engaged in their daily tasks and mingling with one another.

“My mother,” Penelope stated, who stood only about fifteen to ten meters from where they stood. Penelope looked around quickly before returning her gaze to the crowd ahead.

“Your mother?” Anthony questioned. He was genuinely perplexed by her response. He was under the impression that she was meeting up with her family at the dress shop. Maybe she was worried about being seen unchaperoned with a gentleman like him.

“Yes, my mother,” Penelope replied, looking back at her surroundings before settling on something over his shoulder. She made her way past him, walking quickly and swiftly weaving between the many shoppers and vendors of the market.

“I don’t understand,” Anthony said, pivoting to keep pace with her as they navigated through the throngs of people bustling along the market street. The vibrant colors of the stalls and the enticing aromas of street food filled the air, but his mind was elsewhere, tangled in the web of uncertainty that surrounded her. “I was under the impression you would meet up with your mother,” he added, frustration creeping into his voice, the words tumbling out before he could catch them.

As they moved deeper into the narrow alley, the noise of the market faded, replaced by the echo of their footsteps against the cobblestones. The alley was dimly lit by obstructed sunlight, with shadows dancing along the walls, and the air felt thick with unspoken tension. Anthony's heart raced as he trailed her, his thoughts racing even faster. He couldn't understand why she was avoiding her family or what she seemed so intent on.

Suddenly, he reached out and grasped her arm gently, spinning her to face him. The suddenness of the motion caught her off guard, and for a moment, surprise flickered in her eyes. Anthony's expression was a mix of curiosity and concern, and his brow furrowed as he searched her face for answers.

“I might have exaggerated the truth,” she answered, “A bit.” Penelope shrugged.

“Penelope,” Anthony voiced, his grip tightening slightly on her arm. He moved slightly closer away from the bustling street.

"Anthony," Penelope replied in a sing-song voice.

"Penelope," Anthony repeated in frustration. He wanted to know why she was running from her family when he had been told not long ago that she would meet them. It didn’t make much sense.

Penelope's voice, barely above a whisper, cut through the noise of the busy street. "Just... come here," she said, her tone urgent. With a swift movement, she shrugged off his hand on her arm and reached for the lapels of his jacket, deftly maneuvering him in front of her. As she did, the fabric of his jacket rustled, effectively blocking her from the chaotic activity on the street, creating a moment of privacy amid the bustling surroundings.

“Penelope,” Anthony said in a warning tone, “Explain.” He demanded.

“My mother thinks I’m at home,” Penelope explained in a rush.

His senses were overwhelmed by a powerful mixture of disbelief, horror, and anger. He couldn't dismiss the possibility that his own brothers were capable of similar actions, but the subject of his concern was no ordinary woman. She was a lady of gentle breeding, a figure deserving of protection and care. It was inconceivable that she would find herself amidst the bustling activity of the market street, negotiating with vendors and using her own funds to make purchases without the explicit approval or oversight of a trusted chaperone.

“You put yourself at too much risk,” Anthony states, “You are alone, without a chaperone. And…”

He was eager to bring attention to the multitude of flaws in her logic and to articulate the reasons why she should not be wandering the streets. However, the very same rules that governed their society also aimed to preserve purity of heart and mind of a gentle lady for as long as possible. He yearned to both unveil the horrors of the world and shield them, not just from Penelope, but also from his sisters. This was a world dominated by men, not suitable for ladies.

“And?” Penelope questioned, “Anthony, sometimes you must do things that society looks down upon to survive.”

It was an insufficient response. He knew he would eventually extract the information he sought from her. He pondered the reasons behind her secretive nature and her decision to wander alone, unchaperoned in the energetic streets of London. These were the same streets where he had adamantly forbidden his sisters to venture without the accompaniment of servants or other family members. His actions were fueled by the deep-seated fear of the lurking dangers that concealed themselves beyond the corners of the alleyways and byways of the city itself.

“You risk yourself and your reputation,” Anthony replied, “I do not want to see you hurt.” Then the errant piece of hair seemed to be caught in front of her face, obscuring her eyes from him, her deep blue sapphire-like eyes. He grew annoyed. Softly and swiftly, he brushed the tips of his fingers against her forehead to push the errant piece of hair from her eyes.

“Anthony,” Penelope whispered as she looked at him and back over his shoulder.

Anthony leaned in, his voice low as he said, “Penelope.” Their faces hovered just inches apart, and he could catch the delicate scent of lilac and lavender oils that the maid had assisted her in applying that morning. The fragrance enveloped him, a soothing blend that seemed to wrap around them like a soft, warm blanket, momentarily drowning out the sounds of the bustling world around them.

Penelope's eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, the golden flecks in her irises catching the dim light of the room. He could see the way her breath hitched slightly as if the very air between them had thickened. The tension was palpable and breathtaking.

“Anthony,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it resonated with a strength that surprised him. There was a hint of challenge in her tone, a spark that ignited something deep within him. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, the way her presence seemed to draw him in, urging him to close the distance that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Anthony, cover me,” Penelope said.

Anthony watched something flicker behind her eyes as she watched whoever was walking behind him. His gaze dropped, captivated by the way Penelope moistened her lips, making them shine like freshly polished petals under the soft glow of the evening light. Each deliberate movement seemed to draw him in deeper, igniting a spark of longing within him. Anthony sensed her uncertainty, a subtle tension in the air that crackled like static before a storm. It was as if the world around them had faded into a blur, leaving only the two of them suspended in this moment, teetering on the edge of something profound.

The warmth of her skin against his felt electric yet hesitant, a delicate balance of desire and trepidation. He could feel the rapid beat of his heart echoing in his ears, drowning out the distant sounds of laughter and conversation from the street behind them. She drew him closer with a gentle pull at his lapels, her breath mingling with his, creating a heady mix of anticipation and vulnerability.

In a bold, fluid movement, she pressed her lips against his, and time seemed to stand still. The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer still as if she were afraid to let go.

Anthony responded instinctively, his hands finding their way to her waist, drawing her into him. The world around them faded completely, leaving only the warmth of their bodies and the intoxicating taste of her lips. In that instant, all doubts and fears melted away, replaced by a fierce, undeniable connection that left them both breathless.

As the kiss came to an end, Penelope gently pushed him back, creating a bit of distance between them. Her eyes quickly flickered behind him, revealing a mix of emotions. He observed a sense of relief washing over her, evident in her eyes and in the way her body visibly relaxed, releasing the tension that had gripped her moments before.

“Penelope,” Anthony whispered, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Yes?” Penelope asked, looking up at him.  

“Shut up,” Anthony stated, pressing his lips against hers.

His lips collided with hers, a fierce clash that sent sparks flying, igniting a fire that had been simmering just beneath the surface. He felt her sharp intake of breath, a sweet sound that sent a thrill coursing through him, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer to the cool, rough wall of the alley. The gritty texture of the bricks pressed against her back, grounding her in the heat of their connection.

She responded with fervor, her mouth parting eagerly, inviting him in, her tongue daringly slipping past his tightly shut teeth into the warm, inviting depths of his mouth. The stubble of his late afternoon shadow grazed her delicate cheeks, a tantalizing reminder of his presence, and she held his head tightly, fingers tangling in his hair.

He deepened the kiss and placed one of his legs between hers. He felt her sit against his knee, and his pants tightened. The cool air contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from their bodies, creating a delicious tension that heightened every sensation. She pressed herself against him, her body molding to his, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart matching his own, a shared rhythm that pulsed with life and desire.

As they pulled away for a brief moment, their foreheads resting against each other, breathless and wide-eyed, the world outside the alley came rushing back. But in that fleeting pause, they exchanged a look that spoke volumes—a promise, a question, a spark of something that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Anthony,” she breathes.

Their foreheads connect, and she can see and hear the hustling street just a few meters away. The sounds of laughter, the honking of cars, and the distant music from a nearby café create a vibrant backdrop to their intimate moment. He shifts his knee from between her legs, and a soft whimper escapes her lips. Penelope gasps against him, her breath warm and quick, her fingers clutching his forearms with urgency.

He can almost sense the sharpness of her nails pressing into his skin. The heat radiating from her body mingles with the cool air, creating a crackling tension between them. Her eyes, vast and shimmering with unspoken desire, search his face for reassurance, for a sign that he feels the same pull, the same magnetic force that seems to draw them together against the backdrop of the lively city.

As the world around them continues to swirl with life, they exist in a bubble of their own making, where time slows, and every heartbeat echoes like a drum. He leans in closer, their breaths mingling, and he can feel the warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair brushing against his cheek. The moment stretches, filled with unvoiced promises and the thrill of possibility.

“Go,” Anthony said after a few moments. She was still tucked underneath him, obstructed by anyone who would come across them from the street near them.

“What?” Penelope looks up at him in wonder and surprise. He watches as she takes a few deep breaths before releasing her hold on his arms.

“Go. I will make sure your mother is delayed,” Anthony repeats, stepping away from her, allowing her to back away from the alley wall and stand up on her own two feet again.

“Delayed?” Penelope questioned, seeming to return to herself, righting her hair that had been shifted out of place by his hands.

“Yes, delayed,” Anthony replied.

“O yes, thank you,” she breathed, “Lord Bridgerton,” she stated with a slight bow before looking back up at him.

Anthony raised one eyebrow in bemusement, his confusion evident as he tried to comprehend why she continued to address him by his title despite the intimacy of the last few minutes. "I mean, Anthony, thank you, Anthony," she reiterated. The repetition only served to heighten his bewilderment.

He stands in the alleyway, a mix of confusion, desire, and admiration swirling within him as she walks away. Anthony's gaze follows a girl with fiery red hair, her yellow dress a bright splash of color among the market's bustling crowd. The sun catches the strands of her hair, igniting them into a vibrant halo that seems to dance with every step she takes. He had been searching for her, yet she slips away, vanishing into the throng of patrons, each one a faceless blur in his mind as he fixates on her retreating figure.

His heart races, a mix of exhilaration and frustration coursing through him. He had vowed to uncover the reason behind her secretive behavior with her mother, the hushed conversations and furtive glances that had piqued his curiosity. What was it that she were hiding?

They have now shared a handful of kisses, all exhilarating. Was he attracted to her? Was he attracted to Penelope Featherington? Regardless, the youngest Featherington girl was now a mystery he wanted to solve.

But more pressing than the mystery of her relationship with her mother was the enigma of what she was concealing from him. He had sensed it in the way she avoided his questions, the way her laughter sometimes seemed forced as if she were wearing a mask that didn’t quite fit. There was a depth to her that he longed to explore, a hidden world that beckoned him closer yet remained tantalizingly out of reach.

As he steps out of the shadows of the alleyway, the vibrant chaos of the market envelops him. He pushes through the crowd, his heart pounding with determination.

“God, what did I get into?” Anthony whispered to himself.

He scrubs at his face and sighs into the sky before returning to the street and dreading what will come.

Notes:

Also, kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thank you.

Chapter 5: A Whistle's Secret

Late March 1815

A glimmer of red hair flickers in his peripheral vision. He’s tipsy, stumbling out of White’s and heading toward his bachelor apartments for some much-needed rest. The night is brisk but not biting, and the air is infused with the scent of recent rain, leaving the streets glistening. The cobblestones shimmer under the soft glow of the streetlamps, each puddle reflecting the muted colors of the city, creating a dreamlike quality that blurs the line between reality and reverie. The world in front of him trembles as he walks down the street.

And then, suddenly, a distinctive shade of vibrant red catches his attention. It’s an unusual hue to spot in the dimly lit streets of London, particularly after dark. He squints, trying to focus on the figure that seems to dance just beyond the reach of the lamplight. The hair, a fiery cascade, stands out like a beacon against the muted backdrop of the night. It’s not just the color that draws him in. It’s how it moves, almost as if it has a life of its own, swaying gently with the rhythm of the night as it peaks out of a dark hood in ringlets.

Curiosity piqued, he slows his pace, his mind momentarily distracted from the comforting thought of the embrace of his warm bed. The figure turns slightly, and he catches a glimpse of a face framed by that striking hair—delicate features illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. There’s a spark of mischief in her eyes, a hint of adventure that seems to beckon him closer.

He takes a step forward, his heart racing with a mix of intrigue and the remnants of alcohol coursing through his veins. The world around him fades into a blur, the sounds of the city dimming as he becomes fixated on this unexpected encounter.

“Penelope?” he questioned to himself, trying and failing to imagine the girl he knew from their brief time together.

A girl clad in a dark gray maid outfit, ideally suited for the streets of downtown London, catches his eye. The fabric of her dress, a blend of elegance and practicality, sways gently with each step she takes. With a hood obscuring her face, she glances at him before swiftly turning away, her movements fluid yet deliberate. There’s an air of mystery about her, a sense that she is not just another passerby in the city.

In a surprising burst of speed, she hurries off, her pace quicker than he anticipated. The sound of her shoes tapping against the cobblestones echoes in the air, a rhythmic beat that draws him in. He stands there, momentarily frozen, observing her as she strides away with urgency, her silhouette becoming more distant with each passing second. The way she moves suggests purpose, as if she is on a mission that cannot be delayed.

Determined, Anthony steps forward, making his way toward her vanishing silhouette. As he navigates the narrow streets, he catches glimpses of her dark gray outfit flitting between pedestrians, her hooded figure almost ethereal against the backdrop of the city’s vibrant life.

He quickens his pace, adrenaline surging through him. The thrill of the chase ignites a spark within him, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in years. He wonders if she even knows he’s following her or if she’s lost in her world, unaware of the impact she’s having on his.

As he turns a corner, he spots her again, just ahead, her form illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. The light catches the edges of her outfit, highlighting the delicate lace trim and the way it clings to her figure. She pauses briefly, glancing over her shoulder, and their eyes meet. There’s a flicker of recognition, a spark of something unspoken that passes between them before she darts away again.

“Penelope,” he calls, chasing after her, his feet hitting the cobblestone street.

Anthony takes a step forward, his eyes filled with determination. As he reaches out to her, his hand gently grips the girl's arm, turning her to face him. The hooded girl looks down, her features obscured by the shadows of her hood, making it even more difficult to discern her true identity.

“Sir, I think you have me confused with someone else,” the girl states while pulling away from him. His grip on her arm does not waver. He tries to pull her in closer, but she pulls away again. 

“No, I know you,” Anthony replies. He pulls on the girl’s hood to reveal her face to find someone familiar.

Penelope Featherington

Penelope Featherington stood out in her maid outfit, her vibrant red hair catching the dim glow of the streetlights. The fabric of her uniform, crisp and neatly pressed, contrasted sharply with the shadows that danced around her as she navigated the cobblestone streets. The bustling sounds of downtown London echoed in the night—carriages clattering by, the distant laughter of revelers spilling from nearby taverns, and the occasional shout of a street vendor closing up for the evening.

What could possibly bring her to the bustling streets of downtown London at such a late hour? It was a question that lingered in the air, heavy with intrigue. Penelope had always been the dutiful daughter, the one who adhered to her family's expectations, but tonight felt different. He could imagine the thrill of the unknown that would course through her veins, urging her to step beyond the confines of her usual life.

Anthony brought her in closer, looking around to see if he could pull her off the street before another Lord of the Ton spotted them. He spotted an alleyway a few feet away. Anthony pulled Penelope with him, weaving between people, making their way to the alley, and stepping off the street.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered close to her ear.

Penelope gazed up at him with a quizzical expression, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she tried to make sense of his words. She took a step back and leaned her weight against the rough, cool surface of the brick wall, her fingers curling around the edges of her coat as she processed the unexpected encounter. In her hand, he noticed a collection of loose-leaf papers that appeared to be bent and crumpled.

“It is none of your business, Mi Lord,” she said irritably in a thick Irish accent as she pulled away. “Sir, let me go. I must be on my way.” She turns towards the street but is pulled back by Anthony.

Anthony can admit that she is stubborn when she wants to be. Holding her against this brick wall, as drunk as he is, he knows that she should be at home, safe and warm. Anthony worries about her safety. A gentle-bred lady should not be out alone at night in London.

He watched as she rolled her eyes at him. “No,” he replied, “Where is your maid, Penelope? You shouldn’t be here alone.”

“Sir, I’m not this Penelope you speak of,” she asserts in a thick Irish accent with unwavering confidence, lifting her chin. For a fleeting moment, he senses a prying gaze or an eavesdropping ear. As he scans the bustling London Street, he observes the indifferent passersby, oblivious to their exchange.

"Do not push me, Penelope," Anthony says, his voice low and intense as he leans closer to her. At that moment, a flicker of fear passes through her eyes, but it quickly gives way to a mask of indifference.

“Let me go,” she persists, changing back to her normal voice and continuing to pull away from him.

“No, where is your chaperone?” Anthony questions and pushes her once again into the wall.

“If you let me go, I will be able to go home,” she replies quickly, “And I will have no need for a chaperone.”

“Let go,” she states again before twitching out of his grip.

She spins away from him, stepping into the lively street, her hand elegantly waving at the hacks stationed across the street in a row. The vibrant energy of the night pulses through the air, filled with laughter and the distant sound of music spilling from nearby taverns. As she moves, a few papers slip from her grasp, scattering like fallen leaves, fluttering to the pavement in a chaotic dance. He watches her dress billow in the gentle moonlight, the fabric catching the soft glow and creating a halo effect around her as she strides forward with effortless grace. With a delicate gesture, she hails the line of hacks parked nearby.

Anthony looks down at the fallen papers and catches them before he follows her. Anthony runs up behind her.

“What is this?” he asks as she waves to the hacks, finally catching one of their attention.  

Anthony starts to peruse the papers in his grasp and quickly discovers that he is holding a manuscript meant for a printing press. The pages are crisp, the ink still fresh, and the elegant script dances across the paper with a fluidity that captivates his attention. However, the true shock comes not from the manuscript's purpose but from the striking resemblance it bears to the writings of Lady Whistledown.

As he flips through the pages, a sense of familiarity washes over him. The sharp wit, the keen observations of society, and the playful yet incisive commentary on the lives of the ton are all present, echoing the very essence of Lady Whistledown's renowned style.

“Whistledown?” he asks as he grasps her arm again, spinning her towards him, “Why do you have Whistledown manuscripts?” He spins her to him, flashing the papers in front of her face.

Penelope's expression briefly ignites with indignation, only to quickly transform into a mask of indifference, her demeanor stiffening in response to his probing.

“It is none of your business,” she snaps at him, pulling her arm out of his grip once more.

Anthony leans forward and then sways back, and the world goes slightly blurry at the edges before it comes back into focus. “Are you working for Whistledown?” he pushes in closer to her.

“No, now, if you would be so kind as to return my things to me,” she states, jerking the papers out of his grasp.

Penelope seems so offended by the idea that he presented that something else struck him. Why was Penelope Featherington in downtown London? The part of downtown London that just happened to host many a print shop. The many print shops have the capacity and ability to print and distribute the Lady Whistledown pamphlets.

“Wait, are you Whistledown?” he asks as his mind races with possibilities and the conclusion that she must be Whistledown.

How long? When did it start? What in the world was she thinking? He thinks. Anthony cages her in, leaning in even closer. Someone passing by would mistake them for lovers.

“Anthony, let me go,” Penelope hisses at him, stepping back for Anthony. She turns back to the hacks that line the street to look at them again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the hacks move.

“Are you Whistledown?” he asked again, pointing a finger at her.

He feels a surge of anger as he reflects on the past, a tempest of emotions swirling within him. Memories of the Whistledown pamphlets flood his mind, each one a scandal that shattered lives with just a few carefully chosen words. The inked pages, once innocuous in their appearance, now loom large in his memory, each headline a dagger that pierced the hearts of those it targeted. He recalls the hushed conversations in drawing rooms, the gasps of disbelief, and the frantic whispers that followed the release of each new edition.

The realization that a single girl wielded such immense power, capable of turning the world upside down with a mere whisper, sends a chill down his spine. It is a power that should not rest in the hands of one so young, so seemingly innocent. How could she, with her quill and parchment, dictate the fates of the high and mighty, the noble and the proud? He remembers the faces of those who were brought low by her words—friends turned enemies, lovers torn apart, reputations ruined in an instant.

As he grapples with the weight of this knowledge, he feels a deep sense of injustice. The girl cloaked in anonymity, had become a puppet master, pulling the strings of society with a deftness that belied her age. He can almost hear the laughter that must have echoed in her mind as she penned each scandal, the thrill of knowing that her words could ignite fires of gossip that would consume the lives of others.

His anger is not just for those who suffered but also for himself, for the helplessness he felt in the face of such manipulation. He had watched as friends and acquaintances fell victim to the whims of a girl who seemed to revel in the chaos she created. The world had become a stage, and she, the playwright, crafting narratives that ensnared even the most cautious of souls.

He goes to grab her again, this time with both hands on either arm, hands, grasping forcefully. “No,” he starts, “Why would you…how could you…?” he asks in another surge of anger.

“A-Ant-” Penelope starts, startled by his reaction.

The hack pulls up behind her, looking towards him with a knowing glance. His mood darkens more as he imagines what chaos she weaves, how much power she has, and how she wheels it.

“NO,” he shouts and steps back without releasing his grip.

Anthony reflects on the countless hours she must have wandered through the shadowy alleys of London under the cloak of night, her footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones, swallowed by the thick fog that often enveloped the city. He imagines the fate that could have befallen her had she vanished from those streets, lost to the darkness that seemed to pulse with danger. His mind races with the chilling stories he’s heard of young women who have gone missing, exploited, or worse—each tale a haunting reminder of the fragility of safety in a city that thrived on secrets and shadows.

He envisions her, perhaps, caught in the grip of a sinister figure lurking in the recesses of a narrow passageway or stumbling upon a clandestine gathering where trust was a currency too precious to afford. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help but wonder if she had ever felt the weight of those dangers pressing down on her or if she had navigated the labyrinthine streets with a sense of invincibility, blissfully unaware of the lurking threats.

Anthony can’t think but to get her out of his slight, out of the streets of London and back home.

“Go. Get out of HERE.” Anthony says, looking back at the hack and motioning for the door. The hack jumps from his place and turns away from him to open the door to the carriage. “I mean it. GO.” He yells as he begins to push her to the carriage behind her.

“Ple-” she pleads, slightly pulling away from him.

He pushes her backward, gesturing toward the carriage, compelling her to enter. The ornate vehicle looms behind her, its dark wood gleaming ominously in the fading light. She offers little resistance as he settles her into the plush seat, the velvet fabric cool against her skin. A mix of fear and realization flickers across her face, revealing that she understands what he has uncovered. The weight of the moment hangs heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged truths.

Her heart races, each beat echoing the gravity of the situation. The paper clutched in her hands slips slightly but remains intact, refusing to drop as if it, too, understands the importance of its contents. She can feel the edges of the document pressing into her palms, a tangible reminder of the secrets she had hoped to keep hidden. The carriage door closes with a soft thud, sealing her inside, and she glances up at him, searching his expression for any hint of mercy or understanding.

But his gaze is unwavering, a storm of determination and resolve. He leans closer, his voice low and steady, cutting through the tension that envelops them. “Penelope,” Anthony hushes, “Go,” he commends.

“Now to Number 1 Royal Crescent, Governor Square,” he tells the hack as he throws him some money.

Anthony steps back onto the sidewalk and tries to breathe. He tries and fails to calm down and make his mind blank, but he can’t. He watches as the hack pulls away into the street, and the fear that flickered in her eyes now ignites into defiance.

Penelope Featherington is Lady Whistledown, rings in his mind.

Chapter 6: A Stormy Evening

Summary:

the aftermath

Notes:

I hope everyone enjoys the first month of the year. Enjoy!!

Early – Mid-April 1815

The rain hasn’t started to pour, but the air is thick with the promise of a downpour. Dark clouds loom overhead, heavy and swollen, casting a shadow over the landscape that seems to mirror the weight in her heart. A chill hangs in the atmosphere, making the April evening feel even more somber, as if the world itself is holding its breath in anticipation of the storm. The scent of damp earth and impending rain mingles in the air, a bittersweet reminder of the life that thrives in sorrow.

She arrives at the designated time, her footsteps soft against the cobblestones, wrapped in a gray cloak that seems to echo her sadness. The fabric clings to her like a second skin, its muted color blending seamlessly with the overcast sky. It billows slightly in the breeze, but it offers little warmth against the biting chill that seeps into her bones. Her heart races, each beat a reminder of the weight of the moment, the gravity of what she is about to face.

He sent a brief request through his footman to her personal maid, asking Penelope to come so that he could explain himself and possibly apologize for his behavior. He was shamed.

Anthony observes her as he steps out from the servant's quarters, his breath visible in the cool air. Penelope watches Anthony dressed in a dark colored pants and a simple white undershirt. He watches her with a mixture of concern and admiration, noting the way her shoulders hunch slightly as if she is trying to shield herself from more than just the cold. Beneath her cloak, her hands tremble, seeking refuge from the cold as she stands sheltered under the wooden awning of the house. The structure creaks softly, a reminder of the years it has weathered, much like the emotions swirling within her.

He takes a step closer, the gravel crunching softly beneath his feet, and for a moment, the world around them distorts and dwindles. The distant rumble of thunder echoes in the background, a low growl that seems to resonate with the turmoil in her heart. She glances up, her eyes meeting his, and in that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passes between them. They both know that the storm is not just in the sky but also within her, brewing and ready to unleash its fury.

“Lord Bridgerton,” she greets with a detached, cold familiarity, her head bowed.

“Penelope,” he replies and watches as she winced at the sound of her name.

Anthony clears his throat and starts, “I wanted to apologize for my behavior,” he states. “There is no excuse for my behavior. So, I have asked you to come here so that I may apologize.” His tongue feels heavy as it sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he carefully chooses his next words.

“I apologize for getting angry at you… when I found you, I wasn’t thinking,” he states, “I was drunk and couldn’t hold my tongue.” Anthony takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

He was enraged when he found her. At first, Anthony was worried that she was lost in downtown London and potentially in danger among the working lower classes. He was troubled by the idea of a lady of her stature being in such a situation. He was furious and unhinged when he came across her alone on a dark street, draped in a dark cloak and having just arrived from the printers to drop off her latest manuscript.

When he stumbled upon her, he was visibly inebriated, having just departed from White's after an exhausting day contending with the state's affairs and, most significantly, his domineering mother. She had persistently harangued him, insisting that he should seek out a different debutante if Kate were no longer the object of his affection. As the week drew to a close, she had incessantly prodded him at every opportunity to pursue another woman in the quest for a suitable wife.

As he stepped through the door that evening, a wave of deep regret washed over him for how he had treated her. The memory of their last encounter replayed in his mind like a haunting melody, each note a reminder of his harshness. He had raised his voice, unleashing a torrent of anger that had erupted from a place of frustration and insecurity. The way her eyes had widened in shock, the hurt that had flickered across her face, was etched into his memory.

He could still see her, standing there, her expression a mix of disbelief and sorrow as he had roughly shoved her into the carriage she had arranged. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed in his ears, a finality that felt like a door closing on their relationship. With a sharp command, he had instructed the driver to take her home at once, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. At that moment, he had denied her the chance to speak, defend herself, or even offer a single word of explanation.

The silence that had followed was deafening, filled only by the clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobblestones, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions raging within him. He had been so consumed by his own feelings, so blinded by his pride, that he had failed to see the hurt he was inflicting. Now, as he stood in the dim light of his home, the weight of his actions pressed heavily on his chest, suffocating him with guilt.

He had always prided himself on being a man of reason, someone who could keep his emotions in check. Yet, in that moment of fury, he had become a stranger to himself, a man who had chosen anger over understanding. The thought of her sitting alone in that carriage, perhaps crying or feeling utterly abandoned, twisted his insides. He had robbed her of her voice and her dignity, and the realization struck him like a physical blow.

What had he been thinking? The questions swirled in his mind, each one more painful than the last. He had let his temper dictate his actions, and now he was left with the bitter taste of regret. He longed to turn back time and take back those harsh words and how he had dismissed her. He wanted to reach out, apologize, and explain that his anger had not been directed at her but rather at the situation that had spiraled out of control.

“You are forgiven, Lord Bridgerton,” Penelope states flatly. “May I please leave?” She holds her hands in front of her.

Anthony gave her a slight nod and watched as she started to turn and walk away. In a moment of bravery or foolishness, he reached out and gripped her wrist. "Penelope," he pleads softly as he thinks about pulling her closer to him.

“What?” Penelope snaps back, turning her head to meet his eyes. He sees a tear slowly making its way down her face, and he wants to wipe it away. Wipe away the memories of his outburst of his ungentlemanly behavior towards her the other night.

“What do you want me to say,” Penelope says, “That I will stop.”

She pauses stepping closer to him, “You know I can’t. Until I have enough.”

The sky hung heavy overhead, rumbling with the promise of electricity in the air. A palpable spark of energy hinted not just at rain but at the imminent arrival of a fierce thunderstorm accompanied by lightning.

He knows what her plans are and has an idea of how much money she needs. He also knows that this could get her killed, along with her family. Looking back over the last few years, he realized that the Featherington family had resolved both the late Lord Featherington's debts and the last Lord Featherington's debts extraordinarily fast, especially considering that they did not have a male to take over the barony title.

Anthony moved in closer, wrapping her in his embrace. The instant his hands met her arms, she crumbled against him. All the strength and poise she had vanished as she wept uncontrollably, a tangled mess of emotions. They fell to their knees, just steps away from the cover of the house.

He first noticed the gentle tapping of raindrops on his back, a precursor to the deluge that followed as the sky opened up and unleashed a torrent of water. The icy chill of the downpour caught him off guard, nearly stealing his breath away.

“You can’t, please,” Penelope cried into his shoulder as the rain poured down, “Please, Anthony…please…please.”

Anthony lifted them from their kneeling position and guided her toward the house. He ushered her through the entrance of the servants' quarters to shield her from the pouring rain. They were both drenched from head to toe, feeling the coolness seeping in from the rain, which stuck their clothes to their bodies.

“You can’t, please,” Penelope cried.

Penelope continued to sob quietly. The dim light illuminated her tear-streaked face as they made their way to their quarters in the vast, empty kitchen. The late hour ensured that very few servants would be awake and vigilant. As they entered, he glanced over her shoulder and noticed his loyal footman gesturing for him to summon a maid for her. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that his carelessness could potentially lead to her developing a cold or even pneumonia.

“Ok,” Anthony whispered into her ear, “It’s ok.”

He watches as the footman leaves and follows his orders. They are alone now in the Bridgerton kitchen, and much of his family was sleeping or out in the city.

The ironic thing is that he truly meant what he said. The next day, after gaining some clarity, sobering up, and enduring the hangover and headaches, he realized that this was the source of her income. This was how she managed to pay off her father's debts and cover her sister's dowries. She had lost her father and had taken on the responsibility of being the head of her household. Like him, she made decisions based on what she believed was in the best interest of her family, regardless of their opinions. She had to make tough choices and cut back on certain expenses to maintain their lifestyle.

The tempest outside continues to rage relentlessly, with deafening claps of thunder reverberating through the air and rain relentlessly pelting against the windowpane. Brilliant flashes of lightning intermittently pierce through the pitch-black sky, casting an eerie glow on the surroundings. As he gazes outside, his breath forms visible puffs in the frigid, damp air, accentuating the coldness of the storm.

“I’m sorry,” Penelope whispers, as her cries quiet, her body shaking against his.

He can’t think of anything to say but to hold her close, and his arms tighten around her.

Notes:

Please leave kudos and comments. They help a lot. :)

Chapter 7: Moonlight Dances (Part 2)

Mid- April – Late April 1815

He arrives before his family does.

She watches him as he reaches his family’s box. The play is set to start over the next half-hour. She has it all planned out. Penelope has planned to sneak out of the theater about ten or twenty minutes after the start of the play. It should take her only about twenty minutes carriage ride to get to the printers and back. By the time she gets back, intermission should be in full swing, and she’ll be able to slip into the crowd and back into her seat before anyone notices she was even gone in the first place.

Penelope reclines comfortably in her seat, her posture relaxed yet poised, as she makes a conscious effort to display delight while watching "Romeo and Juliet" for the seventh time. The familiar lines and tragic love story unfold before her, and she can recite the dialogue in her sleep. While she appreciates the beauty of the play—the poetic language, the intense emotions, the star-crossed lovers—her heart truly belongs to "Hamlet." The complexity of the characters, the philosophical depth, and the haunting themes of madness and revenge resonate with her on a profound level.

As she watches Juliet's youthful passion and impulsive decisions, Penelope can't help but feel a twinge of discomfort. She adores romance novels, often losing herself in tales of love that transcend time and circumstance, yet the thought of a just-turned thirteen-year-old tying the knot with someone nearly eighteen leaves her feeling uneasy. The age difference, the naivety of youth, and the weight of such a commitment at such a tender age gnaw at her conscience.

In her mind, she imagines the consequences of such a union—how the complexities of adult relationships can so easily overshadow the innocence of childhood. She reflects on her own experiences, the lessons learned, and the heartaches endured, and she wonders if Juliet truly understands the gravity of her choices.

As the play progresses, Penelope finds herself lost in thought, contemplating the nature of love and the societal expectations that often accompany it. She appreciates the passion and fervor of young love, but she also recognizes the importance of maturity and self-discovery. In her heart, she hopes that the young audience members watching alongside her will take away more than just the romantic idealism of the story; she hopes they will understand the importance of patience, growth, and the wisdom that comes with time.

As Romeo meets Juliet and tries to seduce her while standing below her window, it's her cue to leave and deliver the manuscript. Penelope takes a quick look around her family's box to take note of where her mother is sitting. She leans over slightly to her mother, stating that she must use the chamber pot, and then goes to stand and leave before her mother can reply. She can see out of the corner of her eye that her mother waves her off as she leaves.

She rises to her feet with determination, leaving the opulent family box in the bustling main hallway of the theater. With a determined stride, she gracefully descends the grand staircase leading to the first floor. Despite the opulence surrounding her, she is too preoccupied to pause and appreciate the intricate golden guild work adorning the banister or the resplendent chandelier that serves as the focal point of the foyer. Penelope knows that the hired carriage driver is waiting just outside, a figure not known for patience from past encounters, despite her generous offerings. However, she is grateful that the driver has allowed her to conceal some items beneath the carriage seats to disguise herself as one of her own maids.

She strides halfway across the foyer when a hand suddenly grips her elbow, spinning her around. The sudden motion catches her off guard, and for a brief moment, she feels a rush of adrenaline. Her dress swirls around her in vibrant hues of burnt orange and gold, the fabric catching the light and shimmering like autumn leaves in the sun. She carries a matching fan on her right wrist in case she gets hot. Today, she chose not to debate her outfit, aware that it would only ignite a conflict with her mother, making her stand out even more among her family tonight.

The air is thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint aroma of the floral arrangements that adorn the room, but all she can focus on is the tightening knot in her stomach. She held her tongue against her mother’s critiques about the color, the cut, or even the way her hair was styled. Each comment from her mother felt like a carefully aimed arrow designed to pierce through her confidence. The fewer objections she raised, the more she faded into the background, becoming a mere shadow among the vibrant personalities of her relatives.

As she turns to face the person who has interrupted her thoughts, she catches a glimpse of her reflection in a nearby mirror. The dress, now feels like a beacon, drawing attention she desperately wishes to avoid. She can see the way the fabric clings to her figure, accentuating her curves, and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if her mother would approve. Her hair was done in loose curls trailing down her back, with only a single golden pin adorning her head.

“Where are you headed?” Anthony asked in a hurried and harsh tone. She felt the warmth of his hand through her sleeve, her gloves ending just above her elbow.

She immediately caught sight of his dark brown eyes, their deep, warm gaze drawing her in. As she looked closer, she noticed that he was dressed impeccably in a formal black suit and tie, with cream-colored gloves, exuding a sense of understated elegance.

“It is none of your concern,” Penelope replies harshly, trying desperately to free her elbow from his grip.

The shock of her harshness seemed to have dissipated for Anthony, as he didn't dismiss or appear surprised by her reaction. If anything, he gripped our elbow even harder and pulled her in closer. Anthony glanced over her shoulder and then back to her, his eyes darkening for a brief moment.

“You are a gentle lady of breeding in need of care,” he replied in a hushed tone. The foyer itself was empty of guests but not empty of staff. Anthony looked over her shoulder again. His eyes widened in surprise before returning to hers.

“I am not your family nor your betrothed.” Penelope began, “You have no responsibility towards me.” She tried again to pull his arm from his grip, but he was remarkably stronger than she was.

"Penelope, you are a dear friend," Anthony said in response as he tried and failed to pull her back to the theater.

"Friend? Friend!" Penelope exclaimed in a breathy shout. Her voice barely contained. The nerve of the man standing before her was infuriating. How could he reduce their deep connection to just friendship? The thought ignited a fire within her; after all they had experienced together, she had hoped Anthony Bridgerton would recognize her as something far greater than a mere companion, even if their paths diverged in the future.

Her heart raced as she took a step closer, the distance between them feeling like an insurmountable chasm. Memories flooded her mind—moments of laughter shared over stolen glances, whispered secrets exchanged in the shadows of grand ballrooms, and the warmth of his hand brushing against hers during those fleeting, electric encounters. Each recollection stoked the embers of her frustration, transforming it into a blazing resolve.

"Do you kiss all your friends like you did not long ago?" Penelope managed to spit back at him through clenched teeth. She sees his face soften at her question, "I thought not."

As Penelope pivots on her heel, she firmly yanks her arm to wrest it from his grip, feeling a surge of determination as she tries and fails to break free. But his grip holds fast and stead, and she is seconds away from screaming at him.

“Let me go,” Penelope states, clutching her fist to her sides.

“Give it,” Anthony replies, lifting up the hand not currently wrapped around her in a 'come hither' motion.

“What?” Penelope questions, a little bit befuddled at the demand.

“The manuscript for the gossip sheet,” he replied, motioning his hand again. “I will send one of my men to have it delivered,” Anthony finally explained.

For a brief moment, she wonders if he’s just playing around, but as she gazes into his earnest expression, the truth hits her hard. Confusion washes over her, particularly in light of their previous chat. After all, she had wept in his embrace while he spoke soothingly, his voice a gentle balm against the storm of emotions swirling within her. The memory of that intimate moment floods back, the way his arms had wrapped around her, providing a sense of safety and warmth that felt almost sacred.

She recalls the vulnerability she had shown, the way her heart had laid bare before him, spilling secrets and fears she had kept hidden for so long. His words had been a lifeline, a promise that she wasn’t alone in her struggles. Yet now, as she stands before him, the weight of uncertainty presses down on her chest.

“And the printer?” Penelope whispers back, finally realizing that she’s in the middle of the foyer of a public theater hall.

“The printer will accept my man, especially if my man comes with money in hand with your manuscript,” Anthony replies earnestly, with his hand out and waiting for the manuscript hidden in her bosom.

“Anthony,” she breathes.

“Please, this once, let me help you,” Anthony says with a sigh.

“I know the Bridgerton family hasn’t been very kind to you lately.” He pauses, “So let me be kind to you. Let me help you.”

She takes a moment or two to think about what he is asking, about what he is offering.

“Fine,” Penelope finally agrees.

“Thank you,” Anthony replies with a sigh of relief.

Penelope attempts to tug her arm free on Anthony's arm once more. As he stubbornly refuses to release her, she raises a questioning eyebrow, silently prompting him to let go. With a resigned sigh, Anthony finally relents, allowing her to free her arm. Taking a deep breath, Penelope confidently strides forward, her graceful hand reaching into the neckline of her dress to retrieve the papers. As she offers the documents to Anthony, she notices his widened eyes and the tinge of mortification on his face.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Before she can hand him the manuscript, she feels a sudden tug on her arm again, pulling her away from the foyer and into one of the dimly lit side hallways. As they walk, the distant sounds of the play echo through the corridors. Finally, they come to a stop between two imposing, heavy green curtains, the material hanging like a barrier between them and the rest of the theater. She can hear the movement of bodies just beyond the curtains.

"Wait right here," Anthony commands, gently taking the manuscript from her steady hand. She observes him swiftly moving away, disappearing behind the flowing curtains, and listening to his echoing footsteps in the hallway as his own shoes meet the solid ground.

Penelope stands in the dimly lit hallway between the two curtains, straining her ears for the faintest hint of his returning footsteps. Time seems to stretch on endlessly as doubt begins to slither into her mind. She can't shake the feeling that he might betray her to the queen, or worse, that she has been abandoned in a surreal and unsettling state of limbo.

Her mind races as the sound of Romeo and Juliet continues to echo in the hallway. She can't help but think that she should have insisted on seeing the printers herself instead of leaving it to Anthony.

Penelope does not hear footsteps or notice that Anthony has made his way between the two large curtains he left her between until he is in front of her again.

“It is done,” he states, “My man will collect any earnings and return with it before the play is done.”

“Thank you, Lord Bridgerton,” she states. Expressing gratitude, Penelope gracefully nods at Lord Bridgerton. The task was finally completed, and she couldn't help but release a heavy sigh of relief. The thought of venturing into the forbidding streets of London on a cold and rainy night filled her with unease. She turns away and starts to walk away from Anthony.

"Penelope," Anthony calls before she can make her way from between the dark green curtains. He lets go of her as soon as she is back under the cover of the curtains. She begins to make her way from under the curtain when she is pulled back again by Lord Bridgerton, who is currently a plague on her existence and a nuisance to her endeavors.

"Yes, Lord Bridgerton," she murmured, her voice laced with lingering resentment as she begrudgingly pivoted her body to face him. Uncertainty gripped her as she anticipated his inquiry, but one thing remained clear in her mind - she was determined to distance herself from him and his family as swiftly as possible. In her heart, she believed that severing ties would facilitate her departure at the season's end.

“Penelope, I need to understand why you wrote about Eloise,” he states.

“What?” she replied, a bit confused. She did not know if Anthony knew the reason why she and Eloise fought at the end of last season. Since he had discovered she was Lady Whistledown, he had made certain correct leaps in logic as to why she needed Lady Whistledown.  

“I have been rereading all of your works,” he continues. “In the last publication of the last season, you wrote about Eloise and that she had been associating with radicals.” Anthony looks both sad and angry about that fact. To date, it was the only real lie she had ever published, and it would be the only lie she would publish.

“Why?” Anthony asks.

"From the very beginning, the Queen had been searching for me," she reflected. "Eloise took it upon herself to find out who Lady Whistledown really was," Penelope admitted, her gaze dropping to her trembling hands, filled with anxiety and distress. Penelope recalled the times when she and Eloise meticulously examined her writings during her first season, mulling over the words and the mystery of the author’s true identity. While Penelope didn’t outright discourage Eloise from her quest, she also didn’t offer any encouragement, opting instead to stay neutral. She was uncertain whether Anthony had picked up on Eloise's fascination with the elusive gossip writer or if Eloise had confided in him about her investigation into the writer's identity.

“She shared her curiosity about Lady Whistledown to be the Queen. And by extent was encouraged by the Queen to become her personal bloodhound to sniff out who might be writing the sheet,” Penelope stated.

As she tells her story, she notices Anthony's face contorting with many emotions, some of which are confused and a bit angry.

“When she could come up with a person or cinder in the right direction, the queen then suspected that she was Lady Whistledown.” Penelope

At that moment, she watches as Anthony finally grasps the full weight of the situation. The Queen held the power to devastate their lives irreparably. Even a mere suggestion of Eloise's link to Lady Whistledown could tarnish his family's reputation for eternity. The implications of such a scandal were staggering, echoing through the halls of their lineage like a death knell. Should the Queen decide to act out of spite, she could easily strip him of his title and exile him from the social elite, casting him into a world of obscurity. The legacy built by him, his father, and his grandfather could be snatched away in the blink of an eye, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

And what about his siblings? Their futures would be in ruins due to Eloise's oversight in not revealing her connection to the Queen, a revelation he would have strongly advised her to share. The thought of their dreams, their ambitions, and their very identities being erased was a torment he could hardly bear. Ultimately, Eloise and his sisters would be forced into marriage, as he would be unable to provide for them. The reality of their possible situation would have loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf them all in despair.

“Do you understand now?” Penelope asked, looking up from her hands. She watched as Anthony's shoulders dropped and could almost see his mind spinning with the new information he was given.

“But…” he whispered.

“That is why I wrote her the way I did,” she concludes. “Her reputation would have suffered momentarily. Nevertheless, the Bridgertons have a history of enduring such challenges."

“But what about you?” Anthony inquires, quickly step forward slightly.

“What about me?” Penelope responds with a raised eyebrow and clutches her matching orange fan.

“Does your reputation and status in the Ton mean nothing to you?” Anthony asks, with a questioning look on his face. Something in her bubbles up, and she releases her fan. She is used to others not caring about her, but in the last few times they have encountered each other, she can tell that he truly cares for her and her wellbeing. 

"You forget, Lord Bridgerton. My father gained his title, not my grandfather.” She states, “My mother grew up poor, and so did my father. All their values had been ingrained in us since birth, and my sisters would've been fine.” She pauses, “But you, Lord Bridgerton, I doubt you would last more than a week.”

Although she had grown up and blended in with the rest of the Ton, her parents' old ways clung to her like a shadow. Her mother, notorious for tucking away loose coins beneath the floorboards and hoarding valuable treasures like jewels and paints for a rainy day, had a knack for survival that was both admirable and unsettling. This habit had once been a lifeline when her mother struggled to cover her father's overwhelming debts before she could contribute some of her Whistledown earnings to the debt. In just a few short months, her mother managed to part with nearly ninety percent of their family’s jewel collection, all to settle her husband's financial woes and begin saving for the future.

It was a tumultuous time, marked by whispered conversations and furtive glances, as her mother navigated the treacherous waters of their financial crisis. Each piece of jewelry that left their possession was a bittersweet farewell, a reminder of the life they once led, filled with lavish parties and extravagant gatherings. Yet, with each sale, her mother’s resolve only strengthened. She became a master of negotiation, her once-gentle demeanor hardening into something fierce and unyielding. Only then did she start pretending to be her Aunt Petunia when Penelope had a substantial amount of money.

She observes the subtle transformation on her face as it transitions from a mix of fear and sadness to genuine delight upon hearing his words: "I guess you would be right. " He laughs and smiles.

She smiles warmly and shares a soft laugh with him, her eyes reflecting genuine joy. Penelope is just about to turn and make her way back to her spot in the crowded audience when she catches the sound of his voice posing a question.

“So, how much does a gossip writer make?” he asks. Penelope thinks he might want to keep her with him for some reason. For what she does not know.  

Penelope assumed that he would ask her about one of the last issues of her debut season, detailing how her cousin was pregnant before she arrived in London and any of the juicy tidbits she had been reporting.

“Depends on the issue, but on average about ten pounds, a little more if the gossip is juicy enough or if the queen has recently mentioned Lady Whistledown at one of the events during the season,” Penelope replies.

“Ten pounds per issue?” Anthony looks surprised by the news and raises an eyebrow. She can tell he wants to ask her another question. Penelope smiles at the thought.

“How much...?” Anthony starts.

“About three hundred and twenty-five pounds a year, plus interest,” she replies quickly, reviewing the last set of paperwork pertaining to her business that she could remember, “Last year, I decided to invest in some housing developments and other businesses.”

“At present, with prudent financial management and investment in high-yield accounts by the end of the fiscal period, I anticipate accumulating sufficient funds to sustain my financial independence,” Penelope states.

“Gods,” Anthony breathes. He looks both impressed and surprised by the new information.

“I know it’s not much, but I hope some of the investments will start to turn over soon,” Penelope continues as she clutches her fan again. Penelope hears Anthony scoff.

“How has your family not caught on yet?” Anthony wonders.

“Aunt Petunia,” Penelope states with a smile as she meets his eyes. Anthony looks back, a bit confused by her answer.

“She was my aunt who died a few years ago,” she explains, “she never tried to stay in contact with my mother after she got married but would sometimes send gifts for me and my sisters.”

“After father died and his debts came to light,” she pauses, watching for Anthony’s reaction, “I remembered Aunt Petunia.”

Anthony smiles at her, and something in her lights up. She recognizes the feeling as recognition. Something that she had rarely experienced before.

“I started sending letters via my maid to my mother from ‘Aunt Petunia’ stating that she had left a small fortune and detailed instructions of how to use the fortune, as well as how to divide amongst the remaining girls in the family for our dowries,” Penelope states.

“It must’ve been hard,” Anthony laments.

She consciously tries to avoid getting bogged down by the small hurdles she encounters while supporting her family. Each day presents its own set of challenges, from juggling the estate commitments to managing household responsibilities, but she has learned to navigate these obstacles with grace and resilience. Instead of letting herself be overwhelmed by minor setbacks—like a last-minute change in plans or a family member needing extra assistance—she maintains a positive outlook. She understands that these small hurdles are just part of life’s journey, and she refuses to let them overshadow the joy and fulfillment she finds in her role as a supportive sister and daughter.

Instead, she focuses on savoring the remaining moments of the season before embarking on her own journey.

With both of her sisters happily married and her mother well taken care of, her only task now is to save up enough money to create a solid nest egg, ensuring her future stability. She has always been practical and forward-thinking, and now, with her family settled, she feels a renewed sense of purpose. She meticulously plans her finances, setting aside a portion of her monthly income, and seeks additional savings opportunities. Whether cutting back on unnecessary expenses or finding ways to earn extra income, she is committed to building a secure financial future. This nest egg represents more than just money; it symbolizes her independence and the freedom to pursue her dreams without the weight of financial uncertainty.

“No harder than being Lady Whistledown,” Penelope quips back lightly with a smile.

As Anthony stepped forward again, he leaned in close once more, his eyes filled with intensity. But before he could get any closer, the ringing of bells reverberated across the theater, drawing them apart. At that moment, she realized that the bells symbolized the beginning of the play's intermission, and it dawned on her that she should make an effort to find her mother and pretend that she had been there the entire time.

“I should get going,” Penelope finally says as she hears the warning bells for the intermission.

Anthony nodded in agreement as she took a step back from him and walked toward the curtain opening. Beyond the curtain, the theatergoers had started to emerge, stretching their legs as they exited the theater and into the hallway.

“Penelope?” Anthony calls.

Penelope looks back at Anthony. “I will send the money with my footman to your maid, " he says.

“Thank you, Anthony,” Penelope said.

She turns around for the last time and makes her way out of the curtains and into the crowd of theatergoers. She scans the crowd to look for her family, but before she spots them, she hears Anthony say, "You are welcome, Penelope.”

---

She is pleased.

Penelope finds herself seated beneath the shimmering moonlight, the air around her a delicate balance between cool and comfortable. She wraps her light blush shawl snugly around her shoulders, bracing against the gentle breeze that flirts with the fabric. Her attire consisted of a stunning pink ball gown adorned with delicate white flowers at the bodice and intricate gold accents, which shimmered under the lights. Her golden earrings are longer than normal in our beginning to irritate her. The night is alive with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant laughter of revelers, starkly contrasting the turmoil brewing within her. Tonight, she had intended to remain indoors, cling closely to the walls of the ballroom, and tried over here tidbits of gossip for her next issue. But Cressida had once again skulked around again, “accidentally” spilling her drink all over Penelope. It was a familiar game that Cressida had played to perfection before, a dance of mischief that left Penelope feeling both exasperated and slightly defeated. In fact, during their last gathering, Penelope had managed to evade her schemes, sidestepping the social traps Cressida laid with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. But this time, the girl had been relentless, her laughter ringing like a bell, drawing attention and igniting the whispers of the crowd.

With a heavy sigh, Penelope contemplates the idea of cutting the season short to escape Cressida’s relentless antics. The thought is tempting, a siren call to retreat into the safety of her own world, where she could indulge in her writing and the solace of her thoughts. Yet, she knows that doing so would only grant Cressida the satisfaction of victory, and Penelope prides herself on her resilience. She had weathered storms far worse than this, and the idea of letting Cressida win feels like a betrayal to herself. Her thoughts drift to the past few weeks, particularly her encounters with a certain Bridgerton and their significance.

She recalls the moment a note arrived, its elegant script sending a thrill through her. Accompanying the note was a pouch containing her earnings from the printers. Now hidden away beneath her floorboards, it felt like a secret treasure of her own, a symbol of her independence and a reminder that she was more than just a wallflower in the grand ballroom of society.

Penelope can celebrate despite Cressida's antics as she sits beneath the moonlight. She cannot help but be happy.

She enjoys having enough money to move forward with her plans. She was happy. Now, she needs to complete her plans. They were simple: to get a small cottage out in the country, close enough that she wasn’t more than a short ride from supplies but far enough that visiting her would be inconvenient. It’s not that she wouldn’t want to see her sisters. It’s that she couldn’t. Her sisters would be married and have children. Married to partners that would last them a lifetime. Children she wanted but knew she would never be able to have. She didn’t want to be reminded of something she couldn’t have because she lacked something that others didn’t. Penelope wanted, no need, a clean break.

“Dance with me?” a deep male voice sounds beside her.

Penelope jumps in surprise, her gaze darting to the source of the voice that had interrupted her moment of solitude. Standing gracefully by the stone bench, a figure captures her attention. Anthony extends his hand toward her, an invitation wrapped in charm and confidence. Clad in a striking teal coat that seems to shimmer in the fading light, he is a vision of elegance. The dark teal coat is tailored to perfection, accentuating his tall, lean frame, while a matching cravat adds a touch of sophistication that draws her eye. His cream trousers contrast beautifully with the rich colors of his coat, and polished dark boots complete the ensemble, reflecting the soft glow of the nearby candles.

As he beams at her, a warm smile spreads across his face, and Penelope feels an involuntary flutter in her chest. There is something magnetic about him, an energy that pulls her in, making it impossible to resist returning his smile. With a nod of acknowledgment, she accepts his outstretched hand, feeling the warmth of his grasp as he helps her rise to her feet.

The soft strains of music drift from the ballroom, reaching her ears from the terrace where they stand. The sound is inviting, a gentle reminder of the festivities that await them. Candlelight dances in the breeze, casting a warm, flickering glow around her, illuminating the delicate features of his face and the intricate details of her surroundings. This time, however, the melody is not the familiar waltz that she has danced to countless times before. Instead, it is the lively volta, a fresh dance from Germany that has recently captured the hearts of many. The rhythm is infectious, promising to enchant just as the waltz had, but with a spirited energy that beckons her to join in the revelry.

“You are happy,” Anthony states as they stand in a dance position.

As the music plays, Penelope feels a surge of excitement. The volta is known for its playful steps and dynamic movements, and she can already envision the joy of twirling and spinning across the polished floor of the ballroom. But she will settle for moving and spinning on the terrace. 

Once again, Anthony and Penelope find themselves seeking solace away from the bustling crowd of blushing debutantes, overbearing matriarchs, and scrutinizing Lords. They stand on the terrace of Lord Cotherington’s grand estate, enveloped by the gentle embrace of nature awakening. The flowers are just beginning their delicate bloom, emanating a captivating fragrance of lavender and roses that intoxicate the evening air.

“Very happy,” Penelope replied with a smile as they started to dance.

"Would you be willing to discuss your source of joy?" Anthony asks as they move forward and back to the beat of the music from the bright ballroom beside them.

“I have enough, Anthony,” she answers with a bright smile.

She looks beyond his shoulder for a moment and catches sight of the servants, impeccably dressed in formal attire in shades of cream, beige, and gold, standing as if on guard at the entrance to the ballroom. It dawns on her that they risk being discovered if they linger on the terrace. With this in mind, Penelope pulls him closer into the intricate maze, seeking refuge among the twists and turns of the hedges to avoid detection by any passersby who might venture outside.

“Enough?” Anthony inquired with a questioning look on his face.

“I have enough money for the cottage and extra to help me in the future,” Penelope explains excitedly.

The enchanting melody swelled, wrapping around them as they glided into position with a graceful elegance that bordered on the ethereal. With each step, she felt a comforting warmth emanating from his gloved hand, serving as a gentle reassurance of the strong connection they shared. It was as if the world had melted away, leaving only the two of them suspended in this mesmerizing moment. In perfect synchrony, their bodies moved with a seamless blend of grace and rhythm as they performed the intricate box step.

“By the end of the season, I will be moving. I have set an appointment with my solicitor to purchase the cottage.” Penelope continues.

When excitement ignites within her, a joyful rumble often escapes her lips. This endearing trait, a gift from her father, sometimes left her longing for him on certain days. To her, excitement felt like a lightness, a buoyant sensation that lifted her spirits. It bubbled up inside her, much like the champagne she had enjoyed at a few recent balls. Sweet and sparkling. Since discovering this vibrant energy, she has embraced a youthful exuberance. With this being her final season, she could finally set aside her concerns about the future and revel in the pleasures of the moment.

“I can’t wait. I have already begun determining which items to bring with me,” she continued smiling, “I will need to shop for books while I am still in the city. Subsequently, I will need to organize deliveries and arrange for the necessary staff, including a maid, a cook, and a cleaner. Furthermore...” she trails off, not noticing the way Anthony’s face scrunches up in some unknown emotion as they continue to dance to the rhythm of the music. She rambles on as they spin and twirl to the music.

“I’m so excited,” she states, “I’m finally getting what I want.” She laughs. “Maybe I can get a cat or two and learn to bake. I would love to bake.” She laughs and feels lighter than air, and they spin again.

His pained expression brought her monologue to an abrupt halt, preventing any further inadvertent humiliation. It was evident that he was lost in his emotions, bearing a mix of confusion, hurt, and sorrow on his face. Despite the chill in the air, his hands retained warmth through his gloves, and a glistening sheen in his eyes hinted at unshed tears. A few blinks later, his countenance shifted, and a softer yet sadder smile emerged.

He pulls her in closer, and his smile brightens. They sway, spin, and twirl again, and then the music ends. A piece of her hair comes undone, and he brushes it away with his gloved finger, and a shiver runs down her spine.

As they part, the surroundings come back into focus. She inhales deeply to regain her composure. Anthony extends his arm, and she takes it, placing her hand on his arm as they walk. Together, they emerge from the labyrinth and step back onto the terrace of the magnificent gardens, surrounded by the beauty of nature. They sit on the stone bench he found her on, with their back to the glowing ballroom.

A few moments pass before she hears his voice in her ears.

“What?” her head snapped towards Anthony, her wide blue eyes meeting his deep brown gaze. The flickering candlelight danced in his eyes, causing them to transition from a golden hue to a rich dark brown before finally appearing as black pools of mystery.

"I can be your dance partner," Anthony said. She watched intently as his Adam's apple subtly moved up and down with each word he spoke, adding a touch of nervous anticipation to his otherwise assured demeanor.

“What?” Penelope repeated. Confused, she tilted her head away from him.

“Let me be your dance partner,” Anthony said, firmer than before.

She parts her lips, ready to ask him what he means, when the realization strikes her. "Dance partner," she muses, understanding that he wishes to be her "dance partner." The words echo in her mind, and suddenly, the air around them feels charged with unspoken possibilities—memories of their earlier conversation at Humlie's ball flood back about her plans after the season.

"Anthony," Penelope breathes out, a hint of exasperation in her tone. The name hung in the air between them, a tether to the reality she was grappling with. She hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly as she prepared to voice her concerns again.

When it came to the intricacies of the marital bed, she was blissfully unaware, a child peering into a world that felt both tantalizing and terrifying. The difference between discussing it and genuinely living it was a chasm she had yet to comprehend, a vast expanse filled with unspoken fears and uncharted desires. She often found herself lost in thought, pondering the stories she had heard, the whispers of intimacy that danced just out of reach.

In her mind, the concept of love was painted in broad strokes—romantic dinners, stolen glances, and the warmth of a handheld tightly in hers. Yet, the reality of intimacy was a canvas splattered with colors she had yet to identify.

“I’m serious,” Anthony stated resolutely. She feels his gloved hand cover hers and grip her hand.

“Since you are so dead set on becoming a spinster… at least allow me to place my hat into the proverbial ring,” Anthony says, looking away from her and towards the dark maze.

“You can’t be serious,” Penelope replies with a bit of a laugh in her voice.

Anthony reiterates with utmost seriousness, "I am completely serious."

“Anthony,” Penelope breathes as she turns her body towards him. She wants to both laugh and cry. Penelope knew life was unfair, but she didn’t know it was this unfair.

Anthony turns his body towards her, “Penelope, I…” Anthony starts, “I don’t want you to leave without knowing what it feels like.”

She could see the seriousness in his eyes and the genuineness of his words. She hasn't really decided what to do yet. She's just surprised about the offer, but a few questions have popped into her mind that need to be clarified before she can make any decisions.

“And what about…” Penelope begins to ask when she is cut off.

“There are ways to prevent children,” Anthony states hurriedly, “and there are also such acts that would never result in them.”

"Antony, please don't joke," Penelope laughed.

“I’m not joking,” Anthony states.

“You are more than my friend…. I want you to be happy,” he says. “Since you are so intent on becoming a spinster, I want you to enjoy what you could have.” Anthony takes a deep breath, and his hand grips her tighter before releasing it.

She thought this must be one big jest on his part, but doubts sprang up. Penelope knew that Anthony was not the type of man who would offer something like this as a joke meant to hurt. But she can't help but think he cannot be entirely serious, so she pushes.

“Are you offering to become my husband?” Penelope asks, moving her face closer to his.

She waited for his answer, knowing that he wouldn't offer her marriage. According to Colin, she wasn't marriage material. However, she also sensed that he was not emotionally ready for a significant commitment like that, at least not at the moment. She could see that perhaps in a few weeks or even a year, he might be ready, just not now.

He pulls away and looks back to the maze. When a minute passes without an answer, she replies, “That is what I thought,” with a defeated sigh.

Penelope turns away from him and looks over at the maze. Her thoughts and feelings are catching up with her, and she doesn’t know what to do. She thinks about the times they have had together, the sweet moments and the few terrible ones. She wants this offer from him to be true, but she can’t risk her virtue on a promise.

“You can’t just say things like that, and …. and … expect me to be…what…be grateful? thankful?” Penelope sadly shutters, and she feels like she is about to cry. But why does she want to cry?

“I…” he pauses, “I want you not to regret becoming a spinster. I want you not to regret this last season. Especially if you plan not to return for a very long time.”

“I want you,” he starts, “I want you to be…. happy,” Anthony finally says.

“Anthony.” She sighs and goes to stand, seeing that he has followed her.

"Penelope," Anthony stated, "Please consider the proposal. If you decide not to proceed, I completely understand.”

Does he think she doesn't want him? she thinks to herself.

He is one of the most handsome people she has ever met: handsome, strong, and stubborn, just like the rest of the Bridgertons. Over the last few months, she has seen a new side of him. At times, he can be soft, caring, and even gentle to others, but he can also be brash, rude, and ugly. How can he think that she doesn't want him?

“It is not that I am uninterested,” Penelope states. She collects her thoughts, “I just do not wish to be someone’s second choice. I do not want you to do this out of some weird motivation of duty or guilt.”

"Penelope, you are not my second choice," Anthony states firmly. "I have never offered something like this to anyone, least of all a lady like yourself." He pauses. "I also do not want your first time to be with some country boy who has no idea what he is doing," Anthony adds with a laugh and a smile.

She instinctively returned his smile and began to lick her lips at the possibilities he had presented to her. She stepped forward towards the maze, away from the ballroom. Anthony followed her, standing by her side.

"Is it going to happen only once?" she inquires as the thought arises in her mind, turning to Anthony once more. "I apologize... I didn't mean to—" she tries to retract her statement.

She watches as both of Anthony's eyebrows raise into his hairline, possibly surprised by her question. “Do you want it to be?” he asks, his hands clasping together in front of him.

“I do not know,” Penelope answered honestly. Would she want it more than once, or would she even like it? Her mother never talked about the topic itself, but she had said that it was the one thing that she would be able to give her children one day.

“Let me be your dance partner,” Anthony asks again, holding out his hand.

“Anthony.”

"Just consider it," he states. Another question arises in her mind, but before she can inquire, Anthony states, "If you are still interested, kindly have your maid convey the message to my footman.”

Penelope looks down at his outstretched hand and then back up at him. With a sigh, she places her hand in his as they turn towards the ballroom. They had spent too long outside, away from their respective families, and they knew their absence would soon be noticed. She then shifted her hand from his hand to his elbow as he escorted her off the terrace.

“Ok,” she agrees, “I will think on it, but Anthony, this must remain ours and ours alone, no matter what happens after.”

They slowly begin the walk to the ballroom, taking their time stepping across the terrace. “Do you understand?” Penelope questions.

“A secret relationship?” Anthony concludes as they are walking up the stone steps that lead directly into the ballroom.

They make it to the top step when she gives him her answer, “Yes,” Penelope answers. The servants are about to open the door when she motions for them to stop.

“My family cannot stand another scandal.” She explains, “The Barony title is hanging on by a thread. I fear that one more scandal may push the queen to force us to relinquish the title and push us out of the Ton.” It is a fear she and her mother have feared for quite some time since her father passed.

“You and your family can endure, but I will not,” Penelope finishes. They break away again, her hand falling from the crook of his elbow to her sides.

Anthony nodded. "I understand," he said. He sighed, straightened his clothes, and turned back to her. "So, will you let me be your dance partner?”

Yes, she thinks.

Chapter 8: A Masquerade

Summary:

Anthony and Penelope prepare for a masquerade.

Notes:

Enjoy!!!

Early May 1815 – The Evening Of

What had he been thinking?

He slowly lowers his head beneath the steaming hot water, feeling the warmth envelop him as he prepares for the masquerade later that evening. It's not his usual routine to take a bath on days with grand balls, as he typically saves them for the day after the revelry and partying. The drinking and smoking from the previous events tend to leave him feeling somewhat soiled, but today is an exception.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

Anthony conscientiously scrubs his skin using a gentle bristle brush and fragrant, moisturizing soap, carefully working up a rich, foamy lather. He has decided to take this bath alone and without the assistance of one of the servants, for he needed a few moments to think. Anthony dedicates particular attention to cleansing the hard-to-reach areas beneath his ears, as well as meticulously tending to the smallest crevices of his body to ensure a thorough and invigorating wash.

Had he been sick with a fever?

He must have been out of his mind when he agreed to be Penelope’s “dance partner.” Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to get rid of his nonexistent headache. He had made a point of having his footman shave his face today despite his behavior not being typical. Anthony caught an odd look in his footman’s eye when he requested the shave.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

Anthony's head thudded against the back of the tub, jolting him into contemplation. The sound echoed in the stillness of the bathroom, a stark reminder of the weight pressing down on his mind. He had carefully selected his outfit for the evening: a custom-tailored navy suit with designs in iridescent blue, turquoise greens, and gold that hugged his frame just right. He paired it with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie to add a touch of flair. The masquerade theme was centered around animals, and he had promised Penelope that he would dress as a bird, symbolizing his agreement with their plans for the evening. He had chosen the peacock. The plans were firmly in place, a carefully orchestrated evening designed to impress and entertain. Yet, despite the excitement that should have accompanied such an occasion, a nagging sense of guilt loomed over him like a dark cloud, threatening to spoil the fun.

He had always prided himself on being a gentleman—or at least he believed he was. He held doors open, offered his seat to those in need, and never shied away from a chance to lend a helping hand. But as he lay there, submerged in the warm water, the soothing heat enveloping him like a comforting embrace, he couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps he was not living up to the ideals he had set for himself. Was he truly the man he aspired to be, or was he merely playing a role, a façade that would crumble under scrutiny?

These questions flitted through his mind like restless butterflies, each one more insistent than the last. He submerged himself in the warm water once more, allowing it to wash over him, hoping to cleanse not just his body but also the turmoil swirling within. The gentle ripples danced around him, a momentary distraction from the chaos of his thoughts. Emerging from the depths, he shook off the remnants of soap, the bubbles bursting like fleeting worries, and diligently rinsed his hair, the water cascading down his back in a refreshing torrent.

Once clean, he stood, the cool air of the bathroom contrasting sharply with the warmth he had just left behind. He toweled off the excess moisture, the fabric absorbing the remnants of his bath, and wrung out the last drops from his hair, watching as they splattered onto the tiled floor. Each droplet seemed to symbolize a fragment of his uncertainty, a reminder of the choices he had made and the paths he had yet to explore.

With a deep breath, he stepped out of the tub, the chill of the air invigorating him, urging him to shake off the lingering doubts. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, the steam slowly dissipating to reveal a man caught between expectation and reality. He blinks twice, running his hand over his face, and something settles within him.

He walked into his elegantly appointed room and meticulously prepared himself for the grand ball. Anthony indulged in the ritual of applying cologne, savoring the invigorating blend of citrus with underlying notes of rosemary, lavender, and thyme. A quick glance in the mirror allowed him to ensure every detail was perfect, from the impeccably tied cravat to the addition of a golden peacock pendant adorning his scarf. With a sense of anticipation, Anthony left the room and called out for the footman, his voice echoing down the grand hall.

The footman enters the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He carefully begins to adjust and straightens the Lord’s outfit, fluffing out a few false peacock feathers that stand off of his left shoulder, ensuring every detail is perfect.

"Is everything prepared at my bachelor lodgings?" the Lord inquires as he gazes into the ornate mirror before him, meeting the unwavering eyes of the impeccably wigged footman reflected in the glass.

“Yes, as you requested, your bachelor lodging s have been cleaned,” the young footman nods and smiles.

“Good.” Anthony states, “If I don’t return tonight, inform my family I will stay at my bachelor lodging s and send food.”

The footman steps back and nods once more at the request. Anthony smiled briefly before turning around and facing the footman.

“Thank you,” Anthony states, then moves towards the door.

The footman trails behind, swinging the door wide to reveal the grand expanse of the estate, its opulence shimmering under the soft glow of the chandeliers. Anthony strides down the corridor, his polished shoes echoing against the marble floor, each step resonating with purpose. He descends the staircase, his posture confident, yet his mind is a tempest of thoughts. His eyes and ears are attuned to the flurry of his family members bustling about, their voices a cacophony of excitement and urgency as they hastily prepare for the ball. The air is thick with the scent of fresh blooms and the rustle of silks, a whirlwind of anticipation and disarray that envelops the household.

Yet, amidst the vibrant chaos, Anthony's mind drifts far from the festivities ahead. He can hear the laughter and chatter of his siblings, the clinking of glasses, and the distant strains of music that promise an evening of revelry. But his heart is heavy with a different kind of weight, one that pulls him away from the glittering scene unfolding around him. He feels a profound sense of detachment as if he is merely an observer in a world that no longer holds his interest.

His thoughts linger on what lies beyond the evening, a future that feels both inevitable and daunting. The offer he made to Penelope echoes in his mind, a decision that had seemed so clear in the moment but now feels fraught with complexity. He feels no remorse for his choice. Instead, a sense of resolve anchors him. He didn’t know why he offered her what he did. But he did know that he didn’t act out of necessity, a duty to his family and their expectations, but he can feel the weight of that decision as it looms larger than he anticipated.

As he reaches the bottom of the staircase, he pauses for a moment, taking in the scene before him. His family, vibrant and full of life, are oblivious to the turmoil brewing within him. He watches as his sister twirls in her gown, laughter spilling from her lips, and his brother adjusts his cravat with a flourish, both caught up in the magic of the night. Anthony's heart aches with a longing for that same carefree spirit, but he knows that his path is different. The responsibilities that come with his title and the expectations of his lineage bind him in ways that are both familiar and suffocating.

With a deep breath, he steels himself for the evening ahead, knowing that he must play his part in the grand performance of society.

"My lord?" the footman called from behind him. Anthony, dressed in a finely tailored purple suit with silver accents, turned to face the footman, who was adorned in a rich purple and silver livery, presenting something with outstretched hands. Anthony's gaze fell upon the object in the footman's hand, and dread filled his heart as he beheld the ornate mask. The mask was a mesmerizing display of intricate artistry, featuring vibrant shades of blue, green, and gold, embellished with feathers elegantly arranged at the crest in a striking peacock motif.

“Yes, of course,” Anthony says as he picks up the mask. “Thank you,” he nods.

Anthony walks towards the entrance, turning around with the mask in his hands, simultaneously gathering up and leading the family towards the carriages that sit just outside the entranceway. As usual, they are divided by gender: Anthony and Benedict are in one carriage, and his mother, Eloise, and Francesca are in another. Hyacinth and Gregory are too young for this event and will stay at home with their governess.

“Are you ready?” his mother asked as she stood outside, watching her children move about the entranceway.

“Yes, Mother, let us go,” Anthony replied, waving Eloise and Francesca into their carriage.

As Anthony and Benedict stepped into the elegant carriage, the heavy door closed with a precise click, enclosing them. Benedict's attire immediately caught Anthony's eye—a dark suit adorned with intricate silver designs reminiscent of the graceful lines of a swan. Antony inquired about the inspiration behind Benedict's striking attire. Benedict shared that he had drawn inspiration from the mesmerizing ballet "Black Swan," a performance he had been captivated by several months ago.

“My brother, your feathers seem rather ruffled this evening,” Benedict said with a grin as he watched his brother across from him.

Anthony sits across Benedict, his stomach in knots, carefully holding his elegant mask in his hands. Leaning forward slightly, he ensures that the delicate feather on his left shoulder does not bend. An air of nervousness surrounds him as he contemplates the evening ahead. He is unsure of what he truly desires at this moment. All he knows is that he desperately wants this night to unfold seamlessly, free from any disruptions. With a determined gaze, he silently promises himself that Benedict will not be allowed to spoil his long-awaited evening.

“Come off it,” Anthony snaps back.

He sighs as Benedict chuckles. “Brother, I mean no harm by it,” Benedict declares, raising his hands, one hand holding his black mask adorned with feathers.

“Benedict,” Anthony called in annoyance.

“Anthony,” Benedict replied with a smile.

Anthony sighed.

What the hell was I thinking?

****

Penelope can’t decide what to wear.

She looks at the two options before her and considers which would be best for the night events. The masquerade theme was centered around various animals. Her family decided to base their theme around birds, especially tropical birds of South and Central America, with birds that carried orange, green, yellow, blue, and red hues. She had wanted to dress in pink, based on the flamingo of the Bahamas. But her mother had insisted on yellow, orange, and green as the colors to choose from as they were the family colors.

She then decided on the Phoenix, an imaginary creature, but a creature that fit her mother's aesthetics of yellow, orange, and red. However, if her mother ever asked, she would say she was a parrot. It didn’t matter anyway.

As she reclines in the tub, her vibrant red hair elegantly pinned up, the steam rising from the hot water cocoons her in comfort. With dedicated care, she gently exfoliates her skin using a soft bristle brush, spreading the indulgent, fragrant, moisturizing soap to create a lavish, rich, foamy lather, savoring each moment of the cleansing ritual as a true indulgence.

She let out a deep breath, relishing the warmth of the steam rising from the soap that clung to her skin. The fragrant lather enveloped her like a comforting embrace, a fleeting moment of luxury in an increasingly austere life. In the past year, following her father's passing, she had been forced to tighten the purse strings of the estate and find ways to boost their income. The once-bustling household had transformed into a shadow of its former self, with echoes of laughter replaced by the somber reality of financial strain. One of the sacrifices they made was reducing the frequency of their baths, a ritual that had once been a cherished part of her daily routine. Now, the water was a rare indulgence, and their meals had shifted to a diet primarily of potatoes, reminiscent of the old ways back in Ireland, where her ancestors had to make do with what little they had.

Penelope felt a tightness in her stomach, anxiety bubbling within her like a pot on the verge of boiling over. The uncertainty of the evening ahead weighed on her, a heavy cloak of apprehension that threatened to suffocate her. She had spent countless hours preparing for this night, meticulously planning every detail, yet the unpredictability of it all gnawed at her. Would Anthony notice the subtle changes in her demeanor? Would he see past the mask she would wear, both literally and figuratively, to the woman beneath who longed for connection and understanding?

But she held onto the hope that it would unfold positively. The thought of Anthony brought a flicker of warmth to her heart, a spark of excitement that momentarily chased away the shadows of doubt. She had arranged for her maid, Amelia, to prepare the carriage that would take her from the masquerade to Anthony’s bachelor quarters across the city. The prospect of the evening filled her with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Would the masquerade, with its swirling colors and hidden identities, provide the escape she so desperately craved?

As she rinsed the soap from her skin, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, steam fogging the glass around her. The reflection staring back was a blend of vulnerability and resolve. She was determined to make the most of this night, to step into the role of the confident, enchanting woman she wished to be, if only for a few hours. With a final splash of cool water to invigorate her senses, she dried herself off and called in Amelia.

Amelia was gracefully assisted with the final touches of her exquisite ballgown. The fabric, a mesmerizing blend of warm orange and radiant gold, flowed around her in a luxurious swirl. Her hair meticulously brushed and elegantly pinned up, showcased a delicate updo adorned with a few artfully arranged stray curls that framed her face. As she twirled, the dress unveiled hidden accents of rich red in its underlying layers, creating a mesmerizing and enchanting spectacle. And she couldn’t forget about her mother's favorite part about her dress, the feathers that lined the bottom of her dress in yellow and orange.

Penelope thought back to a week ago, the night after Lord Cotherington’s ball. Her maid had delivered her response to Anthony's proposal. While it might not have been a formal acceptance, the note she sent contained a simple word: yes. It was a word that resonated deeply within Penelope's heart, igniting a flicker of hope that had long been dormant. The prospect of a future intertwined with Anthony, a man of such stature and charm, filled her with a mixture of excitement and trepidation.

It was only later, under the cloak of night, that Anthony made his way to the garden, where they could finalize their plans. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the meticulously tended flowers and hedges, creating an atmosphere that felt both magical and secretive. Penelope, her heart racing, awaited his arrival, her mind swirling with thoughts of what this meeting could mean for them both.

As she stood there, she felt a wave of gratitude for the unwavering loyalty of her staff. They had become more than mere employees; they were her confidants, her allies in a world that often felt isolating and cold. She believed that Amelia's kind words about her were a testament to this loyalty, especially since her mother and sisters had shown little appreciation for their assistance. In a household where expectations were high, and affection was scarce, the warmth of her staff's support was a balm to her spirit.

Penelope surmised that her efforts in managing the estate had not only earned her the staff's fidelity but also their commitment to safeguarding her secrets and her clandestine meetings with the enigmatic Lord Bridgerton. She had worked tirelessly to ensure that the estate ran smoothly, pouring her heart into every detail, from the grand dining room to the smallest corner of the kitchen. In doing so, she had cultivated an environment where her staff felt valued and respected, and in return, they had become fiercely protective of her.

As she waited in the garden, the scent of blooming jasmine enveloped her, and she reflected on the delicate balance she had struck between her duties and her desires. The thrill of her secret rendezvous with Anthony starkly contrasted with the mundane expectations of her daily life. It was a reminder that beneath the layers of propriety and obligation, there lay a world of passion and possibility waiting to be explored.

Penelope let out a soft, wistful sigh as she gazed down at the intricate gold mask resting before her. The mask appeared delicate and fragile, its golden surface catching the light and dazzling her eyes. The nose of the mask was expertly crafted to resemble a bird's beak, adorned with tiny, intricate details. At the top of the mask, delicate red fabric roses lay across, adding a touch of elegance and mystery. Adorning it further were golden spikes, each one carefully embellished with a single stunning red ruby, adding a captivating charm to the overall design.

Penelope grasped the mask tightly in her hand, its delicate design a stark contrast to the heavy silence that enveloped her. With a deep breath, she stepped out of her room, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath her feet echoing in the stillness. As she made her way to the staircase, the air felt thick with memories, each step a reminder of the vibrant life that once filled the house.

The grand foyer, usually alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter, now stood in stark contrast to its former self. It was eerily demure, devoid of the familiar sounds of her sister bustling about in preparation for balls or luncheons. The absence of her sister's lively spirit was palpable; the house felt like a shell of its former self, stripped of the warmth and joy that had once radiated from its walls.

Penelope's heart ached as she thought of the countless afternoons spent together, her sister's laughter ringing through the halls as they navigated the intricate dance of social obligations. They had been a whirlwind of energy, with maids hurriedly trailing behind them, trying to keep up with their demands and add the final touches to their appearances. The scent of fresh flowers and the sound of rustling silk had once filled the air, creating an atmosphere of excitement and anticipation.

But now, the vibrant chaos had faded into a distant memory, leaving behind a stillness. The echoes of their shared moments lingered in her mind. She longed for the days when her sister would burst into her room, dragging her into the flurry of preparations, their laughter mingling with the clatter of dishes and the chatter of guests.

As she descended the staircase, the weight of the evening ahead pressed down on her. It was just her and her mother now, the two of them navigating society together. Penelope glanced at the portraits lining the walls, the only one of her family with her father standing tall, holding her mother's shoulder with her and her sisters smiling brightly. She missed the lively gatherings, the shared secrets, and the comforting presence of her sisters by her side.

With each step, she felt the mask in her hand, symbolizing the roles they had played in society and the expectations that still loomed over her. She knew she had to put it on to step into the world outside, but the thought of facing it alone once filled her with anxiety. Now that she had the money and means to support herself, she didn't feel too frightened about her situation.

“Miss?” Amelia asked, tapping on her shoulder.

Penelope turned her head around to look up at her maid. She was now standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching the last of the servants readying her mother for the ball ahead. She stepped forward, allowing the maid to step in front of her. The maid reached out her empty hand for the mask clutched and hers.

Penelope stood still. Her eyes fixed on the delicate mask held in her hand. At that moment, a sudden wave of blankness washed over her mind, leaving her momentarily lost.

“Miss, it is time to go,” Amelia reminded her, returning her attention to the maid. Amelia stood with a smile.

“Yes, of course,” Penelope said with a smile as she handed the mask to Amelia. Penelope turned back towards the entrance as Amelia began placing the mask on her face, tying it up in the back, and securing it to her face.

As she turned around, she caught sight of her mother's elegant attire. Her mother was wearing a stunning light green dress adorned with feathers that perfectly matched the ensemble. Her dress trailed behind her as she prepared to attend the masquerade. The elaborate mask her mother wore was also embellished with feathers, unlike her own, and it effectively concealed most of her face.

“Where have you been?” her mother asked with an exasperated sigh before waving her off. “Never mind. You could have made us late.”

Penelope nodded and said, "Yes, mother," before following her mother out of the house.

Notes:

I live for kudos and comments. I am also looking for a beta reader for future stories/parts. Thank you in advance.

Chapter 9: Ruin

Summary:

The night of the masquerade

Notes:

Here is another chapter, everyone. Enjoy!

Early May 1815 – The Night Of

The mask on his face was irritating.

He took it off as soon as he entered the carriage, and now that the carriage had reached its destination, he was tempted to leave the mask in the carriage before entering his bachelor apartment. But he thinks better about it.

“My Lord?” the footman at his side asks with a questioning look.

Anthony let out a deep sigh and nodded as he disembarked from the carriage, the sound of the wheels rolling to a stop echoing in the stillness of the night. The chill in the air wraps around him like a heavy cloak, seeping into his bones and amplifying the unease that has settled in his chest. The anxiety he felt earlier still lingers, intensifying rather than fading away, a persistent reminder of the weight of expectations that accompany a night like tonight. He takes a moment to steady himself, inhaling the crisp night air, hoping to dispel the tension that clings to him like a shadow.

He watched Penelope descend the grand staircase leading to the opulent dance hall, his breath caught in his throat. She was a vision of elegance, dressed in a stunning combination of warm orange and shimmering gold that seemed to capture the very essence of the evening. The fabric flowed gracefully around her, catching the light with every step she took, creating a halo of warmth that contrasted beautifully with the coolness of the night. Her hair was meticulously styled, an elegant updo that showcased her delicate neck, with a few artfully placed curls framing her face, softening her features and enhancing her natural beauty.

The ball was alive with energy, a vibrant tapestry of color and sound. Lords and Ladies of the Ton glide across the dance floor in their vibrant, ornate gowns, each more extravagant than the last, their laughter and chatter mingling in the air like a symphony of joy. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the promise of romance and intrigue, as couples twirled and swayed to the enchanting music that filled the hall. The air was rich with the aromas of delicious food, a tantalizing array of delicacies that beckoned from the banquet tables, and the sweetness of fine wine, which flowed freely, adding to the revelry of the evening.

Anthony’s heart raced as he took in the scene. The dazzling lights reflected off the polished marble floors, creating a dreamlike quality that made it hard to believe he was truly here. Yet, amidst the laughter and the swirling gowns, he felt a sense of isolation as he watched Penelope.

He might have been too obvious as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Penelope as she moved across the floor with other gentlemen of the Ton, most not knowing that she was the resident wallflower but they were dancing with. Anthony knew that his brother definitely did notice he was distracted throughout the evening.

The moon shines brightly, casting a soft glow as Anthony strides through the entrance of his bachelor’s lodging. The layout of the space is reminiscent of his house at Governor Square. He pauses to acknowledge the footman before continuing on his way.

“Please inform my mother I will be remaining here tonight,” he ordered.

As the footman nodded in acknowledgment, he settled back onto the cushioned seat of the elegant carriage, taking hold of the reins to guide the horses back to the main house at Governor Square. The rhythmic sound of the horses' hooves and the creaking of the carriage wheels against the cobblestones filled his ears as he made his way back to his bachelor lodgings, all while the faint noises of the late city reached his ears. Upon his arrival, he carefully shut the heavy wooden door behind him, momentarily enveloping himself in the peaceful solitude of his abode.

He listens to the floor as it creeks and groans under the weight of another person walking across it. Anthony then walks across the entrance and up the stairs. When he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees her.

Still adorned in her elegant ballgown, Penelope leans gracefully over a small, intricately carved pianoforte situated near the window in the far-right corner of the opulent room. With one delicate hand, her slender fingers caress the keys without exerting pressure, while the other hand delicately cradles her ornate masquerade mask. Soft, melodious humming escapes her lips as her fingertips glide over the smooth ivory keys, creating a gentle, ethereal melody that fills the room.

“Do you play?” he asked, cutting through the silent of the apartment with a laugh.  

Penelope spun around in surprise, smiling. Her hand accidentally landed on a cluster of keys, producing a jumble of notes from the pianoforte.

“Anthony,” Penelope replied breathlessly, surprisedly bringing her hand with the mask up to her chest.

"Penelope," Anthony replied with a warm smile, his eyes brightening.

They glided toward one another with fluid grace, arriving at the center of the sitting room, close enough to touch. This space radiated sophistication, echoing the charm of Governor Square, its walls embellished with elaborate paintings in hues of blue and gold that infused the room with a cozy yet luxurious ambiance. The rich blue tones evoked a sense of calm, while the golden accents added a touch of opulence, creating an inviting atmosphere that felt both intimate and grand.

Among the carefully selected artworks, each piece telling its own story and contributing to the room's character. One stood out prominently above the chilly fireplace—a cherished portrait of his parents, Edmond and Violet Bridgerton. The painting captured them in a moment of serene elegance, their expressions imbued with warmth and affection. With his distinguished features and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, Edmond exuded a quiet strength, while Violet, with her soft smile and graceful poise, radiated kindness and charm.

“Mask?” he asked, holding his hand to take her mask.

“What?” Penelope questioned before meeting Anthony’s eye at the mask in her hand. “Right,” She breathes. Penelope hands her mask over to Anthony.

He takes a step back, carefully placing both of their masks on one of the side tables in the apartment's sitting room. With a longing gaze, Anthony looks back at Penelope before slowly closing the distance between them. Extending his hands, he waits as Penelope delicately places her hand in his. As they draw closer, a sense of anticipation fills the air, and they both take a deep breath, inhaling each other's scents.

Anthony moves in closer, as one would if they were dancing, “Penelope, we don’t have to do anything,” Anthony whispers into her ear as he holds Penelope’s hand in his.

Penelope looks over, meets Anthony’s eyes, and tightens her hands around his, “But I…I want to,” she states quietly.

“Ok,” he gently nodded in agreement, and a soft smile graced Anthony’s lips. Slowly stepping back, he released his hands from Penelope's and began making his way toward the doorway that led to his bedroom. Just as he turned, Penelope tugged at his arm, causing him to look back at her with a questioning expression.

"Let's relocate to a room with a bed," he suggested, nodding towards the door. Anthony then closed the distance between them, reaching out to brush away a stray strand of Penelope's hair as he reassured her, "You will be more comfortable there. I promise."

“Ok,” Penelope agrees anxiously.

Anthony gently grasps one of her hands, his touch warm and reassuring, as he guides her from the sitting room and down the corridor. The soft glow of the hallway lights casts a gentle illumination on their path, creating a cocoon of intimacy around them. He halts before his bedroom, which has always felt like a sanctuary and swings the door open with a flourish, ushering her inside with a subtle nod of invitation.

As he steps into the room, he takes a moment to survey the space, his eyes flitting over the familiar surroundings. The walls are adorned with muted colors, a palette of soft blues and grays that evoke a sense of calm. However, his gaze quickly lands on the fireplace, its cold, darkened hearth a stark reminder of the lingering chill that permeates the air, a remnant of late spring's unpredictable weather. The absence of warmth in the room seems to echo the unspoken tension between them, a contrast to the warmth of their earlier connection.

Releasing her hand, he moves purposefully toward the fireplace, his movements fluid and confident. He kneels before the hearth, the coolness of the stone beneath his fingertips a stark contrast to the warmth he hopes to create. With practiced ease, he gathers kindling and logs, arranging them with care, his mind focused on the task at hand. The faint scent of wood and smoke begins to fill the air as he strikes a match, the flame flickering to life with a soft crackle.

As the fire begins to catch, he glances back at her, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. The sound of her footsteps fills the air, the wooden floorboards creaking and sighing beneath her as she enters the room. Each step she takes seems to resonate with quiet grace, and he watches as she moves further inside, her presence illuminating the space in a way that the cold hearth cannot.

The flickering light from the fire dances across her features, casting playful shadows that highlight the delicate curve of her jaw and the softness of her expression. He feels a warmth spreading through him, not just from the fire but from the connection that seems to deepen with each passing moment.

As the flames crackle and pop, sending tiny sparks into the air, Anthony stands and brushes his hands together, the remnants of ash falling away. He then turns to her with a smile.

“Penelope come here,” Anthony calls in a hoarse voice from the fireplace.

She advances, and the door clicks shut behind her, sealing them in a world that feels both intimate and electric. The air is thick with unspoken words and lingering glances, a palpable tension that crackles between them. Anthony seizes one of her hands, drawing her close, their bodies almost touching. The warmth radiating from her skin ignites a fire within him. He brushes a gentle, fleeting kiss against her lips, a soft whisper of affection that sends shivers down her spine.

Anthony carefully removed the hairpins holding up Penelope's hair, causing it to cascade down in a glorious tumble of waves and curls. As he leaned back to admire her, he was captivated by her delicate beauty. Her undone hair framed her flushed cheeks and highlighted the delicate bruises mottling her skin. The sight of her heavy breaths and the tangled mass of hair falling around her shoulders made him yearn to run his fingers through it gently.

Penelope grips his jacket tightly, her fingers curling into the fabric as if anchoring herself to him. Anthony pivots away from her, smoothly shedding his jacket and shirt in one fluid motion while tossing aside his boots. The fabric of his shirt flutters to the ground like a fallen leaf, and the soft thud of his boots echoes in the quiet room.

Her hand slides from his shoulder to his chest, pressing down to feel the strength beneath, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing her own. A soft whimper escapes her lips, a sound so vulnerable and sweet that it makes his heart race. He can't help but laugh, a low, warm sound reverberating between them, breaking the tension with a hint of playful mischief.

Then, with a deeper intensity, he kisses her again, this time more fervently, electricity striking between them, heating up the space and their bodies. The kiss deepens, igniting a warmth that spreads through him.

He pulls away. Anthony sees her cheeks flush a vibrant red, the color matching the hue of her hair, a beautiful cascade that frames her face. She is overwhelmed with shyness, her gaze dropping to the floor, yet there is a spark of something more—a connection that draws them together like moths to a flame. Anthony beams at her, his smile wide and genuine.

His fingers tug at the delicate ties of her dress, a silent invitation that speaks volumes of his desire, swiftly and gently pulling the top of her dress down. Blood rushes to his groin at the sight of her full and exquisite breasts. He moves to kiss her chest, lounging kisses across the top of her breast. Licking and sucking at one of her nipples while he uses his fingers on the other. She squirms under the attention.

Without pulling away from her, he then unfastens his trousers, letting them slip down his legs and fall where they may, a careless abandon that speaks to the intimacy of the moment. He pulls away from her breast, standing there in his full glory. He remains blissfully unaware of the effect he has on her as she slips off her shoes, the soft sound of them hitting the floor barely audible. With a gentle tug, she peels away her ball gown, the luxurious fabric cascading to the ground in a whisper of silk, leaving her bear to him exposed to the cool air. A hint of nervousness flickers across her face, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as she takes in the sight of him, but it is quickly replaced by a warm smile that lights up her features.

With a warm smile, he draws Penelope closer once more, his hands finding her waist and pulling her into him. He feels her delicate fingers gliding over his chest and back, her hands pressing against him as they explore the contours of his torso and abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle that ripple beneath his skin. Each touch sends a shiver of electricity coursing through him, igniting a fire that spreads from his core. Anthony leans in, capturing her bottom lip with his in a tender kiss, their mouths moving together in a dance as old as time. A surge of warmth ignites within him. He moans as he feels their naked bodies pressed together.

They move toward the bed, their movements uncoordinated and clumsy, momentarily parting to kneel on its surface, the soft sheets lying beneath them as they settle. Their lips meet once more in a fervent embrace, a collision of passion that sends shivers down their spines. Anthony's lips begin to wander down her neck, brushing just beneath her ear, where he lingers for a moment, savoring the warmth of her skin. The charged connection between them intensifies with every touch, each caress igniting a fire that spreads through their bodies.

A soft moan escapes her lips, a sound so sweet and inviting that it ignites a sense of pride within him at her reaction. It’s a melody that resonates deep within him, fueling his desire and urging him to explore further. As he leans in for another kiss, he feels her lips trailing down his neck, her breath warm against his skin, igniting sparks that dance across his body like electricity. The sensation is intoxicating, drawing him closer to her.

With a gentle push, he lays her back on the bed, the soft fabric enveloping her as he pulls away just enough to take in the sight of her bare form for the first time. His heart races as he drinks in the beauty before him, the way the light catches her skin, illuminating every curve and contour. It’s a sight that leaves him breathless, a vision that will be etched in his memory forever.

He kneels on the edge of the bed and takes a moment to admire her, his gaze tracing the delicate lines of her body, the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, and the slight flush of her cheeks that speaks of her desire. The air is thick with anticipation, a palpable tension crackling between them, urging him to bridge the distance once more. He leans in closer, his fingers gently brushing against her skin, igniting a trail of warmth that follows in their wake.

Anthony carefully and slowly trails his right hand up her leg, but he stops when she pulls her leg away at his response. Anthony pauses and looks up at Penelope. As he ascends the bed, he inches closer to her, making his way until they are positioned face to face.

“Are you ok?” he whispers, caressing her face.

Penelope shudders under his touch, “I’m fine…it just… it just your ring is cold,” Penelope states breathlessly, pointing out his signet ring.

“Sorry,” he apologizes with a smile.

He goes to remove the ring from his finger when Penelope stops him. “Don’t be,” she replies, “It means this is real, not a product of my imagination.”

Anthony smiled softly and moved to kiss her gently. He made a point of only touching her with his fingertips. He ran his hand up her leg again, persisting even as she shivered. Placing a kiss on her lips, he brushed his fingers against her inner thigh. She sighed, arms crossed across her chest, and her face filled with want. 

He watched her as she trembled hard at the first gentle stroke of his fingers against her folds, and then his fingers slid from her entrance to her clit. He circled it with his thumb for several long moments, watching out for the look on her face and her body movements. He wanted to make sure she was feeling only pleasure. And with every passing moment, he could feel the growing urge to bury himself inside her and wanted to know what she felt like coming apart on his cock.

Anthony held onto her knee with his other hand. Then, ran the back of his fingers against her folds again before using two fingers to spread her and expose her completely to him. Penelope shuttered and gasped, attempting to cover herself with her hands, only to be batted away by Anthony’s hand. Her face was filled with desire, and her cheeks were aflame with embarrassment.

He then pushes in, and the tips of his fingers brush against something spongy at the end of her cunt, soft and supple. Her toes curl where her feet slip and slide over his hips, head twisting this way and that, mouth dropping open. He focuses in, using his rakish ways to his advantage, and brushes over the spot with reckless abandon, desperate to see her fall apart.

“Anthony,” she moans, reaching out to him.  

Her walls clamp down on his fingers, almost pushing them out as her back arches, climax ripping through her, and he can't do much else but watch, awe stringing down the center of him.

Anthony presses his lips against hers with intensity, pulling his fingers from her cunt, the warmth of the moment enveloping them both. Time seems to stand still as they share this intimate connection, the world around them fading into a distant blur. He lingers there, savoring the taste of her lips, the softness that sends a thrill through him. Just as the heat of the kiss reaches its peak, he pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with hers, their foreheads resting together as they both catch their breath.

“Penelope,” he growls into her neck, feeling the tightness in his belly build, aching from the lack of attention.

He presses his lips down her neck, chest, and belly to reach her cunt. He feels Penelope shudder and twitch under his attention. Anthony hooks one of her knees over his shoulder to open her up wide. He wanted so badly to taste her. She tries to close her legs when he opens her up to him, but he holds her in place with his hands. Anthony’s head then dipped down, and his lips contacted her heated center. Anthony let out a feral groan and pressed himself deeper into her, opening his mouth so his tongue could wreak havoc on her body. Her hand grasps the roots of his hair as she presses his face toward her cunt. He devoured her like a ravenous man, lapping her up, suckling her, slurping her wetness, all while he let out animalistic groans that vibrated through the room.

Anthony continues to use his tongue to lap at her slowly but then uses his fingers again to press into her and cause her to shatter under his glaze. Penelope sobbed when she shattered. Pulling back, he licks her wetness from his lips and wipes her wetness at his chin and chest. Her hands grips at his shoulders to bring him to her lips.

He groaned, and his lips met hers. “A – Anthony,” she sighed, gathered up in his arms.

During a momentary pause, a palpable surge of electricity crackles between them as his eyes meet hers. In response, she instinctively leans in once again, feeling the quickening pace of her heart betray her desire. Their lips meet for the second time, infused with an urgency that hints at unspoken yearning. The kiss evolves into a fervent exploration, igniting a passionate fire within them. He tenderly cradles her face, sharing his warmth and drawing her nearer, the sensation akin to his skin being gently ablaze.

Every brush of their lips sends shivers down his spine, and he loses himself in the moment, forgetting everything but the taste of her and the way she makes him feel. The kiss is a dance, a rhythm that they instinctively know, each movement drawing them deeper into a world where nothing else matters. The air around them crackles with unspoken words and promises. The aching in his belly grows, and he fears he will spill himself before he has had the chance to enter her.

He lowers himself between her legs and kisses her deeply. Anthony pulls back to meet Penelope’s eyes, blood rushing through his ears. Her face is flushed and red, her eyes glassed over, and her body is relaxed against the bed. Penelope wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding him close in a warm embrace.

He pulls up on his knees and repositions her, so her legs encircle his waist. One hand latches onto his bicep, digging in as he slides in slowly. Despite his urge to push into her hard and fast, he reminds himself that this is Penelope, a woman who has never experienced this before, and he wants her to enjoy herself. Slowly, as he pushes in, he notices how tight she is and shivers at the sensation of her muscles flexing against him. She relaxes in his hold until he is fully seated, hips clicking into place, and their foreheads fall against each other.

They both moan at the sensation. He stills as her muscles tighten and squeeze him. He is slowly going insane as he remains until the hand on his bicep loosens. His eyes roll back, and he nips at her collar.

“Anthony,” she whispers into his ear. She moves her hips slightly back, wanting to move against him.

“Anthony, please,” Penelope pleads. “Please, I want…I want more.”

He pulls back and starts rocking into her, making sure to brush against her bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs. She moans into his ear as she pulls at the hair at the back of his neck. He groans in return, setting an aggressive pace. Short, swift, and deep, making sure to ground his hips into her every so often. He hears her moan and grapple onto him as if holding on for dear life as they move. He moves his hips as her hips meet him, thrust for thrust. Anthony knew she had already cum twice and was probably tired and rung out, but he could feel her building up to another orgasm.

“Penelope, cum, for me,” He breathes into her shoulder, pushing in over and over.

“Anthony, I can’t,” she whispers, moaning with every thrust.

“You can,” he states, “Cum” he commands, pushing into her. His muscles flexed, and his body moved, and then he was overpowered by the pressure he applied the moment her walls clutched down on him in a vice so tight he couldn’t help but stumble over the edge right after her grunting. As she came, he pulled out of her, his seed spilling onto the sheets below them.

They pant together, their foreheads leaning against each other. He makes sure to lean his weight mostly on his arms and legs before rolling away from her, taking time for his breath to slow. He swallows as the world starts to come back into focus. He looks back at Penelope and watches her heaving chest slows with deeper breaths.

“Anthony,” she states as she looks over to him dreamy-eyed and smiling.

“Is it always like this?” Penelope asks, turning her body towards him slowly. Her fiery red hair, once perfectly in place, is now messy and disheveled.

Anthony smiles back at her and brushes one of her locks of hair away from her face, then traces the edge of her eyebrow with his thumb. “Not always,” he mumbles, “but it can be.” Anthony’s hands fall away from her face.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, fighting against the exhaustion that drained every last vestige of energy from his body. Despite the overwhelming urge to sleep, he found himself unable to succumb to it just yet. Penelope's face hovered mere inches from his own, their breaths mingling in the shared intimacy of their close proximity. Side by side, they lay in a perfect moment of contentment, their bodies heavy with the weight of sleep that was about to claim them.

“I can see why everyone is captivated by it,” she states drowsily, “I can see why young ladies are kept from understanding it. They would be more eager to marry if they knew this was the outcome.”

“Truly?” Anthony said, perking up at the statement with a smirk.

“Of course,” she replied, with a little laugh before sighing, seeming to settle for the night, pulling some of the sheets of the bed over her, hiding her lovely breasts from his sight.

Anthony turns to lie on his stomach, pulling the blanket to him, trying to settle into a better sleeping position. His eyes fall closed when he hears Penelope gasp.

“I’m sorry,” Penelope apologizes from her place beside him in the bed.

“For what?” Anthony replies, opening his eyes and raising an eyebrow to look at her face, now filled with regret. Anthony is confused about the reason why Penelope would be so remorseful.

“Your back,” she replies at the sight of his questioning look.

It clicked. He realized, with a sudden clarity, that when Penelope had mentioned the scratches on his back, she was not merely referring to superficial marks; she was alluding to the imprints left by her sharp nails, which had dug into his skin during their more passionate moments. The memory of her fingers, both delicate and fierce, sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the intensity of their encounter.

As he recalled the blend of worry and remorse etched on her face, he could almost see it vividly in his mind's eye. Her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, and those expressive eyes of hers—usually so full of mischief—now clouded with concern. It painted a striking picture that contrasted sharply with the playful banter they often shared. He imagined his back likely appearing angry, crimson, and perhaps even oozing, a testament to the fervor of their encounter. The thought made him wince, but it also stirred a sense of pride; after all, those marks were a badge of their shared passion.

He couldn't help but scoff at her worry, the sound escaping his lips before he could stop it. It was a reflex, a way to deflect the seriousness of the situation, but he knew it would only serve to irritate her further. Following the scoff, a chuckle bubbled up, one that was light-hearted yet tinged with mischief. It was a sound that never failed to get underneath her skin, and he relished the way her eyes narrowed in response, a mixture of exasperation and affection swirling within them.

“I’m fine. There is nothing I have not dealt with before,” he explained, her questioning look. “They are simply the hazards of lovemaking.” He yawned into his pillow.

Penelope's anxieties seemed to fade as she found the answer, which brought a sense of relief, allowing her to give Anthony a tender smile. Gradually, she drew herself into a comfortable position, unable to suppress a yawn, with her heavy eyes struggling to stay open as she nestled into the softness of her pillow.

“Goodnight, Anthony,” she breathed as she fell into sleep.

“Goodnight, Penelope,” he replied, eyes falling close, tugging the blanket closer to him.

He only hopes that tomorrow, he won’t wake up alone.

 

Chapter 10: The Morning After

Summary:

The morning after the masquerade.

Notes:

Here is another chapter please emjoy.

Early May 1815 – The Morning After

She sighs.

Penelope stirs awake before he does, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains and painting the room in delicate hues of gold and amber. As she blinks away the remnants of slumber, her eyelids flutter like a butterfly's wings, and she takes a moment to savor the tranquility that envelops her. Stretching her limbs, she feels the gentle pull of her muscles, a reminder of the exquisite blend of pain, pleasure, and warmth that had enveloped her the night before.

Memories flood her mind—laughter shared over candlelight, whispered secrets that danced between them, and the intoxicating closeness that had ignited a fire within her. The echoes of their shared intimacy linger in the air, a sweet reminder of their night together.

The sun begins to rise, casting a gentle glow that spills across the room, illuminating the contours of his face as he lies beside her, lost in dreams. His features are softened in the morning light, and she can’t help but admire how his hair falls across his forehead and how his chest rises and falls with each breath. A serenity in his expression makes her heart swell, a sense of peace that she wishes could last forever.

Anthony Bridgerton had always possessed a striking charm. In his youth, he embodied the youthful allure that characterized all the Bridgerton men, but as the years passed, his attractiveness evolved into a more rugged and masculine appeal. She found herself captivated and spellbound by this transformation. The question lingered in her mind: why had he chosen her? What had prompted him to offer her such exquisite pleasure? Deep down, she sensed it wasn’t out of guilt or some peculiar sense of obligation, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something deeper at play.

Yet, as much as she yearns to linger in this cozy cocoon, wrapped in the warmth of their shared space, she knows that the day has not fully arrived. The world outside is still cloaked in the quiet of early morning, the sounds of nature just beginning to stir. She feels a pull to remain in this moment, to watch him peacefully sleep beside her, to memorize the way the light dances across his skin, to imprint this image in her mind for the days when they are no longer a part of each other’s lives.

Penelope can feel the ghost of his fingertips at her waist, the sensation of his lips and tongue making their way down her chest and belly before feasting on her cunt. She yearns to touch him again but does not know if that is allowed. She doesn’t know if she can brush her fingertips against his neck or chest. She wanted to kiss him again and have him hold her again. To have him press down on her again, to have him use his lips, tongue, and fingers on her again.

Penelope pressed her legs together to try to suppress the rising heat within her and the wetness between her thighs. But when she looks at him, she can’t help but wonder what his skin feels under her fingertips. Would he even allow her to touch him? Would he want it?

She lifts her hand from its resting place on the bed to slowly hover over the counters of his face and neck, never touching. She was scared to wake him. Penelope doesn’t want to ruin the quiet peace. Penelope moved her hand closer a few centimeters to his chest. She can feel the warmth of his body and longs to touch.

“You can touch me, you know,” Anthony says sleepily in a hoarse voice, stretching his body as h talks.

Penelope experiences a sudden jolt as she quickly retractes her hand. Looking up at Anthony's face, she noticed his eyes were closed. His dark brown hair was tousled and messy, and his skin flushed with a hint of color. He then grinned gently and playfully opened one eye, revealing his mischievous nature.

“I would have no objections,” He stated, continuing to lounge beside her.  

“I did not know if it was allowed,” Penelope states, her eyes focused on the spot behind Antony’s face. Her heart pounds under his gaze. Last evening, she had been caught up in the sensations, his kisses, and the heat that rushed across her skin. She had very little time to consider her nerves.

Anthony gently glides his fingertips over her face, his index finger delicately outlining the curve of her lips. The soft brush of his skin against hers sends a shiver down her spine, igniting a warmth that spreads through her. “Touch me as much as you wish, Penelope,” he whispers.

“But..but,” she shudders. Her slender fingers glide through his soft, tousled hair as she leans in to kiss him gently.

Penelope's breath catches in her throat as she processes his words, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling within her. She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching his for reassurance, and finds a depth of understanding and encouragement reflected back at her. With a newfound confidence, she reaches out, her fingers trembling slightly as they trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch.

As she explores, she notices the way his eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and it emboldens her further. She moves to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the stubble that adds a rugged charm to his features.

Anthony leans into her touch, encouraging her to continue, and she feels a rush of exhilaration. She lets her fingers wander, exploring the contours of his face, the arch of his brow, and the gentle slope of his nose. He takes her hand and guides it downward down his neck down his chest.

“You can touch me lower,” he says. Anthony's eyes flicker open, and the intensity of his gaze sends her heart racing even faster. He smiles, a slow, genuine smile that lights up his entire face, and she feels a warmth bloom in her chest.

Her hand trails down his chest and stomach, admiring the way his muscles taper down his groin. He sighs as her fingers brush against the space just above his groin. She does not exactly know what to do and feels like there is something that she could do for him to make him feel good.

“Here,” he says. Anthony guides her hand lower. Penelope looks back up at him, worried.

“I – I…A – Anthony…I – I,” Penelope studders.

“Circle your hand around my cock,” Anthony directs, placing his hand over her to cup his cock. “Like this.”

His cock is firm and hot and larger than she expected. She does not know how she didn’t break when he entered her last night. Penelope remembers how he felt within her: hot and all-consuming, with power and strength. He moved her index finger and thumb to circle the base of his cock and squeeze him. He groans under her attention. He directs her to move her hand up and down the length of him.

“Good,” Anthony states breathlessly. His face contorted in pleasure when she moved over him again—Anthony moaned and twitched when she tightened her grip on him.

“Am I hurting you?” Penelope asks softly.

Anthony shakes his head with a slight smile on his face, his breath shortens, and he pants as her hand continually moves over his cock, making sure to keep the same pressure as she moves.

“That’s good. Keep going,” Anthony breathes into her cheek.

“I am not very good at this,” Penelope whispers as their eyes meet. His hand has not moved from her hand. Her hand feels like it is overheating, and her breath begins to shorten.

“I would not expect you to be,” Anthony whispers. “Tighter, Penelope,” he breathes, “Like this,” his hand tightens over hers, his hips moving against their hands.

Heat in her rising as she watches him. She can feel the wetness between her thighs growing. She desires him. She wants him to take her once more. Penelope wants him to touch her and kiss her. She leans in, pressing her lips softly against his before deepening the connection with her tongue. As her hand glides over him, an undeniable spark ignites in the air, their gazes locking in a moment charged with intensity.

“Fuck, Penelope,” Anthony shouts as he groans, feeling wetness over her hand.

Penelope watches as he lies back, and his body relaxes into the bed. Watching him and feeling him cum makes her hotter than before. Penelope wipes away his release on the sheets beside her before looking back at Anthony. She is hot all over and can’t seem to cool down. She sighs in frustration.

When it appears that he has recovered, ignoring her growing annoyance and the heat between her legs, she states, “Thank you,” and she pauses, not having enough courage to look him in the eyes. Penelope doesn’t know what the social etiquette is when one takes another virtue, but she assumes it started with gratitude. “For last night, I am aware that I may not fit the conventional standards of attractiveness, but I wanted to express my gratitude for – “

"Penelope," Anthony interrupted, his voice soft and tender. "You are so incredibly beautiful." As he spoke, he reached out and gently cupped her face in his hand, his touch sending shivers down her spine. With the utmost care, he ran his thumb across her delicate eyebrow, his eyes locked onto hers with unwavering intensity.

“Please remember that no one has the right to tell you that you are not beautiful,” Anthony states quietly. He softly pressed his lips into hers.

"Anthony," Penelope breathes out softly, leaning into his gentle caress. Deep down, she understands that she doesn't fit the mold of beauty. His kindness feels like a gift she could never hope to return. Her fiery red hair, her curvy figure, her reserved nature—each trait seems to weigh heavily on her, making her feel like a burden to those around her at times.

“Do you think I would do this if I didn’t find you attractive,” Anthony states, trailing his finger down her face.

“Anthony,” Penelope sighed as his finger brushed under her neck.

“Penelope,” Anthony whispers into her skin.

His fingers brush across her collarbones and down her chest, followed by his lips. He kisses across her chest, nipping and biting at her breast, as he rolls on top of her, sucking at one of her nipples. Her hands pull at his hair, trying to pull him closer and downwards where she feels he is needed most. She feels like she is burning up, and he is touching her everywhere but where she wants him. But to her dismay, she could not move him—Penelope moaned as his fingers trailed downward over her belly and another trail up her thigh.

“Anthony,” Penelope begs breathlessly, “Please.”

He pulls away, and she tries to follow but is stopped when his finger circles her entrance. She trembles hard at the stroke of his fingers against her folds, moving from her entrance to her clit. His fingers circled her clit with his thumb for several long moments. Then he pressed his thumb onto her clit, applying a slight amount of pressure. In surprise or pleasure, she bucks up against his hand and moans.

“Do you know how much time I spent over the last week trying not to think of you?” Anthony mutters into her ear. “Not to think of how you would feel underneath me. Wondering about the sounds you would make?” He places kisses down her neck, sloppy and wet, as they make a loud wet sound against her skin.

“Do you know how much time I’ve spent trying not to think about how your breast would feel in my hands or on my lips?” he questions, nipping at her breast.

Anthony pumps one of his fingers into her while his thumb taps on her clit. Her hand latches on the hand that is working a finger inside her. His finger curls in her while he works in and out of her. He then adds another finger to her to open her up. Penelope uses her legs to push up against the bed and meet his hand.

“Do you know how I crave you?” Anthony groans into her skin, “Do you know how it will pain me to leave here knowing I can never touch you again?”           

She can feel herself getting wetter underneath his attention and at his words. Which she didn’t think she would ever hear.

“A – Anthony, please,” she moans into his neck and shoulder.

His fingers thrust inside her again and again while his thumb continues to tap on her clit. His hand is drenched in her wetness. The heat inside her builds, rising higher and higher.

“Cum, Penelope,” Anthony roughly states. His fingers brush up against a spot inside her, which makes her jolt in surprise. The same spot that made her cum last night.

“I c – can’t,” she shutters, “A – Anthony, Please,” she pleas.

“You can,” Anthony encourages. As his fingers keep pressing upon the spot inside her while increasing his pressure on her clit. “NOW CUM,” he commends.

“ANTHONY,” she shouts, chest heaving, and then she collapses onto the bed. Penelope was suddenly overcome by a powerful jolt that surged through her body, rendering her mind blank as the room dissolved before her eyes. She felt as if she was falling, trying to catch her breath, as his fingers continued their torment at her center.

When she is allowed to catch her breath, she feels him pull out his finger from her heat. The soreness from their tryst from last night is still there but not as prominent now. Penelope looks up at Anthony with a crooked grin. Turning to the window, she catches sight of the sun beginning its ascent, illuminating the sky. A wave of realization washes over her—her moments with him are fleeting, and she is determined not to let them slip away.

With a soft sigh, she allows herself to sink back into the pillows, her heart full of gratitude for the night they shared. She knows that soon enough, the day's responsibilities will beckon them, but for now, she is content to be—lost in the beauty of the present.

---

“ANTHONY,” she shouts, chest heaving; she then collapses into bed.

He watches as she falls apart on his fingers, her muscles tightening around his fingers, wetness dripping from her.

Gods, he thinks, as he kisses her and then leans their foreheads against each other.

Anthony observes her steady breaths, the hue of her skin shifting from a deep crimson to a soft blush. A gentle smile appears on her lips, and he can't help but ponder what it might have been like to awaken beside Kate. Would she radiate this same warmth? Would she be intrigued by their newfound connection? Would she have relished the moment of waking up next to him?

He imagines the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room and illuminating the delicate features of her face. He envisions the way Kate's hair might fall across the pillow, tousled and carefree, and how her laughter would fill the air as she playfully nudged him awake. The thought of her eyes sparkling with mischief as she teased him about his bedhead brings a smile to his face, but it quickly fades as he shakes off the thought.

Anthony redirects his attention to the woman lying beside him in bed, her presence grounding him in the moment. He studies her, taking in the way her chest rises and falls with each breath, the peaceful expression that graces her features. There’s a certain beauty in her tranquility, a softness that draws him in—the soft curve of her breast out from underneath the sheets.

As he watches her, he feels a mix of emotions swirling within him—curiosity, desire, and a hint of uncertainty. Anthony decides to focus on the present and appreciate the warmth of her body beside him. His hand finds its way to her hips while they lie facing each other.

"Have you given further consideration to what you will do at the conclusion of the season?” Anthony asked, his tone laced with curiosity about any shifts in her intentions. He doubted that the events of the previous night would significantly impact her decision, yet he held onto a glimmer of hope that it might spark some hesitation or reconsideration.

"I am currently in the process of evaluating my options and have not made a final decision yet," Penelope replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty as her fingers gently glided over his shoulder and neck, an attempt to divert her mind from his probing questions. Her eyes do not meet his. Instead, they focus on the skin of her shoulder.

“Has someone caught your eye?” Anthony continues. As he posed the question, a sudden shift occurred within him. A sensation of hollowness overcame him, an ache that he had experienced before, an ache he hoped never to feel again.

“No,” she scoffs as if implying that no gentleman within the Ton would see worthy enough to court her.

“I am considering delaying any final decisions until later in the season,” Penelope answered, resting her hand on his chest. Anthony pulls her in by her hips, bringing her in closer.

“So, you haven’t brought the cabin?” Anthony questions in a deep voice.

Penelope sighs and meets Anthony’s eyes, “I am currently in the process of finalizing the necessary paperwork with my solicitor. I believe that it would be prudent to have this option available to me, even if I ultimately decide to stay.”

“Mmh,” Anthony murmurs as his thumb begins to brush the skin at her hip in a circular motion.

His gaze drifts to the petite writing desk nestled behind her, a silent witness to his thoughts. With its delicate carvings and polished surface, the desk seems to hold the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams. Memories of Kate flood his mind, vivid and bittersweet, reminding him of her ambitions and the reasons she chose to part ways with him. He recalls the conversations they shared last season, filled with aggression, where she spoke passionately about her aspirations and the life she envisioned for herself. Finding a suitable match for her sister had consumed her, a task she approached with aggressive zeal.

But what about Penelope? He pondered her aspirations, assuming they mirrored those of many women in their social circle: a desire for independence from familial ties, a sense of security, and the joys of motherhood. Yet, as he sat there, he couldn't shake the feeling that Penelope was different. There was a spark in her eyes, a flicker of ambition that suggested she yearned for more than the conventional path laid out before her. Was that truly what Penelope yearned for? He found himself questioning the assumptions he had made about her desires.

Could he be the one to fulfill those dreams? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He had always admired her spirit, her intelligence, and the way she approached life with a blend of curiosity and determination. But could he offer her the kind of partnership that would allow her to chase her ambitions while also nurturing the dreams of a family? The weight of his own feelings pressed heavily on him. Would he want to be her partner?

As he continued to gaze at the desk, he imagined Penelope sitting there, pen in hand, crafting her own narrative. Would she write about love, about adventure, or about the life she dreamed of building? The thought ignited a flicker of hope within him. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could be a part of that story.

“Have you always aspired to hold the title of Viscount?” Penelope asks, cutting into Anthony’s thoughts.

“What?” Anthony questions, refocusing on Penelope’s face. His thumbs are still on her hip, and his eyes meet hers.

“Have you always aspired to hold the title of Viscount?” she asks again with a soft smile on her face.

With a furrowed brow, Anthony responds, "I've never given it much thought." He captures her hands and lays them between them.

“But, would you if you could choose to be Viscount?” Penelope asked.

“I don’t know,” Anthony admits with a sigh.

“All my life, I’ve been trained to be a Viscount,” Anthony answers, “Told that I would inherit the title, eventually marry, and have kids to ensure my bloodline. I was never asked.”

“I don’t know what I would do if I weren’t the Viscount,” Anthony states.

Penelope gives a slight nod, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and understanding. Their hands and fingers entwined, creating a delicate tapestry of warmth and connection, as if each touch spoke volumes that words could never capture. The gentle pressure of their palms against one another. Meanwhile, their legs and feet come together in a gentle embrace, forming a cozy cocoon. The soft brush of skin against skin sent a shiver of intimacy through the air as they leaned closer, their bodies instinctively aligning in a dance of comfort and trust.

In a hushed whisper, Penelope leans in and asks, "Are you still interested in pursuing marriage, as discussed in the previous season?” Her gaze lingers on their intertwined hands, filled with anticipation.

“Yes,” he answers, “But I would need the right Viscountess to get married to.”

“Miss Clearwater,” Penelope states. Anthony looked up at Penelope as she made the statement, giving her a questioning look.

“Miss Clearwater would be a good Viscountess, I think,” Penelope repeats, “She possesses the intelligence to sustain engaging conversations, and she also has an appealing appearance. And her mother and grandmother have had no problem conceiving or birthing children.”

Anthony found himself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure whether to feel insulted or simply perplexed by the remark. He recalled his encounters with Miss Clearwater from the last season, where he had even conducted an “interview” with her. Although she ticked the boxes on his essential checklist, there was an elusive quality about her—something unsettling—that he couldn’t quite identify, prompting him to strike her from his list ultimately.

“Miss Clearwater?” Anthony replies.

“Yes,” Penelope answers. Is she not up to your standard?” She is genuinely curious about his opinion of the girl.

“No, it’s not that,” Anthony dismisses.

The atmosphere in the room is thick with an uncomfortable silence, a palpable tension that seems to cling to the air like a heavy fog. Anthony glances at their hands, his heart racing. He feels trapped, unsure of how to steer the conversation away from its current state without making things even more awkward. He didn’t want to talk about another potential future bride, not when considering the woman in front of him as someone who could potentially be his Viscountess.

He shifts, his mind racing with thoughts of what to say. Every idea feels inadequate, a feeble attempt to fill the void that has settled over them. The soft peace and warmth they shared that usually filled the room seemed like a distant memory, replaced by an almost suffocating stillness that made him acutely aware of his heartbeat.

In a moment of impulsive clarity, driven by a mix of desperation and a flicker of courage, he leans in and kisses Penelope. The tension dissipates, replaced by a rush of electricity that crackles in the air.

When he kisses Penelope again, he comes to a profound realization about her: she possesses every quality necessary to be the ideal Viscountess. Not only did she have an intimate understanding of his family, but she also hailed from a noble lineage. She had been impeccably trained to manage a household, and their compatibility was undeniable. While they certainly had their share of disagreements, they never engaged in all-out war; their conflicts were more akin to a balanced and respectful exchange.

Penelope’s eyes widen in shock, her breath hitching as she processes what just happened. Anthony pulls back, his heart pounding in his chest, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him—fear, excitement, and a hint of regret. He searches her face for a reaction, hoping to find something that will guide him through this unexpected turn of events.

The room is still, but now the silence feels different. It’s charged, alive with possibilities. Finally, Penelope blinks, her expression shifting from surprise to something softer, more contemplative.

“Anthony,” she sighs happily with a smile.

He wanted her, all of her, he realizes. Then, something whispers in the back of his mind.

Be mine, Penelope.

Be mine.

 

 

Chapter 11: Family Affair

Summary:

The Sharma family attends the Lady Hastings’ luncheon. During the event, Kate catches sight of a familiar Bridgerton.

Early May 1815

Daphne Hastings.

The new name of his sister rings in his head. He just can't get used to it. He will never get used to it, saying Daphne Hastings. Correction, Your Grace, Daphne Hastings. Lady Hastings. To him, she would always be Daphne Bridgerton, the elder sister in the Bridgerton clan.

Your Grace, Daphne Hastings. It at least sounds nice, filled with authority and power. He wondered momentarily what the world would have looked like if the roles were reversed, and women were in charge. Would men be kinder? But then he stopped wondering, shook his head, and took a deep breath. He tries to enjoy the luncheon his sister is hosting, as he has promised not to cause trouble.

He can't resist the urge to loosen his light green cravat, feeling the constriction of the fabric around his neck. His attire consists of a stylish green coat complemented by a pair of brown pants and sturdy dark boots. Despite his initial choice to wear a top hat, he has decided to forgo his gloves due to the increasing warmth of the weather.

The day is already at its midpoint, and fatigue has settled in, making him long for a nap to carry him through the afternoon. The sun blazes overhead, casting a warm golden hue over everything it touches, and the air is still devoid of any breeze that might offer a moment of relief. It’s one of those warm spring days where the promise of new life is palpable, yet the heat can be stifling. Once again, he feels that familiar itch in his throat, a nagging sensation that has become an unwelcome companion during this time of year. This annual annoyance strikes him every year around this time, and he can’t quite pinpoint the cause. Perhaps it’s the pollen swirling in the air, or the blooming flowers releasing their fragrant scents, but whatever it is, it always seems to coincide with the arrival of spring.

As soon as the flowers burst into bloom, the discomfort seems to vanish, as if nature itself has decided to grant him a reprieve. The scratchiness in his throat and the watery eyes fade away, replaced by the vibrant colors and sweet fragrances of the season. This is one reasons he finds himself sipping so much at these gatherings: to soothe the irritation and keep his throat moist, a small ritual that has become second nature to him. He was savoring his second glass of wine, the rich, velvety liquid gliding smoothly down his throat when he spotted a familiar head of hair approaching him.

“Wonderful day we’re having,” Benedict says with a smile, raising his wine in greeting.

The head of hair turns in surprise, “Mr. Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Kate Sharma says with a slight bow of her head.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Sharma.” He replies with a slight bow of his head and wine in his hand. He takes a sip and ponders about Miss Sharma and the debacle that happened last year with his brother.

Ever since that fateful event, his brother has become markedly reserved about discussing the entire affair. While he still grapples with occasional bouts of anger, these instances are no more frequent than they were before their encounter with the Sharmas.

Over the past few months, his brother has been weighed down by a series of work-related challenges, including managing the estate, sorting through complicated financial matters, and engaging in discussions with their solicitors. Benedict had the unfortunate experience of shadowing his brother for two long weeks, during which he was tasked with learning the ins and outs of the management process.

His brother expressed a strong desire for him to be well-informed, just in case anything was to happen to him. However, the tone in which he conveyed this sentiment left Benedict feeling uneasy. It was as if his brother was subtly implying that his life was precariously balanced on the edge of a knife, teetering between safety and disaster.

Kate and Benedict stand together, their presence a quiet anchor amidst the vibrant chaos of the luncheon. The air is filled with the sounds of laughter and animated conversation as guests mingle and share stories, their voices rising and falling like the gentle breeze that rustles the leaves overhead. A few guests have sought shelter under the large, colorful tents that dot the garden, their fabric billowing slightly in the warm air, providing a welcome respite from the blazing sun that casts a golden hue over the festivities.

In contrast, others have ventured out into the nearby field, where a game of Pall Mall is in full swing. The sight of players swinging mallets and chasing after the brightly colored balls adds an element of playful competition to the gathering, drawing cheers and playful banter from onlookers. The scene is a tapestry of social interaction, with groups forming and dissolving as people move from one conversation to another, each interaction a thread in the fabric of the day.

Benedict's gaze drifts across the crowd, landing on his brother Anthony, who stands at the center of a cluster of Lords of the Ton. Anthony, with his commanding presence and easy charm, effortlessly engages with the other gentlemen, his laughter ringing out above the din. However, Benedict knows that beneath the surface of this joviality lies a more pressing concern. Their mother, ever the matchmaker, is likely lurking nearby, her eyes scanning the crowd for suitable debutantes to introduce to Anthony. Benedict can almost picture her, a determined look on her face, as she plots her next move to steer her eldest son away from his current pursuits and into the arms of a young lady deemed appropriate by society's standards.

As Kate leans closer to Benedict, her curiosity piqued by the spectacle before them, he can’t help but feel a mix of amusement and sympathy for Anthony. The pressure of familial expectations weighs heavily on him, and Benedict knows all too well the lengths their mother will go to in her quest for the perfect match for her son.

He is unsure why he continues the conversation, but he does, “Miss Sharma, you look lovely this day.” He states.

She dons a rich teal day dress, the fabric flowing gracefully around her figure, its deep hue reminiscent of the tranquil sea on a clear summer day. The dress is adorned with minimal embroidery and delicate patterns that catch the light just so, adding an air of understated elegance without overwhelming the eye. Complementing her attire are soft pale teal gloves that hug her hands gently, their subtle shade harmonizing perfectly with the deeper tones of her dress.

Around her neck and ears, she sparkles with gold jewelry—delicate chains and shimmering earrings that glint in the sunlight, drawing attention to her graceful neck and the gentle curve of her jaw. Each piece seems to tell a story of its own, hinting at a heritage of refinement and taste. As she lifts a glass of lemonade to her lips, the cool, refreshing drink glistens in the light, and a hint of anticipation dances in her eyes, suggesting that she is not merely enjoying a moment of leisure but is also poised on the brink of something significant.

He recalled spotting her at a previous gathering, a lively soirée filled with laughter and music, where she had been nestled beside her sister. They had shared hushed secrets, their heads bent close together, their laughter mingling with the sounds of the party around them. They had an undeniable bond, a sisterly connection that radiated warmth and tenderness.

Rumors had been circulating among the guests, whispers that floated through the air like the sweet scent of blooming flowers. It was said that Her Majesty the Queen was considering sending her sister to Prussia, believing she would make an excellent match for her nephew, Prince Frederick. The prospect of such a union sent ripples of excitement through the social circles, as the idea of a royal engagement always did.

As he watched her now, the light catching the edges of her features, he felt a surge of admiration for her poise and grace. She seemed to embody the essence of elegance, yet there was a spark of something more—an unspoken strength hinting at her ability to navigate the complexities of court life should her sister's fate lead them down that path. The lemonade, sweet and tart, was a mere distraction from the weight of the world that loomed just beyond the horizon, a world filled with duty, expectation, and the ever-watchful.

“Why thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she replied with a bow of her head.

“Is your sister in attendance?” he asked, looking for the girl. He had spotted her earlier in the crowd wearing a pink and white day dress.

“Yes, she is meeting with the Queen,” Kate responded as Benedict turned his head into a large cream tent with a royal crest.

"Ah, I see," he murmured, savoring another sip of the crisp, velvety wine.

Despite its cool smoothness, it did little to soothe his aching throat. They lingered there briefly, immersing themselves in the warmth of the sunshine and the festive ambiance. The gentle melodies from the string quartet are positioned at the heart of the luncheon.

“Have you seen Anth – I meant Lord Bridgerton?” she asked. She had been quick to take a sip of her lemonade after asking.

“I did ride in the same carriage, so he must be around here somewhere,” Benedict states, waving in the general direction of his brother Anthony.

“I thought so,” she sighed sadly, “He is avoiding me. I have tried to talk to him, but he always makes a point to subvert my expectations and find a way to avoid me.”

As Benedict glanced over at Kate, he couldn't blame his brother for feeling hesitant about engaging in a conversation with his ex-lover. Benedict had hoped that Anthony would at least consider giving her the opportunity to speak with him. However, given Anthony's inclination to avoid personal conflicts, Benedict doubted that he would make such a gesture.

“A man with a broken heart will do that,” Benedict replied, clearing his throat slightly and wincing against the sunlight as he continued to look over the crowd.

“Was his heart truly broken?” she asked with genuine concern.

Benedict let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of uncertainty as he contemplated how to approach Kate regarding his brother's emotional turmoil. The bond between him and Anthony had always been tenuous at best, and the aftermath of their father's passing had done little to bridge the gap. Instead, they found themselves grappling with the shadows of grief, the sting of loss, and the reality of Anthony stepping into their father's shoes, a role that only seemed to widen the chasm between them.

“Ever since our father died, Anthony has never been one to express emotion beyond anger and indifference.” He replied.

Benedict looked back on the previous season and recalled Anthony's aspirations. He longed for a wife who was both pleasing and intelligent, with a strong figure and captivating appearance, and Edwina embodied all of these qualities. However, everything changes when Anthony meets Kate. Kate Sharma, Edwina's elder sister, was exasperatingly sharp-witted, strong-willed, obstinate, and outspoken. Unfortunately, much like her brother, Kate was prone to making rash judgments without fully comprehending the situation or the individual. Kate was everything Anthony wanted.

Following the chaotic wedding fiasco, Anthony came to a profound realization: he was truly in love with Kate and yearned to make her his own. With a hopeful heart, he proposed, only to face rejection. Kate walked away, leaving his brother to grapple with the heartache—not only the loss of his fiancée but also the painful absence of someone he believed loved him deeply.

"You were the catalyst for his transformation," Benedict began gently, his voice tinged with nostalgia. He found more solace in paint and canvases than in human connections. “It was a change for the better... until you walked away. I believe it shattered something deep within him."

“I…I’m sorry,” Kate apologized, “I truly am. You need to understand that I needed to look out for my family, and in the last season, Edwina was the only thing that mattered.”

Benedict nods. He understands. Anthony has been prioritizing his family for over a decade, putting aside any personal pursuits he may have had.

“Our mother has been asking him to make amends with you,” Benedict states, taking another sip of his wine, which is now starting to burn the back of his throat. He coughs a little, trying hard to contain it.

Benedict shifts his gaze once more to his brother across the way. Anthony is engaged in a lively discussion with the other Lords, gesturing emphatically as he talks. Sitting beside Benedict, Kate catches the direction of his glance and follows it to where his brother stands amidst the bustling crowd.

“Truly, do you think he would like to talk,” Kate asks with a concerned look.

“I don’t think so,” Benedict answers before clearing his throat again.

“Mother has always tried to look out for our best interest, but I think she gets carried away sometimes. Luckily, this season, she has Francesca and Eloise to think about,” he states, as he is trying to get off the topic of his brother and onto a safe topic like his sisters.

“Two girls out in society can be quite taxing, I imagine,” Kate replies with a smile.

"Yes, it can be," he agrees with a subtle nod, his expression weary. He reached up and tugged at his crumpled cravat, trying to alleviate the constriction around his neck. His eyes, tired and strained, were beginning to water from the stuffy atmosphere. As the tickle in his nostrils intensified, his nose started to feel increasingly stuffed, adding to his discomfort. He fervently longed for the luncheon to draw to a close so that they could make their way home, cleanse and refresh themselves, and ideally, find some respite for the remainder of the day.

“Edwina had such a hard season this time around. I fear the eligible gentlemen of the Ton may think of her as damaged goods.” Kate replies.

“No, I think they are just worried,” He states, “My brother may not be the highest ranked in the Ton, but he is the most influential.”

He understands why she is worried. His brother's influence can really harm a person if his brother sets his mind to it. Fortunately, in the past ten years of being the head of the household, he has not had to use any of that influence to harm anyone. Any eligible gentleman of the ton would be terrified of Anthony Bridgerton if he did use his power and influence to disrupt and harm others. This is also part of the reason he thinks that Edwina is having such a hard time this season.

“No one outside our families knows exactly what happened at the wedding,” he continues. “What they do know is that Edwina left my brother for seemingly no reason at all.”  

“I understand,” Kate replies.

Benedict wishes for her to comprehend the seriousness of the situation at hand fully. Edwina Sharma, in her naivety, has unwittingly offended one of the most powerful and affluent families within the British aristocracy, a misstep that could have far-reaching consequences. The silence emanating from Anthony, the head of the family, regarding both the wedding and her sister's actions offers a flicker of hope amidst the turmoil. If he were to even hint at a scandal involving Edwina, it would severely jeopardize her own standing and prospects of securing a desirable match within the upper echelons of society.

Kate is fortunate, indeed, that Anthony, as the family patriarch, has opted to maintain a largely muted stance on the matter. His decision to dismiss the incident as if abandoning the altar was not already a significant affront speaks volumes. It suggests a strategic choice to protect the family's reputation and to avoid further scandals that could tarnish their name. In the world of the aristocracy, where appearances and alliances are paramount, Anthony's silence may serve as a shield, allowing them to navigate the treacherous waters of social standing without drawing undue attention to Edwina's misstep.

However, this silence is a double-edged sword. While it may provide temporary relief, it also leaves the family in a precarious position, teetering on the edge of potential scandal. Benedict understands that the gravity of the situation cannot be understated; the repercussions of Edwina's actions could ripple through their social circles, affecting not only her future but also the family's standing and relationships with other influential families. It is a delicate balance, and Benedict hopes that Edwina will come to realize the weight of her actions before it is too late, for the world of the aristocracy is unforgiving, and the stakes are higher than she may ever have imagined.

The one flicker of hope is that the Queen still likes Edwina. The Queen's favor has done wonders to heal somebody’s reputation. Hopefully, with the help of the Queen, Miss Edwina will truly find a match this season.

“The season is still young. I’m sure she’ll make a match before the season is out.” Benedict says to try to reassure her.

“And your brother?” she asks, looking curiously for an answer, “He is looking for a wife?”

“He isn’t currently courting,” Benedict answers strategically. Kate smiles at the news.

He wasn’t sure if Anthony was going to try and find a wife this season. What he did know was that Anthony had been surprisingly calmer since the beginning of April. Benedict doesn’t know if it’s because his brother spends a lot more time outside of his home trying to avoid his mother or if he’s found something or someone to calm him down.

“You need to give him time,” he states, “but I doubt he will come back to you now.” Knowing his brother, he would never talk to Kate again unless he had to.

“Do you think-?” she tries to ask again before he can cut her off.

“I think you need to give him time,” He reaffirms as he looks towards her.

“Time,” Kate states.

“Time,” He repeats.

“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. I will take it into consideration.” Kate states before turning towards him and giving him a slight bow.

“You’re welcome, Miss Sharma,” he replies, sipping his wine.

As he stands observing the scene, Kate catches his eye and starts to make her way back towards his brother. However, when he turns his gaze back to where he last saw his brother, he realizes that he is no longer there. Scanning the crowd once more, he spots Penelope standing out in her vivid yellow attire. She leisurely takes the last sip of lemonade from her glass, sets it down on the table, and gracefully strolls away. Benedict's eyes follow Penelope as she walks towards a lush hedge located beyond the drinks table and disappears.

Concerned for her well-being, he swiftly navigates through the bustling crowd, weaving between tables laden with delicious food, determined to keep her in sight. The air is thick with laughter and the rich aromas of roasted meats and sweet pastries, but his focus remains singular. He can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss, that Penelope, with her bright smile and infectious laughter, might be caught in a moment that could change everything.

As he pushes through the throng of guests, he finally spots them: his brother, Anthony, and Penelope, seated on a stone bench tucked away in a quieter corner of the garden. They are deep in conversation, their heads bent close together, and the sight sends a jolt of unease through him. Their proximity feels too intimate for comfort, a closeness that stirs a protective instinct within him.

A thought crosses his mind about stepping onto the hedge to intervene, a reminder to Anthony that Penelope is a cherished family friend deserving of respect. He knows how easily lines can blur in moments like these, how a simple conversation can morph into something more, something that could complicate their lives irrevocably. But then, to his shock, he witnesses Anthony lean in closer, his intentions unmistakable as he kisses her.

Their lips meet, tongues entwined, hands tangled in hair and fabric, and time seems to freeze for Benedict. The world around him diminishes into a haziness of colors and sounds, leaving only the sight of his brother and Penelope locked in a passionate embrace. They pull away, gasping for air, their eyes wide with a mix of surprise and desire. Penelope leaned in again, returning the kiss with fervor, her hands finding their way to Anthony’s face, pulling him closer as if the world outside their bubble had ceased to exist.

A soft moan escapes Anthony, a sound that reverberates in Benedict’s chest, and he can only watch, rooted to the spot, as Anthony’s hands explore Penelope’s dress and hair. The delicate fabric shifts under his touch, and Benedict feels a surge of conflicting emotions—anger, betrayal, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. He knows he should intervene, that he should remind them both of the boundaries that should not be crossed, but he is paralyzed by the intensity of the moment unfolding before him.

As he stands there, hidden in the shadows, he grapples with the reality that this is not just a fleeting encounter. The air is thick with unspoken words and hidden emotions, and as he observes them, a nagging sense of familiarity washes over him, suggesting this isn’t their first dance. The way they lean into each other, the soft laughter that escapes their lips, and the knowing glances exchanged between them all hint at a deeper connection, one that transcends the superficiality of fleeting romances. When did Lord Bridgerton and Miss Featherington become Anthony and Penelope? It feels as though he has stumbled upon a secret never meant for his eyes, a revelation that shakes the foundation of his understanding of their relationship.

Benedict retreats slowly, his heart heavy with the weight of realization. He positions himself at the hedge's edge, a silent observer caught between two worlds—the vibrant life of the luncheon and the shadowy truth of what he has just witnessed. Turning his back to Anthony and Penelope, he faces the lively scene before him, desperately trying to drown out the ache that has settled in his throat. The burn in his throat rises, and the tears in his eyes from the spring build up again due to the weather.

Shit, he thinks. What has Anthony done?

Chapter 12: Interlude 1: Family Affair

Summary:

The Hastings hold a luncheon.

Early- Mid-May 1815 -Day of the Hastings Luncheon

She can’t seem to stop thinking of him.

He consumes her thoughts, an unrelenting tide that ebbs and flows, pulling her deeper into a sea of longing and desire. Penelope cradles a glass of lemonade, its warmth a reminder of the sweltering day, as she observes Lord Bridgerton engaging with his supporters in Parliament. The sun hangs high in the azure sky, casting a golden hue over the scene, and she can’t help but admire the way he stands, confident and poised, a beacon of charisma amidst the throng of lords and ladies.

Clad in a lovely yellow gown that seems to wilt under the sun's relentless gaze, she feels the heat seep into her very being, wrapping around her like a heavy cloak. The fabric clings to her skin, a reminder of the warmth that envelops the gathering. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position as she stands by the ornate table filled with fruit and cured meats, but her gaze remains steadfastly fixed on him. The way he gestures animatedly, his laughter ringing out like music, sends a thrill through her heart, igniting a spark of hope that dances just out of reach.

The lively conversations of the lords and ladies swirl around her, mingling with the distant hum of insects flitting through the air, creating a symphony of summer's embrace. Each word spoken, each laugh shared, feels like a reminder of the world she is a part of yet remains so far removed from. She watches as the sunlight catches the glint of his hair, illuminating the strong lines of his jaw and the warmth in his eyes. It is in these moments that she feels the weight of her own unspoken feelings, a heavy burden that she carries alone.

As the chatter rises and falls like the gentle waves of the sea, Penelope finds herself lost in a reverie, imagining what it would be like to be the center of his attention, to share a moment that transcends the boundaries of their social standings. The lemonade, once refreshing, now feels like a mere distraction from the tempest of emotions swirling within her. She takes a sip, the tartness cutting through the haze of her thoughts, but it does little to quell the yearning that has taken root in her heart.

With each passing moment, the distance between them feels both insurmountable and tantalizingly close. She can almost hear the whispers of fate urging her to take a step forward, to bridge the gap that separates them. But the fear of rejection, of shattering the delicate illusion she has crafted around her feelings.

Penelope has spent most of the week trying to forget how he made her feel, how his body felt next to her. She has tried her best to ignore it. About his lips, and his fingers, and his cock. She wants him, but she can’t have him.

Penelope takes another sip of her drink and sighs at the bitter taste. She watches him from afar and is so frustrated for most of the week. She had tried and was somewhat successful in bringing herself to completion a few times over the week. But there was something she was missing. Penelope had thought about asking Anthony privately about what would work best. She had explored and even seen if there were books on the topic. There were books, but not one she could access without suspicion.

At the beginning of the week, she reached out to him with a note inquiring about his thoughts on certain investment opportunities she was exploring. It had been three days since she had departed from his bachelor apartments, yet he lingered in her mind, a constant presence that she couldn’t quite shake off. Their time together had been brief but impactful, and the conversations they shared had sparked a curiosity in her that went beyond the personal. She sought his perspective on tenant housing and its potential profitability for the upcoming season as she aimed to broaden her investments beyond her current projects, all of which revolved around fashion with Madame Delacroix.

Although she had successfully recouped all her investments plus an additional 20%, a sense of restlessness gnawed at her. The world of fashion was exhilarating, filled with creativity and flair, but it was also unpredictable. The cyclical nature of the industry meant that her profits typically materialized only after the season commenced, and with each passing day, she felt the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her. As the season drew to a close, she feared that her earnings might dwindle, leaving her in a precarious position.

She yearned for stability—a steady stream of returns that she could count on, a foundation upon which she could build her future. The idea of investing in tenant housing intrigued her. It promised a more consistent income, a chance to diversify her portfolio, and a mitigation of the risks associated with her current ventures. She envisioned properties that could generate monthly rental income, providing her with the financial security she craved.

In her note, she articulated her thoughts clearly, expressing her desire to hear his insights on the real estate market, particularly in areas experiencing growth. She wondered if he had any recommendations for neighborhoods on the rise or if he could share any experiences, he had with tenant housing that might guide her decision-making process.

That day, they exchanged a total of ten letters. The air was thick with anticipation as they penned their thoughts, their words dancing across the pages like fireflies in the twilight. Each letter was a snapshot of their emotions, capturing the essence of their connection—one that had blossomed unexpectedly amidst the mundane routines of their lives.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue over the landscape, their correspondence took a sharp turn, filled with sharp insults and playful jabs. It was a delightful banter, a game of wits that made her heart race and her cheeks flush with laughter. She felt a rush of joy when she first read those letters, the ink still fresh and vibrant, tucking them away among her most treasured possessions—items she planned to pack when she finally made her escape.

If she ever did.

She hadn’t been deceiving Anthony when she mentioned finalizing the paperwork for the cottage with her solicitor. The cottage was a dream she had nurtured for years, a sanctuary where she could breathe freely and find solace away from the chaos of her current life. Yet, uncertainty gnawed at her about her plans once the season ended. The thought of leaving everything behind was both exhilarating and terrifying. Just weeks ago, she had been resolute, brimming with confidence about the life she envisioned—one filled with the promise of new beginnings and the sweet scent of freedom. But now, after her encounter with Anthony, she found herself adrift, unsure of her feelings and what direction to take next.

The playful exchanges had stirred something deep within her, awakening emotions she had long buried beneath layers of practicality and caution. She replayed their conversations in her mind, the way his words had sparked a fire in her soul, igniting a longing she hadn’t realized existed. Her conversations mirrored those she had with Eloise once when they were still friends. She found joy in finding a person with whom she could truly be herself.

She takes the last sip of her drink and leaves it on the table beside her. She is tired and has spent more than enough time making her rounds. She leaves to take refuge before the garden hedges. Penelope slips away from the crowd and the noise. Penelope makes her way to a stone bench tucked away in a quieter corner of the garden.

Penelope takes a deep breath and sighs. Even though spring is ending, she can feel the heat rising. It is not unbearable yet. She will sit and enjoy the day while she still can. Penelope hears footsteps walking up to her, and she looks up to find Anthony looking down at her. He is dressed in a dark blue coat and matching scarf. He brightly smiles at her.

“Room for one more?” he asked.

Penelope nods, motioning to the seat beside her, allowing him to sit. They face forward toward the garden. They sit in silence.

Anthony turns to her and asks, “How are you?”

“I’m well,” Penelope replies, nodding before continuing, “It is a lovely luncheon, Anthony. You should be proud.” She said with a smile.

Penelope's restless fingers constantly seek a place to rest as she sits with Anthony. She longs to feel the warmth of his skin and inhale his unique scent, a blend of musk and citrus that is undeniably Anthony. The memory of waking up beside him the other day lingers in her mind, making her yearn to touch him once more.

Penelope can feel herself growing wet just sitting beside him. She had initially accepted that it was a one-time arrangement, but now she found herself yearning for more. She longed for his presence, to experience the taste of him and to feel his touch again. She wants to sigh at the unfairness of it all.

As she glanced over at Anthony, he met her gaze and offered a warm smile. A surge of excitement bubbled up within her, but she quickly tried to suppress it. She was aware that she needed to start distancing herself from him as her departure at the end of the season loomed ahead.

“How are you feeling physically?” he asked, tilting his body towards her, his dark brown hair falling over his eye.

“I’m fine,” Penelope replies politely. After a few moments, she adds, “But I’m a bit frustrated but fine.”

“Frustrated?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with evident interest in her response.

Penelope angles her head and glances at Anthony, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she contemplates whether to tease him with a clever innuendo of her own. The thought dances in her mind, a playful spark igniting her imagination. She was certain he would admire her straightforwardness and creativity, appreciating the way she could weave humor into their conversations. It was a game they often played, a delightful exchange of wit that kept their interactions lively and engaging.

“I have been…testing to see what makes me feel good,” she starts. This process has involved a significant amount of trial and error, with the majority of attempts yielding unfavorable results."

The bright sunlight streamed down, casting a warm glow around them and making her squint slightly, adding a playful challenge to the moment. She could feel the heat of the sun on her skin, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of the anticipation building between them.

“I see,” he chuckles to himself as he leans in closer.

Her radiant smile betrays her, and soon, she finds herself chuckling alongside him. Their shared laughter fills the air, a delightful contagion that binds them, weaving an invisible thread of connection that seems to shimmer in the sunlight. Penelope and Anthony lean into one another, their foreheads almost touching, fingers brushing together in pure joy.

Penelope's heart races, not just from the thrill of their shared laughter but from the warmth radiating from Anthony's presence. His eyes, sparkling with mischief, hold a depth that draws her in. She would admit to herself later that she could get lost in his eyes if given the chance.

When the laughter has calmed down and their fingers and entwined, she asks, “How have you been?”

Anthony’s hand holds hers. His thumb traced over her cream-colored glove-covered fingers. He leans in closer to her ear and answers, “Lonely.”

Lonely, she thinks.

A familiar sensation reverberates within her heart, a gentle echo of emotions long buried but never forgotten. Since that unforgettable night they shared, painted with laughter and whispered secrets under a blanket of stars, it felt as if she had inadvertently left a fragment of herself with him. It was a tiny part, delicate and vulnerable, that remained uncovered and unreachable, like a cherished memory tucked away in the corners of her mind.

Yet, as she finds herself seated beside him on the weathered stone bench, the sun casting dappled shadows through the leaves overhead, that lost piece of her resurfaces. The air is thick with nostalgia, and the scent of blooming flowers wraps around them like a warm embrace. She can feel the weight of his presence beside her, a comforting reminder of the bond they once shared. At this moment, she feels complete once more, as if the universe has conspired to bring them back together to stitch the frayed edges of her heart.

"It is unusual,” he whispers, “I miss you. I did not anticipate missing you."

She leaned away from his face, “You miss me?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes,” he answers, looking at her.

Her hands tighten in his, and she pauses. They breathe together.

And then.

And then Anthony kisses her.

Anthony leaned in, capturing her lips with his own. Time seemed to freeze as her breath hitched, a spark igniting between them. Their mouths danced together, tongues intertwined, while fingers wove through hair and clung to fabric. The sounds of the garden—rustling leaves, distant laughter, the soft chirping of crickets—blurred into a gentle hum. When they finally parted, they gasped for air, their eyes reflecting a whirlwind of astonishment and longing as if they had just emerged from a dream.

Emboldened by the electric connection they shared, Penelope leaned in again, kissing him back with an intensity that sent shivers down their spines. Her hands cradled Anthony’s face, drawing him nearer as if the outside world had faded into oblivion. The warmth of his skin against her gloved-covered palms felt like a promise, a silent vow that this moment was theirs alone. A soft sigh escaped Anthony’s lips, a sound filled with wonder and desire, as his hands roamed over the silky fabric of Penelope’s dress, feeling the gentle shift beneath his fingertips. Each brush of his fingers sent ripples of sensation coursing through her, igniting a fire that had long been smoldering beneath the surface.

Suddenly, he pulled away, taking her hand in his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity between them. She gasped in surprise as he lifted her from the stone bench, his strength both reassuring and exhilarating. Together, they ventured deeper into the enchanting garden, where the air was thick with the sweet scent of blooming jasmine and the glow of sky beaming around them. The path was lined with vibrant flowers, their colors vivid against the backdrop of the bright sky, and the gentle rustle of leaves whispered secrets.

As they walked, Anthony’s thumb brushed over the back of Penelope’s hand, a tender gesture that made her heart race. She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and excitement, and he smiled back, a grin lit up his face.

They paused beneath a sprawling willow tree, its branches cascading like a curtain, and then he pushed her up against the tree. Penelope pulled him in by his collar to kiss him again. Anthony then pulled at her dress, pulling up the fabric to expose her bloomers as his leg slid between hers.

His hands paused mid-thigh, and he broke away from their kiss to look at her.

“Anthony?” she questions when she feels his hands stop on her thighs.

Her delicate hands grasped his shoulders, fingers tugging at the fabric of his coat. As she gazed up at him, Anthony's expression was etched with concern. A surge of unease washed over her as she pondered the myriad ways she might fall short in his eyes.

“Penelope, do you want this?” Anthony breathes into her ear. His breath is hot on her neck, and his body feels like it is burning, igniting her ablaze.

Penelope breathes out a sigh of relief. “Yes,” she whispers back, “Kiss me. I have missed you.” She kisses him, pulling at his coat again to bring him closer. Her tongue slips between his lips, and she feels him shiver and moan. His body presses back into her, pushing her into the willow tree behind her.

The bark bit into her shoulders. Her breast was pressed against his chest, encased in yellow silk fabric. She groans into his mouth when his hip grinds down on hers, and she bites his bottom lip. She lifts one leg over his hips, circling him, pressing their hips together. He pulls away from her lips and starts nipping down her neck and collarbone. His hand brushed against the skin of her inner thigh, trailing up to her hot, overheating center. Anthony’s fingers circle her entrance, and she moans loudly.

“Penelope,” Anthony sighs into her neck as he pushes a finger into her heat.

“A—A—Anthony,” Penelope gasps, clutching his shoulder and his hair. His finger begins to pump in and out of her. She breathes into his neck and wishes she could feel his skin. She wants to peel his coat off and relieve him of his britches.

Anthony leans back slightly and, with his other hand, unbuttons the first few buttons of his britches to pull his cock out. He pulls another hand from her heat and, with her hips, tries to chase it. He pushes her hip back with both of his hands. Then he leans down to kiss her lips.

His breath is at her ear, “Gods,” he whispers, licking and kissing her skin under her ear, “Do you know how much I have missed you? How much I have dreamed of fucking you again?” He slowly rolls his hips so his cock moves against her center. She grips his hair harder.

“Do you know I have been unable to sleep or focus since I left you?” he continues, “And the moment I saw you today, do you know how much I wanted you?”

Penelope’s breath hitched, and Anthony nipped under her jawline and down her neck. She pulls at his hair, nearly ripping it at the root. “Please, A – Anthony,” she wines. Her muscles clenched on nothing, frantic, waiting and wanting for him to touch with his fingers, with his cock, anything that would satisfy it. She grows wet by the second, and she is desperate.

“What do you need?” Anthony growls into her ear. He grinds his hips into her. She can feel his cock hard and wanting against her weeping cunt.

“A—Anthony?” Penelope questions breathlessly.

She hears him moan into her chest, “You need to tell me, Penelope,” Anthony breathes, “TELL ME.”

Penelope is stunt at first by his aggression, but when she meets his eyes, she realizes he’s trying to give her a choice, trying to give her command. But she does not know what to say.

 “I want…please…I want…” Penelope stutters as his hands clutch and unclench at her hips.

“What do you want?” Anthony says, thoroughly clenched teeth, grinding his hips into her again, brushing his cock against her nerves at the apex of her legs.

“Please make me cum,” she states desperately, trying to clench her thighs together to no avail.

Anthony lifts his head from its resting place on her chest to meet her eyes and grins, “Your wish is my command, My Lady,” he says with darkened eyes.

He takes one of his hands and places it over her mouth, then pushes into her. She feels her eyes roll to the back of her head in pleasure.

Penelope feels the stretch of her muscles around him she feels the heat of him burning through her. She moans into his hand and is forced to breathe through her nose as he pulls back and pushes back in again. His thrust becomes harsher the move he moves in and out of her, and she can do nothing but hold on to him.

Her hand grasped the back of his neck and collar, pulling at the fabric. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she was knocked back onto the willow tree truck, his hips crashing into hers as he thrust into her again and again. Heat builds in her belly, and it rises as his hips hit against the nerves at the apex of her legs.

Her moans are muffled, but she realizes something when she is just about to reach her peak: she realizes that she can never see him the same way again. She can never look at Anthony Bridgerton and not remember this, remember his touch, his mouth, his words, the way he smells, or even the way he tastes.

Penelope yearns to savor this exquisite pleasure daily, fully aware of its ephemeral nature. Each moment they share feels like a fleeting treasure, a delicate whisper of joy that dances just out of reach. She contemplates the idea of persuading him to prolong their secret rendezvous until the season's end, a tantalizing thought that sends shivers of excitement down her spine. In her mind, she envisions a path to liberation from his grasp by that time, a bittersweet freedom that looms on the horizon, promising both relief and sorrow.

Could it be that they might discover comfort in each other's presence repeatedly, slowly loosening the chains he has wrapped around her? The notion is both thrilling and terrifying, a double-edged sword that cuts through her resolve. She imagines the warmth of his laughter, the way it wraps around her like a soft embrace, and the way his eyes light up when he speaks of his dreams. The thought of spending more intimate moments with him should fill her with trepidation, yet it doesn’t. Instead, she envisions blissful afternoons spent together, nestled under cozy blankets, lost in conversation about nothing at all, while the world outside fades away into a distant hum.

Her mind quiets as her blood sings in her ears, and her body feels like it’s finally free and on fire. She breathes through her nose, and her eyes open to see Anthony shatter a second behind her, warm wetness painting her thighs.

As Penelope moves his hand from her mouth to kiss Anthony, she is blissfully unaware that what she wants and thinks about is almost precisely what Anthony wants.

****

Early- Mid-May 1815 – A Day After the Hastings Luncheon

Anthony Bridgerton is aggravated.

Lately, it seemed that everything around him was a source of annoyance. The incessant chatter of the ton, the endless parade of social obligations, and the weight of familial expectations all conspired to fray his nerves. He had grown weary of the superficiality that surrounded him, the endless discussions about the latest fashions and the most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes.

That was, until yesterday. He was set to encounter Penelope once more, as they both moved in the same social circles, their paths inevitably crossing at various gatherings and soirées. What he hadn’t anticipated was the intense longing that surged within him at the sight of her. The moment he laid eyes on her, a powerful, urgent desire coursed through him, catching him off guard and leaving him momentarily breathless. She wasn’t adorned in anything extravagant that day. Just a simple yellow dress delicately embroidered with floral patterns that seemed to echo the warmth of the sun. The dress hugged her figure in a way that was both modest and enchanting, paired with cream-colored gloves that added a touch of elegance. Her hair was partially pinned up in soft curls, framing her face beautifully, while the rest danced freely in the gentle breeze as she strolled by, exuding an effortless grace that captivated him. Her laughter rang like music in his ears, a melody that stirred something deep within him.

He followed after her when she left the luncheon. Anthony had been keeping an eye on her from the moment she arrived at the luncheon. While they had exchanged letters early in the week, they had not seen each other.

Gods, he thinks.

He attempts to refocus this on the paper in front of them. Anthony had promised to meet Penelope the next day at his bachelor’s apartment. Anthony pledged to himself that they wouldn’t just meet up and fall into bed together.

For most of the week leading up to the luncheon, he found himself caught in a whirlwind of confusion and excitement. Thoughts of her consumed him—her skin, her taste, her scent lingered in his mind like a haunting melody that refused to fade. Each day felt like an eternity as he replayed their last encounter, dissecting every word, every glance, and every fleeting touch. She was nothing like he had anticipated. He had braced himself for a wave of shyness and innocence to wash over her when they finally came together, but instead, he was met with a vibrant energy that both thrilled and unnerved him.

Her laughter echoed in his ears, a sound so infectious that it made his heart race. He remembered the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, a glint that was full of surprises. The way she moved, with a grace that seemed effortless, captivated him. It was as if she danced through life, unburdened by the weight of expectations. He had imagined a timid girl, but she was a force of nature, bold and unapologetic, challenging him to keep up.

As the days passed, he found himself oscillating between anticipation and anxiety.

The night before the luncheon, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with possibilities. He imagined the moment their eyes would meet across the room, the electric charge that would spark between them. Would she smile? Would she remember the way he had looked at her, the way his heart had raced when she had brushed her fingers against his arm? He longed to know if she felt the same pull, the same magnetic attraction that had drawn him to her.

The attraction he experienced was reminiscent of what he had with Siena or even Kate, yet it was distinct. It was a feeling that stirred something deep within him, a blend of familiarity and novelty that excited and unnerved him. The bond that tied them together was profound and unwavering, a silent promise that seemed to echo in the spaces between their words. Yet, unlike the fiery passion he had once felt, this connection moved at a languid pace, like a slow river winding through a tranquil landscape. It lulled you into a comforting illusion of safety as the water's surface appeared calm and untroubled, reflecting the sun's warm rays and the gentle sway of the trees along the bank.

But beneath that serene exterior lay a different reality. Their connection could be likened to a riptide—an unseen force, fierce and erratic, swirling beneath the surface. It was a current that could pull you under without warning, dragging you into depths you hadn’t anticipated. Riptides were treacherous, powerful currents that intertwined, creating a complex web of emotions and desires that could ensnare even the most cautious of souls. One could easily find themselves in peril if they resisted its pull, struggling against the very thing that drew them in.

Anthony sighed.

While reading the newspaper and getting updated on the latest news from abroad, he was trying to enjoy a snack when his mother, Francesca, and Eloise walked in with the Modiste, holding fabric samples. Soon, the sitting room was filled with samples of different colored fabrics, being passed to his mother, Francesca, Eloise, and the Modiste.

A lively discussion about fabrics, patterns, colors, and embroideries filled the air when his brother Benedict chose to make an entrance into the sitting room, bringing a fresh energy to the gathering. The room was a tapestry of vibrant hues and textures, with swatches of silk and cotton strewn across the table, each piece a potential canvas for the creativity of the Modiste and his mother. They were deep in conversation, their voices animated as they made significant progress on the dresses they envisioned for the upcoming season, a time when the world outside would bloom anew, and the social calendar would burst with events.

Anthony’s gaze drifted to his sisters, Francesca and Eloise, who sat somewhat apart from the bustling excitement. He could see the slight furrow in Francesca's brow, indicating that she was not particularly enthusiastic about the shopping expedition. While the Modiste and their mother reveled in the possibilities of new attire, Francesca's heart seemed to yearn for something different. She would much rather lose herself in the melodies of the pianoforte, her fingers dancing over the keys, creating harmonies that could transport her to far-off places.

Alternatively, Francesca could easily immerse herself in the pages of a book in the library, where the scent of aged paper and leather bindings created an inviting atmosphere. There, she could converse thoughtfully with her friends, discussing the latest novels or the philosophical ideas that stirred her imagination. The thought of spending an afternoon lost in literature or music was far more appealing to her than the prospect of trying on dresses that would only serve to highlight the constraints of their world.

“Brother,” he calls with a smile, motioning Benedict over from the women at the sitting room doorway, “Are you and the modiste still, uh, making a stitch?”

As Anthony observed the scene, he noted that Modiste and his mother appeared to reach a tentative agreement, though still uncertain about the final choices of fabrics and colors for both Francesca and Eloise. The Modiste held up delicate lavender silk, its sheen catching the light, while his mother considered a deep sapphire blue that would complement Eloise's complexion beautifully. They discussed each option's merits, weighing the materials' practicality against the whims of fashion, with plans for delivery in the next fortnight.

Benedict smiled at the Modiste as he sat across from Anthony as she walked by, only to note the shadow of melancholy that crossed his brother's face.

“Apparently not,” Benedict answered, turning back to Anthony.  “Have you found a wife yet? Or are you planning to offend every girl until there are none left?”

Anthony sensed that his brother was likely feeling down after being swiftly turned away by the Modiste. The last update he received painted a picture of his brother in the women’s room, reveling in their company during the late hours of the night.

“Is Mother aware?” Benedict continued, looking towards their mother before looking back to him.

“Aware of what?” his mother called from the doorway.

Anthony rolled his eyes, checked the time on his father’s watch, stood up while folding up his newspaper, and stated, “I'm off to deal with our solicitor.”

“Have fun with your pretty pictures, Brother,” Anthony stated, walking past his brother and his mother in the sitting room and into the hallway.

He brushed aside his mother’s attempts to accompany him, yearning for a day free from her incessant chatter. She was relentless, going on about the latest debutantes and how one of them could be the perfect match for him. Yet, deep down, Anthony suspected that if he gave in and attended any of the events she so eagerly suggested, he would inevitably run into both Lady Danbury and Miss Sharma.

“Anthony,” Benedict called from the sitting room, “ANTHONY,” he heard Benedict yell as he followed him down the hallway towards his study.  

He could hear the rhythmic thud of Benedict's footsteps echoing on the wooden floors as he jogged to catch up. Just as Anthony stepped into his study, he swiftly shut the doors behind them. It was then that he caught sight of his mother lingering in the hallway, her gaze fixed on the scene as Benedict hurried after him.

“May I have a word?” Benedict asked as she sat down on one of the chairs in front of his desk.

His study felt more uncluttered than during their previous visit, a time when he had reminded Ben that he was technically the heir until his son reached maturity, urging him to embrace that role. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken expectations, a weight that seemed to press down on him as he recalled their earlier conversation. Back then, the room had been a chaotic whirlwind of estate paperwork, tenant agreements, and a multitude of legal documents related to the Bridgerton accounts, all jumbled together in a disarray that mirrored his own tumultuous thoughts.

Now, however, that chaos had been transformed into organized stacks on his desk, each pile meticulously categorized and labeled, a testament to his newfound determination to take control of the family legacy. The once-overwhelming clutter had been neatly stored in the filing cabinet by the window, where sunlight streamed in, illuminating the polished wood and casting gentle shadows that danced across the floor. The room itself was minimally decorated, featuring just the desk, his chair, the liquor-filled cabinet, and a few scattered chairs that seemed to serve as mere placeholders for visitors rather than inviting seats for conversation.

Anthony had deliberately stripped away some of the furnishings, creating a sense of openness that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface. The absence of excess furniture allowed for moments of pacing throughout the day, a physical manifestation of his restless mind. As he walked back and forth, he found solace in the rhythmic motion, a way to release some of the pent-up tension that accompanied the weight of his responsibilities. Each step was a reminder of the delicate balance he had to maintain—between duty and desire, between the expectations of his family and the aspirations he held for himself.

The study, once a sanctuary of creativity and inspiration, had morphed into a battleground of sorts, where decisions were made and futures were shaped. The liquor cabinet, filled with an array of spirits, stood as a silent witness to the long hours spent deliberating over the estate’s affairs, a temptation that lingered in the air, promising a momentary escape from the pressures of leadership. Yet, Anthony resisted, knowing that every choice he made would ripple through the lives of those he cared for.

In this confined space, Anthony grappled with the duality of his role—both as a leader and a brother. He felt the weight of his family's legacy pressing down on him, a constant reminder that he was not just managing an estate but also shaping the future of the Bridgerton name.

"Benedict, what can I do for you?" he sighed wearily, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. Anthony sat down in his chair behind his desk.

He assumed Benedict needed money, as it had recently become a common request from family members. It seemed that everyone was seeking funds for various endeavors. As the head of the family, he was beginning to feel more like the Bank of England than a caring brother. "Do you require an increase in your allowance?" he asked, trying to balance financial support with maintaining a sense of fairness and responsibility.

“No,” Benedict answered, leaning forward in his chair, catching some of the sunlight in his eyes. “Anthony, I – “

Anthony cut Benedict off and questioned, “Or do you need some recommendations for artisan studios you wish to work at?” Anthony finished reclining into his chair.

Benedict, a little put off by being cut off by his brother, replied, “No, I simply wanted to ask about the luncheon yesterday.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow, looking at his brother before him, curious about what he wanted to ask him.

“Yes, it was lovely, wasn’t it,” he replied with a tight smile. Anthony was aware that his brother desired something, and he simply wished for Benedict to communicate his needs directly without resorting to games.

Benedict smirked at his brother. “Yes, our sister is very good at hosting get-togethers. But that is not what I wish to talk about.” Benedict leans back in his chair to look up curiously at his brother.

“Benedict, what is it you want?” Anthony snapped, leaning towards his brother angrily.

"I would like to inquire about the interaction I witnessed between you and Miss Featherington behind the hedges yesterday," Benedict stated.

Anthony’s breath stilled, and his heart raced. During the luncheon, he saw Penelope and could not help but follow her behind the hedges to see how she was. They had only communicated through letters since their time together over a week ago. What did Benedict see? Did he see them kiss, or did he follow them to the willow tree and see him take her against the tree?          

Anthony, his lips curled into a self-assured smirk, made a conscious effort to regulate his breathing as he rose from his seat and sauntered around the desk to confront his brother.

"Brother," he began with a measured tone, "I believe you may have indulged in a bit too much drink." Anthony was well aware of Benedict's penchant for alcohol. He desperately wished that Benedict's inebriation was merely a result of his participation in the luncheon festivities.

Benedict’s smirk fell from his face as he stated darkly, “Do not do this, brother.”

Anthony couldn't help but grin at his brother, fully aware of how immature it was. The most effective way to divert Benedict from his current line of thinking was to tap into his emotions, and nothing sparked his brother's fury quite like that.

As he watched Benedict's brow furrow and his jaw tighten, Anthony felt a rush of exhilaration. His brother took in a deep breath before asking firmly, “What were you doing with Miss Featherington?”

“Miss Featherington is a respected friend of the family. Loved by all of us.” He replied, knowing that was not the answer Benedict was seeking.  

Benedict raised an eyebrow and squinted his eyes at his brother in disbelief. Anthony could see the wheels turning in his head, trying to make sense of his answers and what to ask next. But Anthony wanted to see just how much his brother knew about what had transpired between him and Penelope.

“What were you doing with Miss Featherington?” Benedict asked again. “If anyone but me had seen, you would be in front of the archbishop by the end of the week.”

“I know,” Anthony sighed releasing his smirk, sitting at the edge of his desk.

“Anthony,” Benedict warned

“It just a…,” Anthony began to say before Benedict raised his hand to stop him.

“Whatever it is, end it,” Benedict replied, “Before it gets out of hand.” Benedict looked at his brother.

“I can’t,” Anthony whispered.

“You can’t, why not,” Benedict clarified.

“I don’t want to,” Anthony answered. Anthony sighed as he came to the realization that now his brother Benedict at least had an inkling that something was going on between him and Penelope.

“I ask you not to say a word to Mother, the family, or anyone else,” Anthony said.

“Anthony,” Benedict stated worriedly, “If someone sees you two – “

“I understand,” Anthony noted with a raised hand to cut Benedict off.

Benedict shook his head and placed his head in his hands. Anthony stood off the desk and sat in the chair beside his brother.

“I thought we were to stay away from Miss Featherington. She is Collin’s,” Benedict said.

Anthony's gaze snapped to Benedict, a surge of anger coursing through him. Had he truly failed to teach his brothers the nuances of dealing with gentlewomen? Since when did Penelope Featherington belong to Colin Bridgerton? 

“She belongs to no one,” Anthony growled, his voice low and fierce. “Penelope is her own person.” 

Benedict's eyes widened in unexpected fear at the intensity of Anthony's response. Deep down, Anthony understood that Penelope was fiercely independent. She had to be, especially after taking on the burden of her father's crumbling estate and managing it with such grace. Yet, he couldn't quite grasp why Benedict's comment about Colin had ignited such a fire within him.

Anthony's voice trembled with anger as he blurted out, 'Did you know that Colin has been sending her letters throughout his travels?' This revelation came to light during an intense conversation with Penelope after he discovered she was Whistledown, who had disclosed the extent of Colin's correspondence. She described how she had accumulated stacks of letters, numbering in the hundreds, all chronicling his adventures since he had departed for the continent.

“Not just one letter, but multiple letters. If anyone in the Ton finds out, he was sending her these letters, and the content of these letters would not only ruin her reputation but also slander our family in the process.” He finished angrily.

Benedict looks surprised by the revelation. Even he thought that sending the number of letters Colin sent to Penelope was too far.

“And what about you?” Benedict asks, standing on his feet facing Anthony. "Won’t anyone finding you in the garden, kissing Penelope, ruin her reputation?”

Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration etched across his face. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and a flicker of relief washes over him at the thought that there’s someone beyond just him and Penelope aware of their “relationship.” Knowing that their connection isn’t entirely hidden from the world is a small comfort, yet it only deepens his internal conflict.

Despite the shared glances and lingering touches, they’ve never broached the subjects of courtship or marriage. The air between them is thick with unexpressed emotions, and Anthony often finds himself lost in thought, contemplating the right moment to bring it up. Lately, he has been mulling over how to approach Penelope, hoping to spark her interest in becoming his wife. He envisions a life together, filled with laughter and warmth, and he yearns to share that vision with her.

He’s confident he can offer her a stable home and the security she craves. He knows that Penelope has always longed for a sense of belonging, a refuge from the chaos of her past. Moreover, he can give her the family she dreams of, free from her father's shortcomings. Anthony’s heart aches at the thought of Penelope's pain, and he is determined to provide her with the support she deserves.

“The difference, brother, unlike Colin, I wouldn’t disparage her in front of my colleagues at a ball and would offer to rectify the situation,” Anthony says, “Something I do not think Colin would be able to do.”

Anthony knows he must tread carefully. He doesn’t want to scare her away with the weight of his intentions, but he also can’t let the opportunity slip through his fingers. Perhaps now that his brother knows about them, he can talk with him and seek counsel on what to say to her. Anthony had never been good with words.

“Anthony,” Benedict sighs, “If someone sees you two, you two would be walking down the aisle within the week.”

“I know,” he sighed, facing his brother.

“Just be careful,” Benedict says as he fidgets where he stands, “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“She will not get hurt,” he vowed.

Chapter 13: Be Mine

Summary:

Anthony asks Penelope to be his.

Mid - Late May 1815

“Marry me.” He whispered into her ear.

The question took aback Penelope. She looked over the man in question as he thrust into her. She couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. Looking back at this moment, she would deem it odd to question his motives when he had been most truthful with her throughout their relationship.

They were in bed together in his family home at Grosvenor Square. His mother had taken his sisters to the modiste and shopping for the day for the upcoming ball they would be attending in the next week. They were in the middle of the season nearing the end of May, and social gatherings, balls, and luncheons were at their peak.

She basked in the gentle touch of the sun's warmth on her skin, intertwined with the heat of his body resting upon hers, while the sensation of the cool sheets against her back provided a soothing contrast.

“What?” she questioned, her voice raising slightly as he moved once again. He called upon her earlier in the day, informing her of the absence of his family and the lack of staff at the house. He had personally let her in through the Bridgerton’s personal gardens. They were careful not to touch when the presence of others or in public.

It all commenced with a kiss that was a delicate and tender brush of her lips, akin to the touch of butterfly wings. The fleeting warmth lingered just long enough for him to inhale her breath, and the faint taste of lemonade persisted long after she had departed.

He came across her in tears after his brother Colin had publicly pronounced her unmarriageable. She could vividly recall that evening, the distress of overhearing the object of her unreciprocated affection discredit her as unlovable and consequently unmarriageable. She remembered how her heart broke and how it was crushed and fragmented into pieces.

“What of Miss Featherington?” Lord Fife asked the third Bridgeton boy. The Lord was surrounded by others of his own, friends of both his and Collin’s. Standing just outside the ballroom doors, taking in the summer breeze, is a stifling heat built in the middle of the ballroom.

“Are you really courting Penelope? “The lord asked.

“Miss Featherington?” She heard Collins’s voice question. Come around the bend of the bushes to see the gaggle of men standing just outside the doorways chatting, drinking, and smoking.

“I would never dream of courting Penelope.” He announced. “I'm certainly never going to marry Penelope Featherington.” She stood next to the blooming bushes just outside the grand hall, where her family was entertaining their guests that evening. Tears welled up in her eyes at the hurtful comment.

Amidst the laughter, and before Colin could utter another word, she swiftly retreated, vanishing into the enchanting expanse of her family's lush gardens.

The realization slowly dawned on her that her feelings for Colin had begun to fade that day. It was a melancholic, almost imperceptible process, but it gnawed at her heart day by day. Colin, her dear friend of many years, was the unwitting object of her unrequited affections. She had always held out hope that someday he would come to understand the depth of her love for him. Despite her hidden longing, Colin remained a source of kindness and consideration. He never discouraged her from joining in when he and Eloise played together, which served to further deepen her unspoken feelings for him.

But that is when he had found her, or when she had seen him. He had been hiding away from the elder Miss Sharma, who had broken his heart. She overheard that he had proposed twice after his failed nuptials with the younger Miss Sharma. He was left at the altar. But she had rejected him twice stating that his love was not enough, and she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her sister behind.

She tried to apologize with tears in her eyes and a sad expression on her face for invading in his personal space. As she tried to leave, he apologized for entering her personal gardens without notice or invitation.

"Stay," he whispered, as he gestured toward the inviting bench at the center of the gazebo. With a graceful motion, she settled into the seat opposite him, her lips curving into a subtle, enigmatic smile.

They sat in silence for the better part of an hour, simply enjoying the sounds of nature—the wind in the trees and the buzz of the bugs around. The only lighting came from the moonlight from above.

She got up from the bench, beginning to make her way back to the ballroom to make her round again when he stopped her in place to hand on her arm. Without a word, he kissed her. And so, their relationship began.

They had known each other for the better part of a decade, but only on the periphery. She was Eloise’s best friend since she was eight, and he was Eloise’s older brother, the Viscount. Prior to this, their interactions had been limited to standard greetings and farewells, always respectful and within the decorum of society.

She had not been present when the elderly Lord Bridgerton passed away, but she keenly felt the reverberations it caused within Eloise and her family. In the subsequent weeks, she observed the conspicuous absence of their father in the household and the hollowness of Lady Bridgerton. The transformation of Anthony Bridgerton, previously carefree and full of life, into Anthony Lord Bridgerton, the ninth Viscount of his lineage, a now stern and commanding man.

But on that night, when they simply shared a kiss. Lord Bridgerton was just Anthony.

The season ended, and she assumed that the kiss would be forgotten. A few days later, he sent a letter, profusely apologizing for his behavior in the gardens. How ungentlemanly he was, and he also apologized for Collins’s behavior. She had not expected an apology from the Viscount but from the boy himself, as his disparaging words had made their way into Lady Whitledown’s society papers, which she duly reported on herself.

“Marry me.” He repeated as he continued to slowly move within her. They had been testing the waters of a new pleasurable experience as he brushed against her bundle of nerves at the apex of her legs.

“A…Anthony, please,” she begged.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. For the majority of their time together, she had been on the edge of her climax and could not come. He had built her up over and over again but never allowed her to finish. She was tired of it. She wanted it, she wanted him. He had stated that this was delayed gratification and that the end would make her breathless. And now she didn’t care. She wanted it now.

She pushed, no clawed, her nails into his shoulder as he continued their slow dance to urge him faster. He moaned into her ear as she raked her nails across his back. But he remained steadfast. He had mentioned to her once that pain during these pleasurable acts kept him grounded, kept him sane.

Penelope attempted to tighten her legs around his hips to make him push into her again. But her attempt was resisted.

“Please,” she whispered, “I can’t take it…anymore.”

“I am offering you the independence you seek from your family, ensuring your financial security for a comfortable life, and wholeheartedly embracing the opportunity to support you in building the family of your dreams, with as many children as you desire." His voice was husky as he continued to whisper into her ear, the words barely audible.

He cast a fleeting look at her with his striking visage and intense brown eyes. His movements started off leisurely, then gradually gained speed, his actions becoming more forceful and precise. It's an exhilarating sensation, something that intensifies within her, becoming increasingly enjoyable as it persists, perpetually feeding into itself, a wonder of nature.

As he continued to move with purpose and determination, she found herself captivated by the raw power and grace of his every gesture. His muscles flexed, and his body moved with such fluidity and strength, which was mesmerizing. It was as if he was a force of nature, unstoppable and awe-inspiring in his presence. She couldn't tear her eyes away, feeling a surge of adrenaline and excitement coursing through her veins as she watched him. It was a sight to behold, one that left her breathless and wanting more. Soon, she can't tell where she begins, and he ends.

She feels the heat again, building within her that draws her ever closer to her end. In the back of her mind, she worries that this time will end like the last, with her left cut off and strung out, unable to finish once again. Although she senses that he has reached the end of his patience for today, for this game that they have played.

She feels a sudden jolt coursing through her body, causing her mind to go blank as the room vanishes before her eyes, leaving only her partner in sight. She can feel him grunt above her as she feels the warmth of his seed sprayed onto her thighs.

Their affair started at the start of her third season with gentle looks and conversations. He waltzed with her at each ball at least once, taking the place of his sibling. They conversed about music, politics, drama, and books and discovered a mutual adoration for all things. Their connection deepened as they shared their thoughts and feelings with each other, finding solace and understanding in each other's company. As their bond grew stronger, they found themselves unable to resist the pull of their mutual attraction, and soon they were entwined in a passionate and intense affair. Their secret meetings and stolen moments only added to the thrill of their forbidden relationship.

He paused momentarily above her, leaning down and resting on her. She didn't mind his weight. She enjoyed the warmth of his body and the slowing beat of his racing heart.

A moment later, he pulled himself off her, and surprisingly, she missed his warmth. He then lay down next to her, placing his head in his hand as he looked over to her. And for a moment they bask in the silence of the room.

“What about love?” she asked after she had caught her breath, turning her head to meet his eyes. She saw something flicker in his eyes for a moment.

"Love?" His gaze drifted away from her. A tinge of sadness was evident in his eyes.

She nodded as he placed a kiss under her ear and down her neck.

“I have given up on it.” He stated matter-of-factly into her shoulder.  “But what I have with you is comfortable and warm like a slow-burning fire. Before…I-I…” He hesitated.

He looked up at her from her shoulder.

The conflict was evident in his eyes as she saw it. She believed he had the potential to be an excellent husband and father. She just didn't want to prevent him from pursuing something greater. She had already accepted the likelihood of becoming a spinster or, even worse, a mistress. If Colin's insinuations were accurate, she would never become a wife.

 

---

 

“I…I have been burned by love and burned badly.” He continued, “I do not think my heart could stand to love again in that way.”

Anthony tenderly placed another kiss where her shoulder met her neck, letting his lips linger on her pale and glowing skin. As he kissed her, he felt an overwhelming desire to leave a mark, to symbolize his claim over her, even if it was only for this fleeting moment, unsure of what the future held for them.

Ever since his father had passed away, he felt adrift, aimlessly wandering without settling on solid ground. The enduring love his parents had for each other was beautiful to witness and be a part of. But he watched as his mother fell apart, broke, and eventually succumbed to the darkness that surrounded her after her love had passed away.

Miss Russo, he realized now, was love at first lust. Having spent a few years away from Eton and being the head of the house for quite some time, he finally met her. His sister, Daphne, had not yet made her debut in society. The dynamics within the siblings were simple – there was no moving out of his household while others moved in. Miss Russo effortlessly filled the gaps in between, providing a convenient excuse to skip family gatherings. She was always there, ready and available at his beck and call.

Miss Sharma defied the traditional expectations of a woman with her remarkable courage and astuteness. Unyielding and independent, she fearlessly confronted him at every opportunity, refusing to be swayed by his status. Instead, she remained steadfast to her own beliefs. She expected him to put in considerable effort to achieve his goals, and when he finally worked up the courage to ask for her hand in marriage, she declined his proposal out of familial obligation.

At the beginning of the season, he had a list of debutants, all hoping to meet his requirements for his Viscountess: someone of marrying age, with enough wit to hold a decent conversation, childbearing hips, and someone relatively pleasing to look at.

 

He dismissed many out of hand due to their lack of wit or overly pleasing nature. Looking back at the list he composed, he never really considered Penelope Featherington a candidate out of respect for his brother Colin. But that had changed at the end of last season, and his brother’s declaration of his want to not court, Penelope Featherington.

However, Penelope Featherington had met all his requirements without real effort.

With a burst of purpose, he embarked on a journey of tender kisses across her chest and bosom, enveloping her right breast with his lips. Drawing her nipple into his mouth, he positioned himself above her, gently trailing his fingers along the path he had made with his kisses, gradually descending down her body.

With each kiss he made, he could feel her desire stirring. She responded by running her hands through his hair, pulling him closer to her. He could feel shivers run down her spine, responding to his every move. As he reached her waist, he looked up at her with intensity. He could feel her heart race just beneath her skin.

"And what about your mother?" she asked, her voice slightly out of breath. Anthony suddenly stopped, pulling his lips away from her skin.

He pulled back from her and looked up, “What of my mother?” he inquired.

“Does she not wish for a love match for all of her children?”

He nodded with a sad smile.

“I do not have the luxury of marrying for it.” He replied, ever so intent on focusing on the pattern of the sheets beneath Penelope. “And as you have heard, Miss Sharma did not accept my proposal. And I am not getting any younger. By the time my father was my age, he already had my brother and me with Colin on the way. I cannot delay any longer.”

Ever since he had taken control of the Bridgerton house, he knew what was expected of him. He was expected to produce an heir and spare as soon as he was capable, ensuring his bloodline.

“And, I assume, neither do you.” He continued softly as he looked into her deep blue eyes.

“No,” she admitted sadly, looking away from his face, “I know that if I ever marry, it will be for security.”

He may have never been mothered under the Featherington household, but he understood that women in his society had more to lose than gain in their adult lives. Many women in society have chosen to enter marriage primarily for the assurance of financial security and stability, often at the cost of prioritizing romance and love in their relationships. He suspected that Penelope came from such a household that both her mother and father were not so utterly infatuated with each other as his parents were.

 

“I wish for a partner to share my joys, bear my sorrows, and captivate me in conversation.” Anthony lifted his hand to her cheek, and she turned her face to meet his eyes. “I do not need a love that burns so brightly and so fiercely it threatens to maim me. A love that will kill me if my partner dies,” he paused, “I will not put my children through that kind of pain.”

He felt wetness at the corner of his eye that threatened to fall before he could blink it away.

“I would bear the sorrows of my partner and share in their joy in exchange.” He finished.

He could see her thinking about his proposal. It had taken him too long to see her for the woman she had become, not the girl his sister preferred to spend her time with. She had grown into her features, her bright, vibrant red hair, deep blue eyes, and smooth, pale skin. He did not understand why others did not want her. She was an excellent lady of breeding, an intelligent conversationalist, and undeniably entrancing when she wanted to be.

“And what of Lady Whistledown?” she queried.

When they had started, he did not theorize her involvement with Lady Whistledown or that she was, in fact, Lady Whistledown. He’d realized this after reading through her pamphlets, once again after his sister Eloise had been mentioned in the last pamphlet of the previous season. Unknown to him then, Eloise and Penelope’s impromptu fight led to their coldness towards each other.

After sending his initial letter of apology, he began to realize Penelope’s involvement in the gossip pamphlet. At first, he was upset and angry about her accusations against his sister and the disparaging words about his brother Colin and his family. After confronting her, he understood the reasons behind her actions. It was previously unknown to him that the queen was targeting his sister, believing she was the one writing disparaging words about the Ton. As for his brother's situation, only those within the Featherington household knew about Marina’s pregnancy. Penelope saved him from a regrettable mistake that could have led to a loveless marriage with children that were not his own.

“Would you be willing to retire her by the end of the season?”

He sensed her still under him. He knew that she took pride in her business, Lady Whistledown. It was a way to ensure some independence from her family during their hardships. But Lady Whistledown was a risk to her and her reputation if anyone ever found out who Lady Whistledown was.

“She is all I have,” she replied, looking into his eyes. “Would you stop me from writing?”

"I only want to ensure your safety. The Queen is searching for Whistledown, but I wouldn't prevent you from writing if that's truly what you want. You mentioned before that you wanted to write a novel, and that's something you could do as my Viscountess." Anthony leaned in for a slow kiss on her lips as heat rose within him, pooling in his belly.

Penelope’s tongue touched his tongue, quick and electric and delicious, then firmer, more determined, more curious about the heat that lay within, seeking to chase down that elusive liquid lightning that reached through both.

“Please, be mine.” He pleads between short and sweet kisses.

He can feel her and give way underneath him slowly, melting underneath his touch.

Today, he intended to present her with the idea of marriage, maybe even convincing her of the advances of marrying him. Anthony wanted to iron out some of the ideas of the marriage before she agreed. He wanted to present the idea to her outside of bed, but both of their natures got the better of them.

“Physically, we are well acquainted with each other, so trying for children will not be an issue.” He resumed. “I believe both of us can keep up with each other intellectually, so we will not grow bored with each other in that aspect. Financially, however, I have no need for your dowry and can provide for you.”

He pulled back from her slightly wanting to address the last concern to his proposal.

“There is also the matter of Colin.” He uttered.

She lay beneath him, her eyes locked with his, silently questioning him.

“You do not think of us Bridgetons so blind to your affections for him.”

“I did not think that I was that transparent. It seems……. I was mistaken.” She said as tears began to pool and spill from her eyes.

Anthony felt ashamed to be the reason for the tears in her eyes, so he used his thumb to clear the wetness from her face.

“I'm sorry,” he paused. “I did not mean for you to cry. I nearly wish to seek clarification on your feelings on the matter.” Anthony may have been strong-willed and ignorant at times, but he was never intentionally cruel. He understood how badly love could burn someone.

“I loved him,” she paused, pressing her face into his hand, “but no longer. He has stated he sees me no more than a friend.” She confirmed.

Anthony leaned in and kissed her forehead before pulling back to look into her eyes once more.

"So, Miss Penelope Featherington, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

He waited for a few moments, thinking that she would reject his offer.

After a few more moments of anticipation, she answered, "Of course, Lord Bridgerton, I accept your proposal."

He sealed the deal with a loving kiss.

Lord Bridgerton's heart swelled with happiness as he heard her acceptance.  As he leaned in to kiss her, he could feel the warmth of her lips against his. The kiss was filled with passion and the promise of a good life together.  As they held each other close, he whispered sweet words of affection and devotion in her ear, promising to always cherish and protect her.

Chapter 14: Interlude 2: Stolen Moments

Summary:

Anthony and Penelope find themselves alone at a ball.

Mid – Late May 1815

Another night, another ball, and Anthony is tired of it.

While he understands why they are here, he knows that Francesca and Eloise have already made decisions this season about what they want to do. Francesca seems to be attracted to Lord Michael Stirling, a quiet man of few words but intelligent, caring, and kind. Eloise, as she did last year, has decided against courting this year, stating again that she would prefer to end up as a spinster. Anthony hopes that she changes her mind before it’s too late. While there are many men he would never recommend to any of his sisters, there are also many who are actually quite kind, caring, and considerate – men who would take care of their wives with dignity and respect.

He observes with a mix of curiosity and concern as Eloise gracefully navigates the crowded room and approaches Cressida Cowper. A subtle flinch betrays his unease at the sight of them together. Anthony finds himself perplexed by the origins and endurance of their friendship, and he quietly hopes that, for Eloise's well-being, the bond will naturally devolve and fade away. It's no secret that Miss Cowper's standing among the men of the Ton is less than stellar. There must be valid reasons why she has remained unclaimed for the past three social seasons.

Anthony stands at the opposite end of the ballroom as she makes her entrance, his back turned away from her. Engaged in conversation with his brother Benedict and then with friends, Anthony navigates the room, oblivious to her presence. Yet, he can’t shake the grip she has on his thoughts. When she’s absent, she lingers in his mind, and upon seeing her, a longing ignites within him. Strangely, he feels enveloped by her essence, a sense of contentment washing over him. It’s as if she has always been a part of him, a realization that dawns only now. She has been a constant presence, and he senses she will remain so. He understands that this isn’t love but rather a deep affection—something he had been yearning for not long ago.

He turns, and he sees her.  As she gracefully glided across the room, her warm pink beaded ball gown shimmered in the light. He couldn't help but imagine how stunning she would look in a delicate light green or perhaps a regal Bridgerton blue ballgown.

For the better part of the last two weeks, he had been meeting with her in secret and implying that she would be better off under his household's care. In the very short time they had, they talked about many things between rounds in bed: politics, art, music, and books. And he enjoys more than he would care to admit to himself.

He stands amidst the glittering crowd, observing her graceful movements as she effortlessly navigates from one group to another, captivating each person with her charm and wit. Anthony keenly perceives how her brief absences from the lavish social gatherings went unnoticed by the attendees, who were completely engrossed in her company. It occurs to him that orchestrating a discreet departure to downtown London, where the print shops awaited and returning before the culmination of the ball, would be entirely feasible with a few well-laid plans.

“Are you going to stare at her all night or dance with her?” Benedict stated playfully behind him.

Anthony turned to look at his brother in annoyance. His brother was dressed in a dark blue coat with a lighter blue cravat, while Anthony himself was dressed in a dark purple coat and cream-colored pants. It was his best outfit, but washing day was the next day, and his better suit needed washing.

Anthony scoffs at his brother and turns back to find Penelope. He finds her in a corner off to the far left of the ballroom, tugged away, draining the last of her drink.  He steps towards her and away from his brother, keeping his eye on her as she settles against the walls of the ballroom, reclaiming her title of wallflower.

“Leave me be, brother,” he replies as he walks by.

He thought back to a few days ago from they were in his apartments again. They were alone together, breathless and overheating, sleepy and satisfied. Initially, when he had suggested that she might find pleasure in riding him, she was apprehensive at first. She worried that, due to her size, she might hurt him. He had assured her that he was stronger than he looked and more than capable of satisfying her. Anthony found himself captivated by the way her breasts bounced with each movement, and he suspected she was blissfully unaware of how her size only intensified his desire for her. Her curves provided him with a firm grip during their intimate moments, allowing him to hold her securely in place.

Not long after their first encounter, Anthony reflected on why he had previously shied away from women with similar body types to Penelope. He realized that once he had tasted the connection with Penelope, he found it hard to look elsewhere. He had always been drawn to women who were lithe and dark, but if he were honest, it wasn’t their physique that intrigued him. It was their spirit. He admired their ability to stand firm against him, refusing to wilt under his intense gaze like a fragile flower. In contrast, he noticed that larger women often exhibited a fiercer demeanor, perhaps shaped by the constant comparisons they faced, which instilled in them a need to cultivate more than just beauty to secure a future partner. They couldn’t afford to be shallow.

Anthony took a deep breath to center himself. Although they had only met a few days ago, he wanted her again. He was insatiable. He had felt this way before when he was younger, and he thought he had grown out of it.

Before he strolled down the hallway, their eyes met in a fleeting moment that felt like an eternity. Her gaze, once wandering and lost in the swirl of the evening's festivities, sharpened and locked onto his with an intensity that sent a thrill through him. A smile spread across his face, warm and genuine, as he entered the dimly lit corridor adorned with vibrant artwork that seemed to dance in the candlelit light. The distant sounds of the ballroom's music, a lively symphony of laughter and clinking glasses, gradually faded away, replaced by the soft rustle of his footsteps on the polished floor.

He veered into one of the empty rooms, drawn by an inexplicable urge to escape the crowd and the noise. The third door, just two doors down, beckoned to him like a secret waiting to be uncovered.

Anthony stood still, straining to catch the faint sound of footsteps behind him. The steps were deliberate, careful, as if the person behind him was trying to remain unnoticed. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he realized that it must be Penelope following him.

With a gentle push, he opened it, revealing a cozy library that seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at his arrival. The scent of aged paper and polished wood enveloped him, wrapping him in a comforting embrace.

Rows of books lined the walls, their spines a kaleidoscope of colors and titles, each one a portal to another world. A plush armchair sat invitingly in the corner, its fabric soft and worn, as if it had cradled countless readers over the years. The fire lit from the outside flickered through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the scattered volumes and illuminating the dust motes that danced lazily in the air.

He stepped inside, feeling the weight of the outside world lift from his shoulders. The library was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still. He wandered further in, running his fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the stories waiting to be told. Each title whispered promises of adventure, romance, and mystery, igniting his imagination.

As he settled against one of the bookcases, he glanced around, taking in the quiet beauty of the room. The walls were adorned with framed portraits of authors long gone, their eyes seeming to follow him as he sank deeper into the cushions. He could almost hear their voices, echoing through the ages, urging him to lose himself in their words.

He makes his way to the windows, watching as the lit fires that line the entrance of the house flicker against the night sky. Anthony hears the door shut close behind him.

“Does he know?” she asks from behind him.

“Unfortunately,” Anthony states as he turns around to face her.

Penelope radiates softly in the gentle flicker of candlelight, shadows dancing across her features, creating an ethereal glow that seems to envelop her in a cocoon of warmth and mystery. The flickering flames cast playful silhouettes on the walls, mirroring the turmoil within her heart. A sigh escapes her lips, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, each breath a reminder of the secrets she harbors. She understood all too well that it was just a matter of time before the truth came to light like the dawn breaking through the darkest night.

The air around her felt thick with anticipation as if the very walls were holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable revelation. Having Benedict uncover it first turned out to be more advantageous than anticipated. His keen intellect and perceptive nature had always set him apart from the rest of the family, allowing him to see beyond the surface the intricate web of emotions and hidden agendas that lay beneath. Unlike the rest of the family, Ben was patient when needed, a quality that often eluded those around him. He had a way of observing and listening that made others feel both seen and vulnerable.

“Will he stay silent?” Penelope asked, stepping forward toward him.

Anthony leans casually against the ornate window frame. His arms are crossed as he observes her graceful movements. She glides through the room with poise, her delicate hands wrapped in pick silk positioned in front of her, the dance card hanging from her wrist, conspicuously devoid of names except for his own. He couldn't fathom why her dance card wasn't overflowing at every ball, yet he also felt a sense of gratitude that the other men of the Ton were oblivious to her true allure.

“For now,” Anthony said, “He is worried.”

“Worried?” she questions, moving closer to him.

He steps away from the window and approaches her, his footsteps soft against the polished wooden floor. Anthony extends his hand, palm up, and she grasps it firmly, her fingers wrapping around his with an unexpected strength. The warmth of her skin seeps through the delicate fabric of her silk-covered hands, sending a shiver of electricity up his arm.

Drawing her nearer, he settles into a chair positioned by the window, where a bookcase partially conceals the library entrance, forming a snug little nook that feels like a world apart from the rest of the house. The soft light filtering through the glass casts a warm glow around them, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. With a gentle tug, he brings her down onto his lap, and a startled shriek escapes her lips, a mix of surprise and delight that echoes softly in the quiet room.

Her eyes widen, a blend of shock and amusement flickering across her face as she processes the sudden shift in their dynamic. The chair creaks slightly under their combined weight, and for a moment, they both freeze, caught in the unexpected intimacy of the moment. Anthony can feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest, a rhythm that matches the fluttering excitement in his own.

“He cares for you like a brother and wants you happy,” Anthony explains, hugging her from behind.

"But I'm happy," she replied with a contented smile, leaning back into his warm embrace. Anthony gently shifted his body to make room for her, and she settled comfortably against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Are you?” he asks, as his fingers move against her arms, trailing his fingertips against her exposed skin.

“Yes,” Penelope sighs in pleasure.

“What about your mother?” he whispers into her hair, “Your family? Will they be okay with you leaving when the time comes?”

Penelope tilts her head back slightly to meet his eyes. "Philippa and Prudence may miss me," she says.

"And your mother?" Anthony questions.

“She would miss me too, I think. But not for long.” Penelope admits quietly, “Once Philippa and Prudence start having babies, it will be all she talks about and cares about.”

“What about you?” Anthony asks, concerned for her. “Don’t you want children to call your own?”

“You know I want them,” she responds harshly.

“Yes, and I know I can help you,” Anthony states, tilting his head downward towards and looking at her lips.

“Anthony,” Penelope warns. She looks up at him, his mouth close to hers.

Her hands rest firmly on his chest, pressing into him. The warmth of her touch radiates through the fabric of his shirt, igniting a spark that travels straight to his core. As she shifts in his lap, the intoxicating warmth and scent of her envelop him, wrapping around him. The subtle notes of her perfume mingle with the natural scent of her skin, creating a heady blend that makes it nearly impossible for his body to remain unresponsive.

A heat begins to blossom in his belly, spreading outward like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending in its path. He can feel the rhythm of her heartbeat beneath his palms, a steady drum that syncs with the quickening pace of his own. Each subtle movement she makes sends ripples of desire coursing through him, and he realizes that if she continues this tantalizing dance, he might lose the battle to keep his hands in check tonight.

His fingers twitch with the urge to explore, to trace the delicate curve of her waist, to pull her closer until there’s no space left between them. The air around them thickens with unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that draws him in deeper, urging him to surrender to the moment. He can’t help but imagine the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips, the way her breath would hitch if he dared to venture further.

With every shift of her body, every playful glance she throws his way, the walls he’s built around his resolve begin to crumble. The intoxicating warmth of her presence is a siren’s call, luring him into a sea of longing and desire. He knows he should hold back and maintain some semblance of control, but the way she moves, the way she looks at him with those smoldering eyes, makes it increasingly difficult to resist.

“Let me help you,” he whispers into her lips, “Let me make you a wife, a mother, someone with power and influence that doesn’t have to hide under a pseudonym.” His voice is low and inviting, each word wrapping around her like a silken thread, drawing her closer to the promise of something profound. His fingers glide from her arms to the hem of her dress, gently lifting the fabric, the delicate material slipping through his fingers like water. Anthony can feel her shiver against him. With a fleeting kiss, he brushes his lips against hers.

“Please just think about it,” he breathes.

“And Benedict?” She asks, pulling away from him, tensing in his arms.

He understands her doubts and the hesitation that clouds her mind, yet he firmly believes that Benedict would never turn against him without a compelling reason. If he can just persuade her that he will not only be a devoted husband but also a genuinely good man for her, all her fears will dissipate.

“I will take care of him,” he assures her with a smile, “He is better at hiding secrets than I would care to admit.”

“Good,” she breathes a sigh of relief and melts against his arms.

“Think about it,” he whispers in her ear, his lips moving to kiss her under her ear and down her neck. Anthony’s finger touched the skin of her thigh, and she moaned into his mouth. He can imagine having her in his own library back at Bridgerton House, on a chair like the one he is in.

Penelope's thighs clutch together, trapping his fingers at her inner thigh. “You could have me every day if you wished,” he whispers and then licks her across her jaw and down her neck.

His lips brush against her shoulder, right where her neck curves into it. "Any," he breathes softly, trailing his tongue along her neck. "Way," he murmurs, moving to her shoulder, "You." He teases his tongue along her collarbone, whispering, "Want."

“A – Anthony,” Penelope shuttered.

Anthony uses his hands to widen her legs and to move one of his fingers towards her center. At the same time, another keeps her open to him. Her head leans against his chest, her neck open wide.

“See how wet you are for me,” he stated, brushing the tips of his finger against her cunt.

Penelope groans when his finger slips through her wetness. Heat spread through him like a blazing fire igniting his cardinal desires. He can’t help but want her. He wants to take her in this chair, flip her around, and have her ride his cock. But he needs to convince her.

“Think about it,” he states in a husky voice, pushing a finger into her. He can feel himself growing hard as she moves on his lap.

Her wetness coats his finger as he circles her clit. She moans as he presses in further, tapping against the soft, spongy spot inside her. He adds another finger, and she moans louder. She turns, and his lips press onto hers. Tongue meets tongue, and lips crash together.  His fingers moved in and out of her at a steady pace. She pushes against his hand, meeting him and thrusting him back.

“Pull your hands on my knee to support yourself,” he whispers as he sees her lean forward, moving into a better position. Penelope’s hands then clutched at his knees, digging in her nail through his pant leg.

“Penelope, be mine,” he whispers, adding another finger and pushing them into her—Penelope puffs when he pushes against the spongy spot inside her over and over again. Her wetness began to drip over his hand.

“I c – can’t,” Penelope wines, “A – Anthony.” He watches as he bites her lip when she leans back on him.

Anthony watches as her breast strains and heaves against her bodice. He moves one of his hands to their chest, palming one of her breasts in his hands then she shrugs out of it.

He let go of her chest while his other hand goes still against her. “Do you want me to stop?” Anthony asks.  

She shakes her head, “No.” Penelope turns her head to him again and presses her lips to his as she cards her fingers through his hair.

“Please, Anthony, let me come,” she breathes. His fingers move again against her. She moans, and he swallows it with a kiss. And then her walls clamp down on his fingers, almost pushing them out as her back arches against his chest, climax, ripping through her, and he can't do much else but watch her eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Please think about it,” Anthony whispers into her ear again. He moves, grinding his hardness against her.

“Okay,” she whispers as she falls into his embrace breathlessly.

Just a little more, he thinks.  She just needs a little more time.

Chapter 15: High Noon Tea

Summary:

Penelope tries not to panic as she watches the Queen have tea.

Late May 1815

Penelope sits across from Her Highness Queen Charlotte, dressed in a deep blue corset adorned with intricate gold chains. Her hair is piled high in a towering gray wig, adding to her regal appearance. The servant pours tea into the queen's delicate teacup, steam rising from the liquid and mingling with the sunlight.

She can't understand for the life of her why she is so nervous. Penelope has sat across the queen many times in this exact room, taking tea. She had a standing appointment once a week. She would be called to the queen to take tea. The delicate clinking of china, the fragrant steam rising from porcelain cups, and the gentle rustle of silk gowns had all become familiar comforts, a sanctuary where laughter and gossip flowed as freely as the Earl Grey. Yet today, as she sits across from the queen, the air feels charged with an unspoken tension that makes her heart race.

The queen’s revelation of her true identity following her last publication in her first season was hardly a surprise. Penelope had often wondered if she had revealed too much too soon, especially after being caught by the queen herself. That first season with Marina had put her family in serious jeopardy. It was clear to anyone with a modicum of sense that the only way to know that Marina was expecting was to be deeply involved in the household. She recalled the anxiety that gripped her the first time she was called before the queen, her heart racing as she prepared to plead for her family's safety. To her astonishment, Queen Charlotte not only refrained from threatening her life but also expressed a desire to collaborate on some juicy gossip for any upcoming issue.

Penelope had always known that her carefully crafted persona as Lady Whistledown would eventually be discovered. Still, she had hoped for a more gradual unveiling, a slow dance of revelation rather than the abrupt spotlight that had fallen upon her. With her keen awareness of all matters, Queen Charlotte knew that the only other soul privy to her secret as Lady Whistledown was Anthony Bridgerton, a testament to Penelope's careful discretion. The queen's sharp gaze had pierced through the layers of her carefully constructed facade, and Penelope had felt the weight of that knowledge settle heavily between them.

She had always prided herself on her sharp intuition and intelligence, having grown up in a household where it was evident from a young age that she outshone her sisters. Her mind was a labyrinth of thoughts and ideas, a place where she could weave intricate tales and dissect the complexities of society with ease. Yet, despite her confidence in her abilities, the presence of Queen Charlotte was daunting. The queen was a force to be reckoned with, standing in a realm all her own, a monarch whose influence stretched far beyond the walls of the palace. Her reputation for shrewdness and her unwavering commitment to her role made her both revered and feared.

As Penelope sips her tea, she can’t help but recall the countless times they had shared laughter over the latest scandal or exchanged knowing glances at the absurdities of the Ton. Those moments had felt like a dance, a delicate balance of wit and charm, where Penelope could be herself without fear of judgment.

The setting sun casts a warm glow through the windows, making her feel warm. She had determined that meeting with the queen required a more subdued color choice and opted for a lighter shade of green, which her mother would surely disapprove of.

Penelope drew a deep breath and let out an internal sigh. She had not been completely honest with the Queen, as much as she would have liked to be. Although she had initially promised Queen Charlotte that she would continue as Lady Whistledown for a few more seasons to save money, recent events had thrown a wrench in her plans. To be more specific, it was Anthony Bridgerton who had disrupted her plans.

“Is there anything I should be anticipating?” Queen Charlotte inquired, taking a delicate sip of her tea.

“Your Highness?” Penelope responded, snapping back to reality from her reverie. She had been particularly absent minded lately thinking about the last few days.

She couldn't help but think about how Anthony Bridgerton felt when she touched him, and the way he kissed her. Lately, she had been preoccupied with thoughts of him, causing a two-day delay in her latest publication. She worried that this may be why she was called in to meet with the queen a day earlier than expected.

“Lady Whistledown? She is publishing this week, isn’t she?” Queen Charlotte questioned, with a eyebrow raised.

“Yes, she is,” Penelope answered with a nervous smile. She leaned forward slightly, then back again.

The Queen had funded her endeavors well. She would never be able to reach the kind of audience she had now without her intervention. While her solicitor did find her a printer that provided both distributing service services and collection of the fees, he was not known for his expansive reach amongst the Ton.

"Are there any particular matters of which I should be aware?" Queen Charlotte asked as she turned to Penelope with a cheeky smile.

Penelope returned the queen’s smile and, with a nod, said, "Her Highness may take pleasure in noting that there may be a reference to a new partnership."

Her nervousness simmered just below the surface, threatening to bubble over at any moment. Although she had dutifully agreed to take on the responsibilities and title of Lady Bridgerton, she found herself at a loss about how to communicate this significant change to her greatest and most influential patron. The decision to retire Lady Whistledown felt monumental, as it meant the imminent loss of her most cherished creation—her masterpiece that had captivated society for so long.

As she contemplated her new role, an unsettling realization dawned on her: while she had anticipated that one day she would have to relinquish her identity as Lady Whistledown, she had imagined that day was far in the future, not knocking at her door so soon. It had never crossed her mind that her time as the enigmatic gossip columnist would be so fleeting. Deep down, she felt a profound sadness at the thought of letting go of something that had brought her both joy and purpose. The weight of nostalgia settled over her as she prepared to bid farewell to the persona, she had woven into the fabric of her very being.

"Might there be any one of interest to me?"  Queen Charlotte questioned.

“Maybe,” Penelope replied, leaning forward and picking up the teacup in front of her. She took a sip, then placed the teacup down again. “But like most of the Ton, you will have to wait.”

“My dear, you play quite a hard game,” Queen Charlotte remarked with a smile. She gestured to one of the servants behind her, who was dressed in royal blue and gold. A servant set down a tray of finger sandwiches and sweets accompanied by jam and honey.

“I aim to please, Your Highness,” Penelope replied, picking up one of the sweets from the tray and placing it on a small plate to her side.

Nestled in bed, Penelope came to the realization that accepting Anthony's courtship marked a significant turning point in her life. Although she had always been Penelope Featherington, she may suddenly change her identity and possibly become Lady Bridgeton.

Though she hadn’t directly encountered the Queen's displeasure, Penelope sensed that postponing the inevitable wouldn’t soften the sting of disappointment. She had initially assured the Queen that this new role, this persona, would be fleeting. Moreover, she explained that it would provide her with a means to earn money, as she had previously shared with the Queen that her father's debts had plunged her family into financial ruin. It didn’t seem to deter the queen like Penelope thought it would but seemed to spur her on more, stating that Lady Whistledown was exactly what she needed to entertain the Ton.

“So, I heard you have been seeing with the eldest Bridgeton,” Queen Charlotte stated.

In an unexpected moment, Penelope found herself longing for Lady Danbury's presence. Unlike the queen, who was direct and unyielding in her questions, Lady Danbury possessed a graceful finesse that made every conversation feel more delicate and thoughtful.

“Is that so?” Penelope replied.

“Yes,” Queen Charlotte raised an eyebrow in response.       

Penelope chuckles nervously in response. She then took a deep breath and stated, “The people of the Ton talk a lot. Although I should inform you that I will that there is a rumor that Lady Whistledown seeks to retire at the end of the season.”

“Retire?” Queen Charlotte replied with a questioning look on her face.

“Yes,” Penelope answers, “she feels that she is overstaying her welcome and wants to move on to greener pastures.” While she knows the Queen’s personal servants probably already know of her alternate persona, she can’t be too careful. She knew just how clever and well-informed the servants of any household could be, for they were the best source of information, especially when it came to the rumors of the Ton.

“Green pastures, you say?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Penelope nodded.

“Do these lush meadows come with a particular lord?” Queen Charlotte inquired, her smile radiant as she elegantly waved a golden fan. 

“Perhaps,” Penelope chuckled, fully aware of the implications of Lady Whistledown’s retirement; it marked the end of her profitable venture. However, there was a silver lining: the extensive network Penelope had diligently cultivated and maintained. She wondered, after Lady Whistledown's official departure, if the Queen would continue to utilize the connections Penelope had created.

“Well, when you do get engaged, please make sure to send me an invitation. I would gladly attend,” Queen Charlotte stated. “And while I am displeased that she is ending, she has served her purpose well.”

“She had been very good at distracting the masses about the king,” Queen Charlotte stated sadly, looking a while away from Penelope.

Penelope wasn’t completely in the dark about the king's situation, his mental state, or his health. The palace, usually abuzz with whispers and rumors, had grown eerily quiet, as if the very walls were holding their breath. Little did she realize that a frail king could spell disaster for the realm, a precarious balance that could tip at any moment. The weight of the crown was heavy, and the shadows of uncertainty loomed larger with each passing day.

While she was eager to support the crown, her heart was torn. She understood that delving into the murky waters of politics could spiral into a tangled web of complications, where alliances shifted like sand and trust was a rare commodity. The thought of engaging with the queen, a woman of formidable intellect and ambition, filled her with trepidation. Penelope had seen how quickly friendships could sour in the court, how loyalty could be bought and sold, and how the slightest misstep could lead to ruin.

Still, she hoped that her shift into “retirement” would unfold without a hitch. She envisioned a life filled with quiet days spent in the gardens, tending to her flowers and enjoying the simple pleasures that had once brought her joy. Yet, deep down, a nagging sense of unease tugged at her. The realm was in turmoil, and the whispers of discontent were growing louder. The people looked to the crown for stability. If the king faltered, the consequences could be dire.

A heavy silence hung in the air as Queen Charlotte spoke, her voice laced with gravity. “Let us pray that the new princess brings forth an heir before the King meets his fate.”

With a strained smile, Penelope offered her own wish, “I hope the princess has a safe delivery and a healthy child.” The arrival of a new heir would surely ease the burdens weighing on Her Highness, securing the royal lineage.

“You might consider me selfish,” Queen Charlotte remarked, her tone reflective.

“I—” Penelope started, eager to counter the Queen’s self-doubt.

“I understand this was not your choice. You have more than risen to the challenge,” the Queen interjected, her gaze steady. “It pains me to place my subjects in such precarious situations, yet I am truly grateful for your unwavering support of the crown.”

“I am flattered, Your Highness,” Penelope replies with a nod.

The queen returned her smile, and she felt her anxiety begin to dissipate. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, relief washing over her like a gentle tide. The warmth of their acceptance enveloped her, soothing the frayed edges of her nerves. She had spent countless nights tossing and turning, rehearsing the words she would say, fearing the potential fallout of her announcement. But now, as she stood before them, the weight of uncertainty began to lift.

She was truly grateful that the queen had received the news positively—news of her upcoming retirement and her future engagement. It was a monumental shift in her life, one that she had anticipated with both excitement and trepidation.

The queen gestured to one of the servants standing by the wall and then pointed to the tray in front of her. The tray was removed along with the teapot, and another tray took its place. The servant then poured hot tea into the two cups on the table.

As the servant began to leave, the queen stopped them. She turned to her guest and asked, "So, do you prefer honey or sugar, my dear?"

“Honey, Your Highness,” Penelope she answered.

“Of course.” The queen then motioned to the servant, who picked up the honey pot and poured some honey into the cup. Penelope nodded in gratitude to the queen and then to the servant as she picked up her tea cup.

She only hoped that telling her mother would go over just as well.

Chapter 16: Promises of Devotion

Summary:

As they lay in bed, entwined after their passionate lovemaking, Anthony and Penelope weave together the details of their courtship and forthcoming wedding.

Late May 1815

Penelope was weary and yearned for rest, but the firm arms encircling her prevented her from doing so. Over the past 30 minutes, he had been detailing his elaborate strategy for seducing and pursuing her in front of the eyes of the Ton. They had arranged to meet to discuss the final details of their courtship, but Penelope had hoped he would have forgotten about it.

“Three weeks?” she asked, “Do you truly believe that will be enough time.”

They were perched on her bed, their bare skin bathed in the warm glow of the flickering flames in the fireplace. She leaned against his chest, and they shared a single thin sheet that barely covered their entwined bodies.

The day itself was quite pleasant for a late spring day, with occasional rain or cloudy weather. The sun shone that day and warmed up the earth, bringing life to the light spring plants and preparing them for the summer heat. However, as night fell, the moon rose, and the heat dissipated, leaving behind the coolness of the night. Her maid, Annelise, started the fire while preparing for bed. She had planned truly to sleep and rest to prepare her for the upcoming ball the next day.

She was in the middle of reading when he knocked on her door. She had been eager to read one of Lemuel Gulliver's voyages in "Gulliver’s Travels" by Jonathan Swift. She tried to ignore him for a few minutes before finally giving up and letting him through the back doorway.

Penelope showed Anthony her not-so-secret doorway to the back of the Featherington household, which she had often used to sneak away to deliver Whistledown manuscripts. Anthony's expression portrayed a mix of astonishment and horror as he stumbled upon the discovery. The concealed door blended seamlessly into the wall, giving the impression of permanence yet also hinting at the sinister possibility that someone knowledgeable about this entrance could pose a threat to the youngest Featherington daughter at any given moment. She endeavored to reassure him that, when not in use, the door was secured by her writing desk. However, Anthony seemed unconvinced at the time.

“Yes, three weeks for the courtship and then three weeks for the engagement,” Anthony stated. “It should be enough time for the Ton to get used to the idea of me and you. By the time anyone has any real objections, we should already be married and on the honeymoon.”

His tender lips found the delicate curve of her shoulder, eliciting a shiver of pleasure through her body. As he drew her closer, she couldn't help but smile as she brushed a hand up his neck and into his hair, cherishing the fleeting moment. In that embrace, she yearned for time to stand still, allowing her to bask in the pure joy and freedom she felt.

“Four,” she interjected. Anthony shifted back against the headboard, angling his head to see her eye to eye.

His eyes widened in surprise as he furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly. “What?” he questioned.

“Four weeks.” She clarified, “We will need four weeks.” Penelope knew her mother better than most people. Her mother would undoubtedly want to be a part of the wedding. It was the first wedding where the Featheringtons had the money to pull off the weddings that her mother initially wanted to plan with her other daughters.

“And why pray tell whom we need four weeks to plan a wedding.” He responded.

“Not us. My mother,” she said, stating it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She will want to invite at least one hundred and fifty people, which means she will need four weeks instead of three.” Penelope continued.

“I did not know your family was so large.” He responded with a smile.

“My family is not large.” She corrected. She paused for a moment, trying to think of the best way to say this. Saying that her mother was adventitious was one thing. Saying that her mother was an opportunist was another.  “But this will be the first wedding in which the Featheringtons have enough money to invite family business associates.”

“Business associates?” he questioned.

She nodded and said, “As you know, my father was a gambler, which is part of the reason we lost the majority of our fortune in England. It's the same with his business ventures - he would take risks, but they've been quite successful over the years. Otherwise, we would've fallen into debt much sooner.” She hesitated.

Penelope was a smart girl. She possessed the ability to navigate life with confidence and insight. On the other hand, Anthony, while undoubtedly intelligent, appeared to be somewhat unaware of the intricate nuances of life beyond the scope of his immediate family.

Penelope was aware that in other cultures, it was customary to invite business associates to weddings, birthday parties, and funerals to strengthen political and business ties, a practice she had learned over time. However, England had its own set of rules.

In England, the social etiquette around invitations to personal events was quite different. Penelope knew that it was not common to invite business associates to such personal occasions, as they were typically reserved for close friends and family. Instead, business relationships were often kept separate from personal life, and it was considered more appropriate to maintain a professional distance in social settings.

Despite this, Penelope recognized the importance of building strong relationships, as she had been taught. She knew that her mother would use this opportunity to make connections to her father’s business associates.

She was not sure how the Ton would respond to such an event.

Penelope understood that navigating different cultural differences required sensitivity and tact. Her family and, by extension, made an effort to learn about the traditions and expectations of others from different cultural backgrounds, and they adapted their approach accordingly.

“Some of the business ventures he took gambles on that paid out a lot. And before father could spend the money, mother forced him to place it in accounts that he could not touch without her express approval.” She persisted, “Through embracing risks, our family has fostered an extensive network of connections spanning across the continent. Regrettably, we have only recently been able to reestablish ties with these connections due to my Whistledown money situation.”

“Mother will want to solidify those connections.” She finished as she attempted to curl into herself, waiting for the inevitable onslaught of accusatory tones and disparaging remarks about her family.

But they never came. 

“Do you think your mother would mind if I invited some of my business associates to the wedding?” He asked as he brushed his lips near her ear.

Penelope froze. She anticipated yelling, an argument of sorts, or maybe even a complete refusal of the idea, but she did not expect this.

“No, I don’t believe so,” she said as she felt his fingertips running up and down her sides. “How many were you thinking?” She turned her head to catch a glimpse of his lips.

“6 or 7 people at most.” He replied with an odd sort of twinkle in his eye.

“Does that include their families, their wives, and children?” She probed.

"Should it?" he asked, arching his eyebrow ever so slightly as if he was just a tad bit puzzled.

“It should,” she answered with a hint of a grin. She was amazed by how open Anthony could be. While she sometimes understood his aloofness, she didn't understand that other people couldn't see it as a coping mechanism and survival tactic rather than a default aspect of his personality.

“I will make sure to let my mama know of your intentions when the time comes.”

The sound of his laughter reverberated throughout the room, filling the space with a sense of pure joy. His infectious mirth caused him to shake with laughter, and she couldn't help but join in. After taking a deep breath, Penelope slowly opened her eyes and caught sight of the grandfather clock on the far wall.

“Shit.” She gasped, pulling away from him.

“My apologies, my Lady, but who knew you had such a mouth on you?" Anthony says as he throws her a smirk, hand holding her face.

“You need to leave. It is late,” she said as panic rose within her.

“Don't you want me to stay in your bed?” Anthony said with a sultry smirk.

“What I wish does not matter.” She responds, “Tomorrow is Saturday. It's the day of Lord Fife’s ball. My maid has been instructed to wake me up early so that I can start my lessons early and conclude them before the ball commences.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow at her response.

“I could stay until morning and then leave before dawn. If that would please, My Lady.” Penelope reviews her schedule for the upcoming day in her mind, only to discover that despite having more free time than usual, her day is still densely packed with tasks and activities.

“If you leave by four am, you can stay for the night.” She informs him.

“Four?” he exclaimed, “How early do you wake up normally?” She can tell by the sound of his voice alone that he is upset about the prospective waking up so early.

“Five,” she answers, “normally.”

She is suddenly struck by a thought. Penelope abruptly remembers she forgot to have her tea this afternoon.

“Shit,” she repeated. “The tea. Shit,” she said, rubbing her temples in irritation.

“What of tea?” Anthony asked curiously.

Penelope's gaze sweeps over the elegant sitting table positioned near the crackling fireplace. As she attempts to free herself from Anthony's embrace, she finds herself firmly ensnared by his strong yet gentle hold.

“Where are you going?” he asked. Anthony used his legs to pull her back closer to him against the headboard by caging in her legs.

"I am not going far, but I need to drink my tea," she answers with a sigh. "It is important that I drink at least a cup a day."

She attempts to leave the bed again, only to be held back by the man behind her.

"Why?" he asks.

She turns her body to look at him once more, "So, I may not become with child." Penelope watches as Anthony puts the pieces together.

“I see,” Penelope threw Anthony a smirk of her own. She felt his clutch on her loosen, then pulled the thin sheet from the bed to wrap it around herself.

Despite Anthony seeing her nude and touching her intimately, part of her is a little ashamed of her body. She was larger than others around her and, by default, less appealing. Her mother's constant criticism of her body has left a lasting impact. Despite this, she finds solace in the fact that Anthony sees her for who she truly is beyond her physical attributes and her mother's fashion choices. The deepest desire of her heart is that he sees her as the brilliant partner and companion she is, honoring her contributions and qualities as a future wife.

Penelope walks over to the table to survey the teapot. She brewed the tea earlier she had done the last few years. She realized early on when she was young that learning basic skills, such as boiling a pot of water and learning how to light a stove, may be essential to become less disruptive in the household.

As she fills her cup, she can feel the icy chill of the water, but the sight of the yellow-green liquid is unpleasant, reminiscent of a vibrant split pea soup. Penelope takes a cautious sip and then quickly follows it with another, finding the tea to be both bitter and cold.

"That looks unappetizing." Penelope's eyes widened as she heard his voice, causing her to jump slightly. She turned around to find Anthony standing there, completely naked. She had seen him undressed many times, but he tended to drag a blanket with him to cover himself up or at least dress in underwear.

“It is,” she agrees, and she made a grimace at the taste.

"It's actually called Queen Anne's Lace," she explains. She can feel Anthony pulling her into a hug from behind. "It's often mistaken for hemlock because they are related."

“Hemlock?” he questions.

“Yes, but rest assured, I should be fine if I don’t consume too much of it,” she assured him.

“Is it Hemlock poisonous?” he asked, moving closer to the table to examine the tea in the teapot and the remnants in the teacup that she drank from.

“It is,” she confirms, “but Phillipa has assured me that as long as I take the antidote in the morning and this in the evening, it should not be toxic.”

“Is Queen Anne’s Lace poisonous?” he asked. She could tell that he was unhappy about this information. “If so, then you must stop consuming it.”

She turns around and faces him. “I cannot.” She replied. "I can't stop drinking tea. While the precautions you have taken to prevent pregnancy are commendable, they are not infallible. Several maids I've spoken with suggested it as an additional preventive measure."

Both pause to look at each other for a moment.

“Penelope.” He drones.

“Anthony.” She utters.

"I wish for you to be safe and healthy. There is no need to poison yourself any longer," Anthony pleads. "Promise me, you will stop."

"Then we must stop falling into bed together," she replies. “And then I promise I will stop.” Standing by the fireplace, she sighed softly, finding solace in his embrace for a few minutes.

“Come to bed with me.” She motions him to follow her.

Penelope then gently moved away from him, intertwining her fingers with his and guiding him to lie down with her on the bed. As they settled in, she positioned herself with her back toward him, feeling the warmth of his presence against her.

As they lay there together, Penelope felt a sense of peace wash over her. She closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh, reveling in the feeling of being so close to him. His steady breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against her back made her feel safe and loved.

She intertwined her fingers with his, feeling the strength and warmth of his hand in hers. The soft touch of his lips on her neck sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn't help but smile. She felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her closer to him, and she melted into his embrace. At that moment, nothing else mattered except the two of them.

"Certainly, we will have a dance together at the upcoming ball," she said. "Our relationship might be considered unconventional." She paused. "I believe... I believe we should stop meeting in secret.”

Penelope could feel him stiffen slightly. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her closer to him. She turned her head to see his face.

"Penelope," he began.

“When you announce your courtship to me, the Ton will be watching. All eyes will be on us,” she retorted. “I do not wish to ruin your reputation or that of your family. We Featheringtons what it was like to be underneath the scrutiny of the Ton.”

“Penelope, you will not bring me or my family shame. You will be brilliant.” He retorts.

“I simply wish to make sure you understand what will happen.” She said, “Once the courtship starts, my mother will not let go. She will endeavor to do whatever she needs to ensure this marriage happens.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And I will marry you,” Anthony vows. “I will make you happy, I promise.”

“Thank you.” She breathes.

Her slender fingers glide through his soft, tousled hair as she leans in to gently kiss him. At that moment, she could feel the warmth of his smile against her lips. Penelope is keenly aware of the weight of expectations that Anthony carries. While her own responsibilities may differ in scope from those of a Viscount, she recognizes the significance of making a suitable match.

As she pulls away from their embrace, she can't help but notice the playful and soft smile that lights up his face. It's a smile that she wishes he would share more often with his own family.

“I like this face.” She stated.

He responded with a gentle smile, "Thank you, My Lady. I always strive to bring you bliss." As he finished speaking, he tenderly placed a sweet kiss on her lips.

She could bask in this warm glow, feeling an overwhelming sense of tranquility and serenity wash over her.

She sighs.

“I truly mean what I say—I adore your smile.” Penelope continued, “Have you shown this to your mother yet? Surely, your mother would love to see you smile.” Anthony's grip on her body loosened just slightly as the smile fell from his face.

Anthony's gaze drifted aimlessly, fixed on the rumpled sheets that covered them. As he remained silent, Penelope leaned more of her weight against him, her eyes also turning towards the crackling fireplace. She hoped the dancing flames would help bring him back to the present moment, grounding him in the here and now.

She reached out and gently took his hand in hers, feeling the coolness of his skin against her own. He blinked and turned to look at her, his eyes slowly focusing on her face.

“My mother…” he started, “My mother can be wonderful. She is loving and polite, but sometimes she is not kind.”

Anthony leaned down towards her shoulder. Penelope felt his nose grazing against her ear.  

“I will admit… admit that my mother can be loving and thoughtful, but there are times when…. when there is much left to be desired.” He mumbled.

“Whenever my mother is displeased or angry, she tends to draw comparisons between me and my father.” He shared, “I can detect it in her gaze at times, especially when I arrive late to a family gathering or when she catches me in a less-than-desirable situation.”

“But it was never like that before he died. And then… then he is gone, and then I must decide whether to let my mother die or let the baby die.” He breathes, and she can feel wetness just behind her ear.

“I miss him.” He whispers gently. “I miss when he was here.” Anthony’s grip tightens once more, almost constricting her ability to breathe. “It's as if she sees my father's traits or mistakes reflected in me, and it always leaves me feeling…inadequate and frustrated.”

“I think…I think she despises me.”

Despite his grip on her, she could feel his left hand slowly move down her body, starting near her collarbone and gently gliding over the skin between her breasts. She can't help but feel a shiver run down her spine at the touch and her breath hitch.

“I know she means well and wants the best. But I cannot help but think if maybe there was some way to take his place.” He pauses while using his fingertips to brush just under her breast. “I sometimes wonder if it would have been better if he was here instead.”

Penelope hears the unspoken question: "Would it have been different if I had died?”

"Can you make a promise?" she asked quietly. "Promise me that if these thoughts come, you will tell me.”

Anthony's fingers came to a halt. He inhaled deeply against the nape of her neck, savoring the fragrance of jasmine oil that she had applied earlier that evening. She felt his body curl over her, his grip readjusting to the changing movement.

Penelope feels his excitement once more against her back as he holds her tightly. She looks at him and tries to loosen his grip. He turns his face to hers, and then he kisses her. It starts off soft and moist, then another kiss, hot and breathy, as he cradles her head in his hand. Penelope pulls at his short hair, pulling him closer as they kiss. She tastes the mint tea he had in the evening to help calm him. She can smell the oranges and lemons from the cologne on his collar.

She moans as his hand starts moving again, finding its way to her thigh. The heat rises in her cheeks as her tongue touches Anthony’s tongue, quick and delicious. His fingers skim her high downwards towards her center.

Penelope feels a rush of desire and anticipation as Anthony's touch ignites a fire within her. She can feel the heat of his body against hers, and the intensity of his kisses sends shivers down her spine. The taste of mint and the scent of citrus mingle with the heady aroma of their passion, overloading her senses that leaves her breathless. As his hand explores her body, she concedes to the pleasure, her moans mingling with his as they lose themselves in the moment.

The electricity between them crackles and sparks.

“Anthony...” she breathes, “Please Anthony…please promise me.”

He swallows her next words as he proceeds to kiss her once more firmer, and more determined than the last kiss. A wave of heat rushes through her body as his fingers meet her lower outer lips.

“Anthony," she said as she broke free from his mouth, "Please, Anthony.” He sinks one of his fingers into her core.

Her breath hitches, and she moans again when his finger begins to move.

Penelope tugs on the end of his hair to move his face away from hers. Anthony is now staring at her, his eyes glassy and dull. She firmly grasps his hand by the wrist, pulls it away from her body, and removes his finger from her core.

"Anthony, promise me," she insists.

Penelope watches as a single tear rolls down his face.

“Promise me, Anthony.” As Penelope stares into Anthony's eyes, she sees a flicker of understanding and determination, a subtle shift, when Anthony Bridgerton decides to give her an answer.

"I promise," he declared, sealing the pledge with a tender kiss.

Penelope lets out a sigh of relief, a small smile forming on her lips. Her heart swelled with emotion as she felt the weight of Anthony's words and the sincerity in his eyes.

“Thank you.” She breathes into his hair.

She leans in with her eyes closed and their foreheads touching. They breathe in the scent of each other. The heat within her dissipates, and the body that surrounds her begins to soften again. She takes one deep breath and then gives Anthony’s lips a quick caress. Penelope enjoys the feeling of his hands running through her hair, gently caressing each strand.

She longs to have faith in him. She yearns to trust every utterance that escapes his lips, yet a nagging concern lingers within her - the fear that he lacks conviction in his own words. Penelope endeavors to suppress the prevailing doubts and dismiss the persistent sense that something is amiss. Despite her efforts to reassure herself, she finds the doubt enduring, overshadowing their relationship.

She only prays that when they are married, she may bring him comfort.

 

Chapter 17: Interlude 3: Afternoon Delight

Summary:

The staff of the Bridgeton and Featherington houses notices a change in their masters.

Mid-May 1815

She had never seen her mistress so happy.

Amelia had served as Penelope’s maid for many years, having begun her duties a few years prior to her mistress's grand introduction at the Queen’s court. She had witnessed Penelope transform from a timid girl into a confident young woman. Despite the challenges her mistress had encountered in recent years, she had not only endured but flourished.

Now, Amelia found herself seated in the modest kitchen of Lord Bridgerton’s bachelor apartment, facing his footman, John. Clad in the distinctive silver and purple uniform that marked him as part of the Bridgerton household, John appeared younger than she had anticipated, likely in his mid-twenties. His dark brown hair peeked out from beneath a white wig, and while he was tall, he lacked the bulk she expected. He seemed delicate as if a mere touch could leave a mark, yet his sun-kissed skin suggested he had spent ample time outdoors. This was not the seasoned footman she had envisioned. She had expected someone older, more adept at navigating the intricate and often murky waters of household affairs.

They were taking tea while their masters were “occupied” with each other.

“More sugar,” she asked the young man across from her, lifting the sugar boat with the sugar cubes inside.

The late afternoon sunlight shined through the windows, warming the kitchen. The sliver tray of assorted cookies and fruits lay between them on the kitchen table. Gathered together by herself and placed there, but what she assumed was Anthony’s dutiful staff.

“Yes, please,” he stated with a nod, lifting his teacup.

She placed two sugar cubes in his tea and then placed the boat back on the tray. Amelia then leaned back in her wooden chair.

“Are you new to Bridgerton House?” she asked with a smirk.

She had always been curious about the Bridgerton staff. They always seemed to have a purpose whenever they were in the city, gathering things for their masters and mistresses. They were always dutiful, calm, and polite, but most of all, they carried themselves with grace and poise. They always seemed unapproachable. Well, they had not been outright mean to any other service members. They seemed far above most servants because they were employed by the Bridgertons. This is the first time Amelia has been up close and personal with one of the Bridgerton staff.

“Yes, I started last year and was recommended by a friend,” he answered with a small smile.

“So, how much longer do you think they will be?” she asks rhetorically and takes a sip of her tea.

He gave a slight shrug, a hint of color rising to his cheeks in response to her teasing grin. He leans back in his chair. She wonders what he is thinking.

The house was alive with the sounds of creaking and a rhythmic thumping that reverberated through the walls. From their spot, they could hear soft moans and sighs drifting in the air. Amelia's gaze was fixed on the birds flitting about outside the window.

“Is this the first time he has brought you along?” she asked, looking back at him.

John shook his head, then sipped his tea.

She let out a derisive laugh, followed by a weary sigh as she took another sip of her tea, draining the cup to the last drop. The rhythmic thuds grew erratic and jumbled, soon accompanied by a piercing feminine moan and a deep, resonant grunt.

And then it was silent.

"I believe that they are nearing completion,” she stated with a smile.

Amelia rose from the chair with deliberate, unhurried movements, taking care not to disturb the delicate balance of the teacups and other assorted items. With precision, she gathered up the teacups, cookies, and fruits and carefully stored them away in the kitchen. John, the footman, joined her and together they meticulously sorted and cleaned the kitchen, ensuring that everything was in its rightful place.

"Kindly prepare the horses and the carriage," Amelia states, fixing her dress.  

“Don’t you think that they will be awhile?” John asked. Amelia thinks back to the last few times her mistress and his master had met together alone.

“Well…last time they took some time after they were done before leaving,” he stated.

“You might be right. However, I may need to organize and relocate my mistress' belongings from the sitting room and hallway. Additionally, my mistress requires assistance with her intricate day dresses, unlike your master, who can dress independently," she states.

“Understood, I will ready the horses,” he says with a slight bow before heading out of the kitchen.

Amelia beams with a smile, yet a shadow of concern lingers in her heart. The warmth of the moment is palpable, but beneath the surface, a tempest brews. She ponders the fleeting nature of her mistress's joy, questioning how long it might endure. Each laugh that escapes Penelope's lips feels like a delicate bubble, beautiful yet precarious, and Amelia can't help but wonder when the inevitable prick of reality will burst it. The thought of whether her mistress will genuinely return to the countryside, as she has always envisioned, weighs heavily on her mind.

Amelia's thoughts swirl like autumn leaves caught in a gentle breeze, each one a question, a worry, a wish for her beloved mistress's happiness. She resolves to support Penelope and be her steadfast companion through whatever storms may come, but deep down, she knows that the answers lie beyond her control, in the hands of fate and the choices they all must make.

Amelia wonders if Lord Bridgerton can make Miss Featherington truly happy.

---

She was doing her last rounds for the night before heading to bed. She had finished emptying the last chamber pots in Lady Featherington's room and now needed to empty the one in Miss Penelope Featherington’s room. 

Despite the chaos that had reigned over the Featherington house in recent years, the girls had finally settled down, although the challenges had not completely disappeared. It was easier to handle things these days compared to the beginning, especially since Lady Featherington had been receiving income from a distant family member, “Aunt Petunia.” Finally, after enduring hardship after hardship, the Featheringtons were now moving forward, especially now that both Phillipa and Prudence were married. It was now time to focus on the youngest daughter.

Mrs. Varley ascended the final flight of stairs that led to Penelope’s room, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden steps. Each creak of the staircase seemed to whisper secrets of the past, memories of laughter and warmth that had once filled the halls of the old house. She paused for a moment, her hand resting on the banister, contemplating the option that lay before her. The hidden passage, a narrow and winding corridor that opened into the lush gardens beyond, beckoned to her with the promise of fresh air and the sweet scent of blooming flowers.

Yet, as tempting as the detour was, she hesitated. The thought of slipping away into the cool evening air was enticing, but the chill that often accompanied such escapades was a risk she was no longer willing to take. She could almost feel the dampness creeping into her bones, a reminder of her advancing age. The vibrant days of her youth, when she would have dashed through the gardens without a second thought, felt like a distant memory.

Spring had come to an end, and with it, the warmth that had enveloped the world was beginning to surge. The evenings were becoming milder, yes, but there was still a hint of the lingering chill that could catch one off guard. Mrs. Varley had learned through experience that as one grew older, the body became more susceptible to the whims of the weather. A sudden draft or a cool breeze could easily lead to a stubborn cold, and she had no desire to spend her days battling illness when there were far more pleasant pursuits awaiting her.

As she ascended the final step, a weary sigh escaped her lips, echoing softly in the stillness of the night. The familiar creaking in her knees had intensified with each passing year, a constant reminder of the toll time had taken on her body. A nagging fear settled in her heart, whispering that soon, climbing the stairs might become an impossible task, a daunting challenge that would leave her stranded below, unable to reach the sanctuary of her mistress’s room.

With deliberate slowness, she made her way toward Penelope’s room, each step a careful negotiation between her aging body and the unforgiving wooden floorboards that seemed to groan in sympathy. Mrs. Varley tightened the dark green fabric of her sleeping robe around her, seeking warmth against the night’s chill that seeped through the cracks of the old house. The robe, once vibrant and full of life, now bore the faded marks of countless nights spent tending to her mistress, a testament to her unwavering dedication.

Navigating the dimly lit hallway, she relied on the flickering light of a solitary candle to guide her. The flame danced precariously, casting long shadows that flickered against the walls, creating a tapestry of light and dark that mirrored the memories of her years spent in service.

Standing before her youngest mistress’s door, Mrs. Varley paused for a moment, her heart swelling with affection and concern. She gently placed the candle on a nearby table, its light illuminating the small space with a warm glow. With a practiced hand, she inserted one of her keys into the lock, the metal cool against her fingers. She turned it quietly, careful to avoid disturbance, knowing that Penelope was a light sleeper, easily roused by the slightest sound.

Peering inside, she quickly spotted the corner of the room where her mistress's chamber pot rested, a necessary but often overlooked item in the delicate balance of household management. The sight of it reminded her of the many nights spent tending to Penelope’s needs, ensuring her comfort and well-being. With a gentle nudge, she opened the door just enough to slip inside, her heart racing with the thrill of being in the intimate space that belonged to the young woman she had cared for since childhood.

Mrs. Varley hurries to the corner, snatching up her mistress's chamber pot along with its lid, swiftly lifting it from the chair. With a practiced motion, she pivots, ensuring the contents remain sealed tight to prevent any spills. Her pace is brisk, and as she spins around to head for the door, her eyes widen in surprise. There they are—Lord Bridgerton and her mistress, Miss Penelope Featherington.

Startled and taken aback, she nearly lets the pot slip from her grasp at the sight before her, a scream bubbling up inside her. Yet, with a quick breath, she steadies herself, keeping both the pot and her silence intact.

There they lie, entwined beneath the sheets in her bed, the fire crackling fiercely nearby. Her mistress, nestled against him, rests her head on his bare chest. Miss Penelope Featherington stifles a groan at the near outburst while Lord Bridgerton draws her closer, enveloping her in the warmth of his skin. They are both still asleep, sleeping deeply.

Mrs. Varley knows that having Lord Bridgerton under the Featherington roof under these circumstances could lead to an even bigger scandal for the Featherington family and permanently make them fall from grace. Or it could be an opportunity for her youngest mistress to marry into one of the most influential families in all the Ton. The question is whether to wait and inform Lady Featherington of her knowledge or she could wait and watch. She knew simply by being around the other staff in the household that her youngest misuse had taken on the role of being the Lord of the house. She had managed to save the Featherington family from disgrace and financial hardship in the last few years through ingenuity and creativity.

She makes her way out of Miss Featherington’s room, clutches the pot in her hands, and makes a mental note to make her rounds to her youngest mistress's chambers in the early evening rather than at the end of her shift.

Mrs. Varley closes Penelope’s door and decides that Penelope Featherington should demand the same respect as any other Lord in any other household. Penelope deserves some happiness, and from her observations of Philippa’s Garden, it seems that the mistress has taken precautions of her own to prevent any unnecessary complications. However, she knew as well as any woman that even the rumor of Lord Bridgerton staying in her mistress’s chambers overnight or being alone with her would cause a scandal for the family. So, she would do her best to keep her eyes and ears open to keep her mistress’s secret. Mrs. Varley also suspected that Penelope’s maid must know what was going on and that she should be informed of the happenings of Miss Penelope Featherington.

Mrs. Varley let out a concerned sigh and shook her head. She suspected that Miss Penelope Featherington had a plan involving Lord Bridgerton and knew she needed to wait, listen, and offer help when necessary. She can't wait to see the look on Lady Featherington's face when she learns what Miss Penelope Featherington has been up to.

 

Chapter 18: Courtship Rules - Week 1

Summary:

Anthony Bridgerton officially announces his courtship to Penelope Featherington.

Notes:

Penelope has yet to have her glow-up. This is her glow-up moment, like the first part of season 3, episode 1.

WEEK 1

Early June 1815

He has had two and a half drinks, and Anthony still isn't speaking to him. His brother Benedict had asked him to take Anthony to White for drinks and cigarettes, hoping his friend would talk about his emotional state with the Lord.

At high noon, the man seated across from Simon was consuming alcohol as if it were an elixir. The pungent aroma of cigarettes wafted through the air as Simon caught bits of the fervent conversations emanating from the group of men engaged in a lively discussion about gambling and politics across the room. They sat across from each other in chairs with a dark, round, brown table between them.

Simon meticulously adorned himself in a lavish ensemble. His attire consisted of a rich, dark red overcoat paired with impeccably tailored black pants. The opulent gold detailing on his vest added a touch of extravagance to his outfit. Meanwhile, sitting opposite him was Bridgerton, garbed in a sophisticated ensemble comprising deep navy pants, a meticulously crafted overcoat, and subtle yet striking silver accessories.

Benedict told him that Anthony was looking for a new, better bride. His brother informed him that Anthony had made another list and like at the beginning of last season, had crossed off many names. However, Benedict mentioned that Anthony had left the house to call on Miss Penelope Feathering the day before, a debutante Anthony had not considered the season before.

Despite Benedict's efforts to engage Anthony in conversation, he remained tight-lipped and distant. It was clear that Anthony was grappling with his emotions and the weight of his decision to find a suitable bride. Benedict had hoped that Simon and Anthony’s outing to White’s would provide a relaxed and comfortable setting for Anthony to open up to him, but it seemed that he was still wrestling with his thoughts.

As they sat in the elegant surroundings of the club, sipping on their drinks and puffing on their cigars, Simon couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for his friend. He knew that Anthony was a man of few words, but this silence felt different. It was as if Anthony was carrying a heavy burden that he couldn't bring himself to share.

Simon had always been Anthony's confidant outside of his own brothers, and he hoped that their friendship would eventually lead to Anthony confiding in him about his feelings. As they finished their drinks and prepared to leave, Simon made a silent vow to continue supporting Anthony through this difficult time, even if it meant waiting for him to open up in his own time.

“I don’t know how you could stand it. The mamas and their daughters hunting together in a pack to eligible men of the Ton,” Simon states. “Anthony, are you not looking for a wife?”

“I do suppose, if it were not for an overzealous mother at every corner, this time of year in the city would not be so very dreadful,” Anthony snipes back.

“Those mothers simply want the same as you, I rather think. For you to claim a wife, Bridgerton.” Simon pauses. “Are you truly planning to take a wife this season, Bridgerton?” Simon reflects on what Benedict had said about Anthony's list of "candidates" and his method of "assessing" them.

“I truly intend to take a wife. I believe I’ve already found her.” Anthony continues while taking a sip of his drink.

Simon paused at the statement. Who would have caught Anthony Bridgerton’s eye? Was it one of the new debutants? Or had he heard about the Sharmas being back in London for the season?

“You shall not outrun them—the eager mothers of this town. The harder you try to avoid them, the harder they try to find you. I would be willing to bet on it.” Simon's lips curled into a smile as he spoke, prompting a recollection of a similar conversation he had with Anthony less than two years ago.

Anthony smirked as he took another sip of his drink. “I am not too concerned as currently, I am in pursuit of Miss Featherington,” he replied.

“So you have decided,” Simon stated back in surprise. “The Featherington girl. What made you want to pursue her?”

“She is a noble, gentle lady,” Anthony retorts easily with a slight smile on his lips. She is more than capable of running the household, quite witty, kind, and has a very pleasing face—everything a future Viscountess should be.”

Simon was surprised by his own response and his choice. He had only met the Featherington girl a few times and only in connection with his wife. The girl did seem very pleasant, kind, and intelligent. Their discussions had barely delved beneath the surface, leaving Simon with little insight into the girl's true nature.

And then there was the matter of Miss Sharma. The situation with Miss Sharma weighed heavily on his mind. He feared that if Anthony were to encounter Kate, the melancholy that had plagued him during the off-season after the conclusion of last year's season would resurface.

“And what of Miss Sharma?” Simon asked, hating that he had to bring it up. Simon looked over to Anthony and noticed how he became silent and still. “I hear that Lady Danbury is hosting both Miss Edwina and Miss Kate again this year.” He concluded.

“Is she?” Anthony inquired softly. He noticed how Anthony began focusing on the drink in his hands.

“Yes,” Simon answered.

“Mm, I see.” Simon watches. Anthony took a deep breath, followed by downing the rest of his drink.

“Well, I must be off,” Anthony said, placing the glass on the table and standing. As you know, I have a business to attend to.”

"Anthony," Simon called out as the man began walking away. He turned around to make eye contact with Anthony. "Daphne is going to host a lunch soon. I'm sure she would love to catch up with Miss Featherington again."

Anthony nods and then walks out of White’s without another word. Simon can now understand why Benedict is so worried about Anthony.

---

It started with a dress and a look.

She stood at the top of the stairwell, dressed in an emerald-green dress with a sheer black overlay encrusted with green beads. She wore matching sheer black gloves that ran from the middle of her upper arms to her fingertips and an emerald-colored feathered hairpiece. But it wasn’t until she moved that he noticed a layer of gold shined through what seemed to be woven into the sheer fabric.

Anthony was at a loss for where to look.

They danced at least twice at the last two balls before turning about the room, with the eyes of the Ton watching. Most took notice the first time they danced, but no one commented at the first ball. At the second, however, Anthony's actions were now being commented on by his friends and even his mother.

Anthony and his family were located towards the other end of the ballroom, far from the entrance. It was the perfect place for Anthony to watch as the members of the Ton entered the ball.

In the softly lit ballroom, the warm, flickering glow of candlelight gently illuminated the glossy, mahogany floors, casting dancing reflections across the walls painted in soft, delicate shades of peach. Lush, fragrant flowers adorned the room, adding a radiant touch of elegance to the already enchanting ambiance. The tantalizing aroma of delectably warm, homemade food wafted through the air, enticing and comforting. As the tables were carefully set, the dance floor beckoned lined with an array of delicious food and an assortment of carefully crafted beverages. It was the Four Seasons ball, where each corner of the room displayed a different season.

Anthony arrived with his brother Benedict, their mother, and Anthony's two other sisters, who are currently making their debut. The rest of the Bridgerton family stayed home. Although it wasn't the first ball of the season, they were fully immersed in the whirlwind of events, as the various social gatherings started to blend together.

“It was so nice of you to look out for Miss Penelope,” he would remember his mother remarking. He couldn’t help but feel slighted the remark. While she may not have meant to sound irritating or demeaning, there was something about the way she said it made him find it so.

Tonight would be the beginning of the courtship of Anthony Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington.

Tonight, he would dance with her the whole night, and then when the day broke again tomorrow, he would announce his intention to his family and approach Lady Featherington about his plans to court and soon marry Penelope.

Penelope assured him that after the first ball, she had laid some groundwork for her mother to be interested in the idea of her match with him. Her mother had been interested in the concept. After all, he was one of the Ton's wealthiest members. That always worked in his favor.

He was escorting Francesca and Eloise tonight. It was Eloise’s second season, while it was Francesca’s first. He learned a great deal with Daphne’s season out. The failed match to Berbrooke and the subsequent wedding of his friend and the Duke of Hastings, Simon Bassett. Looking back at choices during Daphne’s first season, he realized now he was too rash in his decisions regarding finding her a good match. To prevent the same situation from happening to his other sisters and their seasons, he decided to step back, allowing them to take charge of their interactions with the eligible men of the Ton.

Francesca, one of the sisters, was always known for her quiet and reserved nature. She found solace and comfort in the peaceful ambiance of the music room. Her character was not peculiar, just distinct, and her brother Anthony fully accepted and appreciated her individuality. Among her siblings, who tended to be outspoken and competitive, Francesca stood apart. Although she possessed a competitive spirit, her approach was more subdued, and she found fulfillment in her own company.

At one point, their mother expressed concern about Francesca's apparent lack of interest in pursuits beyond music. Anthony reassured his mother by drawing a parallel between Francesca's passion for music and Benedict's dedication to art. He emphasized that, like Benedict, if Francesca were to flourish in her musical pursuits, she would need to invest considerable time and effort into honing her craft.

Eloise was outspoken and had a strong sense of justice, but Anthony worried that her sense of justice might overshadow her more practical sensibilities. He noticed that when she passionately spoke of women, she seemed to overlook the challenges women face in today's society. Others might have also told him that she benefits from his privilege. Anthony acknowledged that his sister also has privilege, but he knew of many men in high society who restricted their wives' access to knowledge and education to control them. He became aware of this when he was seeking a wife and realized how a woman's upbringing and education could impact her future. Women were taught according to what was considered necessary to secure a good marriage, and this was determined by their parents, regardless of their personal beliefs. Eloise was fortunate to have a family that valued and supported women's education.

Anthony was wracked with concern that Eloise's unapologetic honesty could prove detrimental to her prospects for future relationships. Despite this, it appeared that Eloise was not yet open to the idea of marriage. Anthony could only hope that anyone who won her affections in the future would be deserving of her and would shower her with love and care.

Colin was absent. Colin was away traveling again. Anthony indeed didn't have a problem supporting his brother's adventures, as he couldn't do so when they were younger because of their father's passing. However, he couldn't shake off a tinge of envy. What irked him the most about his brother was his insensitivity and lack of filter. Colin's recklessness had led to several scandals recently, tarnishing the Bridgerton reputation. Despite his love for his brother, Anthony couldn't help but feel frustrated and worried about the consequences of Colin's actions. He knew that he needed to find a way to talk some sense into him before it was too late.

Anthony has composed multiple letters, but he recently dispatched one to inform Colin of his newfound courtship with Penelope Featherington. Subsequent letters will announce his engagement to Penelope, and it is hoped that the final letter will convey Anthony's intention to be away from the city on his honeymoon with the future Lady Bridgerton. Anthony is filled with hope that his brother will not come back soon enough to disturb the plans he and Penelope have made.

Benedict's behavior has been anything but strange. He has been quite caring, perhaps too caring, which has begun to worry Anthony. Despite his misgivings, Benedict decided to accompany his family to the ball tonight. Although Benedict hasn't expressed his concerns directly, Anthony can discern them from his expressions and how he sticks close to Anthony this evening. Anthony knows that Benedict worries about him. Anthony recalls how this is like how Benedict behaved with Miss Edwina when he initially decided to court her. Anthony doesn’t believe he’s been cold or aloof with his family, and he is simply indifferent since his failed proposal to Kate and his failed wedding to Edwina. Anthony believes Benedict is waiting for him to talk or for him to get Anthony drunk enough to speak on the matter. He could feel him hoovering on the periphery, just a handful of steps behind him whenever he moved.

Finally, there was Gregory and Hyacinth. Both have transitioned from childhood into adolescence, gradually delving deeper into the intricacies of the world and are on the verge of attaining the same level of education as the rest of the family. Anthony experiences a sense of both relief and wistfulness as he contemplates their growth.

Despite his seniority, Gregory perceives himself as a guiding sibling to Hyacinth. Like his other brothers, he is scheduled to embark on an educational journey at Eton, with Anthony committed to providing him support upon his return. Anthony's foremost desire is to witness Gregory's happiness.

Since infancy, Anthony has witnessed Hyacinth's growth, offering her solace and care during times of distress. Though not her father, he assumed a paternal role in every sense. He reflects on his emotions as he anticipates her imminent transition to adulthood. There are occasions when Hyacinth addresses him as "father," and during these instances, he scarcely objects, finding solace in the endearing sentiment. Observing her marriage will evoke mixed emotions, a poignant yet gratifying moment tempered by the assurance of her safety and well-being.

As he watched Penelope, Anthony couldn't help but admire her beauty, the way her dress clung to her curves, and the way her fiery red hair cascaded down her back.

God, she is beautiful, he thought. I wonder how many dresses she would let me rip off her before she stopped me

Anthony took a pause and shook his head.

Handing Benedict his drink, Anthony made his way through the crowded room, weaving through the throngs of people as he navigated around the dancefloor's perimeter. Penelope, the object of his wonder, gracefully descended the staircase, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. As he watched her, Anthony knew that he had to find a way to approach her and make a lasting impression on the Ton.

The plan is to meet her at the base of the stairs and ask her to dance, then spend the night in close quarters together, indicating their entanglement.

He watches as Miss Penelope Featherington makes her way towards her family before slowly venturing off.

“Miss Featherington.” He greeted her with a smile and a slight bow of his head as he met her at the stairs.

“Lord Bridgerton.” She greeted with a bow and incline of her head, giving Anthony to catch sight of her ample bosom.

He feels like a bow, ready to snap. His fist is clenched, his teeth grinding, and he takes a sharp breath. Since they decided on their plan of seduction and eventual engagement, they had not met each other in secret. While he understood that their secret meetings could not continue if they were to court in public, there would be too many eyes on them. He deeply regretted agreeing to it. It meant he could not touch her the way he wanted to, could not hold her the way he wanted to, and could not smell her the way he wanted.

If she were to request it, he would kneel before her and discreetly bring her to ecstasy in the grand ballroom, unconcerned with the onlookers. He had come to understand that he struggled with the need for control. The more he attempted to manage situations, the more chaotic they became. Therefore, in the presence of Penelope, he had learned to relinquish power. In those private moments with her, he desired nothing else but her.

He found solace in surrendering to her desires, allowing himself to be consumed by the passion and intensity of their connection. In those moments, he felt truly alive, free from the constraints of society and expectations. Penelope held a power over him that he could not resist, a power that both thrilled and terrified him. He would not care about chasing his satisfaction. If anything, it would only heighten the experience.

He knew their relationship was unconventional, and others may not understand or approve of their connection. But he didn't care. All that mattered was the bond they shared, the intense passion that burned between them. As he looked into Penelope's eyes, he knew that he would do anything to keep her by his side, to continue experiencing the ecstasy and freedom that only she could provide.

Anthony's thoughts wander as he ponders whether she feels the same frustration as he does. He questions whether she is as desperate as he is, all the while able to resist each other. He marvels at how she manages to stay composed when he himself is struggling to contain his emotions.

“It is nice to see you again,” Anthony states with a brighter smile.

On his periphery, he can see Lady Featherington taken slightly back by his approach. The previous times they danced at balls was when Penelope was already separated from her family. Anthony can also somewhat see his brother Benedict a few feet away from him, looking on with morbid fascination.

“I believed you promised me a dance last time we were together,” he lies.  Anthony sees one of her eyebrows raised in question. “I have now come to collect on the debt.”

 

Taming the urge to say something inappropriate in front of her family, Anthony offered her a warm smile and said, "May I have this dance, Miss Penelope?"

"Dance?" she stated in surprise. Well, they may not have had many detailed conversations about the initial courtship entanglement. They did, in fact, have a detailed conversation about this specific event. He would ask her to dance in front of her family, and they would dance multiple times throughout the night. He would be glued to her side and never leave. However, he left up to chance how they got to this point.

Anthony nods at the question, and Penelope smiles at him.

“As you wish,” She replies.

Anthony delicately clasped her hand, encased in a silk glove, and guided her toward the lively dance floor. All eyes of the Ton watching them.

He slowly felt a tangle of nerves of excitement coil in his stomach as he led Penelope onto the dance floor. The gentle touch of their gloved hands and the subtle warmth emanating from them were enough to make him even more tense. Anthony maintained a delicate yet firm grip on her hand.

The dance unfolded precisely as he had imagined - each movement flowing seamlessly into the next, creating a beautiful and graceful exhibition of carefully crafted choreography. If Anthony had any genuine comments about their performance, it was that they were slightly closer to the average mama’s preference. Anthony was aware that although she had danced previously, she had only danced with a few other gentlemen in previous seasons, but never more than once with his brother Colin.

As they began to move in time with the music. He could feel the eyes of the other guests on them, but he focused solely on Penelope, guiding her through the steps with precision and grace.

As they twirled and glided across the floor, Anthony couldn't help but notice Penelope's eyes sparkled with joy, and her smile lit up her face. It was a sight that made his heart swell with pride and contentment. He knew that they were not the most experienced dancers, but their chemistry and connection on the dance floor were undeniable.

The music swirled around them, and Anthony found himself lost in the moment, completely absorbed in the dance. He felt a sense of exhilaration and freedom as they moved together, their movements becoming more fluid and effortless with each passing moment.

Anthony felt like he was seven and ten again, with the nerves, frustration, and pressure of those watching him. Amidst the whirl of emotions and chaos, he reveled in the thrill of the moment. The waltz brought them together, their gazes locked as they twirled gracefully across the dance floor, surrounded by a sea of elegant dancers.

The waltz brought them face to face once more, and Penelope's gentle touch brushed against Anthony's shoulder. A wave of realization washed over him as he saw through Penelope's composed facade to the raw emotions simmering beneath. Her grip on his shoulder tightened with each subtle movement, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection between them. It was at that moment that Anthony understood - she was just as affected by him as he was by her presence.

Penelope’s nail dug into his shoulder, igniting an intense desire that infiltrated his thoughts—a bold notion that induced a slight choke, accompanied by waves of heat cascading through his body.

Penelope, furrowing her brow with subtle concern, whispered, “Are you alright?” Her nails dug into his shoulders slightly more. 

“I’m wonderful,” he groaned.

Penelope responded with a smirk and pushed her nails into his shoulder even more, which made Anthony shiver in delight. She nudged him as they danced the last few steps of the waltz, leading into a curtsy.

“May we take a turn about the room?” he asked, standing before Penelope as the dance floor cleared itself of dancers.

Penelope takes his offered arm with another one of her smiles.

They take turns around the room, making notes, not interacting with many of the Ton, and simply strolling around the perimeter of the dance floor. Anthony knows his colleague slightly and sees him at the ballroom, even nodding to Simon and his sister Daphne as they catch each other. Anthony notes somewhere in the back of his mind that his sister has this odd question and her eyes, something that he’ll have to answer for later.

He feels light and calm despite his underlying buried frustration. They are almost finished walking around the room when he sees Kate. Miss Kate Sharma stands with her sister and aunt by one of the drink tables. She is dressed in a deep teal color with short sleeves and a small gold tiara.

Kate was beautiful, but Anthony felt a deep, sore ache when he saw her. However, this ache wasn't from unfulfilled or unrequited love. It reminded him of pain that was healing, pain that was getting better.

Penelope must have noticed his gaze as it shifted over the crowd and spotted Miss Sharma. He could feel Penelope's nudge as they stopped before her family.

Anthony gave a slight shake of his head as he smiled at her, indicating that he was fine for now but might need her comfort later.

“Miss Featherington, would you mind if I requested another dance once you have recovered?” he asked, still holding onto one of her arms.

“Of course, my Lord.” Penelope bowed.

Anthony noticed how Kate moved across the room, from his periphery to edging closer toward the center of vision. He was slightly annoyed by it. Daphne had subtly told him that Edwina had returned with her sister again this season to help find a husband after her failed attempt last season. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington called. What a pleasant surprise!” The lady stepped in front of her, opened her mouth, and the daughters greeted him with a bow.

“How kind of you to dance with Penelope,” she remarked. Anthony grimaces slightly at Lady Featherington.

“Of course, she is a wonderful dancer,” he replied. As he promised Penelope, he would stick to her for the rest of the night. Anthony looked over the Featherington family, taking note of Penelope’s sister and their husbands.

“Lord Bridgerton,” Mr. Finch greeted him as they shook hands. With a nod, he said, “It is good to see you.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Mr. Dankworth greeted him and shook hands, “I’m very glad you could join us.”

“It is good to meet you, both Mr. Finch and Mr. Dankworth,” Anthony replies to both men.

Anthony, Mr. Finch, and Mr. Dankworth discuss the silk trade that Mr. Dankworth is currently investing in. Anthony finds the silk trade strangely fascinating. He had not considered Mr. Dankworth to have such connections in China or India. From their conversation, he is told that his family was from western China and made ties with India. Eventually, his grandfather made his way to England.

Anthony observed Kate a short distance away, cautiously making her way toward him. He had previously encountered her at a luncheon, where they engaged in a brief conversation. It appeared that Kate wished to engage in a more extensive discussion, but he felt no inclination to revisit the topic.

As the discussion continues, Mr. Finch and Mr. Dankworth share their insights on the historical significance of the silk trade and its impact on global commerce. They delve into the cultural and economic implications of silk production and trade, discussing the influence of silk on fashion, art, and diplomacy throughout history.

Anthony is fascinated by the depth of knowledge and experience that both Mr. Finch and Mr. Dankworth possess in the silk trade. He realizes there is much more to the industry than he had previously thought, and he begins to see the potential for his own involvement in the business.

As much as he tries to ignore her, Kate seems to move closer and closer to his central line of vision, a handful of paces behind Mr. Finch and Mr. Dankworth. And it annoys him to no end. She’s currently not accompanied by anyone and can’t seem to find her younger sister, Miss Edwina.

Penelope seemed to detect his distraction as she subtly tightened her grip on his arm. Temporarily, Anthony gently caressed her hand with his free hand without diverting his attention from the conversation. As Anthony stands amidst the gathering, he deliberately ignores Kate's wistful glances.

Nearby, Lady Featherington and Penelope engage in a hushed conversation, their voices barely reaching his ears. However, he struggles to catch anything relatively useful, fragments of their discussion float to him. Anthony is convinced that Penelope earnestly attempts to persuade her mother that he would make a suitable husband.

“I’m a bit parched,” Penelope announces under a pause in the conversation.

“Let me get you a drink, “Anthony jumps to respond, turning towards her.

“No, it's OK. I can get it myself. Continue to talk. I’m sure Mr. Finch and Mr. Dankworth enjoy your attention,” Penelope replies. Anthony seems slightly put off, “I insist, Anthony.”

Penelope leaves Anthony with a smile.

***

 

Penelope leaves Anthony to the mercy of her family as she goes to get herself a lemonade. She feels like she’s gliding on air. She practically runs to the drink table. She needed a moment to step away from the overwhelming heat building up inside her. She promised herself that she would not touch him until they were married.

She couldn't help but smile as she thought about her marriage to Anthony. Despite not having what others might consider a love match, she held onto the hope that, with time, she would grow to love him.

She finds her way to a table filled with drinks and picks up a glass of lemonade. She takes a few sips while glancing around the room, enjoying the drinking in her hands.

“Oh," she hears a voice say from behind her as she gets bumped into. “If it isn’t Miss Featherington.”

Penelope turns around slightly to see who the voice belongs to. It turns out to be Cressida Cowper, one of her many critics since her debut. It annoys her that Eloise is standing just behind Cressida. While she had seen Eloise earlier in the season with Cressida, she had hoped it was a one-time thing. Apparently, that was not the case.

Eloise is wearing a pale blue empire-style dress, with her hair pulled up into a top-notch bun adorned with silver jewelry. Cressida is dressed in a pale pink empire dress gown with large sleeves, complemented by one of her signature hairstyles, elaborate and ornate.

Penelope turns back to the table, telling herself to let it go because after she finishes her drink, she must rescue Anthony from her mama’s clutches. She refuses to interact with Cressida she doesn’t have to.

“That is such a pretty dress,” Cressida states. Penelope can imagine the kind of sneer she is wearing. She always wondered what she had done to deserve this kind of treatment from her.

Penelope stood at the table, sipping her drink as she continued to ignore her. Despite this, the evening was going exceptionally well. She couldn’t help but admire how seamlessly Anthony was able to converse with both of her sisters’ husbands. Witnessing his ease and comfort in engaging with her family filled her with happiness, as it reassured her that integrating Anthony into her family would be much easier than she had anticipated.

She wheeled around suddenly at the sound of fabric ripping, only to discover that the tear was located at the back of her dress.

“How mortifying!” she heard Cressida say dramatically, using both of her hands to cover up her mouth in a surprised expression.

Penelope suddenly heard a gasp and an apologetic, "I'm so clumsy!" Looking down, she realized that Cressida had advertently stepped on the delicate lace of her dress, causing an embarrassing moment. Amidst the elegant gathering, it seemed that Cressida had chosen Penelope as the unwitting victim of her clumsiness.

“My deepest apologies,” Cressida said as Penelope turned to look at her, seeing the horror dawn on Eloise’s face.

“It is a pity that you did not choose something sturdier. Perhaps it would not have ripped if you had not bought such cheap fabric.” Cressida laughs, and then she turns away, turning towards a horrified Eloise.

Penelope sees Anthony walking swiftly towards her, behind Cressida.

Penelope is mortified.

She worked so hard and long for this dress, which is now ruined. The time, money, and effort are wasted because of jealousy. She can’t help but feel like the night is ruined. She was on such a high. She loved her dance with Anthony and teasing him, and she would have enjoyed teasing him all night. And now it is ruined.

As Penelope hurriedly exits the ballroom, the sound of Cressida's echoing laughter fills the hallways, growing fainter as she rushes out of the house. She finally reaches the covered landing and comes to an abrupt halt, unaware that Anthony is swiftly approaching behind her.

As Penelope stands on the landing, her heart races with embarrassment and regret, and she finally hears footsteps approaching. She turns around to see Anthony standing there, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. Without a word, he reaches out and gently touches her arm, causing her to shiver at his touch. "Penelope, what happened?" he asks softly, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

Penelope struggles to find the words to explain, her cheeks burning with shame. She stammers out an apology, trying to salvage what little dignity she has left. But Anthony shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's just a dress, Penelope. It can be fixed or replaced. What matters is that you're okay." His words wash over her like a soothing balm, calming her racing heart and easing her embarrassment.

“Penelope,” Anthony uttered, “It will be okay.”

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” She cries softly.

“It will be ok.” Anthony states, “Just breathe.” She can tell that Anthony wants to hold her, but no, he can’t because they are being watched. So, she settles for his presence being near her in the warmth he exudes.

“Miss Cressida can be quite the bitch, can’t she?” He whispers into her ear.

 

Penelope stifles a laugh. While the remarkable Anthony Lord Bridgerton would never be caught cursing in front of a lady, Penelope is considered a particular case.

“Just remember a month or so, and then it will end.”

As they stand there in the moonlit night, a sense of peace settles over Penelope. She realizes that Anthony's opinion of her is not based on her appearance or the state of her dress but on who she is as a person. And in that moment, she knows that she has found someone who truly sees her for who she is, flaws and all.

Penelope nods, finding solace that Anthony will be hers and hers alone quite shortly.

---

She observes Anthony's transformation before the rest of the family even begins to comprehend. As his mother, she believes she understands him better than anyone else. Despite his failed engagement to the younger Sharma and unsuccessful proposal to the elder, she anticipated a wave of emotions. She expected to see traces of sadness and melancholy lingering after the Sharmas departed at the end of the previous season. However, there was no need for her to offer comfort or solace. It only took Anthony a week to return to his former self after the Sharmas exited his life.

At the start of the new season, there were hints that Anthony was becoming more vulnerable and harboring feelings for someone in secret. She hoped it wasn't a repeat of the Siena fiasco. Yet, he showed no signs of seeking a wife this season, despite his declaration earlier in the season. Instead, he seemed content to focus on his work and spend time with his family.

The breakfast table is filled with most of the family. Eloise passionately discusses an article she read about women’s rights and their value in the home. Meanwhile, Benedict is engaged in a lively conversation with Gregory about the significance of color, which greatly interests Gregory as an artist. Francesca and her youngest daughter discuss different kinds of music and how they can be played on the pianoforte. However, all conversations cease when Anthony announces his intention to court once again this season. The person he decided to court was the current topic of discussion.

Hyacinth inquired, her brow furrowed with curiosity, "Are you truly considering courting Penelope Featherington?"

Earlier in the morning, Anthony had boldly declared his intentions to find a wife during the upcoming social season. However, he did not mention any specific woman, leaving an air of mystery, as if he already had a particular lady in mind. As Violet contemplated this, she couldn't imagine Penelope Featherington being the object of Anthony's affection.

Violet's eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign that this was all just a joke, hoping to see the family burst into laughter at any moment.

“Actually… I’ve already asked Lady Featherington to court Penelope Featherington.” Anthony admits. “And she has agreed.”

Violet was shocked by Anthony's decision. He had previously made decisions regarding the household, but he had always informed her of his intentions beforehand. However, it seemed that he had now changed his mind about sharing his changing motives with her.

“So, you plan to court and then marry Miss Featherington?” Benedict asks a bit dumbfounded at the prospect. Violet takes note to ask Benedict about his brother’s behavior over the last few weeks to see if there’s any indication of change that she didn’t see.

“That is the plan,” Anthony answers swiftly. Violet notices that Anthony seems a tad bit annoyed by his family’s questions. Although she must confess, she’s also a bit upset and annoyed with Anthony for deciding on some things so soon and with very little consideration for the family.

“Now, as much as I would like to stay, I’ve business to attend to.” Anthony nods to his family, stands up, and leaves the dining room.

Violet is concerned about Anthony's recent decisions, indicating that she perceived a lack of consideration for her input. She wonders fleetingly if she should send a letter to Colin about the development between Anthony and Penelope. She asked what he would say about them or if he would say anything at all.

Eloise sat in shock, her eyes widening at the unexpected statement. Around the table, everyone shared her disbelief, their gazes locked on the spot Anthony occupied just a while ago.

"Could someone kindly inform me of what just happened?" Eloise inquired, pausing from eating her breakfast.

With a smirk, Benedict remarked, "I believe Anthony has made a decision regarding his future spouse. Do you think Colin is aware of this?"

"He must be joking," Eloise continued, looking towards her brother Benedict. "Right?"

She can only hope that he isn’t making the wrong decision.

Chapter 19: Whispers of Whistledown (Part 1)

Summary:

Lady Whistledown is back and causing chaos among the Bridgetons.

June 4th, 1815

Dear Gentle Reader,

            Did you miss me? Well, I have missed you….

He had been wondering if Anthony had noticed. Benedict Bridgerton, a man of twenty and seven, had known his brother since birth. They were the eldest and closest in age, the heir and the spare. They had been intertwined for as long as they could remember and would remain so until Anthony’s son was born. Even then, they would be connected, never free of one another.

Benedict found himself pondering whether Anthony had observed the subtle transformation taking place within him. As a newfound sense of tranquility enveloped Anthony, it seemed as though the turbulent storm of emotions had finally subsided. He couldn't help but contemplate whether Anthony had perceived the shift - the diminishing signs of weariness and the reduced tendency to erupt in anger. Although his brother remained distant and withdrawn, Benedict noticed a gradual return to the persona he had embodied long before their father's passing.

He was lounging on the plush couch in the elegant drawing room, a glistening spoon resting on the polished mahogany table, as he held a sketchbook and charcoal in his hand. The air in the room hung heavy with silence, the remnants of breakfast having been cleared almost an hour ago. Most of the house's occupants were out and about, navigating the bustling city or tending to their various duties. However, Anthony remained seated at the breakfast table, engrossed in reviewing paperwork related to the estate. When Benedict inquired about Anthony's persistent presence, he was informed that Anthony desired "a change of scenery," finding their late father’s study to be "suffocating" at times.

However, this peaceful moment was interrupted when Eloise stormed in, angrily ranting about the latest Lady Whistledown's scandalous revelation. Benedict pulled the sheet from his sister’s grasp and skimmed through it. She was so engrossed in the article detailing Mr. Matthew Higgins' affair with Lady Thomas that she missed the fact that, as usual, a member of the Bridgerton family had made it into the gossip sheet.

“Have you seen the latest Whistledown?” Benedict held up the pamphlet in the air. The air in the house was cool, and while Benedict sometimes enjoyed the sticky, hot weather, today, he didn’t and was grateful for the cool air in the house. He was more obsessed with sketching the shadow that had been created by his breakfast spoon than with the latest greatest news from Whistledown.

Eloise stopped in her tracks, tearing the gossip sheet away from her brother and frantically rereading it to see what she had missed. Benedict, Anthony, and Eloise were all dressed similarly. They were all wearing linen-based clothes, typical for the rising heat of summer.

“No, should I,” Anthony remarked, looking up from the paperwork before him.

“You are mentioned,” Benedict said, his lips curled into a smirk as he delivered his words. He couldn't help but wonder about his brother's potential reaction upon hearing the news in person. Lady Whistledown had once again mentioned him in her scandalous writings.

“Nothing bad, I hope,” Anthony playfully teased, returning to finish the paperwork before him. Benedict remembered that Anthony was finishing out certain contracts with new tenants wanting to farm on their land.

“No, nothing bad, just remarked on,” Benedict murmured.

“Here it is,” Eloise said triumphantly as she found the two sentences that mentioned the Viscount. “In other news,” Eloise started, “it seems that Viscount Bridgerton may be looking for his Viscountess again, as he was seen on the ballroom dancefloor with one of the lovely ladies of the Ton. Only time will tell if he will marry this season.”

“That’s odd,” Eloise remarked. “Whistledown tends to be more vicious at her target.”

Benedict arched his eyebrow at the remark.

"Perhaps she has chosen to direct her attention towards someone else," Anthony suggested. He quickly began to tidy up and gather his paperwork, a clear sign that he was fleeing the situation as things started to get uncomfortable.

“Maybe…” Eloise stated, “It just seems a bit odd, does it.”

“Maybe,” he paused, looking at his watch. He was carrying his paperwork in his other hand, and his footman was behind him. “Now, if you excuse me, my solicitor awaits.”

“What...?” Eloise questioned as she watched her brother nearly run out of the room.

Benedict could not do anything but shrug.

Forever yours,

Lady Whistledown

Chapter 20: Father's Day

Summary:

Anthony and Penelope spend the day with his family. During Courtship rules week 1.

Early June 1815

She is melting.

Penelope can feel the sweat dripping on the back of her thighs as she sits on the iron chair. They are sitting under a tent in Hyde Park on one of the hottest days of summer, and she can’t remember the reason why she agreed to go picnicking with Anthony and his family for her life.

“Is there anything a matter, My Lady?” Anthony says in a teasing tone.

They were sitting in the comfortable shade provided by a large, colorful umbrella, surrounded by the sounds of nature. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, creating a tranquil atmosphere as they spent time together as part of their courtship with Anthony and his family.

Anthony sat across from her, exuding an air of refined elegance in his light green jacket, a cream-colored shirt, and matching trousers. The soft glow of the setting sunbathed them in a warm light as they sat at the table. A delightful spread of sweet treats and steaming tea adorned the tabletop, creating an inviting atmosphere. Although his hands rested calmly at his side, she couldn't help but notice his subtle movement as his hand closest to her discreetly maneuvered beneath the tablecloth.

The sun beat down relentlessly, but she felt grateful for the choice of a pale-yellow dress. It flowed lightly around her, allowing the warm breeze to flutter through the fabric, providing some relief from the heat. As she brushed her soft curls away from her face and smiled, she appreciated the matching yellow fan attached securely to her wrist. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she used the fan to create a gentle, refreshing breeze, cooling herself off and savoring the moment.

As they sat facing away from each other, they both gazed out at the lively scene in the park. The park resonated with the joyous sounds of families playing on the grass while boats glided across the lake. In the distance, geese could be heard squawking, adding to the vibrant atmosphere. Couples strolled along the stone walkways, adding to the picturesque charm of the setting.

“I’m dripping,” Penelope stated with a whine as she fanned herself, slouching just slightly into her chair, trying to contact the metal backing to cool her skin.

Fuck me, she thought. I should not have said that. She sat up straight. She felt like an idiot. Based on past experiences, she knew that using phrases with double meanings could get her into even bigger trouble with him. Trouble she didn’t mind being in.

If they had been adequately supervised, Anthony might not have behaved so inappropriately, but it seems that his brother Benedict was preoccupied with other matters instead of keeping an eye on his elder brother's interactions with a young lady.

Benedict wandered off to where the geese were, carrying a sketch pad. Her mother would have been happy to leave them alone if it meant a guaranteed wedding. Meanwhile, Anthony’s mother enjoyed playing with her grandchildren and relishing the status of being a grandma.

Francesca Eloise, Hyacinth, and Gregory laughed and chatted as they gathered to play games with hoops and sticks in the lush green grass. The sound of joy filled the air as they tossed the hoops and maneuvered the sticks, immersed in the simple yet delightful pleasures of their time together.

“Dripping, you say,” Anthony smiled as he looked over to her.

And Penelope glanced over at Anthony, feeling a twinge of annoyance brewing in her belly. His fingers lightly traced the back of her hand, tantalizingly brushing against the fabric of her dress, hovering just above her thigh.

“Anthony,” Penelope uttered with a slightly annoyed tone.

His touch grazed her thigh, sending a shiver down her spine. Despite the warmth of the day, his hand felt refreshingly cool against her skin as it traced the outline of her dress. Gradually, she felt the fabric inching closer to her hip, exposing the smooth skin beneath.

“Penelope,” Anthony replied with a growing smirk.

She couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as his touch lingered on her thigh, igniting a fire within her. The sensation of his hand moving slowly, deliberately up her leg made her heart race and her breath quicken. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, as his fingers danced along the edge of her dress, teasing and tantalizing her.

Penelope sat. Her hand frozen in midair. Her delicate fan stilled as she took in a deep breath. She stole a furtive glance at Anthony, who seemed earlier unusually tense in the public setting. As she recalled the events of the morning when he had picked her up, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, and she didn't approve of his behavior.

The contrast between the heat of the sun beating down on them and the coolness of his touch created a deliciously intoxicating sensation. She felt a wave of desire wash over her, her body responding eagerly to his every caress. With each gentle stroke, she felt herself becoming more and more lost in the moment, completely consumed by the electricity that crackled between them.

As his hand finally reached her hip, she couldn't help but let out a soft gasp, the sensation of his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through her. She arched her back, pressing herself closer to him, craving more of his touch, more of his intoxicating presence. At that moment, she knew that she would be completely under his spell, unable to resist his magnetic pull over her if she did not stop this now.

“You know what I mean,” Penelope stated with a sigh.

There was a valid rationale behind her decision to establish the "no touch" rule, and the current situation underscores exactly why. If they were to be discovered in this very moment, they would swiftly find themselves proceeding down the aisle within the span of the next day.

“Well, we can’t have you dripping now, can we?” Anthony stated as he moved closer to her, “Is there any way I can resolve the matter?” he whispered into her ear.

As his hand continued to explore the curves of her body, she wondered if she had surrendered herself completely to the intoxicating dance of desire that they were both caught up in.

“Stop it,” Penelope poorly pleaded.

“Stop, what?” Anthony replied with a knowing look. She knew they were young, but even after all this time, she thought she had grown somewhat resistant to his touches. It seemed like that was not the case.

"We are in public," Penelope declared as she placed her hand on his, halting his movements. However, despite her efforts, she couldn't stop his fingers from repeatedly brushing against her skin.

“I can send for a carriage, and we can retreat to my bachelor lodgings,” Anthony replied. Anthony looked at the rove carriages just outside the park, saying, “We would not be in public then.”

“What of your family?” Penelope questioned, “My family?”

He nonchalantly raises his shoulder as he struggles to hide his smirk with his other hand.

She can sense that he's trying to stifle a laugh as he playfully teases her. She pretends to scan the park and spots his family a few meters away. She hears Violet's laughter and sees her enjoying time with her grandchildren. It wouldn't be too hard to slip away and fetch a carriage. However, her mother, who has been glancing over occasionally, seems to have noticed the attention Anthony has been giving her the whole time they've been at the park. She's unsure if her mother can see that Anthony has his hand under the tablecloth on her thigh or not, but she wouldn't put it past her mother to instinctively distract Violet to "secure" the Viscount.

“I can tell them you were feeling unwell, and I was escorting you home to rest,” Anthony replies smoothly.

“Anthony,” Penelope whimpers as he begins to move his fingers again higher up her thigh.

“Penelope,” Anthony responds as he looks back over to her, his mouth getting closer and closer to her ear, whispering, “I want you. I have been so tense without you.”

His fingers brush her underclothes when she snaps back at him, “Why do you do that?” Penelope asks.

“Do what?” Anthony asks, not so innocently but with a knowing grin.

“You know what I mean,” Penelope replies, gripping his hand tighter, hoping he will stop altogether.

"Anthony," Penelope remarked, her voice tinged with concern, "You have been unusually quiet today, almost somber." She took a momentary pause, sensing the gravity of the next few moments and the potential impact on their interaction. In response, she felt his grip on her thigh loosen, and her hand loosened on his as well.

"And now you're teasing," she added, her tone reflecting a mixture of frustration and bewilderment, "It's quite perplexing." She let out a heavy sigh and continued, "Avoiding the issue won't make it any better."

“Mmh.” Anthony's hand stops moving for a moment as he pulls back from her ear and looks into her eyes.

“I know your father's birthday is today,” she whispers, “It is okay to feel sad sometimes,”

She observes him closely, gauging the internal struggle as he weighs whether to confide in her and grant her request. Throughout their time together, she has discerned Anthony's emotional fluctuations, and noted poignant moments of despondency, and contrasting episodes of joy. Furthermore, she has sharply perceived his adherence to a stringent daily regimen: commencing each day with breakfast, tending to matter of the estate, prioritizing family time, and concluding with any additional obligations. Any disruption to this established routine, even one that he has consciously chosen, appears to disconcert and agitate him. Through careful observation, she has learned that gradually introducing him to new experiences over the course of several weeks helps assuage his frustration.

“You are not the only one who lost a father,” Penelope says, “My father may not have been the best, but he was my father.”

“I’m sorry,” Anthony says after a beat, “I did not mean to ruin your day.”

“Don’t be,” Penelope breathes, “Everyone deals with death differently.”

Penelope watches as Anthony's eyes glaze over. He begins to think mindlessly as he watches the other people in the park go about their day. She doesn't want him to get lost for too long, so she decides to play along, at least for a little while. She begins to use her fan slowly, cooling herself down.

"But I would suggest you warn me about your starved appetite," Penelope teases with a smile, "I might be more accommodating in the future."

As she observes Anthony, she notices his gaze refocusing, and he looks over at her with a slight smirk. She understands that discussing his father brings him sadness, so she refrains from raising the topic too frequently. However, she believes that if they are to be married, he should feel comfortable confiding in her about his feelings of sadness. She hopes to prevent such emotions from becoming unbearable for him to bear.

“Surely I must send for a carriage,” he replies with a smile as he continues to move his fingers and hand on her thigh.

“No,” Penelope confidently states, gripping his hand once more. After our outing, Mama has plans to visit Father’s grave.”

“Oh,” Anthony says as he attempts to pull his hand away from her thigh but stops when he notices that Penelope is holding his hand in place. But instead of resting his hand on her thigh, she twines her fingers with his nonchalantly, pushing back the fabric into place, grateful that they are underneath the tablecloth.

"He may not have had affection for him, but she held him in high regard,” Penelope said. “He guided us through many challenging situations." Her family was considered "new money," which meant they were unfamiliar with the challenges of high society. As she understood it, her father had not lived like she had. He grew up in a house that was too small and had too many siblings. Her mother apparently had a very similar upbringing, being the daughter of a shepherd.

Penelope's fingers intertwined with Anthony's as she sensed him grasping her hand a little tighter. Although he may not have been well-versed in her parents' background, he grasped the fact that they were relative newcomers to the Ton society. It was a society were reveling in others' misfortunes seemed to be a shared pastime among its members.

“You have my condolences,” Anthony said. In all the time they had spent together, he had never expressed his condolences on her father’s death. Although it was a little late, she did appreciate the thought, regardless.

The cool breeze somewhat alleviated the scorching heat of the day, and Penelope and Anthony found themselves sitting in silence, savoring the rare relief. Both looked away, shifting their gazes over their families and the others who happened to be at the park. As Penelope glanced out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Anthony's subtle shift and twitch, indicators that he was evidently uncomfortable and hesitant about what he was about to say.

“My mother…she…she was disappointed with me… again,” Anthony says, bringing his other hand to scratch at his face, a habit that she had noticed since they had gotten together.

He mentioned, "After I declared my intention to court you at breakfast, she followed me in the hallway. She was displeased with my plan. I believe she still intends for you to marry Colin."

Anthony pauses. Penelope could feel Anthony’s thumb move across the back of her hand.

He lets out a bitter laugh before adding, "She mentioned that my father would be ashamed of me for not attempting to rekindle my relationship with Kate. For not trying to find love again." He stressed, with a bitter tone.

Anthony's words hung heavy in the air as he recounted the conversation with his mother. Penelope noticed as the weight of her disapproval and expectations bore down on him, causing a knot to form in her stomach. She couldn't shake the disappointment and frustration at her insistence on marrying Colin despite seeing that she had accepted Anthony’s suit for courtship.

Anthony spoke softly, his voice tinged with regret. "Last night, as I lay awake, I found myself pondering the promise I made to you," he began. "I longed to be in your presence, but I knew it was an impossibility."

Penelope observed him carefully, noticing the way he took in deep breaths, trying to steady his emotions. She could see him teetering on the edge of anger and sadness, and she understood that neither would be beneficial for him. She mirrored his gesture by moving her thumb across the back of his hand as he had previously done.

“She seems to think I lack love in my life,” Anthony says, irritated, “That ‘Your father would be disappointed in your plans. And Miss Featherington should be able to choose and not told to marry you.”

Penelope's frustration bubbled to the surface as she incredulously asked, 'She thinks that I’m being forced?” She placed down her fan in frustration.

Having known Violet for most of her life, Penelope never could have imagined that she would one day marry one of her sons. It was an unexpected twist in their relationship, and Penelope hadn't realized just how cruel Violet could be, even when she believed she needed to act with more kindness.

Anthony chuckled tensely at the question and shook his head.

“She believes that your mother has actively encouraged you to maintain my interest for as long as possible, with the ultimate goal of ensuring that we become married,” Anthony states, with a slight aggravation in his tone, “Even implying that your mother would leave you unescorted if I were with you in a room alone.”

Yes, she would, Penelope, though warily. Her mother would undertake a calculated risk to ensure Penelope's safety and well-being. However, Penelope thought it might be sensible to refrain from broaching this topic with Anthony or, ideally, refrain from discussing it altogether.

“Your mother does not know me very well, does she?” Penelope replied.

"No, I do not think so," Anthony said as he shook his head slightly with a laugh. “You, Penelope, are much smarter about it. Knowing you, you would approach me in a more practical and diplomatic manner, presenting me with an arrangement that offers mutual convenience in marriage. Given your diplomatic approach, I would accept such a proposal.”

Anthony raises his hands to kiss the back of her hand before resting it back under the tablecloth on her thigh. Penelope smiles at the gesture.

“Was your father like her?” Penelope asks after a few moments.

Anthony looks away from her for a moment, presumably thinking back to when his father was alive. He then looks back at her.

“Not that I remember, he was…he was kind but practical.” Anthony answered, “I believe he would have a better understanding of our current situation than my mother. I think he would grasp that love alone may not always suffice.”

She had not known Edmond Bridgerton very well as he had only briefly crossed paths with her. However, he held a special place in her life as the father of her closest friend, Eloise. Whenever she stayed over at Eloise's, they would often indulge in whimsical tea parties, using all their teddy bears and dolls to create a delightful make-believe world. A world Eloise’s father would indulge them periodically.

As Penelope looked at Anthony, she couldn't help but think of her own father and what he would think of Anthony. Would he approve of him? Would he not care about the situation? Or would he welcome Anthony as a future son-in-law since he had no sons of his own? Penelope didn't have the answers to these questions, but she knew that her father would approve of any man she approved of.

“I know my father always loved me even if he couldn’t tell me,” Penelope said, “He would sometimes take my advice on some of his investments or his bets.” Penelope smiled at the memories of her father.

“My mother has always been the practical one,” Penelope continued, “most of everything she does is to help my sisters and me despite how cruel she may seem.”

“She wants to make sure that we are protected, taken care of, and ultimately financially supported,” Penelope said, “When she encouraged Marina to marry Lord Crane, she would talk about the small things. While her marriage did not start with love, she admired certain aspects, small details that accumulated over time and became cherished.” Penelope paused, “In due course, she would say, one comes to appreciate certain qualities in their partner, be it after a few months or even a few years.”

Penelope vividly recalled the conversation her mother had with Marina about the prospect of marrying her lover's brother. When she had agreed to marry Anthony, she had anticipated that her own marriage would be similar. She didn't expect a grand romantic love but rather hoped to find appreciation in the small gestures he would make. Over time, as these small things accumulated, she believed she could come to love him fully.

“My mother never experienced a deep romantic love. Instead, she only encountered crushes and small affections,” Penelope said. She saw her mother mourn silently over the loss of a great love every single day. She married a man out of survival and security, and while having money, land, and a title brought her comfort and security, it did not bring her much love.

But that is when a thought popped into Penelope’s head: the reason Anthony’s mother was so hell-bent on having her children find love matches.

“Your mother has only known great love,” Penelope stated, “She doesn’t understand any other kind of love, but you have told me that it has almost killed her once.”

As she looked over at Anthony, she saw acceptance in his face regarding the idea she presented. The idea is that his mother has never known any other kind of love. She has only known the pain of losing love to circumstances beyond her control. Violet Bridgerton has never been able to see beyond grand love.

Penelope had a deep understanding of various forms of love. She keenly observed what she termed as "grand love" exemplified by Violet Bridgerton and her husband. Additionally, she recognized and appreciated the presence of respect and affection that permeated through most of the Ton's society. And love and respect, that were built off the idea of survival, like her parents.

"What would your father think of me?" Penelope asked.

"Pardon?" Anthony looked at Penelope, a little surprised by the question. She supposed that she would never really ask this question of him, but she wanted to see if both of his parents saw love in the same way.

“Your father, what would he think of me?” She asked again.

“My father?” Anthony replied as she nodded.

She could see the wheels spinning in his head. Hopefully, she thought, thinking back at his own father and what his possible reaction to their marriage would be.

“I think…. I think he would appreciate your qualities.” He starts slowly, “You are intelligent and beautiful, and I'm confident you can easily manage a household.”

Penelope raised one of her eyebrows in a question, “But what would he think of me?”

She was acutely aware that she was treading on delicate ground with this sensitive issue. However, she grasped the urgency of addressing it now, recognizing that it could potentially escalate if left unacknowledged. She aspired to be the kind of supportive partner he could confide in when feeling distressed or simply in need of someone to talk to.

“I do not know.” Anthony finally answered, “All I know is that my father was a kind and reasonable man. I do not think you would have any real objections to us getting married. I only feel he would want me to be sure that this is what I wanted.”

“And your brothers?” Penelope asked, “Would they see me as capable, as you say?” she asked with a smile.

“They will see you as I see you,” Anthony confirmed, “A beautiful, capable, intelligent Viscountess.” He smiles back at her.

“Your sisters?” Penelope questioned.

She had been feeling anxious and uneasy. Even though she had managed to move past her feelings for Colin, she couldn't shake off the worry about Eloise and her discovery of her secret identity as Lady Whistledown. Eloise's knowledge of her secret made the situation even more challenging and unsettling for her.

Anthony was aware of her true identity as Whistledown. Although he never approved of her pamphlets, he did understand her reasons. He understood her need to take care of her family. She explained to him that she had initially started writing the pamphlets to point out the flaws within the social elite. However, after her father’s death and the mounting debts, she took it upon herself to financially support her family as best as she could. By making money from the pamphlets and smart investing, she was able to pay Phillipa’s and Prudence’s dowries while funding their lifestyle. She had even luck on bets she had placed on the races, earning her even more. This season was supposed to be the one where she could save up enough money for herself to buy a house in the countryside, retiring as a spinster so that she could write without being affected by the gossip and social obligations of the Ton.

The constant fear of being exposed as Lady Whistledown weighed heavily on her mind, causing her to feel on edge and paranoid. Every interaction with Eloise felt like a potential threat as she tried to navigate the delicate balance of maintaining her secret while keeping up appearances. The pressure of keeping up the facade was starting to take its toll on her mental and emotional well-being, leaving her feeling more anxious and uneasy with each passing day.

“They adore you, well… except Eloise, for now.” Anthony said, "I am confident that she will reconsider her position once she gains a more complete understanding of the situation.”

Penelope prayed that Eloise would eventually come around. She had hoped to talk to her before their engagement or wedding to fully explain why she had chosen to become Lady Whistledown. She only wished to talk to her. If Eloise, after that point, never wanted to speak to Penelope again, she would understand.

“Then why do you worry so much over your mother?” Penelope concluded, taking a deep breath.

“I have come to understand that my mother consistently strives to do her best for us over time,” Anthony said, “However, there are occasions when her actions may not reflect kindness or consideration, and she may struggle to comprehend perspectives beyond her own. Unless one directly communicates that their feelings have been hurt or that they disagree with her actions, she may continue with her behavior due to a lack of awareness regarding its impact.”

“You are very fortunate to have your mother. Someone who seems to care very much about every single one of her children.” Penelope said, “But it seems like she cannot get out of her own way, that she cannot see others' perspectives beyond her own. You, like, I must learn to politely ignore her when she tries to inject her own reality into a situation she does not understand.”

"Does it work? “Anthony asked in a playful yet skeptical tone. Penelope responded with a mischievous eye roll, indicating her amusement with Anthony's question.

“The hope is that she will grow weary and leave you alone to your own devices.” Penelope replies with a smirk, “My mother ceased intervening many years ago by employing that particular technique.”

Anthony's eyebrows shot up in astonishment as he processed the unexpected development. The two of them halted their conversation, turning their attention towards the bustling park. Penelope couldn't help but notice subtle indications from her family that suggested they might be heading over to their table in the near future.

“What about your father?” Anthony asked, “What would your father think of me?” His thumb still moved against the back of her hand.

Penelope pondered what her father's opinion of Anthony Bridgerton might be. Would he see Anthony as a suitable match for her? Anthony, a Viscount, possessed both wealth and striking good looks but, perhaps most importantly, an inherent intelligence that would surely impress her father. Her father's primary concern, she mused, would likely revolve around Anthony's ability to match Penelope's intellect. Her father had always made an effort to nurture her thirst for knowledge through books and games, forming a unique bond between them, unbeknownst to her mother.

“I would not know. Archibald Featherington was not known for being very expressive with his family,” Penelope answered, “But I think he would have enjoyed hunting with you.”

The thumb on the back of her hand stilled. “Hunting?” Anthony inquired, with a curious, look in his eyes.

While Anthony may not have mentioned it, she noticed that he enjoyed horseback riding and hunting quite often when he wasn’t trapped in the minutia of maintaining the estate or helping his sisters launch into society.

She couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his favorite horse or the thrill he got from a successful hunt. It was clear to her that these activities brought him a sense of peace and fulfillment that he couldn't find elsewhere. And though he never spoke of it directly, she could see that his love for the outdoors and the freedom it provided him was a fundamental part of who he was. It was in these moments, surrounded by nature and the animals he cared for, that Anthony truly seemed to come alive.

“Yes, he took me on yearly trips to Ireland,” Penelope confirmed with a smile, fanning herself. “It was there that I learned how to ride a horse.”

Anthony leaned in, his body crossing the space between them to draw nearer to Penelope. Their fingers intertwined, creating an intimate connection as their hands rested on the smooth, polished surface of the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope noticed her mother beginning to collect her belongings and gather her sisters. It became apparent that she and Anthony had run out of time for their moment together.

“He did?” Anthony inquires. Penelope recognized the look on his face. It is the same expression he wore whenever he was pondering something clever or noteworthy.

“Yes,” Penelope answered with a questioning look in her eyes. She could feel the heat rising in her body.

“Are you sure you do not want me to send for a carriage?” Anthony asked in a teasing but genuine tone as he got closer to her ear.

“Anthony!” Penelope hit him playfully on the shoulder, pushing him back slightly. Anthony smiled at her antics.

"Would you like to come hunting with me?" Anthony asked, although the way he phrased it made it sound more like a command than a request. Penelope was taken by surprised. She hadn't known that Anthony had an interest in hunting. It was a new side of him that she discovered that day, and she couldn't help but feel excited about the new experiences they would share together in the future.

“After we are married,” Penelope answered swiftly. She knew from past experience if she suggested something that, he would do anything in his power to make sure it happened quite quickly, which happened often. It wasn’t that she was worried about being alone with him in the middle of the woods. It’s that she was alone with him in the middle of the words that worried her.

Penelope stated, “Well, I suspect that if you are like this in a park filled with people, I cannot imagine what you are like when we would be alone in a forest.”

“You jest.” Anthony laughed.

The two paused to look at each other before they burst out laughing, more like giggling. Penelope hadn’t noticed that her mother had swiftly made her way over to them. She only turned to face her mother when she cleared her throat.

Penelope's mother raised an eyebrow at the sight of her daughter, and Lord Bridgerton doubled over in laughter. “Penelope, I believe it is time to go,” Lady Portia Featherington asked, trying to hide a smile.

Penelope wondered if her mother knew what was going on or if she was genuinely happy that she was getting along with the viscount and, therefore, assuring her match.

She quickly composed herself and wiped away tears of laughter before saying, " Of course, mama.” Absentmindedly brushing away nonexistent errant threads from her dress, she tucked away her fan.

Penelope gazed across at Anthony, the corner of her lips lifting slightly in a subtle nod of acknowledgment. As she gracefully rose from her seat, she gently released her hand from Anthony's and turned to address the viscount. "Goodbye for now, Lord Bridgerton," Penelope said with a polite inclination of her head.

"Miss Featherington," Anthony returned with a polite nod, his voice carrying a hint of warmth. As she stood up, the Viscount did the same, displaying courtesy by returning her graceful bow with a respectful nod of his own. Turning to acknowledge her mother, he added with a charming smile, "Until next time.”

Penelope's senses were overwhelmed by an increasing warmth that seemed to emanate from within rather than from the heat of the day.

As Penelope began to walk away, she failed to see her mother’s growing grin as Lady Featherington bowed slightly to the viscount before turning away and heading back home.

Chapter 21: Whispers of Whisltedown (Part 2)

Summary:

The Sheffields are back, and they read Lady Whilstedown.

June 14th, 1815

Dear Gentle Reader…

It was late afternoon. The day was unseasonably cool but not unwelcome. She had been sipping chai tea while chaperoning Miss Edwina, who had returned this year with her sister to see if she could get married. She had been discreetly reading the latest Whistledown pamphlet while keeping an eye on her ward, who was currently being entertained by Mr. Shelby and his tale of hunting near the Prussian border. Her visitor had been speeding through his description as his time was running short.

“Is that the latest Whistledown?” Lady Mary Sheffield Sharma asked as she sat across from Lady Danbury. They were chaperoning together while enjoying some tea and reading.

“Why, yes,” Lady Danbury stated, “Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if that was any mention of my dear Edwina.”

"Let's see, here we are.” Lady Danbury started, “Blah, blah, blah... Miss Edwina Sharma has graced the Ton with her presence again this year. She has much to catch up on as a former diamond of last season. However, a former diamond may not shine as brightly as the new one. Can we not forget that Her Majesty, the Queen, has yet to name a new diamond for this season? Let us hope for Miss Sharma's sake that this year's diamond does not outshine her and divide the attention of the most eligible bachelors of the Ton."

This season, Lady Danbury observed Kate Sharma has taken on the role of chaperone for her younger sister, Edwina, and her resolve is stronger than ever. Unlike the previous year, she is fiercely committed to securing a match for Edwina with a titled English nobleman. However, echoing her sentiments from last season, Kate still hopes for a match that meets societal expectations and paves the way for enduring love. She found herself seated alongside her mother, Lady Sharma, and the esteemed Lady Danbury, deep in conversation about the prospects ahead.

“Let me see,” Kate said, taking an extra pamphlet from the tea table. Why does this woman constantly grate others? It is as if she lives off the pain of others.”

“You must understand, Miss Sharma, it’s a business, and business means to make money, and to make money, especially as a gossip sheet, the gossip has to be somewhat juicy.” Lady Danbury stated.

“Well, it is still rude,” Kate replied.

Lady Danbury gave a slight nod in response. She had calmly asserted last season that most marriages within the Ton were driven by business. A year had passed, and the situation remained unchanged. Lady Danbury wondered if Kate or Edwina truly grasped this reality. To thrive in the upper echelons of English society, one must be cunning and adept at using words to influence those in power. It was a subtle form of wielding power. If Lady Danbury’s suspicions were correct, Lady Whistledown had manipulated numerous men in the Ton and influenced the creation of several laws since her emergence.

“Is this correct?” Kate asked, pointing to another section on the pamphlet.

“Let's see here,” Lady Danbury said as she searched for what Kate was pointing at in the text, “Anthony Lord Bridgerton was seen with a lady on his arm, Miss Penelope Featherington. It's quite surprising to see Miss Featherington out and about after her incident with Miss Cowper at the Four Seasons Ball. However, it seems to have worked in her favor as she is now seen accompanied by Lord Bridgerton. They were then seen at the Lord Simmons’s Art Gallery opening last week. This writer can only speculate about what might have happened after Lord Bridgerton was seen chasing after Miss Featherington at the Four Seasons Ball. Rest assured, I will keep my eyes and ears open for any news about this intriguing development.”

Kate audibly scoffed, bringing the attention of everyone at the table to her, “So, it seems he has found another willing girl to play into his charade,” she stated. “I wonder if she meets his expectations.”

Lady Danbury wasn’t surprised with the match. She was surprised by the speed at which they seemed to move between courtships and possibly marriage. Based on observing others of the ton, she knew that it was only a matter of time before Lord Bridgerton announced his engagement to the Featherington girl. While the lord had time to find a bride, the girl did not. She was in her third season, and most of her prospects were all but dead. Her mother was the conniving, clever woman who would do anything to ensure that her last and final unmarried daughter had a husband before the end of the season.

Thinking back to the girl and the lord, she imagined that she had met every requirement he had set out for the previous season. If only he had found her last season and not distracted Miss Edwina from finding her match. The only thing she wondered now was whether Lady Whistledown would continue to publish next season. She suspected that after Lady Whistledown got married, she would not, and she would enjoy her one last season of publishing her most scandalous gossip sheet.

She reminded herself that she had warned Kate last season. If Kate did not stay and talk with Anthony, she would lose him.

“So, it seems,” Lady Danbury retorts with a slight smile.

Forever yours,

Lady Whistledown

Chapter 22: Courtship Rules - Week 2

Summary:

Anthony's courtship of Penelope Featherington continues.

WEEK 2

Mid-June 1815

The sea breeze washes over Colin as he takes his morning breakfast. He has been traveling for the better part of six months. He has been on the road, and his love for traveling has only grown stronger with each passing day. Meeting new people, exploring uncharted territories, indulging in exotic flavors, and immersing himself in diverse customs have become his passion and purpose. He thought at first maybe he would get tired of it, tired of the constant travel, the constant moving, but he finds that he is quiet and enjoys it.

Colin's journey began as a way to escape the monotony of his everyday life, but it has evolved into a transformative experience that has opened his eyes to the beauty and diversity of the world. From the bustling streets of Paris to the serene beaches of southern Italy, he has witnessed the wonders of different cultures and landscapes, each leaving a lasting impression on his soul.

As he takes another bite of his breakfast, Colin reflects on the countless memories he has made along the way - the laughter shared with new friends, the breathtaking sunsets witnessed from mountaintops, the moments of solitude spent in quiet reflection. Each experience has shaped him in ways he never could have imagined, teaching him valuable lessons about resilience, empathy, and the importance of living in the present moment.

Despite the challenges and uncertainties that come with life on the road, Colin wouldn't trade this nomadic lifestyle for anything. The freedom to roam, the thrill of the unknown, and the endless possibilities that lie ahead fuel his wanderlust and drive him to continue exploring the world with an open heart and a curious mind.

He is enjoying scrambled eggs and bacon while going through some letters from family and friends. Strangely, he can't find Penelope's letters. Penelope always replies to him from his travels, but it seems like her letters have gone missing.

He briefly considers the possibility that Penelope hasn't written to him at all, but he quickly dismisses that thought. As his dear friend, Penelope would always write to him. He looks forward to her letters when he checks the mail every few days. However, over the last few weeks, her letters seem to have been misplaced or delayed in reaching him. He suspects that his frequent moves might be causing her letters to be misdelivered, but a nagging feeling tells him otherwise.

He had received letters from his family. Anthony, in particular, detailed his allowance and the accommodations he set up for the next leg of his journey. Benedict sent letters about his exploration of career choices after finding out that Anthony had paid for Benedict’s admission to the Royal Academy of Arts. Francesca had not been one to send him letters to begin with, so he was not disappointed by the lack of her letters. On the other hand, Eloise sent him stacks of letters detailing the ups and downs of her debut. Gregory and Hyacinth, on the other hand, sent joint letters updating him on their progress with their governess.

But it was Penelope’s letters he always looked forward to. At the beginning of his travels, Penelope would respond to his letters. But over time, he had noticed her responses getting far and few between. Colin hadn’t noticed that Penelope hadn’t responded to his letters for the past four months yet somehow still looked forward to them in the correspondence.

The picturesque villa he had been enjoying was nestled on the coast of Algarve, Portugal. Its imposing stone walls supported large, pale, blue-curtained windows that overlooked the breathtaking scenery. The roof was adorned with burnt red tiles that added to the building's rustic charm. Stone statues stood sentinel at the entrance, welcoming visitors to a meticulously manicured garden bursting with vibrant, fragrant flowers. The sunlight danced on the surface of the bird-filled pool, creating a mesmerizing spectacle.

“Are there any letters today?” Colin asked one of the housekeepers as he left the dining room after breakfast.

“Yes, Mr. Bridgerton.” Jeanie, the housekeeper dressed in a light green uniform, nods. Jeanie turns to collect any new letters he may have received in the last few days.

“Here you are, Mr. Bridgerton.” Jeanie hands him a stack of letters.

While Colin is journeying, he is unable to receive letters through the regular post. However, his loved ones, including his family, friends, and Penelope, are informed that their communications reach him by sending letters to his upcoming stops along his travel route. Colin has noticed that sometimes, the letters have gotten misplaced or lost. Sometimes, when he is in a new location, he receives letters that were dated weeks or months prior, which should have reached him earlier at a previous location. He wonders, oddly if that is the reason why Penelope’s letters have not reached him yet.

“Thank you, Jeanie,” Colin replies.

Colin takes the stack of letters to the study. Surrounded by books, Colin filters through the letters, dividing them into categories: family and friends. As he goes through the letters, he notices that, predictably, Anthony’s letters face him first. Anthony sends him letters, each one dated a week from the other, giving him formal updates on his itinerary, plans, and allowance. Unfortunately, Anthony’s letters make up more than half of the stack currently sitting on the desk in front of Colin. At the same time, he is very grateful to his brother for allowing him to travel. He also finds his updates in letters a little annoying. As he moves through the stack, he notices once again that Penelope has yet to write to him, and it disappoints him.

Colin sighed as he set aside Anthony's letters and focused on the smaller pile of letters from friends. He smiled as he read a letter from his childhood friend, Marcus, who shared funny anecdotes and updates on the happenings in London. He chuckled at his witty remarks and felt grateful for his friendship.

 

As he reaches the end of the stack, he finally comes across a letter from Penelope. His heart skips a beat as he eagerly tears open the envelope. However, his excitement quickly turns to disappointment as he reads her brief and impersonal message. He can't help but feel hurt by her lack of effort in keeping in touch.

Feeling a mix of emotions, Colin sets aside the letters and leans back in his chair, deep in thought. He realizes that while some relationships require constant updates, others are built on deeper connections that don't need frequent communication. He makes a mental note to reach out to Penelope and express his feelings, hoping to mend their strained relationship.

As he looks around the study, surrounded by the comforting presence of books and memories, Colin feels grateful for the people in his life who truly care about him. He mentally notes to cherish those relationships and try to stay connected, even when miles apart. With a renewed sense of gratitude and determination, Colin sets aside the letters and continues his day, feeling a sense of peace and contentment.

Colin recalls his itinerary for the day. He plans to meet up with new friends. He has some experience sailing. Today, he will be sailing on a newer ship commissioned in Italy. He also plans to attend the market to see if there are any gifts that he can send back home to his family.

Colin ascends the stairs to his room with purpose. He is adorned in black sturdy boots, complemented by a pair of dark navy pants. He waers a clean, crisp white shirt and a dark navy jacket. As he prepares for the long day of sailing ahead, he carefully places his belongings in his day bag, ensuring he is well-prepared for the journey.

Colin heads down the steps and out the villa's door into the Mediterranean's warm sea breeze when the housekeeper calls for him.

“Mr. Bridgerton?” Jeanie calls from the doorway. “I forgot a letter for you.” Jeanie is standing the entrance of the villa, waving around a single letter in her hand.

“It is OK, Jeanie,” Colin said with a bright smile.

“Who is it from?” He asked, jogging back to the entryway.

“Lord Bridgerton, Mr. Bridgerton.” She answers with a smile. Colin briefly ponders if this is just another letter detailing his allowance and itinerary for the next stretch of his journey or if this letter contains something actually worth reading.

“Ah, I see.” Colin replies, “Please leave it with the rest of the letters in the study.” Colin said decidedly. Colin thinks surely it shouldn’t be that important and something he can forgo for now.

“Of course, Mr. Bridgerton.” Jeanie said, “Safe travels.” Jeanie waves him off.

Colin nods and smiles as he sets off for the day. He envisions himself returning home as the weather transitions to the crisp days of fall and the time for harvest approaches. But for now, it's the summer season, where the people's warmth, the air is sweet, and the food is delicious create an atmosphere of joy and contentment.

As the sun begins to rise higher in the sky, Colin knows that there are still countless adventures waiting for him on the horizon. With a sense of gratitude and wonder in his heart, he sets off once again, eager to discover what new wonders the world has in store for him.    

---

Benedict does not know what to think when his brother announces his courtship to Penelope. And he still does not know what to think when he starts chaperoning them on their outings when Lady Featherington is unavailable. Outside of his feelings, he can understand the reason behind Anthony’s choice of bride. Penelope is a bright girl who is well-mannered, and most of all, she gets along well with the family, even the toughest of them.

Anthony’s character is a study in contrasts. Since their father’s death, his brother had always had an edge to him—well, more like edges. Anthony is rough and coarse, like sandpaper at times. He had an air of indifference and intimidation that surrounded him. When Anthony became Lord Anthony Bridgerton, he became indifferent, cold, and harsh. But he wasn’t always that way. He had a softness to him, a sweetness with an edge of naivety. Sometimes, he missed that sweet, naïve older brother.

Benedict was walking about ten paces behind Anthony and Penelope, both out on the promenade as a preplanned outing as part of their courtship. The day is sunny and bright with a calm, cool breeze, perfect for promenading.

“It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Anthony asked. Anthony wears a dark overcoat with light-colored pants and a black top hat. To his left is Miss Penelope Featherington in a soft pale-yellow gown with a cream-colored bonnet.

They had been walking for a while. When the walk began, Anthony didn’t engage Penelope in conversation. At first, Benedict was amazed, as Anthony seemed to like to fill in the silence between people, dominating the conversation. Still, with Penelope, it seemed like he was content, simply allowing the silence to be.

Benedict was a little put off by being their chaperone today, as the entirety of their family also came to the promenade that he was selected to escort. He personally would rather be trying to sketch some of the ducks in the nearby pond than chaperone his brother. For Benedict, the day is simply too perfect not to do anything except sit, sketch, and paint. He doesn’t understand how both Anthony and Penelope couldn’t just share a tent with the family as part of their outing.

There were some days when you could see the underlying softness that his brother carried and others when his harsh exterior seemed unwavering. Benedict wondered if their mother ever saw the honest Anthony anymore. He asked if she saw the kind of mask he wore.

Despite his rough exterior, Anthony was kind and compassionate, always putting others before himself. He had a way of connecting with people on a deeper level and was always there to lend a helping hand or offer a listening ear. His tough exterior may have intimidated some, but those who knew him well understood that he was genuine and caring. His gentle spirit and warm heart were evident in how he treated others and his empathy towards those in need. Despite his challenges, Anthony's inner strength and kindness never wavered, making him a truly remarkable and beloved person in the eyes of his family.

“Yes, it is, my Lord.” Replied Penelope, “Have you given a thought to Mr. Finch’s proposal?” As the walk progressed, Penelope’s hand on his brother's arm seemed to have shifted higher and higher in their bodies, moving closer and closer together.

“I do not know.” Anthony stated, “I would have to talk with my solicitor about the venture.”

In recent years, Anthony’s gentle and kind-hearted nature gradually diminished. The initial year following their father’s passing proved to be the most challenging. Their mother’s presence in the house seemed like she had disappeared, as she barely engaged in any household activities. She appeared like a mere shadow of her former self, aimlessly wandering the hallways, seemingly detached from her surroundings.

This marked the beginning of the new version of Anthony that he had come to know. The change was quite abrupt initially. Anthony’s once bright and vibrant personality became dull and cynical. Since their father’s passing, no one has seen a genuine smile from Anthony, nor have they witnessed him cry. The transformation was so drastic that Benedict almost suspected that someone else was masquerading as Anthony.

After the first few months and then the first few years, Benedict had gotten used to this harsher, duller, more cynical version of Anthony. Dismissive, aloof, and intimidating were words that were often associated with Anthony Bridgerton. But Benedict couldn’t blame him. Dealing with the politics of the Ton, Anthony had to learn very quickly who was and who was not to be trusted.

Despite the change in his demeanor, Anthony still carried himself with the same air of confidence and authority that he always had. He became more guarded, keeping his emotions in check and rarely letting anyone see the vulnerability that lay beneath the surface.

Benedict watched as his brother navigated the treacherous waters of London society, always on guard. Anthony's once carefree attitude had been replaced with a sense of caution and suspicion as if he was constantly on the lookout for betrayal or deceit. But despite his hardened exterior, Benedict knew that deep down, Anthony was still the same loving and loyal brother he had always been. He saw glimpses of the old Anthony in moments of quiet reflection or when he thought no one was watching.

As the years passed, Benedict realized that Anthony's change was not just a phase but a necessary adaptation to the harsh realities of their world. Though he missed the old Anthony, he also respected and admired the strength and resilience that his brother had shown in the face of adversity.

In the end, Benedict knew that no matter how much Anthony had changed, he would always be there for him, ready to offer support and understanding whenever needed. As they faced the challenges of their world together, Benedict knew that their bond as brothers would only grow stronger with time.

However, since his courtship with Penelope began, his edges began to soften. Even when courting Miss Edwina, his edges never grew soft. And with Miss Kate, his edges grew even harsher to match her intensity. He did not share the intensity that he did with Kate, the kind of raging love, that he did with Penelope.

Penelope confidently shares, "The Boulton and Watt Gasworks company has made remarkable strides in developing gas lamps for urban streets. Paris has particularly excelled in implementing gas-powered street lighting. I believe it's prudent to explore this opportunity before dismissing the investment."

Benedict watches as Anthony smiles at Penelope. Despite Benedict's expectation of Penelope's knowledge of England's economics and nobility, he's still caught off guard by the information he overhears.

A voice interjects, "The Boulton and Watt Gasworks? They were the ones behind the gas lights in Paris."

As Benedict refocuses, he notices Simon and Daphne alongside Anthony and Penelope, who have stopped before them. Benedict still found it odd to see his sister on the arm of another and not to hear her voice in the hallways of their home. Daphne is dressed in a pale lavender dress with a fitted bodice and a high waistline, embodying the empire silhouette with her hairpin high in her hair. Simon was dressed in a black top hat, a light brown coat, a light embroidery vest, and cream color breeches.

Simon had informed Benedict shortly before Anthony announced his courtship to Penelope about his state of mind. About his brother’s determination to make Penelope his Viscountess. While he wasn’t surprised by Anthony’s abruptness and decisiveness, he was surprised to hear about how absolute he had been. Even with his courtship with Edwina, some hints of hesitation held him back a bit longer before proposing to the girl.

“Yes,” Anthony replied, “Penelope’s brother-in-law, Mr. Finch, has ties with oil and gas companies, specifically The Boulton and Watt Gasworks. It seems that Mr. Finch needs a bit more funding in his investment contribution to the company itself. It was discussed that he would allow me a percentage of the profit if I invested some money with him and the company. Your Grace.”

“Mr. Cowper was talking about inventing in Boulton and Watt just the other day,” Simon said.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Miss Featherington.” Simon said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.”

“It is no bother, Your Grace,” Penelope said with a smile, bowing towards Simon. Simon returned her bow with a smile and a nod of his top hat.

Simon Basset held a special place in Anthony's life as his closest friend, a bond even more significant amidst the backdrop of Anthony's limited social circle. Having never crossed paths with any of Anthony's schoolmates from his Oxford days, Benedict was only familiar with Simon. After their father's passing, Anthony found himself isolated from his former friends, leaving Simon as his sole remaining confidant. Benedict observed that Anthony's life evolved into a dichotomy between family and professional obligations; he never afforded himself the luxury of leisurely moments to unwind and disengage from either sphere.

“Your Grace.” Penelope curtsied towards Daphne. Daphne returned her bow with a smile and a nod.

“It is nice to see you, Benedict, as well,” Daphne said as she leaned away from her husband to look behind Anthony and Penelope towards him.

Benedict smiled back at the two couples with a nod.

“Simon,” Anthony greeted with a handshake, “And it is nice to see you, sister. How do you do on this fine day?”

“I am promenading with my children while Simon here is taking a break from his state affairs,” Daphne stated cheerfully. “We met with mother earlier, and we were able to leave the children with her while we walked for a bit.”

“And you?” Simon asked.

“I am currently taking Miss Penelope out promenading,” Anthony stated while motioning to Penelope, who stood by his side.

“I see.” Simon said. “Miss Featherington, what other venters do your brother-in-law dabble in.”

Simon, Daphne, Anthony, and Penelope arrive at an open spot along the walking path, nestled under the cool shade of a large, magnificent tree. Benedict joins them, taking his time to approach the group, ensuring he doesn't lag too far behind.

“It depends on which brother-in-law you wish to converse with. Mr. Finch deals mostly in the mechanical arts and applied sciences collectively. He is especially interested in steam engines and their applications for the factories for production and transportation.” Penelope explains to Simon.  “Mr. Dankworth works in the silk and spice trade.”

“But why?” Simon inquires, seemingly interested in what Penelope has to say.

“Engines need to run on something. Gas and oil are new and highly available for now. Once the members of the Ton notice, Mr. Finch and Mr. Dankworth will already have access to gas and oil.” Penelope continues. “For Mr. Finch, producing steam engines will make him money, and he and my sister predict trains will become the main mode of transport for goods, at least on land. Faster travel will result in increased essential trade. Mr. Dankworth deals with silk and spice, and currently, his profits are small. With the introduction of steam engine-powered trains, travel between China, India, and the main part of Europe will be better accessible.” Penelope finishes.

Upon pausing momentarily, Penelope waited to ascertain if Simon intended to pose another inquiry. Upon his silence, she proceeded with her discourse.

“Prudence, my sister has suggested steamships for travel across the ocean as they would like steam to move faster. She has been nagging her husband about it.” Penelope quips.

“I see,” Simon stated with a raised eyebrow. Benedict noticed how he looked over to Daphne for a few moments.

“May I inquire about something?” Simon asked.

Penelope nods her head, motioning him to continue.

“I hope not to cause any offense, but I am curious to understand how you comprehend this particular matter,” Simon stated.

“Were you not educated on basic economics? Your Grace.” Penelope asked a bit condescendingly.

“Yes, at Eton. But Eton and Oxford do not allow women to be in their halls.” Simon said, with a regretful tone in his voice.

“No, they do not.” Penelope responded, “A regretful decision, I am sure, but Eton and Oxford do not prevent their professors from becoming private tutors for the right price.”

Benedict was unsurprised by Penelope's response and accompanying rationale. It is widely acknowledged that retired professors from prestigious educational institutions often find employment as private tutors. However, her family's ability to engage the services of tutors from Oxford was unexpected, as the assumption had been that such esteemed educators would command exorbitant fees.

Penelope responded firmly, "Father expressed reluctance about having daughters he considered to be nitwits." Penelope paused, took in a few deep breaths, and then said quickly, "I am sorry, Your Grace. Sometimes, my feelings get the better of me.”

“All is forgiven,” Simon said. “It is just unusual – I mean not uncommon, it just –” He stumbled in his speech.

“I think what my husband means to say is that it is not every day that one meets a Lady with such a robust education.” Daphne cut in quickly. Simon smiled at Daphne.

As the two couples took a moment to catch their breath and pause from the conversation, creating a lull in the dialogue, Benedict seized the opportunity and made his way into the midst of the two pairs.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but why did your father consent you and your sister to have such education? I can’t imagine such a thing as your education would come cheapy.” Benedict stated.

Penelope turns towards Benedict. “My father was a gambler, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said. “Let's say it was the first and last time my father ever bet against my mother.” Penelope finished with a sly smile.

Deep in thought, Benedict mused to himself, Anthony has no idea what he has gotten himself into.

Chapter 23: Courtship Rules - Week 3

Summary:

Kate notices something different about Anthony Bridgerton.

Week 3

Mid-Late June 1815

“Miss Featherington, would you like to go on a boat ride?” Anthony held out his hand for Penelope as they stopped just before the dock at the edge of the Serpentine Boating Lake in Hyde Park.

Her mother and Anthony’s mother were chaperoning today. The weather was fair for a summer day. However, it was still early enough in the morning that the weather could turn hot and humid towards the evening. They were in Mayfair for the day. The day had started off with a small bout of shopping at the market for new trinkets that Penelope insisted were not necessary, yet Anthony would hear nothing of it.

“Why yes, Lord Bridgerton.” Penelope replied, “Thank you.”

Penelope eagerly anticipated escaping from their overbearing mothers, who had been overly involved in their conversations lately. Despite their efforts, Penelope and Anthony had made a few mistakes with lingering glances and touches unsuitable for courtship. As the days passed, they found themselves yearning for some privacy and freedom from the watchful eyes of their mothers. They longed for the chance to explore their feelings for each other without the constant interference and judgment. The anticipation of finally breaking free from their mothers' control. They knew that once they were able to escape, they could finally let themselves be just Anthony and Penelope once more. 

“Parasol?” Anthony asked as he passed a neighboring station housing a multitude of different-colored parasols.

“Of course. Thank you,” Penelope answered.

Anthony handed her a pale blue parasol to match her deep blue dress and matching shawl. As their hands brushed, she wished she could take off her cream-colored silk gloves. Her hair had been pinned to one side in a simple bun with a matching silver hairpin, a gift from Anthony, who had purchased the hairpin earlier in the day, insisting that she wear it for the rest of their time together. Anthony was dressed in a similar-colored blue coat, pale blue vest, and cream-colored britches, with dark shoes and a dark top hat. He was wearing a small silver pendant on his left lapel that matched her hairpin.

It had been a few weeks since their initial announcement of their courtship, and everything had been going mostly according to plan. Anthony came over multiple times a week with flowers for both her and her sisters, as well as gifts consisting of books, chocolates, and small silver adornments with multiple sapphires and diamonds etched in them.

With the season in full swing, Lady Whistledown was printing what seemed like every other day, and their courtship was eating into Penelope's recreational time. Anthony monopolized her company at every ball, walking with her on his arm, discussing various political stances, and asking for her opinions on the newest literature, theatre, and music.

For the last three weeks, in particular, Penelope was constantly in other people’s company, which left little time to speculate on the happenings of the Ton. Thank goodness Mrs. Varley was like a walking newsreel herself. The housekeeper had friends from many households who were all rather chatty. Mrs. Varley's affection for recounting every conversation with the scullery maids while they prepared dinner kept Lady Whistledown abreast of the latest news – despite Penelope’s rather taxing social calendar. She kept reminding herself that this was a temporary state as soon she would retire while settling into her new life as Viscountess after the honeymoon.

Her mother was quite pleased about the match, but Anthony's mother seemed doubtful. Even though she had tried to ease her worries, she was still concerned that Anthony’s mother wouldn't fully accept the idea of her marrying her son. And then there was also the matter of Kate Sharma.

Anthony assisted in stabilizing the boat. Penelope boarded the boat and took a seat. Subsequently, Anthony, ensuring the boat wouldn't capsize, stood up and then sat down on the opposite side of the boat. Before untying the boat, he double-checked that both paddles were inside. Afterward, he untied the rope that secured the boat to the dock.

As the boat gently rocked in the water, Anthony and Penelope exchanged a nod of understanding before Anthony pushed off from the dock, propelling the boat forward with a strong push of the paddle. Penelope watched in awe as the scenery around them changed, the dock slowly fading into the distance as they ventured out into the open water.

Anthony's movements were fluid and confident as he expertly navigated the boat through the calm waters, the rhythmic sound of the paddles dipping in and out of the water creating a soothing melody. Penelope couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over her as she took in the beauty of the surrounding nature. Penelope then opened her parasol, providing her with some shade.

“I have been taking notice of Miss Sharma lately. I was told Lady Danbury is currently hosting her,” Penelope stated as they started the turn around the lake. “She seems to trail after her sister.”

“Yes, I have noticed Miss Sharma is in attendance this season,” Anthony said tersely.

“Have you talked to her?” she asked as she lifted her parasol in a way that would hide most of her body and some of Anthony’s as they traveled across the lake.

“No,” Anthony answered. “If anything, I avoid her,” he spat out.

“Why? Are you worried I might forsake you?” he asked in concern.

“No,” she answered quickly. “I know you are a man of your word.”

Penelope hesitated, her thoughts drifting back to a time when she had intended to broach this subject during the early days of their courtship. However, amidst the chaos of luncheons, teas, balls, and Anthony's frequent visits to her home, the matter had slipped her mind. It wasn't until she spotted Kate with her sister Edwina in the bustling market earlier that day that the question resurfaced in her mind, prompting her to remember to ask Anthony about it.

“I simply wish for you not to suffer for not resolving this wound that she left inside of you,” Penelope stated as she gripped the handle of the parasol harder.

“I understand your reluctance to discuss this matter. However, I believe it's important to address it rather than leave room for uncertainty. Avoiding the situation may lead to unspoken tensions that could impact your future.” Penelope continued, hoping to distract herself from the trembling of her hands holding the parasol and the sinking feeling in her heart.

“I know you will avoid her, but I think you should at least talk to her. You might regret not talking with her,” she finished.

Anthony's voice cuts through the air with a tinge of harshness as he meets her eyes. "Miss Sharma left," he said, his frustration palpable. Although she knew his anger wasn't directed at her, she could still sense it washing over him.

At this point, he stopped paddling and lay them across his lap as they drifted with the lake's current. Anthony looked down in the space between them rather than towards her. Penelope noticed that Anthony’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the handles of the paddles.

"She declined my proposal," he continued, his voice tinged with disappointment. "I will not pursue a woman who does not want to be pursued." With a sigh, he added, "I no longer have the time nor energy to deal with such nonsense." She could hear his anger gradually give way to a sense of resignation as he spoke.

“What about the letter and the luncheon not too long ago?” Penelope asked quietly.

“While I will admit it was nice to see Miss Sharma again,” Anthony said, lifting his head to meet her eyes, “But my feelings toward her have changed. She left for India after declining my proposal without a single word.”

“When she left, it broke something, something I can’t explain, but after the sadness faded away, all I felt was fear,” he paused, “And while I may not understand it— and I still do not—I know that with you, I feel much lighter than without you,” Anthony murmured.

“I feel as though I can no longer rely on her,” he admitted. “If she had been honest and left me a letter explaining her reasoning, I might have allowed a new relationship to start, but that did not happen.” Penelope took note that Anthony’s eyes became unfocused.

A few moments of silence passed between them during their shared silence, the ambient sounds of boats bobbing in the water, couples enjoying each other's company, and the natural symphony of chirping birds and rustling leaves wove together to create a peaceful and harmonious atmosphere between them.

“Why ask about Miss Sharma?” Anthony asked, curious, focusing back up to Penelope.

Penelope swallowed, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and find the right words.

“I always dreamt of finding real love.,” she admitted softly.

Penelope wanted to lean over and rest her hand on his. However, the distance between them was too great, so she settled for placing her hands in her lap. “It’s not surprising, I guess, given how much I love romance novels,” She laughed a little to herself, “From the beginning, I've been open to the idea of settling for something comfortable or respectable if the opportunity presented itself. I couldn't simply wait around for love or to be swept off my feet.”

“I think I forgot that life is not a book or a fairytale, and sometimes they have unfortunate and terrible endings in those fairytales.” Penelope continued.

“I have come to understand that there are various kinds of fondness that can lead to marriage,” she expressed, as her gaze settled on the shore of the lake, watching the people who walk within the park. “I used to believe that falling in love meant it was final — that no other love could compare,” she softly continued her confession.

“However, there is an undeniable value in a love that matures over time.” Penelope looks back over to Anthony with a smile. “A love that strengthens through communication and flourishes with affection. It represents a form of love distinct from fleeting infatuation or the excitement of newfound connections.”

Penelope took a deep breath, preparing herself to ask Anthony this next question, “Do you think you could grow to love me?”

Anthony gazed at Penelope with a thoughtful smile. They sat in silence. She observed his thumbs tapping the paddle grip handles.

“I think with time,” he started, “We could grow to love each other. I may not share the same kind of affection for you I did with Miss Sharma, but I think with time, a deep affection like ours could burn for a long time.”

He paused, gazing at each other, then laughed. Penelope felt something unwind within her at how carefree she always felt when she was with Anthony. Anthony placed the paddles back into the water. She wished she could preserve this moment forever. If she had the talent of either Benedict or her sister Prudence, she might have painted something or composed a song.

As they glided along the water, Anthony pointed out various landmarks and wildlife, sharing his knowledge and passion for the area with Penelope. She listened intently, feeling grateful for the opportunity to experience this adventure with such a knowledgeable guide.

The sun began to rise higher in the sky, casting a warm glow over the water as they made their way back towards the dock. After circling the lake, they returned to shore. Anthony's skillful maneuvering brought them safely back to shore. The temperature had risen during the short trip, causing the air to become humid and Penelope to feel sticky. Anthony guided the boat to the dock, brought the paddles on board, and secured the boat with a rope. He was the first to step onto the dock and then further secured the boat with another rope. Anthony then walked to the other end of the boat to assist Penelope.

With a smile and his hand out, he said, "Miss Featherington."

“Thank you,” Penelope closed the parasol and handed it over to Anthony.

With her hand outstretched, she stepped onto the dock with his help. Penelope then stood next to Anthony, who offered her his arm. Penelope smiled up at Anthony as she took his arm. It was turning out to be a wonderful day.

As they began walking down the pier, the one thing she noticed was the sound of barking. It was not uncommon for the members of the Ton to take their furry friends for a walk with them while they strolled, but it was unusual to hear such consistent barking. As they made their way towards the end of the dock, the barking grew louder and louder. Then, she turned her head to see where the barking was coming from, and that's when she noticed a very lively corgi running towards the dock.

Before she could react, the corgi collided with her and Anthony, causing them to tumble into the lake. Despite her efforts to hold onto Anthony's coat, they both ended up submerged in the water with a loud crash and splash.

After a brief consideration, she considered whether she might need to use her swimming abilities. However, she soon discerned that the lake was relatively shallow where they were and subsequently rose to her feet. It became apparent that Anthony had the same thought as they simultaneously emerged from the water, thoroughly soaked.

Anthony took off his soaked hat and coat and heaved himself out of the water onto the wooden dock. Turning back, he reached out to Penelope, offering his hand to help her out of the lake and onto the safety of the dock. With his support, Penelope managed to gracefully pull herself out of the water beside him.

As they emerged from the water, sputtering and gasping for air, the corgi were nowhere to be seen. The onlookers on the pier were in shock, some laughing and others rushing to help them out of the water. Penelope observed her mother and Lady Bridgerton standing by the shore, their faces displaying a mix of astonishment and apprehension.

One person from the crowd ran forward. "Please forgive me," they said breathlessly. "One second Newton was on a leash, and the next he was... um." They tried to explain.

Anthony had been facing away when the owner of the dog came forward, but Penelope looked up and found Kate Sharma's piercing gaze fixed upon them. Kate stood tall and impeccably dressed in a deep, regal plum-purple attire.

“Anthony?” Kate questioned. She could feel Anthony stiffen beside her.

Before turning around to face Kate, Penelope placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. Anthony removed it, but then Penelope put her hand back in his.

“Kate,” he stated bitterly with a nod. Penelope felt his hand tightened around hers.

“I apologize to you both,” she said, hands in front of her as she looked at Anthony and Penelope, who were both dripping wet.

Penelope looked behind Kate to see her mother racing towards her along with Lady Violet Bridgerton. Penelope also happened to spot Kate’s little sister, Miss Edwina, and their chaperone Lady Danbury, for the day. Miss Edwina was dressed in light pale pink, while Lady Danbury was sporting a deep red day dress.

“I will see if I can cover a replacement dress. Miss?” Kate stated.

“You better,” her mother started. “I have half a mind to request that the dog be put down due to your irresponsibility.”

Penelope resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Lady ...um,” Kate hesitated, looking a little apprehensive as she glanced over at her mother. Penelope understood that Kate hadn't encountered anyone quite like her mother before. From their initial interaction, it was clear that her mother could come across as intimidating and fiercely protective.

“Featherington,” her mother bit back. “Lady Featherington.”

"Let's not make any hasty decisions. I believe that providing financial assistance for obtaining a replacement dress will suffice," Lady Bridgerton stated while placing her arm on her mother's shoulder. "I suggest relocating to a more private setting to facilitate a more conducive conversation.”

Kate, her mother, and Lady Bridgerton made their way to the shore. Once they were safely back on dry land, the corgi reappeared, wagging its tail and looking quite pleased with itself. The dog had stood up in front of Anthony, sniffing at his feet and legs with his wagging tail before heading towards Edwina and sitting beside her.

“I’m so sorry. Please accept my apologies.” Edwina stated as she walked over and stood in front of Penelope and Anthony.

“Of course,” Anthony said with a nod and a relaxed face. His hand remained stiff, however.

Off to the side, Penelope could hear her mother, lady Bridgerton, and Kate begin to whisper amongst themselves about the proper compensation as the conversation grew louder and louder.

“Miss Featherington,” Lady Danbury greeted with a nod as she joined the group, cane in hand.

Penelope noticed that Anthony's usual relaxed demeanor had changed in Kate’s presence. It seemed as though he wouldn't be able to unwind until Kate had left.

“Lady Danbury,” Penelope stated in greeting and smile, “I would continue to converse with you, but it seems like I must go home and dry off.”

“Unacceptable,” she hears her mother yell and wave her hand, seemingly dismissing the elder Sharma.

All eyes turned to Portia Featherington. The lady turned towards the couple and, with a nod, bowed slightly, “I do apologize, my Lord,” she smiled tightly, “It seems that I’ve gotten quite heated and upset. If you wish, I will have my daughter go home and dry off. I hope this does not cast a bad light on your outing.”

“Mama,” Penelope called, sounding almost like a whine.

“Penelope,” her mother returned.

Penelope felt Anthony shaking beside her. For a moment, she feared he was shaking in anger, but when she looked over, she saw Anthony pinching the bridge of his nose while he laughed softly.

“Anthony?” Penelope questioned.

“This is ridiculous,” she heard him whisper under his breath.

Anthony's laughter grew louder, causing his body to shake with the effort. His amusement intensified into uncontrollable bursts of laughter, his body convulsing with the strength of his joy. Penelope found herself unable to resist joining in, her laughter blending perfectly with his. At the same time, the spectators around them watched in amusement.

As Anthony's laughter finally began to subside, he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and took a deep breath, still grinning from ear to ear. Penelope, cheeks flushed with laughter, leaned against him for support, still chuckling softly.

She was not expecting to bathe today, but somehow, she ended up in the lake instead. But Penelope does not mind if it means she can hear his laughter again.

---

Lady Danbury had once again welcomed the Sharma family back into her home for another season. She does not blame the Sharma sisters for what happened last season, one with a failed wedding and another who declined a marriage proposal to the same man. She is equally bewildered and amazed at the short-term memory of the Ton.

She may not have known much about Kate or her sister, but she did know about her mother. Her mother was a kindhearted, well-educated woman who encouraged her daughters to be practical but not to suppress their feelings when it came to finding a match.

Kate appeared to have reservations about participating in activities with her sister this season. She displayed a general lack of enthusiasm for meals and activities and exhibited restlessness, frequently initiating tasks only to abandon them for others. It was also rumored that she sought specialized assistance to aid her sleep at night. Moreover, it was noticeable that she had experienced some weight loss, although not to a concerning extent.

Lady Danbury suggested to her mother that an outing might be beneficial, as her restlessness had become rather bothersome. Even though Lady Danbury did not compel Kate to join her in the carriage, her mother strongly insisted that she should partake in the outing.

Kate and Lady Danbury were sitting on one of the many benches that line the lake in the park. They haven’t talked much when they traveled here or even on the walk from the entrance to the bench.

“Are you interested in Lord Bridgerton?” asked Lady Danbury with a questioning look.

Both sisters have noted that the Bridgerton family has been in full force in the season as they have been in the last one, with the exception being Anthony Bridgerton, who seems to have refocused on finding a bride. Whereas, it is not uncommon for a man of his status and stature to continue his search for his Viscountess. Danbury is surprised by the lack of reaction to Sharma, the “bane of his existence,” the love that seemed to burn brighter than Simon and Daphne’s love from the previous season.

“Is it that obvious?” Kate replied.

“Mm,” she voiced in agreement.

Kate expressed her desire for a fresh start, stating, "I believed that perhaps we could begin anew. I thought that after spending a few months apart, we could reset and move forward.”

“I did not think he would move on,” Kate stated.

“Regrettably, my knowledge of the Bridgerton family is limited to only a few members, and my familiarity with Anthony Bridgerton is also quite restricted," she expressed. "However, it is evident that the Ton does not passively await events but rather takes proactive measures to ensure their occurrence. In essence, the Ton does not wait. Their attainment of power and wealth stands as a testament to their proactive approach."

"Anthony Bridgerton is no different," she concluded.

Her anticipation of a fiery outburst from the Lord was met with surprising indifference. She had encountered numerous men like Anthony Bridgerton, distinguished lords who took pleasure in asserting their authority over others. At least, that was her perception up until that moment. She had expected him to react in rage when he first noticed Kate earlier in the season, but instead, he had chosen avoidance and indifferent cold-heartedness.

Lady Danbury noted that Anthony Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington have been closely knit since the beginning of the season. She noticed that Anthony Bridgerton had danced with Penelope Featherington and then at least once at every ball. Then, there was the four-season ball she hosted, during which they spent most of their time together. Shortly after that ball, she discovered Anthony had declared his courtship of Penelope Featherington.

While it seemed Anthony Bridgerton had meant to keep his distance from the elder Sharma, fate had other plans. Kate interacted with Anthony Bridgerton at her ball. After that, she could count how many times Anthony Bridgerton interacted with Kate, including the other day when her dog Newton crashed into Penelope Featherington. They barely spoke at all. From what she had gathered, their conversations were short and stilted, encouraged mainly by her younger sister, Miss Edwina.

Kate nodded. "Do you think if I speak to him, he would be willing to give it another try?"

Lady Danbury took a moment to pause before speaking again, “Lord Bridgerton has been courting Penelope Featherington for the last few weeks now. Similar to how he courted your sister, there is very little chance he will be dissuaded. Despite all his misgivings, he is first and foremost a gentleman, unlike many 'gentlemen' of the Ton."

"He is honorable and respectful. It is very likely that he will be proposing marriage soon," she concluded. Lady Danbury cast a concerned gaze towards Kate and observed her countenance, which had morphed into an expression of deep sadness.

"I thought so," Kate said. Lady Danbury could hear Kate sigh.

"Life is short, Miss Sharma. Anthony may not be your match, but surely you may find another to make you happy."

Lady Danbury and Kate savored the tranquility of their surroundings as they lingered on the bench for a few more moments. Finally, they both agreed to head back to the house. Walking in unison, they strolled for a few minutes until Kate abruptly came to a halt, her gaze fixed on a majestic willow tree. Lady Danbury followed Kate's gaze, wondering what had captured her companion's attention.

As they strolled in the park, she noticed Lord Bridgerton and Miss Featherington walking towards a large willow tree. Both were dressed in a deep blue-green shade, with Penelope's hand resting in the crook of his elbow. They were engaged in conversation, but their words were inaudible from the distance.

Kate hurried forward, her determined strides quickening as she pursued the pair ahead. Lady Danbury, her formidable presence not to be underestimated, followed in pursuit, her breath slightly labored as she kept up with Kate. In a matter of moments, Kate and Lady Danbury closed the distance, catching up to Anthony and Penelope, who were standing about ten paces ahead.

As they approached, Kate could see the warmth in Lord Bridgerton's eyes as he looked at Penelope, and the genuine smile on her face as she listened intently to whatever he was saying. Lady Danbury, ever the observant one, raised an eyebrow at the scene before her, but said nothing as they finally reached the pair.

“Miss Sharma,” she whispered in disapproval. “Miss Sharma, come back here,” she called again.

Kate turned around slowly, taking a fleeting moment to look back before she focused her attention on the couple nestled underneath the gracefully drooping branches of the willow tree. Lady Danbury positioned herself to pull the young girl closer to her just as the sound of Lord Bridgerton's voice asking a question reached her ears.

“Miss Penelope Featherington, will you do me the honor of becoming my Viscountess?” Anthony asked as he balanced on one knee under the willow tree.

“Yes,” Penelope replied with a blissful smile, and the beginning of tears in her eyes.

Lady Danbury looked over to Kate. And saw a soured expression.

Well, shit, Lady Danbury thought.

Chapter 24: Whispers of Whisltedown (Part 3)

Summary:

Lady Whistledown strikes again.

June 20th, 1815

Dear Gentle Reader…

Portia can’t help but grin now.

She has been riding high after marrying not one but two girls in the span of a year. And now it looks like she will be marrying off her youngest to one of the richest men of the Ton. Not even Whistledown can get her down now.

She had already been orchestrating social events and gatherings to ensure that Penelope was seen by all the eligible suitors in London. Portia was determined to secure a suitable match for her daughter. Portia had faced countless challenges and obstacles, but she had always emerged victorious. And now, she was ready to pass the torch to her daughter, confident that Penelope would carry on the legacy with grace and poise.

Portia was currently sitting alone at home, waiting for her daughter to return from her outing with her maid and Lord Bridgerton. Her sister, Philippa, had accompanied Lord Bridgerton and Penelope to the market as a chaperone for their outing.

“Whistledown, ma’am,” stated Jacob, their faithful butler for the last few years.

Portia acknowledged her butler with a nod and gracefully accepted the pamphlet from the silver tray, indicating his departure from the room. She settled in her elegantly furnished dayroom, adorned in a luxurious deep plum dress with intricate golden accents. With poise, she savored her coffee, a beverage she had grown fond of, finding that its bitter flavor heightened her alertness in the mornings.

In spite of her strong aversion to the gossip sheet, she, like most of the Ton, had become a faithful reader. While she may not have enjoyed the content pertaining to her family, the influence of the gossip within the Ton necessitated her readership. Reading the gossip sheet was deemed essential to stay abreast of fellow Ton members. The Featherington family has withstood numerous scandals over recent years, consistently emerging somewhat unscathed. Portia regards this as a reflection of her resourcefulness and astuteness rather than mere happenstance.

She also wondered what the gossip sheet had to say about her youngest girl, Penelope, and her courtship with Lord Bridgerton. The lord himself had visited their house several times over the last few weeks, giving her youngest daughter books and chocolates and showering her with attention. Despite their initial awkwardness, she could see a great partnership between the two of them. However, over the last few weeks, she had also noticed how familiar they were with each other. It was not unexpected, but she assumed that there would be more awkwardness between the two of them. Although, looking back, she should have assumed that they would be more familiar with each other, considering that Penelope had been a friend of Eloise Bridgerton for many years.

Portia began reading aloud, “It has been reported that the Featherington household has been the center of Lord Bridgerton’s attention over the last few weeks. He was seen multiple times, bringing flowers, chocolates, and books for the youngest of the Featherington girls.” Portia grinned at the comment. “It seems that Lord Bridgerton has set his eyes on Miss Penelope Featherington. Her mama must be happy with the development. Should we be expecting an engagement announcement soon? If so, I hope Miss Penelope Featherington is willing and able to deal with the Bridgerton brood.”

She was giddy with excitement at the idea of planning another wedding. But this time, the wedding would be much grander than her other two daughters', as the money that she had received from the late Aunt Petunia over the last few months had been more than enough to feed and house her and her daughter and also to set her dowry.

Portia's laughter bubbled up as she couldn't help but find amusement in the insinuation that her daughter might not be up to the task of managing the esteemed Bridgerton name. In reality, she had been expertly juggling the responsibilities that came with the Bridgerton name for far longer than anyone, including Lady Whistledown, could possibly imagine. She knew that soon, her beloved daughter would step into the role of Lady Bridgerton.

She promised herself that she would do anything to ensure that Penelope would be married before the end of the season. Even if that meant leaving the Lord alone with her little girl a little too long, then was proper.

Portia knew that the road ahead would not be easy, but she was prepared to do whatever it took to see her daughter succeed. She would navigate the treacherous waters of high society, manipulate the social scene, and make strategic alliances to ensure that Penelope sustain her match with Lord Bridgerton.

As she watched her daughter navigate the complexities of London society, Portia couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction. She knew that Penelope was more than capable of upholding the prestigious Bridgerton name, and she was determined to do everything in her power to ensure her daughter's future.

It was only until after Penelope was married that she would be able to rest.

Forever yours,

Lady Whistledown

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Entwined Hearts