Work Text:
It was one of the last balls of Penelope’s first season when she accidentally overheard her mother’s plan to saddle none other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton; an idea so preposterous, she couldn’t believe it was possible. However, knowing Portia Featherington, who could teach a dog how to fly if she put her mind to it, she would find a way if she hadn’t already.
Penelope was smart enough to put two and two together and even if she didn’t manage to hear the rest of the plan, she knew it would be put into action during the Featherington ball in just a few days.
She would have warned Anthony if not for the embarrassment of the admission and how cunning her mother truly was. She also feared losing their friendship if they knew what her own family was capable of. And so, she decided not to tell him, but to watch him closely during the night so she could intercept any attempts at forcing the hand of the Viscount.
What a silly girl she was.
Penelope watched both Portia and Anthony like a hawk from the moment the man crossed their threshold. He drank, he mingled, but never once was he approached by any of her own family members or any suspicious servant.
The ball was almost nearing its end when her keen hearing caught words directed at her oldest sister, “Prudence, would you be so kind as to fetch me a fresh orange from our orangery?”
And just as Penelope herself caught on, so did her sister, “Mama, but you don’t even like oranges.”
With that, Portia huffed in annoyance and with a voice that brooked no argument, commanded, “Bring me the biggest and juiciest orange you can find, tout de suite.” And with a wave of her hand, Prudence was dismissed.
The moment the eldest Featherington sister was out the door, her mother approached Anthony Bridgerton. And maybe Penelope was a wallflower unnoticed by everyone, but her own mother would have certainly spotted her trailing behind. Therefore, she could only guess that when Anthony excused himself from the ballroom, he made his way to the orangery just to be caught in a compromising situation with an unchaperoned debutante.
Penelope couldn’t allow it to happen, and so she ran after him, trying to intervene before Prudence and Anthony were spotted alone at night.
She ran as fast as her short legs and layers of skirts allowed, but by the time she made it to the orangery, Anthony was already there. Not thinking straight, Penelope burst in like a madwoman, making the man jump in the process.
“Pen, you gave me a fright,” he admitted as she frantically looked around for her sister.
“Where is Pru?” she gasped out.
“Did something happen? I passed her just before the door. She was rushing back, holding an orange. To be honest, it looked like her life depended on that citrus.” He chuckled, trying to make the redhead relax, who, in turn, could only manage a quiet, “Oh.”
In her hurry, she must not have even noticed running past Prudence, she realized, and let herself breathe with relief. She had no idea what came over her when she revealed she knew of the ruse with her question, “And how did my Mama wile you to come here?”
But before he could answer, a maid walked in and Penelope froze. Only then did she realize that her mother might not have succeeded in catching Prudence with Anthony, but she was still there and the Viscount would still be trapped into marriage—only not with the eldest Featherington, but with the youngest.
Just as the realization struck, she wanted to escape the place, even if she had already been seen by the maid. Hopefully, Anthony will take care of it, she thought. But the maid didn't seem to be fazed by the pair. She only scrunched her brows in confusion as she corrected herself, “Miss Pru—, Miss Penelope, the flower your mother requested.” With that, she left a tray with a beautiful, white, peony-like flower in a small crystal vase on a table just next to them. What was uncanny about the flower, though, was that it was enclosed under a glass case as if it were a showpiece that shouldn't be touched.
Before the maid excused herself, she added, “Lady Featherington mentioned that the flower has the sweetest of smells, but the case can only be opened by the Viscount when no one else but Miss Pru— , I mean, Miss Penelope is by his side.” With that, she curtsied and scurried away, not wanting to be questioned by the couple.
Both Anthony and Penelope exchanged a curious look before Anthony rolled his eyes and lifted the glass case.
The flower did, in fact, smell beautiful, and as he took it in, he beckoned for Penelope to take a sniff at it, too.
“That smells… beautiful,” the red-haired woman gasped as the sweet smell of it wafted over her.
Soon, the whole orangery held its potent scent, the fragrance of the orange trees no match for it. With it, the space grew unexpectedly warm, and a drop of sweat slid from behind Penelope's ear down to her bosom.
Anthony himself felt the sudden temperature change, his own body growing heated and making him feel caged in his otherwise comfortable clothes. Without even realizing it, he untied his cravat, hoping it would let him take a deeper breath, as his chest also felt constricted, as if someone were sitting on it.
Penelope didn't fare much better; her chest was heaving and she felt like she was drowning. Soon, the lightheadedness gave way to the feeling of an approaching swoon, and so she called to him for help.
“Ant…ony,” she managed to gasp out, and he paused unbuttoning his vest to look up at her. Seeing her just as affected, if not more, and knowing how tight and restrictive a lady's clothing was, he ran up to her and, without a second of hesitation, started on the buttons at the back of her dress.
He had enough experience undressing women that he managed to do it rather swiftly, and then he started loosening the tightly tied strings of her stays. Neither had the ability to think straight or realize how inappropriate this was; the only goal in their minds was to survive the impossible heat.
Without waiting for Anthony to finish, she shimmied the dress down the length of her body as if it were burning her. As she caught sight of him, she noticed sweat trailing down the side of his face and how clumsily he tried to unbutton the rest of his vest. It was only fair that she help him too, and so, she reached to undo the buttons from the bottom as he worked his way down from the top.
When they finally tore the vest off his shoulders, he immediately went for the cotton shirt that was now plastered to his skin. As she glanced down at herself, she didn’t look any better — her stays were hanging open and the shift underneath was already see-through from her perspiration.
Penelope tried her hardest to gather her thoughts, to come up with some kind of solution to the strange thing that was happening, but her head was completely and utterly blank. But then her eyes caught the door to the orangery and for a second, a thought made its way through the haze—they needed to get out, the cold night air would surely help.
She rushed to the door only to find it locked. With an angry groan, she slammed her hand against the wood, just as she heard something between a groan and a pained sigh. Turning to the source of it, she saw Anthony bent in half, bracing himself on his knees. Suddenly, his head snapped up, and their eyes met. His pupils were blown so wide that she couldn’t tell what color his irises were.
“Penelope, I need you,” he gasped, and the next second, she was at his side, looking him over, trying to assess what else was wrong, since he seemed to be in a much worse condition than she was.
It was a mistake. The moment her fingers touched his shoulder, he straightened up and pounced on her like a predator in the middle of a hunt. Before she even realized what was happening, his lips were on hers and he was trying to part them with his tongue.
At first, she stiffened and held still until something changed. A coil of heat tightened in her navel, and she felt something akin to pain, but Anthony's kiss seemed to be the only answer. She repeated his moves unconsciously until she got the hang of it and answered him in earnest. It only seemed to spur him on, as his hands roamed her already blazing body.
His touch felt as if it could both make her burst into flames and quench the fire at the same time. The feeling was titillating, but somehow she needed more, and apparently, so did he.
Without her realizing, her shift was torn and had dropped to the ground while his lips were still connected to hers. She tried to hold onto something, anything really, as she had no idea what was happening to her body. One of her hands found purchase in his hair, as the other somehow snaked under his shirt and was digging crescent nail shapes into his lower back.
His lips trailed down the expanse of her neck, and she pleaded, “Please, I need…” She actually had no idea what it was that she needed; she could only hope he knew. “Anthony,” she gasped and felt his hands leave her body and fumble between them.
Looking down, she saw him clumsily trying to unbutton his breeches. Somehow, her hands were steadier than his, and so she helped, not even understanding what was happening or where it was leading. Her mind was too hazy to even process the fact that the very next second, she was looking at a man’s manhood, which looked nothing like the ones she had seen in paintings or on statues.
Anthony’s cock was flushed red, veiny, and stiff, unlike the flaccid ones she saw at the museum just the other day. The sight of it made her feel something akin to a punch to her gut, but even so, she felt an untamable urge to touch it, to find out how it felt in her hand. And so, she gently grasped it in a confident hold, drawing a needy moan out from him. Anthony’s unexpected reaction made Penelope jump slightly, but seeing his aroused state, she squeezed her hand a bit tighter as she observed his reaction. Seeing him gasping and nodding his head spurred her on, and somehow she knew what she had to do. As she slid her hand up and down his length, Anthony almost started vibrating, but before she managed to find a steady rhythm, he pulled her hand away.
She would have protested, wanting to see what would have happened if she continued her ministration, but her thoughts were silenced by a consuming kiss she didn’t expect. While his lips were exploring hers, he pushed her back until the cold glass on her heated skin made her hiss into his mouth.
Anthony turned her so her front was pressed against the glass wall of the orangery as he kissed the exposed side of her neck. At first, the contrast of the glass was unexpected and unwelcome, but as it took the edge off of whatever was going on with her body and let her adjust to the temperature, she was grateful for it. And then one of his hands snaked to her front and grabbed at her exposed breast, squeezing the soft flesh there, as the other slid lower between her legs.
Then she felt the universe collapse as his thumb played with her perky nipple and his other hand found the sensitive flesh between her legs, which made her tremble and pleasure spark through her. Whatever he did, it didn’t take long for Penelope to moan loudly from the exquisite feeling of a tidal wave crashing over her.
There was still a muffled ringing echoing in her ears as she felt him lead her two steps to the side and help her step on some kind of a small stool. He then pushed her upper body a bit forward so it once again rested against the so very comforting glass, making her bottom stick out in his direction. And then she felt it. Something was nudging at her entrance; it should have been a jarring feeling, but it wasn't. Even if she didn’t know what exactly was happening, her body let her know that this was exactly what she needed.
She couldn’t voice her thoughts, though, as her mind was a jumbled mess and her mouth seemed only good for kissing him or producing lustful expletives. So when she managed to gasp pleadingly, “Anthony,” she almost felt proud, but her train of thought was quickly diverted to the feeling of his fingers on that magical spot that just moments before had made her shatter in his hands.
As Anthony worked her pearl, she felt the stretch from behind that was intruding, but not unwelcome. There was a sting of pain for a second or five, but it went as fast as it came, giving way to the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full. She instinctively pushed back against him, and a mixture of pleasure with a hint of pain shot through her. It was intoxicating, so she did it again. And again. And then Anthony joined in, his own moves providing exactly what her body seemed to be crying for.
The cold glass was both soothing and provided friction for her stiff nipples that moved against it with each thrust from the Viscount, and all she could do was brace herself against it, her hands flat and her gasps fogging the surface. When he started moving with an urgency that told her he was close to that exquisite feeling himself, she pushed away from the wall so she wouldn’t smash against it and could thrust back onto his length. Her bountiful breasts were jiggling with the force of his snapping hips against her, and as she felt herself building up to that feeling, she couldn’t hold in the moans that spilled from her.
It was as if a lightning bolt struck them as they reached their orgasm at the same time. Their voices and the sounds of damp skin slapping seemed so loud in that moment that if Penelope had a bit more presence of mind, she would have been afraid of being heard in the garden. Yet neither of them had the luxury of thinking straight, at least not until their movements finally stopped and Anthony slipped out of her and helped her down from the stool since her legs were still convulsing.
She rested against the wall, trying to even her breathing, when the fog in her head seemed to lift. And as she turned around with alarmed eyes, she noticed him in a similar state: eyes wide open, mouth ajar, and brows knit together.
Neither spoke, not knowing what to say.
And then the door to the orangery burst open, and both their mothers walked in.
“...just as my maid told me! He’s here with—” Portia turned to look at the pair only then, and her face instantly reddened. “Penelope?!” The shock of the sight in front of her made the ever-poised Portia Featherington’s voice crack as she froze in her spot.
“Anthony, what is the meaning of this?!” Violet Bridgerton yelled at the naked pair. Only that spurred the red-haired girl to action as she darted to pick up her dress and hide behind it.
“Mother, I can explain!” Anthony quickly pulled on his breeches, trying to come up with an explanation or an excuse, but he found none. Nothing that had transpired in the last fifteen minutes was something he could control. It was as if something had compelled him to take Penelope right there, and judging by her enthusiastic participation, the same force had possessed her, too.
He buttoned his shirt and dared to raise his head to finally look at the furious expression on his mother’s face and possibly the pleased one on Portia's, as he assumed it was the latter’s evil plan to entrap him. However, what he saw on Violet’s face reminded him more of Penelope’s gaze just moments before. Her lids were droopy and there was a slight flush coating her skin, which she usually got when imbibing too much alcohol. Yet now, in such a public setting and with the ball still far from over, that couldn't be the case.
Daring to look at Portia, he noticed a very similar expression on her face as she fluttered a fan against her bosom. “Goodness, it’s so hot in here,” she exclaimed, pulling at the fabric of her dress as if it would help loosen it.
“Indeed. It’s so hot in here. I feel… feverish,” Violet slurred, barely coherent. “My dress… It’s too tight…” she added, fanning a hand at her neck as if it would help with whatever she was feeling. And Anthony was pretty sure he knew exactly what the two of them were feeling.
Gaping, he looked at the two matrons, who took turns loosening the strings of their dresses, before he felt a hand slide into his own.
“Anthony, come on. You don’t want to see this.” Penelope rushed to the orangery’s door, pulling him behind her. He dared to take one last look at his mother, making sure she was fine, but then he saw something that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Portia Featherington was making out with her, full tongue and roaming hands, as his mother grabbed at the other woman's breast.
When they spotted the maid who had locked them inside, they instructed her to guard the doors and not let anybody walk in on their mothers.
No one ever spoke of it again. But if, after some time, the awkwardness between Portia and Violet lifted and turned into a deeper friendship, neither Anthony nor Penelope dared to question it. And in the next few months, as Penelope became the new Viscountess Bridgerton, their mothers graciously didn’t bring up that day either.