Chapter Text
It started, as with much of the intrigue in Penelope Featherington’s life, with a quick-witted thought at a ball.
The season was ripe to begin in the city of London, and every member of the ton’s upper echelon was crowded under a sky of glittering chandeliers and painted ceiling. Music wound itself through the sea of clustered dancers, finding its path through the tightly packed people and towards the windows that had been flung open to relieve the sweltering heat within the room.
Gossiping mamas lined the edges of the room, all watching the young ladies and gentlemen twirl around the room and hoping their child would become the next to marry as fortunately as the Duke and Duchess Hastings had the season last. Debutantes twirled their fans for their first season and their sixth, while the eligible young bachelors of society laughed loudly and sipped perhaps too many drinks. And at the very vestiges of the crowd stood one Miss Featherington in her second season.
In her less-than-lovely floral and coral-colored gown, Penelope’s eyes swept over the crowd seeking information for the timely first copy of Lady Whistledown’s society papers. With Eloise likely still hiding from her mama and the rest of the Bridgertons preoccupied with their own interests, Penelope was free to collect as much information as she possibly could. And collect, she would.
The first ball of the season was always the most important, of course. After months of isolation away from the bustle and brightness of society, people always scrambled to find their place on the grapevine to hear the whispers of her very fruitful publication. And who was Penelope Featherington to deny her dear readers the pleasure of a grand first edition?
Still, Penelope couldn’t help but feel the butterflies behind the corset her mother managed to wrangle her in. This was her second season, after all! She knew that a lady such as herself was never going to wed in her second season, but the prospect that she could wed simultaneously thrilled her and frayed her nerves.
Whatever fluttering feelings the knowledge gave her, it was quickly dampened by the crushing knowledge that one Colin Bridgerton would be absent for the majority of the season due to his extensive tour that had already lasted six months. Aside from a brief stay with the Bridgertons halfway between his journeys through southern Europe and northern Europe, Colin had been removed from the country since the end of last season.
Eloise had remarked in her last letter that even halfway through his travels, Colin seemed a very different man. Of course he was still charming (Eloise had begrudgingly admitted) and certainly just as hungry, but Colin reportedly gained more than a healthy tan on his journey. She couldn’t put it into the exact right words, but Eloise thought Colin seemed less boyish. There was an air about him, below the layers of smiles and wit, that seemed more serious nowadays.
The thought hurt her chest, but what else was new for Penelope? She had been in love with Colin Bridgerton for years and he only viewed her as a “dear friend” or an extension of his sister. That was never going to change, no matter how many times her heart shattered. She simply needed to get over him.
At the very least, the assurance of a barren season gave her better leave to cover her trail as Lady Whistledown and distract herself from hopeless musings. No one would ever expect her to be the infamous gossip, but after six months of belittling her own gowns, coiffures and pitiful second season even her printer may begin to doubt her as being the true owner of the nom de plume. Hiding a small chuckle behind her champagne glass, she couldn’t help but be amused at her own wit sometimes.
“Miss Featherington, if you have found any true amusement in a room such as this, I beg you to impart the levity upon myself,” A deep voice said from beside her.
Coughing on the last remnants of the champagne in her throat, Penelope was startled to find Anthony Bridgerton standing next to her. Dressed in a smart blue outfit and a perhaps too aggressively tied cravat, he looked pained to even be present at tonight’s festivities let alone in conversation with her. Then again, when wasn’t the Viscount brooding?
“I beg your pardon, my lord?” Penelope said, bringing her fan up to cool the embarrassed blush on her cheeks.
“I apologize for scaring you, Miss Featherington. It was only an impertinent remark and I’ll not impede upon your debut any longer by repeating it,” Anthony said with a short bow, starting to move away.
And with a boldness she rarely ever revealed to society with her own two lips, Penelope said the words that would forever change the course of her life.
“I daresay I love a good quip, particularly from a man who ties his cravat as if he intends choke himself with it rather than face an evening with the ton.”
The Viscount stopped. Penelope’s hand flew to her mouth. For a moment, the roar of the dance floor seemed silent compared to the beat of her heart. The barb was too far, the insult too great. Even if she was like family to the Bridgertons, she was never this careless around their head. Penelope braced for the worst.
But for the first time in all their acquaintance, Lord Anthony Bridgerton turned back towards her with a look of shock on his face.
She wasn’t sure if this was better or worse than anger, but she was grateful that she hadn’t spoken loud enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear her words. Anthony blinked rapidly as an eon passed without a reply; an infinity spanned waiting for the delivery of his mercy or his scorn. He simply stared into her face, coming to terms with the woman standing before him.
Without a word his own face slowly fell back into the usual look of thinly veiled disdain and he moved to stand beside her once more. His eyes trained themselves upon the dance floor and he drew his arms behind his back. Penelope turned to the dance floor as well, sipping her champagne once more as the heat from her face rushed down her neck, chest and bosom.
“I rather dislike surprises, Miss Featherington,” Anthony said. “But I deplore the demands of polite society much more.”
“The restraints of polite society can be loathsome, but are they not necessary?” Penelope asked.
“One could say the same about decorum, could they not?” Anthony said, turning only momentarily to raise an eyebrow.
Penelope could only sip her drink and flush even redder.
“If only the same could be said about the concealment of one’s true thoughts and feelings,” She timidly said over the rim of her glass.
Her mind couldn’t help but flash to Colin.
Anthony was silent for a few moments and the two of them watched the dancers spin around the floor. They were two acquaintances who were really strangers, wanting nothing from the other. Two heartbroken lovers who were determined to move forward even if healing was not possible. Two members of a society that they never truly belonged to, whether from a lack of desire or a lack of conformity.
It was then that Lord Anthony Bridgerton turned to Miss Penelope Featherington and asked for her hand in marriage.