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“Weatherholt… are you sure you should be playing?” he whispered gently, leaning in to avoid broadcasting his words. “I am somewhat aware of the state of your affairs.”
“Ah. You are quite considerate, Dennington, but truly, I am free and able to join these frivolities now! The estate is doing quite well, any outstanding balances of mine have been paid, and my coffers have been divided into ‘allocated to obligations’ and ‘free to spend’. I have been given leave to enjoy myself while in Town!”
William Dennington blinked rapidly a few times to avoid allowing the look of disbelief and incredulity to spread over his face, “Given leave?”
“Oh yes. My wife is handling virtually all of the affairs of the estate now – bless her. I could never seem to tell which tenants’ rents were due, whose rent should have been increased and whose was reasonable, which farm sowed wheat instead of sheering sheep, what riverway was best for the placement of a factory. I am certain that is the state of affairs you remember. Thank the heavens such is no longer the case.”
The gentleman on the other side of the table began to shuffle the cards before him and deal in the players, Weatherholt and Dennington each picking up their hands once they were dealt.
“My congratulations! I did not even realize you were married.”
“For nearly a year now!” The man held up his left hand to show the tell-tale gold band on his fourth finger. “You know, so many gentlemen believe their wives to be a burden. Millstones round their necks or balls and chains round their ankles. I have never felt this way. I believe that the day I took my wedding vows, I heaved the deepest sigh of relief known to man!”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed!”
Weatherholt had a rather discontented look on his face as he examined his hand. The poor man had never had a very good poker face. Blessings be that he’d been given leave to freely lose spend the money in his account.
“Who is your bride?”
Weatherholt gave a light chuckle. “Well, I do not know that I would refer to her as a bride any longer, with our anniversary fast approaching. But my wife was, formerly, a Miss Penelope Featherington. The youngest of the Featherington sisters. Now Mrs. Penelope Weatherholt.”
With a long-suffering sigh, Weatherholt threw down his hand and yielded the game. Dennington did the same. One of the two damn Bridgertons had won again – he’d wipe that smile off of Benedict’s face yet. But he was certainly more intrigued by the conversation than the game. At one point, he did note that Benedict had looked at Weatherholt with an expression on his face that, while certainly not hostile, had not seemed precisely pleased either. Odd. Since Benedict had unquestionably been winning the hand since it’s dealing.
“And you say she now runs the estate? How singular.”
“She does. And I know that it is unusual, to say the least, but I was so ill equipped to step into Charles’ shoes when he passed. Father had prepared him so thoroughly and me not at all. Hence the aforementioned state of my affairs. I am grateful every day for Penelope. Took to the whole task like a duck to water, she did. Actually enjoys discussing and determining which lands and farms are suited for which agricultural tasks and ensuring that each of the farms themselves have capable tenants and able farmhands. Fairly certain that my housekeeper, my steward, and my cook are all in love with her. She is an excellent writer and she and my steward write each other lengthy epistles on the management of the estate. Decorated the entire country house, organized my correspondence, sorted my social calendar, began searching for London townhomes we could buy, and started in on the grit of running the old place itself within three months of our wedding. I’d swear that we’d have already defeated the French if she were the head of the War Office.”
Benedict and Anthony Bridgerton, across the table, both released appreciative chuckles at the last statement.
Dennington raised an eyebrow at them all, firmly ignoring the other two gentlemen at the table, “That is quite a compliment. Even coming from a loving husband.”
Weatherholt chuckled again, “You do not know her. You do not understand. Bridgerton! -tons. Dash it, there are two of you. Would you not both agree with me?”
“Agreed. Penelope has always been clever and responsible. She and our sister, Eloise, are best friends and have always bonded over their shared intellectual inclinations,” Viscount Bridgerton responded while examining his hand.
Benedict Bridgerton joined the conversation orally for the first time too, though it was apparent to Dennington that he’d been following it all along. “I would too, Weatherholt. I absolutely would. I do not think, Dennington, that it is a case of husbandly bias here. Penelope Feath… Weatherholt, I believe, could make mockeries of most of us who consider ourselves intellectuals here.”
“Here, here!” Weatherholt agreed, holding up his third glass of ale. The man truly could not hold his drink well, if the already heightened color in his cheeks was anything to go by.
“Shall we play again?” came an exasperated voice.
“Steady on, Bexby, some of us are trying to enjoy a conversation.” Dennington groused at the man, who probably did not deserve to be the focus of his ire, even temporarily. The other man huffed and slouched back in his seat – most undignified – before entering into a conversation with the man to his right and letting the matter drop. It could not be that the exact type of woman he had been seeking had been snatched up by Weatherholt of all people and right under his nose! He would need to apologize to Bexby. Later. First…
“Tell me more about this wife of yours, Weatherholt. I do not believe that I was ever introduced to a third Miss Featherington.” Interestingly, Dennington noted both Bridgertons tensing again across the table. Odd. The viscount was happily married and the only romantic interest Benedict had ever spoken to him about was his mysterious woman in silver – clearly not the former Miss Featherington.
“She is certainly wonderful, Dennington, but I am afraid I must absent myself briefly, so you shall have to be left in the thrall of speculation regarding my amazing wife.” With that, Mr. Albert Weatherholt wandered away from the gaming table and in search of the water closet.
“…”
“Now might we begin a new round?”
“Yes, alright Bexby, fine. Deal us in.”
As the gentleman began, once again, to shuffle the cards before him, Dennington scowled down at the green felt gaming table. He may not have gotten Weatherholt to continue to wax poetic about his wife, but he had certainly heard enough.
“I say, Dennington, what has you in such a mood?”
“I say, Kingsley, that I am rather put out by the gentlemen of the Ton and their disloyalty.”
A few moments of awkward silence hung in the air as the four gentlemen seated around the table were, voluntarily or not, drawn into the new line of conversation.
“Disloyalty?” Kingsley asked.
“Yes!” Dennington exclaimed, most emphatically.
“I am afraid I do not understand…”
“Of course you do not. Anyone at this table. Tell me everything you know about Penelope Weatherholt. Or what you knew about Miss Penelope Featherington!”
Several more moments of awkward silence reigned before Benedict Bridgerton broke the stalemate. “She is wonderful,” he said. The viscount darted a vaguely warning look toward his younger brother.
“I am beginning to understand that. How have I never heard of her?”
A young man came by the table at that moment, inquiring as to whether the gentlemen needed anything.
“Two bottles of that excellent Scottish whisky that I know just arrived. Five glasses.”
Dennington was betting, both on the limited queues he’d seen so far and instinctively, that the Bridgertons would be tight lipped about this business. Liquor would be an easily available remedy to this challenge.
In what seemed to be mere moments, the whisky and glasses were placed on the table and each man had a rather heavy pour in his hand.
As the men continued at their game, sipping and looking at each other and then looking at their cards and sipping again, Dennington’s thoughts were abuzz. Once the hand ended, and a new one had been dealt, he repeated his question: “I remain curious. How did I never hear about Miss Penelope Featherington?”
Bexby shrugged while Kingsley made a vague gesture with his hand and the Bridgertons stared at their cards. Finally, a reply came.
“To what end, Dennington? The lady is married. What interest could you have in her?”
“I am aware of that. This young woman, however, appears to be a veritable paragon of mental acuity, with a particular talent for all of the practical skills required of an aristocratic wife. Can I not be curious?”
“I suppose all of that is true,” Benedict shifted a little in his seat. Anthony Bridgerton was still staring resolutely at his cards. He was staring so hard at them, one might expect that he’d been told that one of the other men was going to demonstrate a particularly clever magic trick or sleight of hand instead of simply inviting him to play poker. Suspicious.
“I have also actively participated the last few Seasons and can certainly not recall ever meeting this young woman. Isn’t that strange, Benedict?”
Dennington watched the second Bridgerton son do a little more shifting in his seat, though it was more subtle this time around.
“I do not know that it is so odd. I certainly have not met every unmarried lady of the Ton, though it does feel that way, on occasion...”
These subtle evasions continued for the next half hour. Fortunately for Dennington, so did the drinking and the corresponding loosening of tongues.
_________________________________________________________________________
“I have been looking for just such a wife to help me with my estate and the affairs of the Earldom for nearly three years and NO ONE thought to mention that one such Penelope Featherington was PERFECTLY suited to the task. And now, Weatherholt has STOLEN her!”
“I do not believe a man can steal what another man did not possess,” Kingsley said, and Dennington noted that both Bridgerton brothers were looking resolutely into their glasses or at the table top or at the points of people’s shoulders in a somewhat discomfited manner. Another clue.
“Nonsense! I have told every gentleman I know with half a brain – and some I do not know and some without half a brain – what I wanted in a wife these three years past. I laid CLAIM to any such woman who was intelligent and capable. I owned that she did not need to be pretty or musical or flirtatious or fashionable or rich or well titled or funny or charming – any of those attributes would have been a generous blessing, but not a requirement. No one disputed my assertions. Every gentleman I spoke to acquiesced to the idea that, if he met such a young lady – or even a widow – that he would arrange me an introduction post haste! By all rights, Penelope Featherington was mine! I cannot believe that she has gone to one such as Weatherholt, one whose estate and matters are so much smaller and less demanding than my own! I have danced and conversed – or attempted to converse – with every simpering debutante the Ton has to offer for the last three Seasons! The ones who are interested in marrying are not the kind of women who could ever be equal to the task of being a truly brilliant Countess. There are exceedingly few who could be a truly brilliant Countess and they all seem to be married, like Lady Bridgerton, or interested in unmanning a man before they ever make it to the end of an aisle!”
“To be fair, Dennington, your second category has only one member – Eloise Bridgerton. And yes, while she meets your exacting intellectual standards, attempting to marry her would certainly result in your inability to continue your family line…” Kingsley shuddered as he spoke.
“Beware. That is my sister of whom you speak,” Anthony cut in with a rather menacing expression.
“It is not disrespect, Lord Bridgerton. On the contrary. Were she a man, I would follow her into battle without question. …Come to think of it. I might follow her into battle without question anyway.”
A comical and undignified snort erupted from Benedict Bridgerton at that while Anthony looked appeased.
“Bringing the conversation back round to Penelope Featherington, if you please. I have sought a Countess – ardently and earnestly – for years now. Northumbria has been without a mistress since my mother’s passing fifteen years ago and has been without a capable mistress for fully the twenty years before that. The estate is large, its management complex, the earldom’s political and social obligations extensive, and the houses associated with each of my properties are desperately in need of a woman’s care. I have been drowning in responsibilities since I inherited five years ago and I knew that I needed a capable woman, decidedly unlike my mother, as my partner and helpmate. I have done my best to ensure that any viable candidate would be brought to my attention! WHY did no one think to mention her, Kingsley?!”
“Blast it all! Don’t take issue with us! If you must hiss at someone, make it the Bridgertons! Or Wexford!” Kingsley exclaimed, pointing, a gentleman at another table startling and approaching them at hearing his name spoken. Kingsley kept on, “The Bridgertons are her closest companions and live just across Grosvenor Square and the Wexfords’ have been the Featheringtons’ adjacent neighbors for six decades at least! Anthony, Benedict, Colin, and Andrew are the ones who deserve your ire. The rest of us can barely get a word out of the chit, so quiet she is! I was introduced to her by her mother while one of the vapid elder sisters was being veritably shoved down my throat. I’d have no idea she was funny or even remotely intelligent if I hadn’t once accidentally overheard her mocking Lumley’s poetry!”
Dennington mentally noted the final remark. Lumley’s poetry was meant to be mocked and any woman who recognized that was intelligent indeed. The man loved poetry. And he could recite Lord Byron or Shakespeare as though he was born for the stage, but the man could not draft decent verses of his own were his life dependent on the endeavor.
“Wexford?” The question redirecting the conversation, as the newly-approached gentleman in question poured himself a few fingers of the whisky in a glass that had just been deposited on the table. The Bridgertons tensed again and Dennington’s suspicions went from aroused to certain – they knew something.
“Yes?”
“Well, what say you?”
“What say I about what? Penelope Featherington, now Penelope Weatherholt, is lovely. I have known her since I was eight years old.”
“There must be more to her than that.”
Andrew Wexford heaved a put-upon sigh, sat down, and began again, “Of course there is. I am beginning to understand, despite being a latecomer to this conversation, that you are somewhat put out by Weatherholt’s resounding success on his choice of wife.”
“I absolutely am. As you appear to have missed my commentary from earlier, I am certain that you are one of the gentlemen I spoke with about my interest in marrying and my requirements for a wife. Why did you not say anything?” His eyes darted to the Bridgertons, they would not escape being asked the same question. They were hiding something.
“I do not know! Penelope has always been wonderful, but rather shy. It did nothing for her situation that her mother, upon her debut, insisted upon placing her in frocks of the brightest oranges and yellows, positively doused in ruffles and feathers and detailing. I would suppose that withered what little confidence she may have had before. But the ill-suited clothing notwithstanding, yes, she is wonderful. She has always been the most well-read woman of my acquaintance and is even better read than many of the gentlemen I know. Her parents have never been terribly capable people, so I know that she began quietly and secretly assisting her mother with management of the Featherington household when she was quite young. Her sisters are more like her parents in that regard and so I suspect that she has discreetly managed their behavior and introductions and social interactions amongst the ton since her debut, in an attempt to blunt their rather aggravating tendencies and improve their chances of succeeding on the marriage mart. We played together as children a little and she was always creative and innovative as well as sweet. She has simply always been there. She is just… Penelope. I… that sounds terrible and does her a disservice, but I am not quite sure what else I should say.”
“If you could use a simple phrase with which you would describe the former Miss Featherington, what would it be?” Dennington asked, somehow (perhaps masochistically, as the young lady was now obviously married) eager for more information.
The expression on the young lord’s face made it clear that he was taking some moments to consider the question. “Quietly capable.”
Wexford then took a larger sip of his drink – while Dennington continued to fume – before turning to Anthony and Benedict, “Feel free to chime in here at any moment. I am certain you both know her better than I do at this point, Penelope and I have not spent time together with any consistency in years.”
“I quite agree with your assessment. I am not sure more needs to be said,” Anthony spoke, in his ‘I am a viscount and what I say goes’ manner.
“More needs to be said!” Dennington exclaimed – he would not yield to Anthony’s tone, he was his superior in both age and peerage, “I am quite certain that I spoke to both of you two too before and during the start of my search for a wife!”
An awkward silence reigned and Dennington, despite his frustration, gave a secret internal cheer when Anthony’s response to the discomfort was to pour himself and Benedict another glass of whisky.
In an additional victory, Benedict rubbed his hand across his forehead in a frustrated manner just before taking a long drink from his newly-filled glass.
“Could we truly have known how perfectly Penelope would fit your requirements, Dennington? It is not as though we sat and interviewed the lady with regard to her potential skills in estate management,” Benedict demurred.
“No. No. That sidesteps my question and you know it. I asked to have an introduction facilitated with any lady who was intelligent and capable. You need not have interviewed her. You only needed to understand enough of her mind and faculties to know that I would have been interested in meeting her and assessing for myself. It is clear that you both know her quite well and that neither of you said anything!”
“You should probably reserve your most profound irritation, Dennington, for the third Bridgerton brother,” Wexford cut in helpfully, “I believe that Colin knows Penelope better than any other person of the Ton save Eloise. They were always leaning against the walls of ballrooms, sharing some secret joke or another, he danced with her once at every ball they attended together while chatting away. It is my understanding that, even if it somewhat flouted propriety, that they corresponded extensively while Colin was out in the world during his various tours. They were even steadfastly supportive of each other during the scandals of each of their families – her during the fallout of his scandalous engagement and his sister’s political affiliations, and he during the aftermath of both her father’s gambling debts and her cousin’s investment scheme.”
Both Anthony and Benedict Bridgerton had frozen nearly as soon as Wexford had started speaking. About halfway through, the Viscount had started glaring at Wexford surreptitiously while Benedict looked constantly on the verge of interrupting.
In the few moments of silence that followed Wexford’s commentary and the Bridgertons’ reactions thereto, William Dennington understood what had occurred.
“I CANNOT BELIEVE THE TWO OF YOU!” Dennington very abruptly had the attention of the entirety of the hall at White’s. Wexford, Kingsley, and Bexby all looked taken aback by the sheer volume of his voice.
Anthony’s face remained stoic while Benedict winced as he realized the vitriol that was about to come their way.
“You SCHEMERS! You hid her from me! Deliberately! All so that you could reserve her for your stupid younger brother!”
Anthony shot up, causing his chair to clatter backward onto the floor. “I would watch what you say about my family, Dennington. This is not a wise course for you.”
“I will not be silenced by your play at family solidarity, Bridgerton!”
“Gentlemen!” Wexford banged his hand on the table to get their attention, “The lady does not deserve to have her name thrown about in a shouting match for half of the Ton to hear. Let us take this conversation to a more private location. Now!”
The gentleman removed themselves from the hall and into one of the private salons set aside for smaller gatherings, which was currently empty, both Bexby and Kingsley tagging along and failing utterly to hide the curiosity on their faces.
As soon as the door closed, Dennington continued shouting, “You both knew the exact woman I sought sat before you and you kept me from her so that your brother could have her! If I had been introduced to her in the first season of my search, it is certain now that I would have proposed within a month and been married within another! Penelope Featherington would have become Penelope Dennington, Countess of Northumbria! Neither of you bothered to consider such an outcome!”
Anthony and William were now toe to toe, Benedict standing behind his brother in solidarity while Bexby and Kingsley’s eyes bounced to and fro as though they were watching a game of squash, and Wexford’s eyes had grown increasingly large in their sockets with each new word spoken. So distracted were they all that none in the room noticed the door open behind them nor the one who entered.
Anthony snapped back, “Penelope loves Colin! And Colin loves Penelope! Of course we protected her! Of course we discouraged or avoided introductions that had too much possibility! And yes, we discreetly thwarted other potential suitors! She is a BRIDGERTON!”
There was a sharply indrawn breath behind them that none heard.
William leaned forward and placed his face very near Anthony’s, “Colin loves her?! Then why didn’t he propose to her?! Why is he still off in whatever new country suited his flight of fancy alone and unmarried ?! In case it was not obvious to you before, allow me to point something out. You FAILED, mighty viscount, because in case you did not notice, Bridgerton is not her new last name! You allowed MY countess to be claimed by that bumbling fool and did not even manage to succeed in your own aims! Marrying her would obviously have fulfilled my search and been beneficial to not only myself, but all who work for and under me. And the title of countess and a husband who was not an IDIOT, would have been so much better for the lady. Penelope Featherington should never have become Penelope Weatherholt! But no! The only person you protected was your blind, ridiculous brother who could apparently not even see the value of the woman you believe loves him!”
A glass shattering against the floor turned the heads of the whole group toward the sound.
And, as though the conversation itself had summoned him, there stood Colin Bridgerton, shards of glass covering his boots and a stunned expression on his face that was slowly morphing into one of shock and devastation.
“Pen got married?” Colin croaked.
Anthony and Benedict both stood absolutely still, as though not moving physically would similarly halt the inexorable march of the clock from moving forward into the next moment.
“She should have married me! Penelope should be my wife right now!” Dennington exclaimed in renewed frustration.
“Wait…” Wexford started before trailing off, “Colin. Did you not know? How could you not have known? Penelope was married nearly a year ago. In fact, I believe the anniversary is in just a few weeks’ time.”
Colin looked as though he was about to be ill, while Anthony proceeded to place his head into both of his hands and Benedict looked away and bit his bottom lip what appeared to be rather harshly.
“Brilliant,” Dennington offered flatly, “You couldn’t even bring yourselves to inform the sorry sod of his folly and her situation.”
A look of betrayal was now slowly making its way over Colin’s devastated expression.
Anthony took a deep breath, looking at Colin but also addressing the room, “It happened so quickly. Neither Benedict nor I knew that Weatherholt had been anywhere near Penelope. The first we heard of it was when Penelope told our mother of her engagement; our mother was the one who informed us. Then the wedding was set for three weeks out and Colin was still on the other side of the world. By the time he was back, we were all in the country and Penelope had been married for nearly two months. There was nothing to be done. We had been developing a plan to break the news, but before we could, Colin left for Scotland. He was only home three weeks. We thought we’d have more time. Then he sailed straight from Scotland to the Indian subcontinent, where he’s been since. The news seemed too important, and the risk of emotional damage too significant, to simply write it into a letter.”
“A year. Pen has been married for a year.” Colin’s eyes were darting back and forth, as though the news was somehow incomprehensible.
“If she’d been introduced to me, it’d be three years,” Dennington glared at the eldest two Bridgerton brothers – and Wexford, for good measure – still aggravated at having been so terribly thwarted.
For the first time, Bexby spoke up about something other than cards, “Bridgerton. I do not understand. Mrs. Weatherholt is obviously a close friend of your whole, prolific clan. How could you not have known that she was being courted? That she had been put in Weatherholt’s path?”
This time it was Wexford who winced noticeably.
“What do you know, Andrew?” Benedict asked, rounding on him.
“Well. That was rather down to Penelope herself, I speculate. After so many unsuccessful seasons and with official spinsterhood looming, I believe that Portia Featherington began making some comments about her gratitude that Penelope would be around to care for her in her old age and how Penelope would be available to care for Prudence and Phillipa’s children whenever they may need or want her. Lady Featherington made the comments at a dinner party with my family one night – and it was clear it was not the first time she’d made them. Within the next three weeks, I noticed that Penelope was speaking to Weatherholt quite frequently.”
“I suspect that she reviewed the available gentlemen of Ton and weighed their characteristics and needs against her own. She is too smart not to have known that Weatherholt was struggling with his responsibilities, in addition to obviously being neither the most handsome nor the most intelligent man of the Ton. I would guess that she also knew that his smaller estate and modest income meant that he was not a sought-after target by the more popular debutantes. She likely determined that he would be willing to marry her, especially if she demonstrated any ability to help lighten his metaphorical load. I even heard them discussing crop rotations and grain prices at the Mottram Ball last year, whereby she was offering obviously well-researched advice. This was before their engagement was announced…”
“How… calculating.” Bexby replied.
“It’s brilliant, is what it is! That is what I need in a Countess! A clever, prepared, determined woman! She saw the future of her situation and did what needed to be done to assure a more favorable outcome!”
“Well, it certainly sounds like she was not willing to waste any more time waiting on Colin Bridgerton,” Kingsley added, sipping from the glass he’d brought with him. The expression of devastation returned to Colin’s face and Kingsley appeared to immediately regret his words.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Benedict began, “It looks like we have some things that likely need to be discussed at home, with other members of our family. Dennington, I understand your ire and your need to vent your frustration. If it couldn’t be Colin, I would have preferred if Penelope had married you too. We will see you another time.”
With that, Anthony and Benedict each took hold of one of their brother’s arms and dragged him out of the door to depart for No. 5 Bruton street.