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Chapter Text

After the unfortunate events that she got involved with at her mama’s ball; her best friend Eloise’s discovery of her nom de plume, and Colin’s disparaging words on her towards his friends, Penelope Featherington had enough afflictions to bear with her fragile and torn heart. As if the poor plight of her family’s financial state and their plummeting reputation is not enough, Penelope had to face the loss of not just one, but two of her dearest, if not only, friends from the esteemed Bridgerton family.

Throughout her seasons, she was able to relent and face the hardships of being the ton’s wallflower as she finds consolation at the company of her childhood friend Eloise and her long-time love Colin, Eloise’s older brother. But now that there is irreparable damage to her friendships with the two, Penelope could no longer find any reason to enjoy being at the center (or at the edge) of high society.

And so, after a careful consideration and an extensive persuasion to her mother; the dowager baroness Portia Featherington, Penelope, the youngest of the redheads, had decided to move away from London and settle down in Scotland, away from the country and the hurtful memories England had only gave the young lady.

All of her savings and investments made from her Whistledown money are more than enough to help her sort out at least a nice and accommodating residence in one of the rural villages in Scotland, and also to provide her mother and eldest sister Prudence for one more season in London. Penelope had made arrangements with her solicitor to have her family’s provision done discreetly without letting her mother and sister know that it is coming from her secret funds. Penelope had come to terms that she might have to end the legacy of Lady Whistledown, now that she will no longer be part of high society, but decided that she will publish at least one or two more issues to announce the closure of her sought-after gossip sheet. This, she will do once she reaches the comfort of her new home.

“Are you certain about this decision, Penelope?” Portia asks her youngest as all of the latter’s luggages had been boarded on their family carriage. It was the day Penelope would leave London to take her journey for Scotland.

“Yes, mama. Leaving England would be the best recourse for me to do. I am ruined, never will a gentleman be interested in taking my hand for marriage. After everything that Whistledown had published..” Even though it was all her doing, Penelope’s voice croaked slightly at the mention of herself being the center of gossip on her latest Whistledown issue. She had made it known what Colin had said to Fife and his friends. She had decided that publishing the third Bridgerton’s words would be her constant reminder that her feelings and affections for the man would never be returned. No matter how long she waits and hopes for.

“I hope you well, my child. I may not be the best mother for you and your sisters. But do know, I only wanted what I truly think what’s best for the three of you. Hopefully, your sister Prudence will get to be married off this season. Until then, you must take care of yourself.” There was regret in Portia’s voice as she looked sadly at her youngest daughter.

True to her words, she was never really a good example of a mother for Penelope and her sisters. Her choice of outlandish colors and garments had made no help for her daughters in getting prospects at the marriage mart. But she truly loves them all the same in her very own way. She had realized too late that she never gave Penelope enough attention and care contrary to her two eldest, Prudence and Philippa, making her guilty as what had come down to her youngest’s reputation. Though she had constantly reminded her daughter that there will be nothing to come out of her friendship with the Bridgerton boy, she could not fully restrain Penelope as the latter is very close friends with the family across their street. At the same time, she had long hoped for that one of her daughters will be married to any of the Bridgerton boys, through the connection Penelope had made with the esteemed family. But all that hope had burst like a bubble with all the consecutive scandals that transpired between the two families, starting from Colin’s broken engagement with Miss Marina Thompson up to the former’s discovery of the fraudulent investment scam orchestrated by Cousin Jack.

And now, as Penelope had expressed and begged her to let her leave and spend her life away from London, Portia could not find any reason to decline. She knows it would be a nice change of scenery, as to bring Penelope peace and save her from further ruination at the eyes of the judgmental ton. Maybe it was for the best, she thought. Penelope might still have a chance to meet a decent man that will ask her hand for marriage. With all these thoughts, the dowager baroness finally relents and now bids her youngest a safe journey to Scotland.

“Thank you, mama. I’ll write you a letter once I arrive at my destination.” With that, Penelope boards on their family carriage and Briarly, their family butler instructs the coachman to the young lady’s stop.

“Is Pen also going to Aubrey Hall with us for the off-season?” Hyacinth asks her family as they are all in the main drawing room waiting for their servants to finish packing up their luggages.

As the London season ended, it was time for the high noble aristocrats to travel back to their country estates to spend the off-season months. The Bridgertons were just the same, they were off to Aubrey Hall, their ancestral home in Kent, that afternoon once Anthony was done with his work and everything was ready to be closed up at the Bridgerton House. It was then that the youngest Bridgerton noticed their favorite Featherington taking off on a carriage as she stared at the street from their windows.

“No. She will not be, and will never be.” Eloise bitterly and angrily answers her youngest sibling.

“Eloise!” Violet calls out her second daughter’s name as calmly as she can muster. She, along with her eldest sons Anthony and Benedict, noticed the changed demeanor of Eloise since the last ball they attended. Surely, there must have been something happened between her and Penelope as a slight mention of the Featherington name irks her rambunctious daughter so much, and a lack of the redhead’s presence during their afternoon tea time at their house confirms it so.

“I’m afraid not, dear. With circumstances as of late, it seems an invitation for Penelope will be ought for naught. But why have you asked, Hyacinth?” Violet turns to ask her youngest.

“Well, I saw her board their carriage with some luggages. But it was only her, Lady Featherington stayed as the carriage left.”

Hyacinth’s statement made curious looks on both Eloise and Violet. Though they did not voice out their concerns, they were left thinking to themselves as to where Penelope Featherington might be off to. It is unusual for the redhead to travel far without the company of her family, the only exception is when she joins in on the Bridgertons’ outings.

Violet hummed as she tried to think of a response that would satiate Hyacinth’s inquisitiveness. “Hmm.. It is possible her mother might follow in the next days or so, surely once Lady Featherington is finished closing up their home for the off-season.” Violet smilingly says. Though it was to her knowledge that the Featherington’s country estate was no more, as it was sold off to cover the family debts. She can only hope that her favorite redhead who she treats just as her own daughter, Penelope, will just be off to a relative somewhere in Cornwall.

Chapter Text

The esteemed Bridgerton family, just arrived the day before at their ancestral seat at Aubrey Hall in Kent, had all been enjoying a sumptuous mid-day meal at the estate’s opulent dining hall. With the exception of Colin, who is still taking his grand tour and Daphne, who is spending time with her own family in Clyvedon, the Bridgerton brood can still be handful and chaotic when all seated together.

It was during the middle of a peas fight between Hyacinth and Gregory when a footman had politely approached the head of the table, where Anthony was seated, bringing a missive for the Viscount.

Violet and Benedict who were sitting across from each other, on either sides of Anthony, shared curious glances as they found Anthony’s features suddenly painted with grim expression after reading the contents of the letter that had just been delivered to his hands.

“Is everything alright, brother?” The second born son asks the Viscount. Benedict’s query took all of their sibling’s attention towards Anthony, giving a quick silence around the dining hall.

Anthony Bridgerton, feeling all the gazes of his family, turns his eyes away from the letter as he looks back at them sadly and nervously. He stares at Eloise for a bit longer before turning to his mother and letting out a deep sigh.

“I have news from London.” Anthony, being the ever responsible brother and Viscount of the family, had always made sure to give instructions to their loyal servants across all their family estates. This helps him monitor what has been going on with each of their properties. And as they just departed from London, he gave a strict order to their butler Humboldt to send any report on important news that might arise in London. May it be something trivial or anything that would affect his family, he expects Humboldt to report everything to him.

And so the old man did. Though it was not particularly about his family, the news brought by the letter would surely cause disturbance and upset to most of his family members. Anthony swallows a lump as he prepares to share on the news as his siblings look at him with anticipation.

“Dearest, what does the letter bring to say?” Violet asks her son worriedly. For some unknown reason, the dowager viscountess feels her heart heavy while not knowing what made her son’s expression glum.

“It’s the Featheringtons.”

Eloise scoffed with the mention of her friend’s family name, earning the reprimanding look of her mother.

“What of them? Why must you even mention that wretched family’s name?” Eloise rolls her eyes as her irritation gets ahead of her.

“Eloise Bridgerton! That is not how a lady should talk about a friend’s family.” Violet raises her voice to remind her daughter how improper and unladylike her attitude is showing towards their long-time neighbors.

“I am no longer friends with Miss Featherington, mama. She is not someone who you think she is.” Eloise coldly says as she goes back to fiddling the food on her plate.

Anthony, who was fully aware that his sister and the youngest Featherington are no longer on speaking terms, felt so dreadful towards the redhead. After learning through the Whistledown column how his brother disparaged Penelope, and seeing how Eloise acts with just a mention of her family name, Anthony feels apologetic towards the redhead. Penelope and her family, alongside them, had been at the center of scandals for the past two seasons. Whilst the Bridgertons have come out almost unscathed with the help of their family prestige, the Featheringtons are always on the bottom end of the ton’s mercy.

Knowing how his family have loved and valued the youngest Featherington’s presence at their daily lives, Anthony could only sympathize with how unlucky Penelope is, to be born in such an unfathomable household.

But what makes it hard for the Viscount is the urgent news he had to share. No matter how deep Eloise and Penelope’s rift has gone through to make the former feel such rage, will surely change her attitude upon learning what he is about to say. Anthony is just as nervous for his mother as well, for he knows how devoted Violet is towards the honorary member of their family. Their mother had never been shy to express her desire to have Penelope become an official Bridgerton by becoming her daughter-in-law.

“Tread carefully, dear sister. We may not be aware as to what transpired between you and Miss Featherington, but that is not how you should react towards her and her family. Especially more with what news Humboldt had sent.”

“Why brother, did something happen with the Featheringtons? Another scandal, perhaps?” Benedict asks, trying to avert the attention from Eloise.

Anthony lets out another deep sigh as he takes all the strength on his body to spit out the information from the letter he’s holding. “It is said that Miss Penelope Featherington is on her way to Scotland for the off-season..” He stopped midway as he could not find the right words to fully explain what happened.

“Right! I saw her take their family carriage yesterday! So she’s off to Scotland? That’s too far!” Hyacinth exclaimed. Anthony formed an awkward smile in response to his favorite youngest sister.

“So, what of it brother? Is the news about Pen?” Gregory asks. The youngest son has been harboring a crush on the redhead ever since the latter started to help him in his Latin homeworks.

Knowing that nothing good will come of it if he is to delay the news any longer, Anthony coldly stated the report he got from the letter.

“There seems to be an accident with Miss Featherington’s carriage. It was said that the coachman lost his hold on the reins and.. And the carriage fell off a cliff.”

As Anthony shared the distressing news about Penelope, a heavy silence settled over the family dining table, broken only by the collective gasps of shock and concern from his siblings and mother. He could see the worry etched into their expressions.

Eloise, in particular, seemed to be struck speechless by the gravity of the situation. Her jaw dropped open in disbelief, her hands trembling as she struggled to comprehend the news about her friend. The fork she had been holding slipped from her grasp, clattering against the china as it fell, forgotten.

Tears welled in Eloise’s eyes, cascading down her cheeks unchecked as the reality of the situation sank in. Her dismissive attitude towards Penelope evaporated in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming wave of anguish and concern, and fear for her dear friend’s wellbeing.

“Anthony, are you certain?” Eloise questioned. Her voice was trembling with emotion as she sought reassurance from her Viscount brother. “Could it be a misunderstanding? Please tell me it’s not true..”

Anthony’s heart clenched at the sight of his sister’s distress, his own worry amplifies as he can only imagine what this news will bring about to his sister emotionally and mentally. Penelope was Eloise’s anchor since childhood, it may seem to others that Penelope was the one who follows the brunette around, but in reality, Eloise was the one who had always been clingy to the redhead. The youngest Featherington was Eloise’s constant. There was truth to the latter’s words that she would prefer to have Penelope as a sister rather than her own biological siblings.

“I wish it were not true, Eloise.” Anthony murmured with a hint of sorrow in his voice. “But the news comes from a servant of their family. We can only hope and pray for Miss Featherington’s safety.”

The rest of the Bridgerton family sits in stunned silence as their previous jovial moods had been extinguished by the grave news.

“Oh, poor dear Penelope. How can such a frightful accident befall on her. We can only pray she remains safe and alive out of this..” Violet dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief as she prays for the redhead’s well-being. She does not want to sound negatively as to think of what might be Penelope’s condition right now, but there have been multiple cases of a horse drawn-carriage falling off a cliff, and survivors from such accidents are almost limited to none.

Eloise shakes her head vehemently as she still could not believe what she is hearing. “No, no this cannot be! How could this have happened?!” She abruptly stands, nearly knocking over her chair which gets her everyone’s attention.

“I must go to her at once! She cannot.. She must be..” Eloise dissolves into heaving sobs, sinking back into her chair helplessly.
Benedict, who was seated to her left, reaches across to grip her hand. “Stay strong, Eloise. We do not yet know the full extent..”

But before her brother can give her his full reassurance, Eloise cuts Benedict off. “Do not attempt to reassure me, brother. My dearest friend.. Penelope.. After all I said to her, all the horrid things…” She buries her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her crying.

The rest of her siblings can only watch her in sympathy and worry. For the past few days after the Featherington ball, Eloise had been in a rough mood, making her company unbearable to any of her siblings. And now with such anguish and guilt that overwhelms Eloise, they can only imagine the state she will be in for the rest of their stay at the Aubrey Hall.

Violet, worried about both the redhead and the would-be state of her second daughter, pries Anthony for more details about the Featheringtons.

“Anthony, dearest. Does the letter say anything about Penelope’s well-being?”

Anthony handed the parchment to his mother as he answered her question. “There are no confirmation yet but it says Lady Featherington had taken leave from their estate to go where Penelope is.”

“Brother, I-I have to go as well. Please allow me to leave. Mama, I-I need.. I need to see Pen..” Upon hearing that Portia Featherington takes leave to travel and see where Penelope is, Eloise begs her mother Violet and Anthony permission to go as well. She wanted to see for herself how her friend is doing. She had instantly forgotten the hatred and irritation she felt upon learning Penelope’s identity as Lady Whistledown. As for now, Eloise only wanted her friend to be safe. She wanted to say sorry for all the harsh things she had said last time, she wanted to admit that Pen was right; that a part of her was jealous that the redhead was able to do something significant on her own. That even as a woman, Penelope was able to create a legacy that is hard to pull off in a society dominated by men.

But as much as Anthony would like to grant his sister’s plea, he knows that it would be better not to grant her leave. Given her outbursts and unstable emotional state, it will be difficult for Eloise to maintain composure once she sees Penelope. No matter what condition the latter is.

Seeing the stiff look on her brother, the brunette knew that he would not give her permission to leave, which makes it hard for her to bear the heaviness and the pain on her chest. Eloise badly wants to be beside her friend.

Eloise wipes her tears as she gave the Viscount a desperate look. “Please, Anthony… You must grant me leave to go to Penelope. I cannot bear to remain here not knowing if she.. If..” She chokes back another sob. “After the horrible way I treated her, I must make amends. I need to be by her side.. Mama, please.” Tears continued to roll down on her cheeks as she begs her mother and her brother.

“I understand your distress, sister. But you must compose yourself. Rushing off in this emotional state will only cause more turmoil.”

Eloise frowns with disbelief on her brother’s refusal. “But I cannot simply sit idle while Penelope is..”

Anthony stands from his seat as he goes towards Eloise. He gets down on one knee as he places a comforting hand on her arm. “Sister, you need not fret. Lady Featherington has already taken swift leave to be with Penelope. And you can be certain the local residents rallied to provide what aid they could after discovering the accident.”

Viscount Bridgerton gives his sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “For now, we must allow a few days for the situation to become clearer. Once I receive further news of Miss Featherington’s condition, you have my word. I shall make every provision to assist the Featheringtons however we can. I will have a footman go to the location and make direct reports to me.” Anthony said with a clear voice as to make a promise for his siblings. Though the other Bridgertons may be stunned in silence, he knew that they are all equally worried for Penelope just like how Eloise is. After all, Penelope is someone who they dearly love. An honorary member of their family.

With Anthony’s words, it gave a little assurance to Eloise but the latter remains conflicted. “I.. I d-do not know if I can e-endure the waiting..” She said hesitantly, still choking in between sobs.

This time, it was their mother Violet Bridgerton who took the words to calm her crying daughter. “You must have faith, Eloise. Fretful thoughts will only borrow trouble before it is due. Pray instead for Penelope’s well-being and our chance to offer comfort soon.”

“I vow to you sister, we shall make haste to her side when the time is right. But first, we must impart patience.” Anthony added as he held his sister’s gaze meaningfully.

Chapter Text

As Portia Featherington entered their family’s London estate, a sense of unease settled over her as she was greeted by their butler Briarly and their housekeeper Mrs. Varley both with nervous and concerned looks. Their anxious demeanor immediately heightened Portia's apprehension, and she braced herself for whatever urgent news awaited her in the drawing room.

“Whatever it is, out with it.” Portia impatiently says, as she knows there would be news to be shared coming from their butler and housekeeper.

“My lady.. There is a man looking for you, he is in the drawing room. Says it is urgent.” Briarly politely says as he musters all the courage on his old body.

Portia’s brows furrowed at the butler’s words. She nor Prudence were not expecting any caller or visitor for the day. “Did he state the purpose of his visit?”

It was Mrs. Varley who provided the dowager Baroness the answer to her query. “He mentioned something about a carriage. Miss Penelope’s perhaps.” There was an obvious hint of worry at Mrs. Varley’s voice which made Portia’s complexion start to get pale.

Upon learning that a man awaited her in the drawing room with urgent news concerning the family carriage, Portia's mind immediately leaped to her youngest daughter, Penelope, who had departed for Scotland just the day before.

Despite never showing any obvious motherly care on her daughters, Portia Featherington’s heart raced with fear and apprehension as she stepped into the drawing room. As she greeted the unknown man who awaited her, her polite facade belied the turmoil raging within her.

Upon seeing the unexpected visitor, Portia quickly scanned the man from up to bottom, gaining the impression that he was from the common folk. His trousers and his coat were dusted, the garments of his clothes were of ordinary fabric and his overall attire is simply too inexpensive from the standards of upper-class London.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Portia greeted, her voice quivering slightly despite her efforts to maintain her composure. “I understand you have urgent news for me regarding our family carriage. Pray, tell me, what has happened?”

The man, his expression grave but composed, met the dowager Baroness’ gaze with sympathetic eyes. “Madam, I regret to inform you that there has been an accident involving your family’s carriage.” He began, his voice steady despite the weight of his words.

The redhead mama’s breath caught in her throat as she listened, her heart pounding in her chest. “An accident?” She echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. “But.. my daughter, my Penelope, was traveling in that carriage. Is she..?”

The man’s expression softened with empathy as he delivered the devastating news. “I am deeply sorry, madam.” He replied gently. “The coachman survived, but the passenger, a noble lady with striking red hair like your own, is in critical condition.”

Portia’s hands trembled as she reached out to accept the parchment he offered, her fingers shaking as she clutched the document tightly. “Where is she? Where is my daughter??” She demanded, her voice filled with urgency and fear.

The man hesitated for a moment before answering, his voice tinged with sorrow. “She is being held for medical attention at a nearby location from the accident.” He explained, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I have provided the details in the parchment, madam.”

Portia’s heart sank as she read the words on the parchment, her mind reeling with the gravity of the situation. She turned to Mrs. Varley and Briarly, her trusted servants, her eyes silently pleading for their support. She handed off the parchment to Briarly for the butler to know the address Portia would have to go to.

“Please, make the necessary preparations. I must see my daughter at once.” Portia implored them, her voice trembling with emotion. It was the first Briarly and Mrs. Varley saw their mistress lose her aggressive and strong composure. Even at the death of her husband, Archibald, Portia never let anyone see her weak side. But as the youngest Featherington’s life was on the line, it took every wall of Portia’s facade to crumble. She may not be the best mother when it comes to showing her love and affection for her daughters, but she is a mother. She is the leader of their team. And she was the one who borne them into their world. No matter how, she loves her daughters more than anything in the world.

As she lets Briarly study the note, Portia sways on her feet. Mrs. Varley quickly steadies her as she guides her lady into a chair.

“My.. my Penelope..” Portia’s voice was scarce and her complexion became pale as a ghost.

Mrs. Varley tries to soothe her lady, trying to make her as calm as possible given the grave news. She caresses her mistress’ back gently as she tries to bring her back to her senses. “There, now, my lady. Catch your breath.”

Portia shakes her head faintly as tears spill down her cheeks. Realization on Penelope’s well-being just started to dawn on her. She started to question the man on specifics about her youngest’s condition.

“Critical condition? Oh, my poor, sweet girl..” She looks up at the solemn-faced man. “Tell me true- is… is there a chance she may yet live?”

The man removes his cap respectfully. “I cannot rightly say, your ladyship. The physician tending her seemed hopeful, but her injuries are most grave.”

Portia covers her mouth to stifle a sob. Mrs. Varley rests a comforting hand on Portia’s shoulder as to comfort her. “We must have faith, my lady.”

Briarly clears his throat to get his mistress’ attention. “Shall I ready the carriage at once, my lady? For your departure to..” He checks the parchment once again. “..the town of Doncaster?”

Portia Featherington shakily gets to her feet, resolve hardening her features. “Yes, yes! Make all haste. I must go to my daughter immediately. You must send word to Prudence and Philippa as well. Prudence and I shall have to depart within the day.”

She turns to the man who brought her the news, gripping his hand fervently, disregarding the rules of propriety. “Thank you for bearing this terrible news. I beg you, if you have any way to send word ahead, tell them her mother is coming. Penelope must not…”

The redhead mama’s voice cracks, but presses on stoically. “She must keep holding on until I arrive.”

—-

As they hear the news about Penelope’s carriage mishap, Portia Featherington, together with her eldest daughter Prudence, travels to Doncaster to see the plight of the youngest redhead. It took them half a day to arrive at the rural village where Penelope had been brought for medical attention.

After their arrival, the town leader had led them to the physician’s ward where the youngest Featherington had been since the day of the accident. Portia’s heart clenched with anguish as she beheld the sight of her precious daughter, so pale and still upon the bed. Prudence stood beside her, her face a mirror of Portia’s own distress, as they took in the extent of Penelope’s injuries.

The heavy bandage wrapped around Penelope’s forehead drew Lady Featherington’s attention, the sight of blood seeping through it sending a shiver of dread down her spine. She reached out a trembling hand, brushing her fingertips gently against Penelope’s cold cheek, her heart breaking at the sight of the scratches and cuts marring her daughter’s once flawless skin.

The physician’s explanation only served to deepen the redhead mama’s anguish, the gravity of Penelope’s injuries weighing heavily upon her. She fought back tears as she turned to the physician, her voice trembling as she sought answers.

“Will she.. Will she recover?” Portia whispered, her voice barely above a whisper as she clung to a glimmer of hope amidst the despair that threatened to consume her.

The physician’s expression was grave as he met Portia’s gaze, his own eyes filled with sympathy for her and for her daughter’s plight. “It is difficult to say, madam.” He replied solemnly. “The blow to her head was severe, and there may be lasting effects. But we are doing everything in our power to ensure her comfort and aid in her recovery.”

Portia’s breath caught in her throat at the severity of the physician’s words, her mind reeling with the implications that might befall the fragile and innocent body of Penelope. She reached out to grasp Prudence’s hand for support, her eyes brimming with tears as she struggled to comprehend the reality of the situation.

“Oh, my poor darling Penelope.” Portia’s voice choked with tears as she gazed upon her youngest daughter’s pallid face. “How could this have happened?”

Prudence, her own expression etched with sorrow, placed her free hand on her mother’s shoulder, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “We must stay strong for her, mama.”

Prudence squeezed her mother’s hand tightly, offering what comfort she could in the face of their shared grief. She might not be that close with her youngest sister, but Penelope is still her sister. They are flesh and blood. Together with her mother, her heart is heavy with worry and fear as she silently prays for Penelope’s swift recovery, determined to do whatever it takes to ensure that their youngest would emerge from this ordeal alive.

Portia, with resolve hardening as she turned her attention back to the physician, “What can we do to help her?” She asked, her voice filled with determination. “Please, tell us how we can ease her suffering and aid in her recovery.”

The physician sighed heavily, his expression grave as he met Portia’s gaze. “At this point, all we can do is keep her comfortable and monitor her condition closely.” He explained, his voice tinged with regret. “There is no telling how long her recovery may take, we just need to hope that the young miss will regain consciousness so we can determine the extent of her injuries.”

Portia’s heart sank at the grim prognosis, but she refused to lose hope. “We will do whatever it takes to ensure Penelope’s recovery. She is my daughter, and I, as a mother, will not rest until she is well again.” The dowager Baroness vowed as her voice were filled with unwavering determination.

With a silent prayer on her lips, Portia took Penelope’s cold, limp hand in her own, her fingers intertwining with her daughter’s as she silently vowed to do everything in her power to bring her back to health. And as she felt the weight of responsibility of being a mother settle upon her shoulders, she knew that she would stop at nothing to see Penelope restored to her former vitality and strength. For they are a team, and she is a mother.

Chapter Text

In the days following the tragic accident, the Bridgerton household had been consumed by an atmosphere of worry and apprehension. News of Penelope Featherington’s condition weighed heavily on their minds, casting a shadow over their daily routines. Despite their best efforts to carry on with their lives, thoughts of Penelope’s plight lingered in the back of their minds, a constant reminder of the fragility of life.

For Eloise, the worry was especially acute. Penelope had been her closest friend for as long as she could remember, and the thought of her suffering filled Eloise with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She found herself unable to focus on anything else, her thoughts consumed by visions of Penelope lying injured and alone.

Each day, Eloise would pester her brother Anthony for any news of Penelope’s condition, her persistence bordering on obsession. She would question her mother Violet, pleading for updates on when they might be able to travel to go visit Penelope.

Finally, after four days of anxious anticipation, Anthony received a report from one of his men who had been sent to Doncaster to gather information. He had dispatched a man under his employ to gather firsthand reports from the physicians attending to Penelope. While the news was not entirely positive, it provided a glimmer of hope that they might be able to visit Penelope and offer their support.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton wasted no time summoning Eloise and his mother Violet to his study to relay the news. Knowing that there is only one reason for her to be called to her brother’s study, Eloise swiftly burst into Anthony’s office as her eyes alight with anxious hope. Violet was trailing behind, unable to reprimand her daughter’s unladylike behavior.

“Anthony! Have you received word? Any news at all about Pen? I must know!” If there is a competition on speaking words in a fast manner, Eloise would surely win as a champion. Anthony let out a deep sigh as he motioned for the ladies to take their seats at the plush armchairs in front of his desk.

He looks up from the correspondence he received, still with a solemn expression as he relayed the grim details from the report. When he revealed that the redhead still lingered unconscious, Eloise paled drastically. But Anthony was not without a glimmer of reassurance.

“Her condition remains dire, but there are faint signs she may yet rally. The physician tending her is cautiously optimistic.” Anthony says as he looks both to his mother and his sister, trying to make light of the news.

This made Eloise’s eyes widened, for it was the first spark of hope she had felt in days. “Does this mean we can go see her?” She asked eagerly, her voice tinged with excitement and anxiety.

Anthony nodded, his expression still solemn as he met his sister’s gaze. “Yes, Eloise.” He replied with a gentle yet resolute voice. “We will depart for Doncaster as soon as the sun rises up tomorrow. We must make necessary preparations first.”

Violet, her own heart heavy with worry for the redhead, nodded in agreement to her son’s plan. “I understand, Anthony.” She murmured, her voice tinged with sadness. “As much as I would like to accompany you, I cannot leave the younger children alone.”

Anthony squeezed his mother’s hand reassuringly, his eyes filled with understanding. “I will ensure Eloise’s safety, mother. We will depart as soon as everything is ready.” He vowed, his voice filled with determination.

“Thank you, dearest. Please give my regards to Lady Featherington. I’m sure.. She is having a difficult time with what is going on.” Violet’s voice was filled with emotion. She may not like the baroness that much, but as they are both mothers, she knew what hardship and pain Portia might be feeling at Penelope’s plight.

After Anthony reminded her and her mother of all the things needed to prepare for their journey and for those who will be left at Aubrey Hall, Eloise swiftly left the study and ran upstairs to gather all her things that she will be needing for the trip.

Anthony and Violet can only share knowing glances, unsure if they should feel relieved or be more worried that Eloise will be on the road to see Penelope Featherington.

—--

It had been four agonizing days since Portia and Prudence Featherington rushed to the village of Doncaster, spurred by the devastating news of Penelope's carriage accident. Four days of holding vigil by her youngest daughter's bedside, watching in despair as Penelope remained frighteningly still and pale, showing no signs of waking.

Prudence tried valiantly to buoy her mother's spirits, but Portia's anguish was all-consuming. How could her sweet Penelope, so vibrant and full of life, be reduced to this unconscious, battered state? The thought tormented Portia endlessly.

A small ray of comfort came in the form of correspondence forwarded by Briarly from London. To Portia's surprise, a number of families and members of the ton had sent along well-wishes for Penelope's recovery once news of the accident spread.

It was a reminder that despite the Featheringtons' fall from grace, Penelope herself was regarded with fondness by many. Though it puzzled Portia why a seemingly overlooked wallflower would garner such attention.

Her bewilderment compounded when, only two days into their vigil in Doncaster, an officious-looking man arrived unannounced at the physician's residence where they kept watch over Penelope.

The man swept into the small sitting room where Portia and Prudence attempted to rest, introducing himself as John Brown, the Featherington family solicitor.

With a brisk bow, Mister John Brown greeted the dowager Baroness Lady Featherington. “Lady Featherington, a pleasure to meet you, albeit one I wish under more fortuitous circumstances.”

“I.. I’m afraid you must be mistaken, sir. Our family has not employed a solicitor these past months.. Not since..” Portia says, frowning in confusion. Her voice falters as the loss of her husband’s fortune was still a sore spot for a topic of conversation.

“I understand this comes as a great shock, Lady Featherington. But I can assure you, every detail I have relayed is quite true. Miss Penelope has employed my services these past few years to discreetly manage the fortune she has amassed.”

Portia stared at the solicitor, her mouth agape as she struggled to process his words. “A.. A fortune? Penelope? But how? Penelope is still so young, and we..” Portia says weakly as her voice trembled, the reality of their family’s financial ruin never far from her mind.

“Indeed, it is an extraordinary feat, especially considering your daughter’s.. Unique profession.”

Portia frowned once more as the man hinted that her Penelope is earning money through working. A genteel lady, a daughter of a baron, stooped so low to be working like a common folk?! Portia wanted to faint right at that moment. “I’m afraid I don’t take your meaning, sir. Penelope has no profession that I…” She trailed off, realization slowly dawning at the solicitor’s pointed look.

“No.. Surely you cannot mean that my Penelope.. That she is..” Portia says breathlessly. She knew that her daughter had wit and was too intelligent for her own good. She had seen how her youngest had divulged herself on books, spending more time reading the pages rather than practicing her needlework. She had also come to know that Penelope had been spending her pin money on quills and ink, making it a point that the young redhead had been constantly writing. To whoever or whatever it was, Portia had no full knowledge on. Though Penelope had inherited her smarts, the former had been lacking in ambitions and has never shown a cunning side of her. Never had Penelope shown the confidence and the sharpness that comes with her mind. Her youngest does not even have the audacity to challenge her, more so dare and humiliate the Queen in the eyes of the ton! Or so she thought.

Mister John Brown was nodding solemnly as he saw the realization dawned upon Lady Featherington. “Yes, my lady. Miss Penelope is none other than Lady Whistledown. Your daughter is the infamous purveyor of high society’s secrets and scandals.”

Portia recoiled, clutching the arms of her chair as the room seemed to spin. “Impossible! Not my gentle, reserved Penelope! She would never.. That child could never..” her eyes fell to the ledger that was handed by the solicitor, taking in the staggering sums with a sense of disbelieving awe.

“Through her prudent investments of Lady Whistledown’s earnings, Miss Featherington has amassed a considerable fortune. One she has been funneling towards your family’s upkeep under the guise of.. An inheritance, I believe?”

Portia swallowed hard, recalling the “funds from her aunt” that had sustained them after the consecutive fiasco stemming from her husband’s death up to Cousin Jack’s fraudulent investment mines. “All this time, while I remained oblivious.. My Penelope has so craftily provided for us all.”

Fresh tears sprang to Portia Featherington’s eyes as pride and disbelief warred within her. Never had she appreciated her daughter Penelope more than now. The baroness knows how lacking she is as mother, and she can only feel shame and regret as she thinks of how their family is saved from eventual ruin with Penelope’s efforts. As a parent, she was not able to provide a good life for her youngest, prompting the young girl to create an empire of her own, just to secure her own future.

Portia can only let her tears roll down from her cheeks as she realizes how selfless Penelope had been, how hard it must be for her to hide her true identity, to restrain herself from showing everyone her intelligence, her confidence, her talents, her true worth. How the ton had looked down upon her daughter, Portia can only bear a strong feeling of hostility, especially towards those who have taken part in her daughter’s heart ache.

And even now, just when Penelope had decided to stand on her own two feet and pave her own path, she had to be held down by this tragic incident that befell her.

“Oh, my resourceful, courageous daughter! However did you acquire such guile without your mother’s knowledge?” Portia whispers to Penelope as she sits by her bed and holds her hand. No matter how tight Portia held her daughter’s body, there was still no movement nor reaction from the young redhead.

Prudence who was listening idly throughout her mother’s and the solicitor’s exchange broke her silence.

“Mama, what are we to do? Now that we know my sister is Lady Whistledown, and the Queen is seeking to unmask her identity..” Her voice trembled with uncertainty as she turned to her mother, with her eyes wide with concern and her tone tinged with anxiety.

Portia’s heart sank at the weight of her daughter’s words. Prudence has never been the brightest among her three daughters, but the gravity of their situation seemed to waken her eldest’s self-awareness. Lady Featherington could feel a knot of fear forming in the pit of her stomach as she considered the potential consequences of Penelope’s secret being exposed.

With a heavy sigh, Portia reached out to grasp Prudence’s hand, her fingers trembling with apprehension. “I.. I do not know, Prudence.” She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we must do everything in our power to protect Penelope. She is my daughter, your sister, and her safety is paramount.”

Prudence nodded, her expression mirroring her mother’s concern. “But how, mama?” She pressed, her voice filled with urgency. “How can we keep sister safe when the Queen is determined to uncover Lady Whistledown’s identity?”

Lady Featherington’s mind raced with possibilities, her thoughts consumed by the need to shield her daughter from harm. “We must be vigilant.” She replied, her voice firm with resolve. “We must ensure your sister remains hidden from prying eyes until we can determine the best course of action.”

As she spoke, the redhead mama’s gaze drifted to where Penelope lay, still and unconscious on the bed. Her heart ached with worry for her daughter’s wellbeing, knowing that the revelation of Penelope’s dual identity could place her in grave danger, as if she is not already on deathbed.

“We will protect her, Prudence. Just like how she has protected our family since your father passed.” Portia vowed, her voice filled with determination. “No matter the cost, we will keep your sister safe.” And as she uttered those words, Portia Featherington knew that she would stop at nothing to safeguard her daughter from the storm that threatened to engulf them all.

Chapter Text

The journey to Doncaster had been a tense, somber affair for the Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and his younger sister Eloise. Each mile that slipped by only amplified Eloise’s fears over her dear friend’s condition. When at last they arrived, she could scarcely contain her urgency.

Anthony’s footman, who had been discreetly keeping watch over the situation on the Featheringtons, greeted them grimly. He then led the pair of Bridgertons to the remote physician’s estate where the Featherington ladies had been encamped the past few days, stubbornly hoping for Penelope’s recovery.

The dowager Baroness Lady Portia Featherington was startled when they were announced, rising shakily from her chair. The poor mother looked utterly drained, etched with worry and sleepless nights. Her eldest daughter Prudence, was no better.

Anthony politely bows as he removes his top hat and holds it to his chest. “Lady Featherington, you have my sincerest apologies for this unannounced intrusion. I, together with my sister Eloise, had come to visit Miss Penelope.”

Eloise could wait no longer to finish all the pleasantries and polite greetings they must conduct as nobles, her hands wringing anxiously as she asks for her dear friend. “Lady Featherington.. Penelope, where is she? I must see her.”

Portia Featherington’s already wan face seemed to pale further at the request. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

“Miss Bridgerton, I.. I fear my daughter is in no state for visitors at present. Her condition remains most grave.” She says softly, opposite to how she had always been under the young brunette’s impression.

With Portia’s refusal, Eloise felt her heart plummet, panic gripping her. She was almost ready to turn the room upside down, just to make her way past the Baroness. Just for her to see her dearest friend. She had waited several days, which she felt were a thousand years just to finally see her favorite redhead. Eloise will take nothing to stop her from meeting Penelope today.

Anthony, feeling her emotions and the inexplicable actions his sister might do at this moment, stepped forward. He spoke and begged Portia for her understanding, his voice level but insistent. He does not want to exert his authority as a Viscount over the redhead mama, but if it needs be, just to make his sister calm and stable, Anthony would be willing to do so.

“We have been kept informed of the severity of Miss Featherington’s injuries, my lady. However, I must implore you - allow us to just lay eyes upon Miss Penelope. It would greatly soothe my sister’s lingering fears.. As well as our dear mother’s.”

Portia hesitated. She knew how close Penelope is with the Bridgertons. How come she’s not? The young Featherington had been spending most of her afternoon days at the home across their street for tea. Penelope had been a permanent fixture at the Bridgerton House as Eloise’s playmate and closest friend. Portia knew that Violet had been extremely accommodating and close with her daughter as well.

And so despite her uncertainty, she conceded to the Viscount’s request with a weary nod. She led them down a dimly lit corridor to a small sickroom chamber.

The sight that met Eloise and Anthony was a brutal one for their hearts. Penelope Featherington lay frighteningly still and pale against the pillows, her vibrant crimson hair dulled to a sickly shade. Violent bruises mottled her arms and her head swathed in stark white bandages.

Eloise Bridgerton’s breath hitched, tears instantly springing to her eyes as she rushed to Penelope’s bedside. She grasped her friend’s limp, cold hand between her own trembling ones.

“P-Penelope? Oh, Pen… I am so dreadfully sorry…” Eloise chokes her voice in between sobs as she finally sees her friend.

“Penelope…” She whispered. “Oh, Penelope, please wake up.” Her words were a desperate plea, a fervent prayer for her friend to return to consciousness.

“I am so sorry.” Eloise continued, her voice trembling with regret. “I’m sorry for what I said, for how I acted. I never meant to hurt you, Pen. I was angry, I was foolish… but I didn’t mean any of it. Please, you have to believe me.”

Tears continued to stream down Eloise’s cheeks as she poured out her heart, her words a torrent of remorse and regret. “I promise, Pen, I’ll be better. I’ll be the friend you deserve, the friend you’ve always been to me. Just please, wake up. Please, come back to me.”

Eloise Bridgerton’s voice cracked with emotion as she begged Penelope Featherington to stir, to show some sign of life. The silence that greeted her was deafening, the stillness of Penelope’s form a stark reminder of the gravity of their situation.

As she knelt beside Penelope’s bed, her hand clasped tightly on hers, Eloise felt a profound sense of sorrow wash over her. She knew that her friend’s fate hung in the balance, and that the outcome was beyond her control. All she could do was pray, and hope, and wait for Penelope to awaken from her slumber, to return to the world of the living where she belonged.

Seeing Eloise’s anguish twisted Anthony’s heart. He turned away as his sister began begging the young Featherington to wake, to give her a chance to truly make amends for their fallen out. Promises tumbled from her lips - to be a better friend, to acquiesce to any request if only Penelope would just open her eyes.

Portia watched on, her own tears slipping free. She knew that hollow, gnawing feeling of pleading to any higher power for the life of a loved one. Gently, she rested a hand on Anthony’s arm, sharing a look of mournful understanding between them.

—

The day had been an emotionally draining one after the Bridgerton siblings finally laid eyes upon Penelope’s dire condition. Eloise had broken down into heartbroken sobs at her friend’s bedside for hours, begging fervently for Penelope to wake, to allow her the chance to make amends.

It took quite some time for Anthony to gently coax his sister away, his own heart aching to witness her anguish. He knew they could ill afford to cause the Featheringtons any further distress in their time of crisis.

As dusk fell, they reconvened at a small, unassuming inn near the physician’s estate. Portia and Prudence Featherington looked equally drained, the worry of the past days etched deeply into the creases around their eyes and drawn features.

Over a modest meal, a strained silence settled amongst them. Anthony, ever the practical one, broke the silence with a question directed at Portia, his tone gentle yet filled with concern. “If I may inquire, Lady Featherington.. What is the physician’s guidance on how best to proceed with Miss Penelope’s treatment and recovery?”

Portia’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, a weary resignation in her voice. “He counsels that all we can do now is.. Wait. Wait and hope that Penelope regains consciousness, though none can say when that may be. And until then, there’s little else we can do.”

A heavy pause lingered until Prudence spoke up, her tone low but resolute. “Which is why mother and I have discussed taking Penelope to Cornwall once her injuries have healed and her body is fit for travel. To our maternal family’s country estate.”

Eloise’s eyes widened, panic flitting across her features. But Portia nodded, pressing on.

“Indeed. The physician believes the fresh country air and seclusion may aid in reviving Penelope’s strength, far from the smoke and scrutiny of the London environs.” Lady Featherington added.

As Portia spoke of her plans to take Penelope to Cornwall, Eloise's heart sank. She could not bear the thought of being separated from Penelope, of not being able to be by her side during this trying time. The idea of being so far away from her friend was almost unbearable, and she longed to protest, to beg Lady Featherington to reconsider. But she knew that Portia’s wishes were paramount and she remained silent, her distress evident in her eyes.

It was then that Anthony, ever the gracious host, made an offer that seemed almost too good to be true. He proposed that the Featheringtons stay as their guests at Aubrey Hall, where Penelope could receive the best possible care from renowned physicians.

“A sound proposition, to be sure. However, I would propose an alternative that may prove even more conducive to Miss Penelope’s recovery.” Anthony paused, clasping his hands together atop the table.

“I open Aubrey Hall to you, my ladies. Let us receive you as guests, with access to finest medical expertise money can procure. My family and I would be honored to ensure Penelope wants for nothing in her fight to wake.”

Portia's eyes widened at the extraordinarily generous offer. For a moment, her grip on her composure slipped - surely she could not refuse? But then her expression shuttered once more as the memory of her newfound knowledge about her daughter’s nom de plume weighed heavily. Slowly, she shook her head.

“You are too kind, my lord. But I fear that decision would not be.. Prudent, given the circumstances.”

Eloise looked as though she might protest, but Anthony Bridgerton raised a calming hand, respecting the dowager Baroness’ wishes despite his furrowed brow.

“Very well, I shall not insist further. However, I must implore that you keep myself and my family informed of any developments or changes in Miss Penelope’s condition. She is well-loved by us Bridgertons. And my offer remains, whenever you change your mind, Lady Featherington.”

Portia inclined her head gratefully. “Of course, you have my word, Lord Bridgerton. I would not wish to deprive Miss Bridgerton.. Or your dear mother.. Of the peace updates may bring.” Her eyes lingered on Eloise’s despondent form, understanding all too well the torment of such uncertainty regarding her daughter’s fate.

—

The solemn journey of Eloise and Anthony back to Aubrey Hall was made in heavy silence. Eloise, in particular, seemed like a fragile shell of herself, haunted by her friend’s motionless battered form. Yet, their arrival was met with a mixture of relief and anticipation from their family.

Their loving and kind mother, Violet Bridgerton was awaiting them anxiously upon their return, pulling each of her children into a tight embrace as if to reassure herself they were hale and whole. Once settled in the drawing room, Violet's concern for Penelope's condition surfaced, prompting Anthony to provide an update on the redhead’s health.

Anthony’s expression was solemn, bracing himself to impart the devastating reality. He relayed in low tones how Penelope had yet to rouse, lingering unconscious and frighteningly still while her physical wounds began their slow mend.

Eloise huddled on the settee, shoulders hunched as she stared sightlessly at the floor. When she finally spoke, her voice was scarcely above a whisper. “Mama, Lady Featherington.. She intends to depart from Cornwall soon. To give Penelope the peace and fresh air for the countryside as Pen recovers..”

Violet’s brow furrowed in surprise. “But surely here at Aubrey Hall, our own skilled physicians could provide her just as attentive care without such an imposing journey?”

Anthony shook his head gravely. “I did tender an invitation for the Featheringtons to take residence here under our hospitality, mother. However, Lady Featherington felt it prudent to decline, for reasons she did not elaborate on.”

While Violet looked somewhat taken aback by this refusal of Anthony’s generosity, understanding quickly dawned on the mother of eight. She nodded, solemn respect in her expression.

“I see. The poor, dear baroness no doubt seeks solitude to struggle through this heartache away from prying eyes. I cannot fault her desire for tranquility in such trying times.”

Eloise bit her lip hard, clearly distraught over the impending separation from Penelope compounding her already fragile state. As the younger Bridgerton children eventually scampered off to occupy themselves outdoors, Violet turned to Anthony with tender compassion.

“And Eloise? How did my poor darling girl weather the sight of Penelope’s condition?” She asks of her Viscount son.

Anthony’s steady countenance slipped somewhat as he recalled the gut-wrenching scene.

“Not well, I must confess, mother. She could hardly be pulled away from Miss Featherington’s bedside, begging her friend to wake, to give her a chance to atone for their fallen out.” He said almost quietly.

Violet’s hands flew to cover her mouth, heartbroken anguish flickering across her features. She blinked hard against the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Oh, my poor Eloise.. To endure such torment over one so dear..”

Anthony covered Violet’s trembling hands with his own, resolve hardening his jaw.

“You need not fear, mother. Though the road ahead may be arduous for the Featheringtons, I intend to spare no expense or effort in supporting them. I made a vow to help them in any way they need.” He met his mother’s eyes steadily. “This family will not allow Penelope’s life to flicker out, not without every possibility for her revival. I swear it.”

Violet reached out, cupping the Viscount’s cheek with a mournful yet proud smile. “Ever my stalwart son. Penelope could ask for no greater ally in her fight than you, my dearest Anthony.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks have easily passed for the off-season and the Bridgerton brood found themselves settling into a comfortable routine at Aubrey Hall, relishing the peaceful respite from the hustle and bustle of London society.

As Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount, sat in his study, surrounded by the familiar comfort of his ancestral home, he meticulously sifted through the stack of correspondence laid out before him. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the room, casting a warm ambiance as he delved into the letters and missives that awaited his attention.

Among the papers were invitations to various social events, requests for his presence at informal meetings and gatherings, and letters from acquaintances near and far. Each piece of correspondence held its own significance, a reflection of the myriad responsibilities that came with his position as the Viscount.

However, when he glanced upon the expected missive from Lady Portia Feathertington, it was the first he snatched from the stack eagerly. He broke the plain wax seal and ran his eyes over the elegant script. His expression soon turned to one of dejected frustration.

The letter read:

-x-

Dear Lord Bridgerton,

I find myself compelled to inform you of a change in my family’s travel plans regarding our convalescent arrangements. We shall not be making our way to Cornwall as previously intended.

I know it is your intention to have members of your staff monitor our whereabouts under the guise of providing aid. However, I beg you understand my desire to seek a more private, isolated locale for my daughter’s recovery - away from even well-meaning eyes during this most delicate time.

Please accept my apologies for any previous misleading regarding our destination. I provide this clarification not as an attempt at deception, but to establish clear boundaries of privacy that I humbly request be respected by yourself and your family.

You have my renewed vow that I shall keep my promise of apprising you and Miss Eloise of any changes or developments in my daughter’s condition, for the sake of easing your worried minds. However, for our own peace, I cannot in good conscience supply a location where your response or visit would be expected.

I thank you once again, for the generous offer you have made previously, as difficult as it was to refuse such kindness. May this letter convey my utmost gratitude for your concern and well-wishes towards my Penelope.

To share some good news, my Penelope had regained stable breathing. The physician is optimistic that soon, she will wake up from her slumber.

Truly,

Portia Featherington.

-x-

Anthony’s jaw clenched as he read over Lady Featherington’s polite yet firm words. While he understood a mother’s inclination to shelter her child, it stung to have his efforts to support them so thoroughly rebuffed.

With a weary sigh, he tossed the letter onto his desk, raking one hand through his hair as he contemplated how to break this setback to Eloise delicately. Knowing he will need his mother’s help on this, he instructed one of the footmen on the halls to call his mother to his study.

After a short while, Violet knocks softly at her son’s study and comes in when she heard a faint voice inviting her in.

“Dearest, you called for me?” Violet asks her son as she takes a seat at one of the armchairs in front of Anthony’s desk.

Anthony studied the parchment once more, lips pursued in consternation before glancing up at his mother with furrowed brows. “I find myself at an impasse, mother. While I comprehend Lady Featherington’s desire for privacy in this arduous time, how am I to convey this abrupt change of plans to Eloise?” He shook his head, his features taut with worry for his sister’s fragile emotional state.

“Whatever do you mean, Anthony?” Violet asks in confusion. Anthony then handed her Lady Featherington’s letter and was equally worried after reading all of its contents.

“You know how fervently Eloise anticipates being able to visit Miss Featherington once they are settled, however remotely. This will become another blow to her hopes.” Anthony says.

Violet considered her son’s words carefully, a crease forming between her eyes. As much as she wished to encourage transparency, her maternal instincts warned against any further disquiet for her poor Eloise. “Then.. Perhaps it is prudent to withhold this news from your sister, for the present.” She said with a measured tone.

Anthony started to protest, as he knew it will be difficult to hide a truth from their ever inquisitive sister. But Violet raised a calming hand.

“Lady Featherington has given assurances that she will continue apprising us of Penelope’s condition, has she not? For now, let us hold onto that solitary thread, rather than snipping away Eloise’s remaining hopes completely.” She met Anthony’s conflicted gaze with her own resigned one.

“I know too well the sting of having charitable gestures rebuffed, Anthony. But we cannot fault a mother’s desperation to do what she deems best for her child’s well-being.” A melancholy beat passed between them as Violet’s thoughts strayed to the social standing that had distanced the Bridgerton and Featherington matriarchs.

“If only Lady Featherington and I had cultivated the friendship owed our positions sooner. Perhaps then she might have been more inclined to accept our assistance in this crisis.” Violet Bridgerton sadly added. She could feel regret as she thinks of the lost years she and Portia could have forged friendship, just like how their daughters have done.

Anthony reached out to his mother, giving her hand a comfort squeeze. “You cannot blame yourself, mother. Lady Featherington has made her stance plainly known to me. For the sake of Eloise’s peace, I shall.. Defer sharing the details of this latest development for now.”

Though the deception weighed uneasily on his shoulders, he knew placating his sister took precedence over any bruised pride on his part. Clearing his throat, he forced a reassuring tone.

“We shall allow my dear sister that small boon of hope, at least. And pray Miss Featherington’s recovery continues to pace, no matter the distance.”

Violet mustered a wan smile, wishing fervently that the cruel hands of misfortune would soon relinquish their vice-like grip on the Featherington family.

—

As months passed, the Bridgertons received occasional updates from Lady Portia Featherington regarding Penelope's condition. These updates served as a lifeline for Eloise, who anxiously awaited news of her friend's recovery. With the start of the new London season approaching, Eloise grew eager to visit Penelope before their family's return to the bustling city.

When Eloise expressed her desire to visit Penelope, Anthony and Violet knew they had to address the reality of the situation.

“The season shall soon be upon us and yet.. We have not even glimpsed Penelope in all these months since our visit in Doncaster.” She looked between her mother and brother imploringly. The three of them were enjoying an afternoon tea while Benedict had taken the errand to chaperone their younger siblings around town. “Surely we could spare the time to travel and visit her before making our way back to London? I cannot fathom returning to that society whirl without laying eyes on my dearest friend first.”

Violet’s gaze flitted momentarily toward Anthony, a crease forming between her brows. But her son merely shook his head almost imperceptibly before turning to Eloise with forced neutrality.

“I.. fear that may not be possible, sister. You see, the Featheringtons have not taken residence in Cornwall as originally stated.”

“W-What?!” Eloise’s eyes widened in dismay and surprise. She puts down her cup of tea as she prepares herself to storm out of the room and take any carriage to ride out and look for wherever Lady Featherington had brought Penelope in.

“Their destination has remained undisclosed to me. A wish for privacy that I have been obliged to respect, however reluctantly.” Anthony added.

For a moment, Eloise looked utterly crestfallen, anger flickering in her eyes as her fists clenched at her sides. But Anthony pressed on, raising a placating hand.

“However, we have received one last correspondence from Lady Featherington conveying rather.. Opportune news.” He paused, allowing the barest hint of hope to creep into his voice. “It appears Miss Featherington has, at last, regained full consciousness and shows signs of marked improvement in her recovery.”

Eloise’s breath seemed to catch at this, anger forgotten as she absorbed the words greedily. Violet reached out, squeezing her daughter’s hand reassuringly.

“This is most welcome tidings, indeed. A fortuitous sign that soon, all shall be set to rights once more.” Violet said in a warm and affectionate voice. Even she herself had felt relieved to hear that her favorite redhead had finally escaped the deathbed.

“Yes, indeed, mother. Though Lady Featherington made it clear that their family would not be returning for the upcoming season, as they would like to prioritize Miss Penelope’s full recovery above all else.” Anthony said with a careful voice, taking a glance at his sister’s reaction.

Eloise managed a tremulous smile, fresh tears shimmering in her eyes - though whether of relief or lingering heartache, none could say.

“Then.. then I shall merely need to trust that Penelope continues defying the odds, as she always has. To gather her strength until we can finally reunite.” Eloise swallowed hard, squaring her shoulders with newfound resolve. “And I shall have ample time to prepare a proper reintroduction to the ways of society for my reclusive friend once she rejoins us in London.”

—-

The 1815 London Season had commenced in its usual whirlwind of glittering balls, salacious soirees, and endless rounds of scrutiny from the elite's prying eyes. For the Bridgerton family, however, an unshakeable melancholy seemed to permeate their typical joie de vivre.

Try as they might to don their customary air of unruffled geniality, Eloise's lingering anguish over Penelope's protracted convalescence cast a pall. The continued absence of one of their closest family friend at the season's revelries was an ever-present, somber reminder.

Of course, the rest of the ton seemed blissfully oblivious to the root of the Featheringtons' absence. Instead, the lack of sightings from the once-gilded family sparked a flurry of hushed gossip and wild speculation.

Rumor and hearsay swirled through Mayfair's drawing rooms like a noxious fog. Some claimed the Featheringtons had been ruined into obscurity. Others spun fanciful tales of scandals and transgressions forced into hiding.

It was into this crucible of sordid whisperings that the unmistakable voice of Lady Whistledown's printed musings rang out - as deliciously scathing and insightful as ever before.

While the absence of the notorious gossip writer's true identity furrowed brows amongst the keenest members of society, the sting of her words ultimately sufficed in sating the ton's thirst for salacious intrigue.

Though few were aware of the real identity protecting Lady Whistledown's legacy - none other than Eloise Bridgerton herself. Steeling her heart, she had resolved to briefly take up her friend's mantle until such a time when Penelope Featherington could safely resurface.

With painstaking attention to detail, Eloise strove to perfectly replicate every nuanced turn of phrase, blind item, and uncanny insight into society's scandalous underbelly that Penelope had so brilliantly cultivated for years on end. All to preserve her dearest friend's keenly-guarded secret identity.

And so the season crested, then dissolved into its brief hiatus - with nary a soul amongst the ton suspecting that behind Lady Whistledown's litany of barbed prose, it was a Bridgerton pulling the strings the entire time.

As the family began making preparations to depart for their annual summer holiday, Eloise felt a small swell of pride. One more test of constancy endured, one step closer to Penelope's return.

Chapter Text

The opening notes of the 1816 London social season carried a buzzing air of anticipation through the aristocratic enclaves of Mayfair and Grosvenor Square. For the Bridgerton household, however, the usual fizz of excitement was tempered by an underlying melancholy.

They had just returned from the annual rite of the Debutantes Presentation at the Queen’s Palace - a grand affair where Francesca had made her official debut onto the marriage mart. Despite Violet’s hopes, the third Bridgerton daughter had not been named the Diamond of the first water by her Majesty.

As the family filtered back into their Grosvenor Square estate, there was a palpable lassitude amongst them. All save for the eternally incorrigible Gregory and Hyacinth. While Francesca, Daphne and Violet had been thoroughly discussing the upcoming balls for the season, the two eldest brothers, Anthony and Benedict were on the Viscount’s study taking a sip of their much loved alcohol. Eloise sits comfortably in the drawing room, stuck on one of the corners as she busily writes on her small journal the noteworthy events that took place on the presentation earlier, something that she would include on the next Whistledown issue. Colin, their third brother had always been missing and away from England as he decided to prolong and extend his grand tour.

Upon learning Penelope’s condition through his mother’s correspondence, and being told by his brother Anthony the ungentlemanly behavior that he acted on at the Featherington ball, Colin could not muster up his courage to go back to London. He felt ashamed and guilty towards his dearest friend Penelope Featherington. Despite his family not blaming him outright, Colin had realized that he contributed to Penelope’s decision to leave London for Scotland. And if the youngest Featherington had not only taken the journey off on that unfortunate day, she would not be in an accident that almost cost her her life. And so, without knowing how to face his family, Lady Featherington and Penelope herself, Colin had decided to continue wandering off the world alone as he tries to find reason on how he can get everyone’s forgiveness.

Peace and quiet at the Bridgertons’ main drawing room was interrupted when the two youngest came barreling inside where the rest had settled.

“Now, now, you two. Do calm yourselves. We are meant to exemplify decorum at all times, even without guests or an audience.” Violet chides her playful duo.

The youngest Bridgerton siblings managed to still their buzzing, though their faces remained alight with thinly veiled excitement. Eloise watched them curiously over the top of her journal.

“Apologies, mother. But you simply must hear the news we’ve just discovered!” Gregory said with his eyes ever so bright.

Hyacinth, unable to contain herself, joined in the conversation enthusiastically. “The Featheringtons have returned to London! We spied their carriages arriving at their doorsteps not a quarter hour prior!”

The room fell utterly silent, all eyes swiveling toward Eloise. The journal she’s writing into slipped from her suddenly lifeless fingers as her face blanched. For months, years it seemed, she had awaited this precise moment with a swirling maelstrom of emotions. She remembered Lady Featherington’s promise on one of the missives the latter sent to Anthony. That their family, the Featheringtons will only re-enter society once Penelope had fully recovered.

“Are you certain it was them? What were they weaning? Did you see Penelope?” Eloise eagerly questioned her younger siblings about the details of their sighting.

Hyacinth and Gregory, still bubbling with enthusiasm, eagerly recounted their observations. “Yes, it was definitely them! I saw Pen wearing a lovely blue dress.” Hyacinth exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Gregory nodded in agreement. “And Lady Featherington and Pen’s sister had on striking yellow gowns. They looked like they just arrived from a grand journey!”

Violet, the ever-composed matriarch of the Bridgerton family, listened attentively to her children’s chatter. “Well, it seems the Featheringtons have returned at last.” She remarked with a warm smile. She had longed to hear good news about her favorite redhead. It has been more than a year since she last saw Penelope, and she had missed the young lady terribly.

Rising woodenly, Eloise drifted toward the windows as though in a trance. She parted the drapes just enough to gaze across the way to the Featherington’s stately abode. And there, plain as day, were the ornate family carriages bearing the proud butterfly crest, the one that symbolizes the Featherington name.

A tremulous smile bloomed over Eloise’s features even as joyful tears blurred her vision. Behind her, she could vaguely perceive the proud murmuring of her family, but her focus had narrowed solely to the euphoric realization that her longest vigil had ended at last.

Eloise, unable to contain her anticipation any longer, turned to her mother. “Mama, may I go and visit them? I need to see Pen terribly. I’ve missed her and I want to see how she’s faring after all this time.”

Violet smiled warmly at her daughter’s plea. She knew how much Eloise worried over the youngest redhead. She understood the significance of their reunion.

“Of course, my dear.” Violet replied with her gentle yet firm voice. “I would love to come with you and pay a visit to the Featheringtons soon. But for now, let us allow them some time to settle in. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the gesture of our visit when the time comes.”

Eloise nodded in agreement, her mind racing with thoughts of meeting Penelope in the flesh. After so many months apart, she could not wait to see her dear friend again, to catch up on all that had transpired during their family’s absence from London society.

And to ask for forgiveness and hopefully mend their friendship.

—

After a season-long absence from high society, the Featherington family, led by dowager Baroness Portia Featherington are finally back in London. The past year and a half had been a time of quiet reflection and healing for her family, away from the prying eyes and judgmental whispers of London society. Now, as they returned to the bustling streets of the city, Portia could not shake the feeling of unease that accompanied their re-entry into the social scene.

Despite her reluctance, Portia knew that it was only fair to allow her eldest daughter, Prudence, the opportunity to enjoy a London social season before her impending marriage to a Mister Robert Huxley. While living in the country, Prudence had finally found a match with a baron’s second son and had courted during the off-season.
And even Penelope, who had just recently recovered from her ordeal, expressed a desire to experience the excitement of society.

During their time in the outskirts of York, Portia had managed their finances with prudence and thrift, carefully allocating the monthly provisions arranged by Penelope prior. With the assistance of their solicitor, Mister John Brown, she had ensured that their funds were used wisely, investing any leftover allowances to secure their financial future.

Now aware that their income stemmed from Penelope’s earnings as Lady Whistledown, Lady Featherington felt a renewed sense of responsibility to manage their finances wisely. She was determined to make the most of their resources and ensure that Penelope’s income will not be depleted and protected.

A day after their arrival at home, the dowager Baroness comes down from the grand staircase as she instructs Mrs. Varley, who was walking two paces behind her, of necessary preparation for the balls they will be attending for the season. It was then she saw the back of their butler Briarly as the old man greets some unexpected guests.

Portia Featherington stood in the foyer of their London estate, greeted by the unexpected presence of the Bridgertons led by the Viscount himself, Anthony and his mother Violet and sister Eloise. The redhead mama could not help but feel a mixture of emotions swirling within her. Relief, apprehension, and a hint of wariness all vied for dominance as she exchanged pleasantries with Lady Violet Bridgerton and her children.

Violet’s warm smile and Eloise’s eager expression hinted at their genuine joy at seeing the Featheringtons again after such a long absence. Portia could not deny the pang of guilt that tugged at her heart as she observed their reactions, knowing that her own reservations about returning to London cast a shadow over the joyful reunion.

Eloise’s immediate inquiry about Penelope stirred a sense of unease with Portia. She hesitated, her mind racing as she sought a diplomatic way to explain the delicate situation to the eager young woman before her.

“It’s… not quite the right time for Penelope to have visitors, Miss Bridgerton.” Portia began tentatively, her voice tinged with concern. “My daughter is still recovering, and she needs her rest.”

But before she could elaborate further, however, Penelope herself descended the staircase, her presence lighting up the foyer with her radiant smile. Portia’s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and worry as she watched her daughter approach, her steps hesitant yet determined.

“Mama, my things have all been unpacked. Might I go visit a bookshop now?” Penelope gleefully descends the steps of the stairs as she calls out to her mother and expresses her desire to go out.

Violet and Eloise’s eyes widened with joy and relief as they caught sight of Penelope Featherington. Both ladies have noticed some changes in the redhead’s appearance. Penelope had lost some considerable weight, her hair had been styled no longer in curls but rather in soft waves freely flowing at her back. She looked more beautifully in her sage green day dress, no longer donning the loud color of bright yellow her family has been distinct for.

But despite the changes, Penelope still radiated with her signature charm and vitality, a sight that warmed their hearts after so long apart.

Without a second thought, Eloise rushed past Lady Featherington and enveloped Penelope in a tight hug, expressing how much she had missed her and showering her with apologies. In the midst of the emotional reunion between Penelope and Eloise, Anthony and Violet Bridgerton shared a warm smile, silently observing their kin drowning the redhead from her embrace. Yet beneath the surface, Portia’s concerns lingered. She knew that Penelope’s recovery was far from complete, and she dreaded the possibility of any setbacks that could jeopardize her daughter’s fragile health.

“P-Pardon me.. But who might you be?”

Chapter Text

“P-Pardon me.. But who might you be?”

As Penelope broke the embrace and innocently asked Eloise who she was, a heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the sound of Eloise’s racing thoughts. The foyer fell deathly silent after Penelope Featherington asked who the brunette hugging her was. Eloise recoiled, her face a mix of anguish and confusion as she backed away from her best friend.

Eloise Bridgerton felt her heart clench painfully. Penelope’s words cut deeper than any barb she had ever received. Why would the redhead ask who she was? Eloise’s mind raced. Was Penelope still furious over their last argument at the Featherington ball two seasons ago? Was she denying Eloise’s very existence out of lingering hurt and anger over the dreadful things she had hurled at her then?

Tears pricked Eloise’s eyes as guilt and regret threatened to overwhelm her. Even if Penelope had every right to be livid at her, to completely disavow and forget their lifelong friendship was unthinkable. Had Eloise’s harsh words back then truly severed that bond forever?

Meanwhile, Penelope looked at Eloise with genuine curiosity, her memory still clouded from the aftermath of her accident. She could not quite place the brunette before her, and her confusion only deepened as she saw the tears in Eloise’s eyes.

Sensing the tension in the room, Violet stepped forward, her voice gentle as she addressed Penelope. “Penelope, dear, surely you did not forget Eloise? She is your friend.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed in confusion as she looked from Eloise to Violet and back again. “Friend?” She echoed, uncertainty lacing her voice.

Feeling overwhelmed, Eloise tried to hold Penelope’s arms on both sides as her tears spilling over as she struggled to maintain her composure. “Pen, it’s me Eloise! I know I’ve wronged you, but we’ve been friends for years.” The brunette’s voice choked with emotion.

Penelope’s expression remained confused as she turned towards her own mother, a flicker of nervousness crossing the young redhead’s features. “Mama, w-who are they?”

The three Bridgertons were clouded with fear and horror as they saw the sincerity in Penelope’s query to Lady Featherington. The shock settled over them like a heavy cloud, and Anthony, Violet and Eloise can only exchange worried glances, as their hearts are heavy with concern for the redhead.

Anthony’s voice was filled with urgency as he turned to Portia, his brows furrowed and tone exercising his title as the Viscount. “Lady Featherington, what is going on here? Why does Miss Featherington not recognize us?” He asked, his tone tinged with alarm.

The dowager baroness nodded solemnly, her expression mirroring the concern etched on the faces of the Bridgertons. “Please, let us move to the drawing room.” She said rather softly, gesturing them to follow her. “I will explain everything there.”

Once inside, Portia placed herself on the settee with Penelope sitting beside her. Anthony and Violet took the armchairs facing them while Eloise made herself sit at the space left beside Penelope. After everyone was seated comfortably, a maid entered the room, bearing a tray of snacks and tea service. Portia poured tea for each of them, her movements graceful and practiced despite the nervousness painted on her features.

Once they had their refreshments, Violet gently asked Lady Featherington why Penelope could not recognize them.

Portia sighed heavily, clearly pained to recount the circumstances. “When Penelope finally awoke after the accident, her memories were.. Not intact.” She paused, carefully considering her words. Penelope remained silent at her side, as she provided explanation to their guests. “She can recall her childhood, general knowledge and so forth. But more recent events, certain personal relations - those seem to have been removed from her recollections altogether.”

Violet’s eyes widened in dawning realization. “You mean to say she does not remember us? Even her friendship with Eloise?”

Portia nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid not. It is as if my daughter’s mind has reverted to preserving only what it deems her core identity and knowledge base from her earliest years.”

An anguished look passed between the Bridgertons. For Eloise, who had so fervently looked forward to reuniting with her dearest friend, it was a gutting revelation. Tears welled in her eyes anew.

“But how is that possible?” Anthony asked, his brow furrowed. “Even from a brain trauma, to simply.. Forget those closest to you?”

“The physicians say in catastrophic cases, the mind can erect amnesiatic blocks as a self-preserving defense mechanism.” Portia explained wearily. “Ridding itself of more tenuous recent memories to safeguard the integral oldest ones.”

“They have also warned that her amnesia may be permanent - those missing years potentially lost forever unless something could jog and unlock her buried memories.” The redhead mama added.

“So you returned to London in hopes the familiarity would help spark her recollections?” Violet deduced, her voice thick with compassion.

“If I am to choose, I honestly would rather not. However, Prudence is to be married by the end of the season. She deserves to at least enjoy one season before settling down. The physicians advised that being surrounded by her old haunts and..” Portia swallowed hard. “And reuniting with those she was closest to, may yet reverse my Penelope’s terrible condition.”

“And you think it’s not?” Anthony questions the baroness with furrowed brows.

“No, I don’t think it should be, my lord. London had never been a good choice for Penelope, nor for my family. This place.. Just brings us all bad memories. I can only imagine what hardships and difficulties my Penelope had been secretly struggling before she had decided to leave for Scotland.”

There was a heavy silence as they digested Portia’s words. For the past seasons, there were only scandals and unfortunate things that befell her family. Archibald’s gambling debts, his eventual death, their cousin Marina Thompson’s scandal, Jack Featherington’s investment scam and this tragic consequence of Penelope’s accident. For Penelope to lose entire chapters of her lived experiences, her hard-won relationships - it seemed a cruelly ironic fate. The Bridgertons could not really find a reason to refute the Featherington matriarch’s words.

Finally, Violet found her voice. “You must tell us everything, Portia. Perhaps together we can piece together a way to help Penelope regain what she has lost.”

Anthony Bridgerton, ever the responsible Viscount, cleared his throat, supplementing his mother’s proposition. “You have our full support, Lady Featherington. Whatever Penelope requires from our family to heal, you need only ask.” He looked at Eloise pointedly.

Eloise met her brother’s gaze, her eyes blazing with rekindled determination despite the tears spilling down her cheeks. She would stop at nothing to reclaim the friend she had lost.

—

Penelope Featherington sat pensively as her mother Portia explained about their longtime neighbors, the Bridgertons, living just across the street. “You were especially close with the second daughter, Eloise.” The dowager baroness said carefully. “The two of you were dearest friends since childhood.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed slightly as she processed this new information about her past. “I.. don’t remember her. Or any of them, really.” The redhead said with a hint of sadness in her eyes. Her kind heart feels a pang of guilt as the image of a crying Eloise from earlier, enters her mind. As much as Penelope tries to think of Eloise's name or any of the Bridgertons', nothing comes up on her.

Lady Featherington reached out and patted her hand consolingly. “That’s quite alright, dear. We’ll proceed slowly so as not to overwhelm you. For now, Lady Violet and Lord Bridgerton have kindly offered to chaperone you on an outing. Didn’t you want to go to the bookshop today?”
The Bridgertons nodded in agreement, and Penelope was reintroduced to the Viscount and his mother. Violet smiled warmly. “It’s wonderful to see you up and about, Penelope.”

Anthony cleared his throat. “Shall we be off then? I’ve instructed the footmen to have the carriage brought around.”

As they exited the Featherington estate, Anthony drew Portia aside. “You have my word, Lady Featherington. We shall ensure Penelope’s comfort and shield her from any.. Undue attentions in the town.” He said delicately.

Portia nodded gratefully. “I cannot thank you enough for indulging us, my lord. Penelope is just reacquainting herself with the familiar. She is an intelligent lady. I know soon, she’ll come around.”

“Of course.” Anthony assured her. “In fact, I would be happy to chaperone her and Eloise on future outings as well, to help rekindle their prior closeness at a cautious pace.”

“You are too kind, Lord Bridgerton. I wouldn’t like to impose that much.”

“There is nothing to worry about, my lady. Miss Penelope is family to us. We’ll help her reintegrate to society, but I’ll be sure to take it slow. We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

With that, the group prepared to head out to the bookshop, eager to spend some time together and create new memories that Penelope would hopefully cherish for years to come.

—

As Anthony extended his hand to assist Penelope into the carriage, he couldn't help but notice the slight hesitation in her movement. He could not blame her since for now, his family were just merely strangers to Penelope’s memory. Yet, as their eyes met, he offered her a warm, reassuring smile, hoping to ease any discomfort she might be feeling.

Penelope's smile in return was like a ray of sunshine, and in that moment, Anthony could not help but be struck by her beauty. Once settled inside the carriage, he took his seat beside his mother, his eyes occasionally flickering towards Penelope as she sat across from him.

“What is wrong with me?” As the carriage rumbled along the streets of London, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton thinks to himself as he could not help stealing glances at Penelope Featherington whenever he thought she would not notice. He could not shake the feeling of awe that washed over him every time he looked at her. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow with an ethereal light, and the vibrant hue of her hair caught the sunlight streaming through the carriage window, making it look like a halo of fiery red. There was a delicate grace to her features, a softness that drew him, and he found himself mesmerized by the way her eyes sparkled with hidden depths of emotion. A contrasting sight compared to when he last saw her in Doncaster, when she was just laying still on a bed, almost lifeless.

Inwardly, Anthony marveled at the realization of just how beautiful Penelope Featherington truly was. He had known her for years, of course as his sister’s dearest friend, but it was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He could not help but wonder how he had never noticed before, how he had never taken the time to appreciate the quiet elegance and charm that seemed to radiate from her every movement.

Lost in thoughts, Anthony barely registered the conversation between Eloise and Penelope as they discussed their shared love of literature. He was too preoccupied with his own musings, too captivated by the sight of Penelope sitting across from him, to pay much attention to anything else.

It was only when the carriage came to a halt outside the bookshop that Anthony was jolted out of his reverie. He blinked, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it, and then turned to Penelope with a faint smile.

“Well, here we are.” He said, offering her his hand once more to help her out of the carriage. “Shall we?”

Penelope’s features brightened up when her eyes explored the almost familiar surroundings of the town’s shopping district.

“I-It’s beautiful.. I didn’t think there would be so many people.” Penelope murmured as she looked around the buildings and establishments around the street.

“Does this place strike a memory for you, dear?” Violet asks the youngest Featherington as she gently places a hand on the young lady’s shoulders.

“I-I’m not sure, my lady. It feels familiar, but I.. I can’t remember myself being here..” There was sadness in Penelope's voice as she answered the dowager Viscountess.

“Oh believe me, Pen. We have been here a thousand times before!” Eloise excitedly says as she hooks her arm on one of Penelope’s.

“I-I see.. Well, I trust it when you say it smiling like that.” Penelope warmly smiles at the brunette as she could see how excited Eloise is. Penelope was the one who wanted to visit the bookshop, but the giddy looks on Eloise Bridgerton makes it seem that the latter is the one most happiest with their outing.

Truly, Eloise’s demeanor has greatly improved from earlier as she is now full of smiles and has been engaging her friend for small talks despite the awkward situation between them.

For Eloise, regaining Penelope’s precious friendship is the top priority but it’s a fragile process requiring the utmost care and sensitivity. On one hand, she feels guilty withholding the full truth about the massive rift that tore them apart surrounding Penelope’s identity as Lady Whistledown being exposed. Carrying that weight in silence weighs heavily.

However, Eloise astutely recognizes that revealing those painful details too soon could completely overwhelm and re-traumatize Penelope in her still psychologically delicate state of regaining her bearings. Despite her own desire to unburden herself of guilt, Eloise will not risk endangering Penelope’s healing progress so soon.

One of her fears is that if Penelope were to learn how profoundly she lashed out at her and is the one to break off their friendship, it could undo any progress they’ve made in reconnecting so far. Lady Portia Featherington would surely prohibit any further contact between them to protect her daughter’s wellbeing once the dowager baroness finds out what really happened between her and Penelope on the night of the Featherington ball.

It is an unacceptable risk Eloise is unwilling to take. As much as the truth gnaws at her, she had quickly made the choice to prioritize rebuilding Penelope’s trust, positivity and their happy associations first. Once her friend is on more stable footing, she will then begin carefully broaching the traumatic events that fractured their bond.

Chapter Text

As the sun began its slow descent beyond the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the London skyline, the anticipation for the evening's festivities grew palpable. For tonight marked the highly anticipated event of the season - the esteemed Lady Danbury's annual ball.

Lady Danbury's annual ball presents both an opportunity and a challenge for the recently returned Featherington family. As the opening event of the season, it sets the precedent and tone for all the prestigious social gatherings to come.

Lady Portia fretted as she oversaw her daughters' preparations for the evening. Prudence was positively glowing with excitement at the prospect of her official reentry into society before her impending nuptials. But it was Penelope that Portia couldn't help but worry over.

"Must I attend, mama?" Penelope asked, unable to mask her apprehension. "Surely after… Everything.. With my condition, a small private gathering might be wiser?" Though she wanted to be in the city and see London for herself, Penelope Featherington still has doubts if she can carry on with grace as she faces the intimidating eyes of the ton. She feels nervous and worried, for what if another person comes to her just like Eloise. Someone who she is supposed to be familiar with, but could not recognize? What if someone belittles her and her family for her lack of recollection and memories?

Portia's heart ached at her youngest's words. Part of her desperately wished to shelter Penelope, to keep her protected from the cruel scrutiny of the ton. But she knew all too well that avoiding Lady Danbury's ball entirely would only fan the flames of vicious gossip about their family.

"I'm afraid we have little choice, my dear." Portia sighed heavily. "To spurn the invitation would be a grave insult. One we can ill afford after..."

She didn't need to finish. They both knew the rumors that still swirled around their family. Back in the country, Lady Featherington had gently and carefully explained to her youngest daughter their standing in London society; how her father, Baron Archibald Featherington left them penniless, how their cousin Jack Featherington had scammed half of London’s elite, and some of the rumors and gossips that involve their family. The redhead mama had become transparent on these things with Penelope, to ensure her daughter would not be left confused if they were to cross the judgmental eyes and remarks of the ton once they’re back in society.

Portia steeled herself, forcing a reassuring smile. "Think of it as a singular night out amongst a few familiar faces. The Bridgertons assured their full support, did they not? We shall make an appearance, but feel free to retire early if you become too fatigued."

Penelope mustered a grateful look, but Portia could see the trepidation lingering behind her eyes. Her heart constricted. As much as she wished to keep Penelope utterly sheltered, she knew that could not be a permanent solution. The rot of shame must be lanced.
So with twinges of protective dread, Lady Portia Featherington would march her daughters into the lion's den of Lady Danbury's ball. It was a daunting first foray, but one she prayed might be the first step towards Penelope's reintegration after her harrowing hardships. A chance to rise, however tentatively, from the ashes of their family's beleaguered reputation.

—

The opulent doors of Lady Danbury’s esteemed residence swung open, welcoming guests into a world of grandeur and sophistication. The ballroom, adorned with glittering chandeliers and cascading draperies of silk and satin, exude an air of regal elegance that was synonymous with the hostess herself.

As carriages lined the cobblestone streets outside, guests began to arrive in a flurry of excitement and anticipation. Ladies adorned in the finest silks and jewels swept gracefully across the marble floors, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of music that filled the air.

Lady Portia Featherington, accompanied by her daughters Prudence and Penelope, stepped out of their carriage, their presence commanding attention as they made their entrance into the ballroom. The dowager baroness’ heart fluttered with a mixture of nerves and apprehension, knowing that their return to society would undoubtedly invite scrutiny and judgment.

Despite her reservations, Portia could not deny the allure of Lady Danbury’s ball - the first of the season and a beacon of social prestige. She had spared no expense in preparing her daughters for the occasion, ensuring that they were dressed in the height of fashion and adorned with the most exquisite jewels. Prudence, now engaged to Mister Robert Huxley, had finally graduated from the bright yellow color as her mother allowed her to wear a more muted one, albeit still adorned with floral patterns. Penelope, on the other hand, is donned with an emerald green evening gown that has a sheer black lace linings on the bodice, accentuated with a pair of black sheer gloves and a chain of silver diamond necklace.

As the trio made their way through the throng of guests, Portia could not help but feel a sense of trepidation at the prospect of facing the scrutinizing gaze of society once more. But she also knew that their absence would only serve to fuel the whispers and rumors that had plagued them in the past year.

With a forced smile and a determined stride, Portia lead her daughters into the heart of the ballroom, where eyes and whispers directed towards them. This occurrence was expected, she knew that no matter how they try to lay low, they will still get the ton’s attention for certain. For the Featherington family had removed themselves from the social scene last season, and tonight will be their comeback after the unfortunate incident concerning her youngest daughter.

It was then that the redhead ladies were approached by the ever commanding presence of their host, Lady Agatha Danbury. The famed lioness approached the three Featheringtons with a gracious smile as she nods her head for a greeting. “Lady Featherington, how delightful to see you and your lovely daughters once more.” She exclaimed warmly. “And Miss Penelope, my dear, it gladdens my heart to see you in such fine spirits after your recent ordeal.”

Penelope returned Lady Danbury’s greeting with a polite nod and a courteous smile, her demeanor gracious and composed. Though she may not have a personal recollection of the esteemed matron, Penelope had been well-instructed by her mother to show respect and deference to all notable figures in London society.

“It is a pleasure to be here, Lady Danbury.” Penelope replied with practiced ease. “Thank you for your kind words. I am indeed grateful to be here and to have the opportunity to enjoy the festivities of the season once more.”

Lady Danbury nodded approvingly, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of fondness and grace. “Well, my dear, I must say, you are a picture of resilience and grace.” She remarked. “I have no doubt that tonight’s ball will be all the more splendid now with your presence among us.” She winks at the youngest redhead as a mischievous smile forms on Agatha’s lips.

With a final exchange of pleasantries, Lady Danbury ushered the Featheringtons further into the ballroom where a familiar voice called out to them.

“Pen!” Eloise Bridgerton called out warmly, drawing the Featheringtons’ attention. The brunette was swiftly followed by her own family, the rest of the Bridgertons approaching with welcoming smiles and nods of greeting.

“It’s wonderful to see you here!” Eloise continued, fighting back the slight pang at Penelope’s bemused expression. Of course she would not recall most of them just yet.

Ever the gracious matriarch, Violet broke from her son, Anthony’s escort, as she stepped forward and gently took Penelope’s hands after giving her greetings to the other two Featheringtons. Beside them walked Benedict and Francesca, her other two children whose faces alight with joy at the sight of Penelope’s return.

With gentle warmth, Violet introduced Benedict and Francesca to the young redhead, mindful of the young lady’s recent struggles with memory loss. The two greeted Penelope with genuine warmth and affection, expressing their delight at seeing her once more.

“I’m sure you remember Anthony from yesterday, my eldest.” Violet said, gesturing to the Viscount who bowed respectfully. “But allow me to reintroduce my other children - Benedict and Francesca. Frannie just debuted this season.”

Benedict offered a roguish grin as Francesca beamed. “We’re simply delighted you have rejoined us Pen. Hyacinth and Gregory will be envious we’ve gotten to see you first!”

A hesitant smile played across Penelope’s lips at their warm reception, though her cerulean eyes still shone with a touch of wariness at being surrounded by relative strangers claiming familiarity.

Picking up on her discomfort, the Viscount, Anthony Bridgerton smoothly interjected. “How are you enjoying the evening so far, Miss Featherington?” He asked solicitously. “I don’t imagine re-acclimating to these affairs has been the simplest task.”

Penelope’s cheeks colored slightly as she gave a small shake of her head. “I confess, it is rather… Overwhelming still, my lord. To be reintroduced to many individuals I ought to know quite well.”

A knowing look passed between the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons, empathy for her plight evident. Before Eloise could try reassuring her friend, however, Anthony made a spontaneous overture.

“Then perhaps a turn about the dance floor might put you more at ease?” He suggested smoothly, offering his arm. “Just follow my lead.”

Eloise’s eyes widened in dismay at being preempted from Penelope’s side so quickly. But the radiant, if shyly grateful look on her friend’s face took precedence as Penelope accepted Anthony’s courteous invitation.

As the Viscount led Penelope Featherington towards the dancing couples, Eloise could only watch and wait, letting out a small sigh. Slowly but surely, it seemed her beloved Pen was rejoining their world, one tentative step at a time.

Chapter Text

The dance floor was alive with swirling colors and melodious strains as Penelope allowed Anthony to guide her through the familiar steps. Though still tinged with lingering apprehension, she could not help but feel a small bloom of ease in the Viscount’s reassuring presence.

From across the ballroom, two sets of maternal eyes watched the pair’s every movement with a mixture of delight and careful consideration. Portia turned to her long-acquainted neighbor.

“Lady Bridgerton, are you quite certain it’s wise to have the Viscount extend such.. Attentions toward Penelope this evening?” Her brow creased with faint worry. “He so rarely indulges in dance partners for the past seasons, is he not?”

Violet Bridgerton arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “And what would be amiss about my son keeping your daughter pleasant company? Surely you do not still harbor reservations about Penelope rejoining society?”

A fleeting look of discomfort passed over Portia’s features before her expression smoothed out once more. “It’s not that. Only.. the Viscount openly favoring a young lady in particular could give rise to certain.. Assumptions. Unsubstantiated rumors that might harm his reputation.”

Violet blinked, momentarily taken aback as the subtle implications sank in. Over the years, she had known Lady Featherington as an ambitious mama, ever seeking advantageous matches for her daughters. For her to counsel caution now regarding potential gossip about her son Anthony was… unexpected, to say the least.

“Oh, dear.” Violet said carefully. “You need not protect Anthony from idle speculation. His standing in the ton is quite secure. And if some fleeting disreputable whispers did arise?” She gave a small shrug of nonchalance. “I can think of far worse fates than having him seen attentive toward your daughter.”

Portia seemed to shrink slightly at the pointed words. “I only meant.. Penelope has endured enough already without mindless conjecture complicating matters further. Not all scrutiny is so easily waved away.” Her voice took on a raw, protective edge.

Realization dawned in Violet’s warm gaze. Gone was the lady seeking lofty advantageous pairings - this was a mother desperately shielding her fragile daughter from any potential harm. She reached out and patted Portia’s hand consolingly.

“Then your concerns are entirely unnecessary, Portia. If any should dare level improper insinuations, they shall have myself and my family to answer to.” Violet’s tone left no room for argument. “Anthony keeping Penelope’s spirits aloft this evening can only be for the best.”

Lady Featherington searched Violet’s sincere features for a moment before giving a tremulous smile and the barest nod of assent. For tonight at least, she could allow herself to relax under the Bridgertons’ protection for her daughter.

As the two mothers watched their children glide across the floor together, their alliance of solidarity reaffirmed, perhaps a sliver of light had emerged from the shroud of turmoil still lingering over the Featherington name.

—-

As Anthony Bridgerton guided Penelope Featherington through the graceful figures of the dance, he found himself utterly transfixed by her eyes - a vivid cerulean that seemed to shimmer and transform with every nuanced emotion flickering across her delicately featured face. Though they had surely turned about the ballroom together in years past, something entirely newfound graced her movements now.

Her footwork flowed with a lithe, featherlight elegance that required only the most subtle of leads from him. It was as if they moved as one seamless entity, Penelope effortlessly matching his every step and gesture. Anthony marveled inwardly at this revelation of innate poise from the woman who had always faded into the wallflower background before.

“You’ve become quite the accomplished dancer, Miss Featherington.” He said warmly as they glided across the floor. “I don’t recall you possessing such delicate prowess in years past.”

A becoming blush tinted Penelope’s cheeks at the sincere compliment. “You are most kind, my lord. Though I cannot take credit - the country environs afforded ample time to practice footwork, if little opportunity for actual dancing.”

“Ah yes, your family’s rural sojourn.” Anthony replied, arching an inquisitive brow. “You found the rustic pace and solitude to your liking then? A welcome respite from the oppressive whirl of the ton, I imagine.”

A slight crease furrowed Penelope’s brow, as if those memories shimmered at the edges of her consciousness without fully taking form. “It was.. Peaceful, I suppose. The quiet suited my temperament well enough at the time.”

There it was again, that subtle undercurrent of wistful melancholy whenever her recent history was broached. As if massive pieces of the narrative lay obscured behind an impenetrable veil that she strained, but could not quite lift.

Anthony felt an uncharacteristic pang of protectiveness towards this remarkable young woman who remained an enigma in so many ways, even to herself it seemed. He gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze as they turned across the floor.

“But how does it feel to be back here in London? It must be quite the adjustment after so long away.”

Penelope Featherington seemed to ponder her response with great care, precisely choosing her words. “It is… an adjustment to be certain.” She said at last. “As if I am meant to slip back into the skin of a former self, despite my mind’s hazy recollections of who that self truly was.”

Her eloquence and earnest candor in addressing such a personal, fraught struggle caught Anthony by surprise. He realized most of his previous shallow assumptions about this young miss had been misguided at best, if not willfully blind. She did not simply fade meekly into the background - she shone, however circumspectly.

“Well, I for one am most glad to have the privilege of making your reacquaintance, Miss Featherington.” The Viscount replied with uncharacteristic warmth.

The redhead’s eyes widened ever so slightly at the sincerity in his words before crinkling at the corners, her full lips curving into a radiant smile that rendered her quite becomingly. Anthony felt himself smiling back as he gazed at Penelope’s graceful features. Their closeness as they danced made him notice how pretty she truly was. The freckles that lightly peppers her cheeks, the pink tint that brushes off on her plump lips, and the long lashes that highlight her perfect blue eyes. Anthony could not help but think how this little girl he had known as his sister’s childhood friend had become a gorgeous and beautiful woman she is right now.

“You are too kind, my lord.”

“Anthony.”

“I-I beg your pardon?” Penelope’s eyes showed confusion as the Viscount uttered his Christian name.

“You must call me, Anthony. You have been an honorary member of our family for so long, I believe there shall be no need for such formalities.” Anthony smiles at the redhead charmingly.

“T-Then, please call me Penelope. Or Pen.. as what Miss Eloise has been calling me.” Penelope shyly responds. Throughout her renewed memory, her mother and her sister had only been calling her as Penelope. So for her to be called by a nickname is rather new for her.

“Alright Penelope.” Anthony could not help but be more amused with Penelope. Throughout their exchange of words, the young redhead answered his questions with such grace and sincerity, making their conversation flow effortlessly.

It was only then that Anthony realized the music had ceased, the dance having drawn to a close without his notice. Penelope looked about with a touch of confusion coloring her porcelain features.

"Perhaps you could escort me back to our mothers, my lo– Anthony?" she asked politely.

Anthony felt a pang of regret at the realization that their dance had come to an end so soon. “Of course, Penelope.” He replied with a smile, offering her his arm. “But before we do, I’d like to ask. Is there anything you’d like to do now that you’re back here in London? Any activities you’ve been longing to try, or places to visit?”

Penelope paused for a moment, her brow furrowing in thought. “Well.” She began slowly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to try horseback riding. But unfortunately, there was no one to accompany me back in the country. Mama doesn't know how to ride.. And Prudence was busy courting Mister Huxley..”

A smile spread across Anthony’s face as he listened to her answer. “Horseback riding, you say? Well, I happen to know a thing or two about that. Perhaps I could arrange for us to go riding together sometime?”

Penelope’s eyes lit up with excitement, and Anthony could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction at having made her happy.

“I.. Yes, I rather think I would enjoy that, Anthony. Thank you..”

As they made their way across the ballroom to find their mothers, he could not shake the feeling that he had just found another reason to spend more time with the delightful redhead.

—-

As the opulent Danbury ballroom shimmered and flowed with the glittering movements of the ton like a kaleidoscope of colors and melodies, Queen Charlotte, from the raised balcony overlooking it all, observed the proceedings with a discerning yet entertained eye, accompanied as always by her trusted confidant and the hostess for the night, Lady Agatha Danbury.

“There seems no shortage of delightful revelries to be had this evening.” The Queen remarked idly as the dancing pairs twirled and changed partners in their intricate figuring.

Her astute gaze was suddenly drawn towards the very center of the floor, where one couple in particular seemed to command the space with an effortless, magnetic grace. The striking gentleman was known to her, of course - Viscount Anthony Bridgerton resplendent in his evening attire. But his dance partner..

“Agatha, who is that young woman accompanying Lord Bridgerton?” Charlotte asked with a cant of her head. “The one in the emerald green gown - she fairly glows, does she not?”

A sly smile played across the elder lady’s lips. “Why, that is Miss Penelope Featherington, your Majesty. I had wondered when she might catch your eye.”

Queen Charlotte’s brow arched delicately in surprise. “A Featherington, you say? I don’t recall taking much notice of her before.”

“Nor would you have cause to previously, your Majesty.” Agatha allowed. “The poor child suffered through a terrible accident and ordeal towards the end of the 1814 season. Her entire family felt compelled to depart from London soon after, allowing her time to fully recover in the country last year.”

Nodding in understanding, Charlotte’s sharp gaze refocused intently upon the redheaded young woman seemingly captivating the viscount’s attention so thoroughly. There was an ethereal, delicate quality about her - like an emerald catching the light at every precise facet and angle.

A small, secretive smile curved Charlotte’s lips as a notion took hold.

“Tell me, my friend.” She said decisively. “How would you assess this Miss Featherington’s poise, conversation and standing amongst her peers? For I do believe I may have identified this season’s lady to honor as my Emerald.”

Lady Danbury blinked, taken aback by the impromptu decree - the Queen typically anointed a Diamond as her Incomparable each year, in response to the infamous gossip writer Lady Whistledown’s challenges. Agatha’s gaze grew assessing as she considered Penelope Featherington anew.

“An.. intriguing selection, your Majesty.” The famed lioness replied carefully. “Though from what I can discern, the young lady comports herself with abundant grace and propriety. She is undoubtedly one of the few intelligent ladies from her generation, I must say. As for standing…”

Charlotte waved a nonchalant hand. “Yes, yes, we may attend to the finer societal details later. For now, it shall simply please me to uplift one whose light shines so unassumingly as that Emerald gem.”

Recognizing the whimsy that had taken her Majesty, Lady Danbury could only acquiesce with an indulgent smile. “As you say, my Queen. An Emerald it shall be..”

Nevertheless, Agatha was overly satisfied that the Queen had taken notice of Penelope Featherington. For the senior matron knew how good of a lady for the society’s standard the young redhead is. If only the ton were not half-wit, they would be able to recognize how outstanding Penelope Featherington is.

Chapter Text

A hush fell over the glittering ballroom as Queen Charlotte stood imperiously from her balcony vantage point, regal presence commanding all eyes upon her. Lady Agatha Danbury and the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting trailed in her wake as she regally descended the steps toward the dance floor.

As the music came to a close, the Queen’s ever efficient aide, Brimsley, swiftly drew attention by sharply tapping a spoon against a wine glass, the ringing tinkle cutting through the low murmurs. Hundreds of heads swiveled towards the dais where the Queen stood, a proud, mischievous smile playing across her lips.

Seeing the attention are now all hers, Queen Charlotte began her elaborate speech, her words weaving a spell over the assembled guests. She announced that, unlike previous seasons, there would be no Diamond for this year. Instead, she declared that there would be an Emerald, a jewel she personally favored.

“My lords, ladies, and honored guests.” Charlotte’s voice rang out clarion-clear. “It is our greatest pleasure to formally open this new season. However..” Here she paused, arching one shaped brow theatrically. “We have deemed this year shall forge a new tradition.”

Intrigued whispers rippled through the assembly at her Majesty’s cryptic preamble. The Queen’s nod was almost imperceptible, but Brimsley caught it, rapping his spoon once more for silence to fall.

“There shall be no Diamond named as the Incomparable this year.” Charlotte pronounced decisively. “For my particular favor now lies with a rarer, more multifaceted gemstone.” Her gaze swept overtly towards a certain corner of the room. “The Emerald is my professed jewel. And in Miss Penelope Featherington, I hereby acknowledge this season’s Emerald!”

Gasps - some scandalized, others simply stunned - echoed through the ballroom at the unexpected proclamation. All eyes turned towards the crimson-haired young woman at whom the Queen’s finger unerringly pointed.

The Bridgertons beamed with unrestrained delight at this enormous honor bestowed upon their beloved Penelope. Violet’s expression was one of pride bordering on tears of joy.

Lady Portia Featherington, however, paled in horror at having the royal spotlight so abruptly thrust upon her youngest daughter. Fear gripped her - what if this elevated exposure triggered her Majesty’s discovery of Penelope’s Lady Whistledown secret? She shot a panicked glance towards her youngest.

Penelope Featherington, for her part, seemed frozen in shock, unable to fully process the Queen’s decree. All eyes turned expectantly towards her, the crowd parting to allow a clear path to approach the Queen.

Yet Penelope found herself unable to move a muscle, paralyzed by the weight of the Queen’s imperious, if amused, gaze. It was only upon meeting Lady Danbury’s warm encouraging smile and subtle nod that the redhead managed to take a single tremulous step forward.

The ballroom seemed to hold its collective breath as Penelope Featherington approached Queen Charlotte with all the grace and poise befitting a lady of the ton. She sank into an elegant curtsy, back arched, chin dipped respectfully - the very picture of decorum. A hint of a pleased smile played across the Queen’s lips.

“Your Majesty.” Penelope said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest.

Queen Charlotte regarded the redhead with a keen eye, noting the elegance of her posture and the intelligence shining in her eyes. “Miss Featherington, it is a pleasure to have you here tonight.” The Queen said warmly.

“The pleasure is mine, your Majesty.” Penelope replied, her voice soft but filled with sincerity. “Thank you for bestowing this honor upon me.”

The Queen smiled, pleased by Penelope’s gracious response. “Well now, Miss Featherington.” Charlotte began, her piercing gaze studying the young redhead intently. “Lady Danbury has professed your many admirable qualities which inspired our decision. Let us determine if her praises ring equally true to our own discerning eye.”

Penelope felt her heartbeat quicken slightly under the Queen’s frank scrutiny, but she refused to let her nerves manifest. Drawing a fortifying breath, she met Charlotte’s stare evenly. “I shall endeavor not to disappoint, your Majesty.”

A flicker of intrigue passed the Queen’s expression at Penelope’s composed confidence. With a regal tilt of her head, she posed her first query. “Tell me. Miss Featherington, what divergent perspectives have your recent travails at the country granted you?”

For a beat, Penelope seemed to weigh her response carefully before replying.”If I may be so bold, your Majesty, I’ve come to appreciate how easy it is for one’s viewpoint to become.. Insular when surrounded solely by the influences of high society.” Penelope swallows as she tries to think back what she had just said. She could not think of where she had gotten those words as she still has no recollection of her life in London, or her experience being part of the society.

Her words carried neither judgment nor apology, stated with an honesty that bordered on philosophical musing. Charlotte’s interest was clearly piqued as she considered the unexpected depths of Penelope’s answer.

Charlotte leaned in more slightly, her expression curious. “I see. And what do you hope to achieve this season?”

Penelope paused for a moment before answering with a warm but poised smile. “Your Majesty, my main goal is to immerse myself in the beauty of London society once again, as I have missed the season last.” She began. “I hope to form meaningful connections, to learn and grow, and perhaps even find a sense of purpose.” The redhead’s response was one that came from her heart, considering her partial memory loss.

The Queen nodded approvingly. “A commendable goal indeed.” She remarked. “I have no doubt that you will achieve great things, Miss Featherington.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Penelope said, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “Your words mean a great deal to me.”

As the two continued their intellectual parley, the other attendees looked on in rapt admiration tinged with no small amount of shock. To hear the words tumbling eloquently from the lips of the woman once known as the shyest wallflower was revelatory.

“Can you believe we’ve overlooked such a resplendent jewel in our midst?” Lady Trowbridge incredulously murmured to her companion.

Benedict Bridgerton, meanwhile found himself fighting an amused grin as he noted the unmistakable interest and appreciation blooming across the faces of several eligible gentlemen - Lord Fife and his ilk among them. Leaning towards Anthony conspiratorially, he murmured. “Well, well, it seems our dear Miss Featherington has caught the Queen’s eye. As well as the known rakes of the ton.” Benedict commented, his tone lighthearted.

The Viscount’s jaw tensed infinitesimally at his brother’s teasing observation. Scanning the crowd more critically, he too caught the weighted stares aimed in Penelope’s direction from Fife and his cronies. A muscle ticked in his cheek, a protective instinct flaring as his regard settled contemplatively back upon the radiant center of attention.

Anthony knew all too well the enormity of being elevated to the status of a coveted jewel, having witnessed Daphne’s season up close. For Penelope, newly returned from such a prolonged absence and still so vulnerably adrift, the pressures would be tenfold. And the predators undoubtedly circling..

His wrist clenched fractionally on his side as Anthony vowed to himself to shield Penelope from any unscrupulous avenues this night. Whatever banterous notions Benedict entertained, their family friend’s security and wellbeing would be Anthony Bridgerton’s solitary priority from this point forward.

—

As the buzz of excitement filled the air following Queen Charlotte’s departure, Penelope found herself surrounded by a throng of guests eager to catch a glimpse of the newly dubbed Emerald of the season. Her mother, Lady Portia Featherington, stood by her side, her nerves palpable as she navigated the crowd with a forced smile.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, ever vigilant, noticed Penelope’s discomfort amidst the press of people. He had seen Lord Fife approaching, his intentions clear, and knew he had to intervene. With determined strides, he made his way through the crowd, his gaze fixed on Penelope.

Just as Fife was about to address the Featheringtons, Anthony reached Penelope’s side, his presence a welcome interruption. With a charming smile, he extended his hand to Penelope, his eyes locking with hers.

“Miss Featherington, may I have the pleasure for another dance?” Anthony asked, his tone polite but firm.

Fife’s expression darkened, a hint of irritation flashing across his features. “Surely, Lord Bridgerton, you’ve already had your turn with the lady.” He remarked, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Anthony maintained his composure, unfazed by Fife’s thinly veiled hostility. “Indeed, Lord Fife.” He replied smoothly. “But I see no harm in indulging in another dance, especially with such esteemed company.”

Portia, sensing Anthony’s intentions of shielding her daughter from unwanted gentlemen, gave a subtle nod of approval, silently urging Penelope to accept the Viscount’s offer. The redhead mama remembered reading on the Whistledown issue how the third Bridgerton boy had made fun of her daughter in front of Fife and his cronies. It would be improper for Penelope to decline an invitation for a dance, however, if there are multiple invitations at the same time, the youngest Featherington would have the say on whose hand she would so prefer. Thank the gods for Anthony.

Penelope, caught in the midst of the exchange, felt a wave of relief wash over her as she sensed her mother’s signal. She welcomed Anthony’s offer, grateful for the chance to escape the suffocating crowd with a familiar face in the form of the Viscount.

With a gracious smile, she placed her hand in Anthony’s, her eyes expressing her gratitude. “I would be delighted, Lord Bridgerton.” She replied with her voice soft and sincere.

As Anthony led Penelope onto the dance floor, Fife and the other gentlemen could only watch in begrudging acceptance. The Bridgerton had won this round, securing a moment of respite for the overwhelmed Emerald of the season.

From her vantage point on the outskirts of the ballroom, Eloise Bridgerton observed the scene unfolding before her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Her gaze fixated on her friend, Penelope Featherington, as she danced gracefully with her brother Anthony for the second time that evening.

Beside her, Benedict Bridgerton noticed Eloise’s focused attention and followed her gaze to the dance floor, where Penelope and Anthony moved in perfect harmony.

“What’s got you so bothered, El?” Benedict inquired, his brow furrowing slightly as he observed his sister’s expression.

Eloise sighed, torn between her loyalty to her friend and her growing uneasy at Anthony’s actions. “Why is Anthony dancing with Penelope again?” She asked, her tone tinged with frustration.

Benedict considered his sister’s question for a moment before offering a plausible explanation. “Perhaps he’s trying to help Penelope feel more at ease.” He suggested. “Given the attention she’s receiving tonight, it’s understandable that she might be overwhelmed.”

Eloise nodded, acknowledging the validity of her second brother’s assessment. However, her mind was already racing with thoughts of the implications of Penelope’s newfound prominence in society.

As she watched the pair twirl across the dance floor, Eloise couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance towards her brother. While she understood his intentions, she could not shake the feeling that Anthony’s actions would only serve to draw more attention to Penelope.

Internally, Eloise cursed her brother’s obliviousness to the consequences of his actions. She knew that acting as a temporary writer behind Lady Whistledown’s scandalous gossip sheets, she would be obligated to include the events of the evening for the next publication.

With a resigned sigh, Eloise began mentally composing her next entry, Penelope’s announcement as the Emerald of the season would undoubtedly be a major scoop, but she could not ignore the role her own family played in the unfolding drama.

Despite her reluctance to involve her friend and her brother in the gossip, Eloise Bridgerton knew that in order to maintain Lady Whistledown’s anonymity, she would have to report on the spectacle for all of London to read. Just as Penelope had protected her from the Queen’s scrutiny, Eloise would be required to do her part to safeguard her friend’s reputation, even if it meant writing about her own family.

Chapter Text

My Dearest Gentle Readers,

As the season unfolds, the halls of London's high society reverberate with whispers and speculation, like the soft rustle of silk against the skin. The Danbury ball, a much-anticipated event on the social calendar, proved to be no exception.

Rumors swirled like autumn leaves in the wind, casting shadows on the glittering facade of the ton. Yet amidst the intrigue and scandal, one name shone brighter than the rest: Featherington. Yes, dear readers, the Featheringtons have returned to London, and with them, they bring a flurry of excitement and anticipation.

But it was not just the return of the Featheringtons that set tongues wagging at the Danbury ball. No, it was Queen Charlotte's bold announcement that truly stole the spotlight. In a move that surprised and delighted many, Her Majesty declared Miss Penelope Featherington as the season's emerald, a title befitting her newfound radiance.

And what a transformation it has been! From a quiet wallflower to a jewel of the ton, Miss Featherington has blossomed before our very eyes. Her radiant glow, her elegant poise, and her sharp wit did not go unnoticed, even by the discerning eye of the Queen herself.

But amidst the festivities and celebration, one cannot help but wonder about the intentions of certain gentlemen. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, in particular, was seen dancing not once, but twice, with the newly crowned emerald. His attentions seemed singularly focused on Miss Featherington, to the point of depriving other eligible bachelors of her company for the evening.

What could this mean, dear readers? Is there more to their dance than meets the eye? Only time will tell.

Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown

At the Featherington House

In the opulent drawing room of the Featherington House, the morning sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, casting a soft glow over the elegant furnishings. The dowager Baroness Portia Featherington sat regally on a plush sofa, a delicate china teacup cradled in her hands, while her youngest daughter, Penelope, sat opposite her, her crimson hair flows gracefully over her shoulders.

Their peaceful moment was interrupted by the hurried entrance of Prudence, the eldest daughter, her face flushed with agitation. Portia raised a curious eyebrow at her, a silent inquiry as to the cause of her distress.

“Mama, you need to see this!” Prudence exclaimed, her voice laced with urgency.

She strode across the room, clutching a familiar sheet of paper in hand. Portia’s brow furrowed as she recognized the distinctive script and gossip-laden contents of Lady Whistledown’s infamous newsletter.

“What on earth is the matter, Prudence?” Portia asked, accepting the paper from her daughter’s trembling fingers.

As her eyes scanned the words, Portia’s expression morphed from confusion to horror. Her hand flew to her mouth, and she exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Prudence, both realizing the gravity of the situation.

Penelope, oblivious to the commotion, sipped her tea serenely, her gaze drifting between her mother and sister.

Portia and Prudence shared a secret, one that threatened to unravel the delicate fabric of their societal standing - Penelope was the infamous Lady Whistledown, the anonymous writer whose scandalous gossip columns had been the talk of the ton for years.

Yet, with Penelope’s recent memory loss and absence from London, it seemed impossible that she could have authored this latest issue. A sinking feeling settled in Portia’s stomach as she contemplated the terrifying possibility that someone else had discovered Penelope’s identity and decided to take up the mantle of Lady Whistledown.

“Who could be behind this?” Prudence whispered, her voice tinged with anxiety.

Portia shook her head, her brow furrowed with concern, “I do not know, dear.” She admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “But we must find out before it’s too late.”

Meanwhile, Penelope, unaware of the turmoil gripping her mother and sister, reached out to take the parchment, her curiosity piqued by their reactions. As she read the words that danced across the page, a sense of familiarity washed over her. She felt it mystifying as she found herself on the receiving end of Lady Whistledown’s sharp wit and biting commentary as she just returned to London. Though it was her first time reading the column, she finds the words overfamiliar at the back of her head.

Despite the shock of discovering herself at the center of such scandalous gossip, Penelope still maintained her composure, her expression unreadable as she absorbed the revelations laid bare before her. Little did she know, this was just the beginning of a tangled web of intrigue that would entwine her fate as the real pen behind Lady Whistledown.

At the Bridgerton House

The Bridgerton dining hall was abuzz with the chatter of the siblings as they gathered for their morning meal. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the elegant table settings and the delectable spread before them.

Francesca, ever the inquisitive one, raised her voice above the din. “Has anyone read the latest issue of Lady Whistledown today?”

Violet Bridgerton, the matriarch of the family, reached for the infamous pamphlet, her brow furrowing as she scanned its contents. A soft hum escaped her lips when she came across the section about her eldest son, Anthony, her mind drifting back to the concern etched on Portia Featherington’s face the previous night.

Passing the pamphlet to Anthony, Violet watched as he casually brushed off Whistledown’s comments about him, his expression betraying little emotion.

“What do you make of this brother?” Benedict inquired, gesturing towards the scandalous words. “What are your intentions regarding our dear friend Pen?”

Anthony leaned back in his chair, a casual air about him. “I am merely providing support and guidance to the Featheringtons in the absence of a male figure to protect them from the untoward gentlemen of the ton.” He replied smoothly.

Eloise, however, remained silent, her gaze fixed on the table before her as the conversation ebbed and flowed around her. Violet, ever perceptive, noticed her daughter’s pensive state and inquired gently. “Eloise, dear, what are your plans for the day?”

Eloise Bridgerton’s eyes flickered up, and she hesitated before speaking. “I had intended to visit Pen today mama, but I was informed that Lady Featherington has closed their doors to guests, allowing her daughters to rest after last night’s events.”

A murmur of understanding rippled through the room, all too aware of the frenzy that would ensue as suitors lined up at the Featherington doors, vying for the attention of the newly announced season’s Emerald, Penelope.

Anthony could not help but feel a sense of relief at the thought of Penelope being shielded from the onslaught of bachelors, at least for the time being. An idea began to form in his mind, and he turned to his sister Eloise with a glint in his eye.

“Eloise, prepare your riding attire for tomorrow morning. You will come with me.” He instructed, a hint of authority in his tone.

Taken aback, Eloise furrowed her brow. “But I have no interest in horseback riding, and you have never insisted I accompany you before. That was always Daphne’s pleasure.”

A knowing smile tugged at Anthony’s lips as he replied. “Penelope has expressed a desire to ride, and it would be an excellent opportunity for you two to reconnect as friends.”

What he omitted, however, was that he intended for Eloise to serve as a chaperone, allowing him to spend time with Penelope and to get to know her more under the guise of a leisurely ride.

The morning meal concluded when Eloise quickly went upstairs to her bedchambers, gathering and preparing the things she will be needing for her outing with Penelope and her brother tomorrow. Gregory and Hyacinth also went upstairs to prepare for their daily lessons with the governess. Benedict and Francesca went separate ways, Frannie off to practice her pianoforte while Benedict opted to continue his painting.

The Bridgerton dining hall, once filled with lively chatter, fell into a tranquil hush as the siblings dispersed, leaving Violet and Anthony alone. Violet’s keen gaze settled upon her eldest son, a knowing glint in her eye as she contemplated the true intentions behind his proposed outing with Penelope Featherington.

“Anthony, dearest.” She began, her voice melodic yet tinged with curiosity.” Was this horseback riding excursion truly Penelope’s idea?”

Anthony met his mother’s inquisitive stare with a casual demeanor, unfazed by her probing. “Penelope mentioned her desire to go riding during our conversation last night.” He explained, a hint of nonchalance in his tone. “I merely inquired about her interests upon her return to London”

Violet studded her son’s expression, her lips curving into a subtle, knowing smile. She had taken notice of Anthony’s way of addressing her favorite redhead. He had now been mentioning her Christian name instead of calling her as Miss Featherington, a sign of familiarity towards the young lady.

“I see.” She mused, her tone suggesting a deeper understanding of the situation.

Sensing his mother’s speculation, Anthony shifted in his seat, his gaze unwavering. “I promised Lady Featherington that I would provide support and guidance to Penelope as she regains her bearings.” He stated, his words carrying a hint of defensiveness. “Chaperoning outings alongside Eloise is a part of that commitment.”

Violet’s smile broadened, her eyes twinkling with a maternal warmth. She chose not to press further, recognizing the delicate dance her son was engaged in. Instead, she allowed her heart to swell with hope - hope that Anthony’s intentions might blossom into something more profound, something she had long desired for her eldest son.

For years, Violet had harbored a secret wish to welcome Penelope Featherington into the Bridgerton family fold. While her aspirations had once focused on Colin, her third son, fate seemed to have steered her hopes in a different direction. Perhaps, she mused silently, Anthony was destined to be the one to claim the affections of the young redhead, fulfilling Violet’s dream of calling Penelope her daughter.

With a contented sigh, Violet rose from her seat, her gaze lingering on Anthony for a moment longer before she turned and left the dining hall, her mind awhirl with possibilities and hope that her son’s heart would soon find its match.

—

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the ornate windows of the Featherington house, bathing the elegant drawing room in a golden hue. The youngest redhead, Penelope, sat by the window, her fingers idly turning the pages of the tome she was currently reading, lost in thought.

A gentle rap on the door stirred her from her reverie, and a maid entered, bearing a missive from none other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself. Penelope’s heart fluttered as she accepted the parchment, her eyes eagerly scanning the neat script.

A smile blossomed across her features as she read the invitation for a riding excursion the following morning, accompanied by Anthony and his sister Eloise. Clutching the letter to her chest, Penelope felt a surge of anticipation coursing through her veins.

Without delay, she sought out her mother, Portia Featherington, hoping to secure her permission for the outing. Penelope found the dowager baroness in the sitting room, her expression pensive as she pondered the implications of such a public venture.

“Mama.” Penelope began, her voice gentle yet laced with excitement. “I have received an invitation from Lord Bridgerton for a riding excursion tomorrow morning, with Eloise accompanying us.”

Portia studied her daughter’s face, her brow furrowed in contemplation. “Are you certain you would enjoy the company of the Bridgertons, Penelope?” She inquired, her tone tinged with concern. “I hesitate to allow you to be seen in public while your memories remain incomplete. Now that you’ve become the Emerald, gentlemen and ladies will surely approach to speak with you, given a chance.”

Penelope’s expression softened as she considered her mother’s words. She understood where Portia was coming from, for she too, has inhibitions on showing herself to the ton as she fails to recognize the life she had lived in the bustling city of London. But her thoughts turned to Eloise, the friend she had been assured was her closest confidante. The idea of reconnecting with her dear companion filled her with warmth and reassurance.

Then, her mind wandered to Anthony Bridgerton, the man whose steadfast presence had been a constant throughout her family’s return. She recalled the gentle smile that graced his features, the way his arms had held her securely during their dance the previous night. Unbidden, she acknowledged the undeniable handsomeness of his features and the gentlemanly manner in which he had shielded her from the overwhelming crowd that threatened to engulf her after her announcement as the season’s Emerald.

A faint blush crept across Penelope’s cheeks as she contemplated the depths of her newfound feelings toward Anthony. While uncertain of the nature of their relationship before her memory loss, she found herself drawn to his kindness and the sense of safety he emanated.

Turning back to her mother, Penelope’s eyes shone with conviction. “I believe I shall be quite content in the company of the Bridgertons, mama.” She affirmed, her voice steady. “Eloise is my dearest friend, as you all said. And Lord Bridgerton has proven himself a true gentleman, ever considerate of my well-being.”

Portia studded her daughter’s expression, recognizing the genuine joy and anticipation that danced across Penelope’s features. With a gentle sigh and a nod of acquiescence, she granted her permission, hoping that this outing would bring her daughter a measure of happiness and solace amidst the uncertainty that still lingered.

“Very well.” The redhead mama said, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and apprehension. “If it brings you joy, then you may have my blessing. Enjoy your time with the Bridgertons tomorrow, but remember to take care.”

With her mother’s permission granted, Penelope Featherington’s smile widened, a sense of eager anticipation bubbling within her as she looked forward to the adventure that awaited her in the company of the Bridgertons.

Chapter Text

The crisp morning air carried the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of adventure as Viscount Anthony Bridgerton’s person halted to a stop before the imposing facade of the Featherington household. Anticipation coursed through his veins as he moves himself towards the doorway, his steps purposeful as he approached the grand entrance.

Before his knuckles could rap against the ornate door, it swung open, revealing the radiant vision of Penelope Featherington. Her vibrant smile, warm and inviting, help the power to melt even the most steadfast of hearts. Anthony found himself momentarily entranced by her effervescent beauty, a fleeting breath escaping his lips.

“Oh. Good morning, Anthony.” Penelope said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she stepped aside to allow Anthony entry. “I’ve been eagerly anticipating our outing.”

“Good morning, Penelope.” He greeted, offering her a courteous bow before extending his arm in a gentlemanly gesture. “I hope you’re ready for a delightful morning ride.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed ever so slightly as she accepted his proffered arm, her gaze searching the premises for any sign of equine companions. “Anthony..” She began, her tone laced with confusion. “I do not see any horses.”

A mischievous grin tugged at Anthony’s lips as he guided her towards the Bridgerton estate across the street. “We shall make our way to the Bridgerton stables first.” He explained. “Eloise awaits us there.”

Upon their arrival at the stables, Eloise emerged from the shadows, her face alight with a warm smile as she greeted her dearest friend with an affectionate embrace. “Pen! It brings me such joy to see you. I missed you yesterday!” She exclaimed, her voice ringing with genuine affection. “Are you ready for today?”

The redhead nodded with a glowing smile on her lips. The trio discussed their plans for the morning excursion, deciding on the route they would take and the horses they would ride. Anthony’s gaze fell upon Penelope as he inquired about her riding experience.

“Do you know how to ride Pen?” The Viscount asked, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. He was ready to be just walking on his foot, assuming he will lead and hold the horses’ reins for the two young ladies.

To Eloise’s surprise, Penelope’s expression brightened, a hint of nostalgia dancing across her delicate features. “Indeed, I do.” She affirmed. “My papa taught me how to ride when I was but a child. The memory has ignited a desire within me to revisit that skill once more.”

Eloise’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a small ‘o’ of astonishment. “I had no inkling that you could ride, Penelope.” She confessed, her tone tinged with a mixture of awe and bewilderment. Somehow, the brunette feels guilty as she realizes there are things she does not truly know about her best friend.

As soft chuckle escaped Anthony’s lips as he made his way towards the stables, emerging moments later with two magnificent steeds in tow. “Well, then, it appears we may have a skilled equestrian in our midst.” He remarked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I shall take the reins of my trusty steed, Jack, while you two ladies can share the gentle mare, Bella.”

With practiced ease, Anthony assisted Penelope in mounting the chestnut mare, his hands encircling her slender waist as he lifted her onto the saddle. His touch was gentle and reassuring, causing a warmth to spread through the redhead at his proximity. Once she was settled, he extended the same courtesy to his sister, helping Eloise sidle up behind Penelope’s lithe form. Instinctively, Eloise’s arms wound around the young Featherington’s middle, clasping her in a gentle embrace as she gripped the reins.

The rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestone path provided a soothing melody as the trio made their way towards the lush expanse of the park.

Anthony guided his steed, Jack, with an effortless grace, stealing occasional glances at Penelope and Eloise astride the gentle mare, Bella.

Penelope Featherington’s cheeks were flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes alight with unbridled joy as she expertly handled the reins. Eloise, nestled snugly behind her, beamed with delight, reveling in the opportunity to witness her dear friend’s newfound confidence.

“I must confess, Pen.” She began, her voice carrying across the tranquil morning air. “I had no inkling of your equestrian prowess. You handle Bella with such poise and assurance.”

A melodious laugh rippled from Penelope’s lips, her head tilting ever so slightly to meet Eloise’s gaze. “Truthfully, my talents in this regard were a surprise to me as well.” She admitted. “Yet, the moment I settled into the saddle, a sense of familiarity washed over me, as if the motions were ingrained in my very being.”

Anthony guided Jack closer, his admiring gaze fixed upon Penelope’s radiant features. “Your father must have been an exceptional teacher.” He remarked, his voice rich and warm. “To instill such skill at such a tender age is no small feat.”

Penelope’s expression softened at the mention of her father, a wishful sigh escaping her parted lips. “I fear my memories of him are but fragments, fleeting glimpses that evade my grasp.” She confessed, her brow furrowing ever so slightly. “Yet, I cannot deny the inherent joy I feel when in the saddle, as if my soul recognizes a long-lost companion.”

Eloise tightened her embrace, offering silent reassurance and support to her dear friend. Anthony, ever observant, noted the momentary melancholy that flickered across the redhead’s countenance.

“Perhaps this outing will serve as a catalyst, allowing those cherished memories to resurface.” He suggested, his tone gentle and encouraging. “The familiar sights and sounds, the very rhythm of the ride - these may unlock the doors to the past that have remained elusive.”

Penelope’s features brightened once more, her lips curving into a radiant smile that rivaled the warmth of the sun’s golden rays. “I certainly hope so, Anthony.” She replied, her voice brimming with renewed optimism. “For there is something undeniably freeing about this experience, a sense of unbridled liberation that I find myself yearning to embrace wholeheartedly.”

The tranquil ambiance of the park was shattered by a sudden burst of laughter, rich and melodious, as Anthony issued a playful challenge to Penelope. “What say you, Pen?” He called out, a roguish glint dancing in his eyes. “Shall we put your equestrian skills to the test with a friendly race along this verdant trail?”

Eloise, her arms still wrapped securely around Penelope’s waist, let out a scandalized gasp. “Brother, have you taken leave of your senses?!” She scolded, her brow furrowed in concern. “We shall do no such thing! The mere thought of galloping at breakneck speeds fills me with trepidation.”

Yet, Penelope found herself captivated by the prospect, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “I accept your challenge, dear Viscount.” She declared, her voice ringing with an infectious combination of confidence and exhilaration. “Hold on tight, Eloise.”

Without further ado, the two horses surged forward, their powerful hooves thundering against the well-trodden path. The wind whipped through Penelope’s fiery tresses, her cheeks flushed with the thrill of the chase. Eloise clung tightly to her, torn between exhilaration and trepidation, her cries of protest lost amidst the exhilarating rush.

Anthony stole furtive glances at the ladies aboard the chestnut mare, his heart swelling with a peculiar warmth as he witnessed the unbridled joy etched upon Penelope’s features. Her smile was radiant, a beacon of pure, unadulterated happiness that tugged at the very strings of his heart, eliciting a sense of awe and wonder he dared not contemplate.

Their impromptu race came to a breathless conclusion as Jack, Anthony’s trusted steed, reached the towering oak tree that marked the end of trail. Penelope, her chest heaving with the exertion of their wild escapade, beamed with the euphoria of the moment, reveling in the lingering adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

Eloise, however, was less enthused, her brow furrowed in a disapproving scowl as she chastised her brother and dear friend. “Must you two insist on such reckless behavior?” She admonished, her tone laced with a mixture of exasperation and concern. “ I, for one, have no desire to partake in these foolhardy races ever again.”

Anthony and Penelope exchanged conspiratorial glances, their laughter ringing out like peals of a bell, unbridled and joyous. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, a fleeing respite from the weight of societal expectations and the burdens of the past.

As the trio turned their mounts toward Grosvenor Square, preparing to return to their respective estates, a sense of contentment settled over them. For Penelope, the morning had been a restorative balm, a reminder of the simple pleasures that life had to offer - the thrill of adventure, the warmth of companionship, and the soothing embrace of nature’s verdant splendor.

—

The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves against the cobblestone streets heralded the trio’s return to the illustrious Grosvenor Square in Mayfair, their morning escapade having filled them with a sense of exhilaration and camaraderie. However, as they approached the imposing facade of the Featherington estate, an unexpected sight greeted them - a veritable throng of gentlemen, each clutching an array of flowers and gifts, lined the doorstep in eager anticipation.

Penelope Featherington’s brow furrowed in bewilderment, her gaze sweeping over the unusual scene before her. “I wonder what could be the reason for such an influx of guests at our abode.” She mused aloud, her words carrying a tone of genuine curiosity.

Eloise, ever the astute observer, let out a soft chuckle, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Why, Penelope, dear friend, surely you must recognize those gentlemen for what they are - suitors, all vying for your favor and attention.”

Penelope’s expression morphed into one of confusion, her head tilting ever so slightly as she regarded Eloise with a perplexed gaze.

Anthony Bridgerton, however, felt a pang of discomfort and irritation at his sister’s assumption, though he reluctantly nodded in agreement. As the season’s jewel, the Emerald of the ton, it was inevitable that Penelope would attract a bevy of suitors, each hoping to secure her hand in marriage before the season’s end.

This realization stirred a peculiar sensation within Anthony, a mixture of annoyance and an emotion he dared not name, threatening to unravel the carefully cultivated composure he so prized.

“Surely you must be mistaken, Eloise.” Penelope countered, her voice tinged with disbelief. “There is no conceivable reason for suitors to take an interest in me.”

Eloise’s expression softened, her eyes radiating a gentle understanding. “Do not forget Pen, that your eldest sister is already betrothed.” She reminded the redhead. “As the newly acclaimed Emerald, it is only natural that you would become the object of desire among the eligible bachelors of the ton.”

Anthony, seized by a sudden urge to shield Penelope from the predatory gazes of the assembled suitors, found himself making an impulsive offer. “Perhaps it would be best if we retreated to the sanctuary of our house for tea.” He suggested, his tone laced with reassurance. “I am certain our mother would be delighted to receive you.”

Yet, Penelope’s countenance betrayed her reluctance, a soft sigh escaping her lips as the gravity of her situation as the season’s jewel became increasingly apparent. “I fear I must decline your kind offer, Anthony.” She replied, her voice gentle yet resolute. “If what Eloise said is true, it would be most improper for my mother and I to deny the calls of our guests for a second consecutive day.”

Gracing Anthony and Eloise with a warm, grateful smile, Penelope bid them farewell, her steps carrying her towards the waiting throng of suitors with a newfound sense of determination and poise.

As the Featherington door closed behind Penelope, Anthony found himself seized by an unfamiliar sensation, a mixture of admiration and a longing he dared not give voice to. For in that moment, he had witnessed the true strength and resilience of Penelope Featherington, a woman who, despite her situation and the weight of society’s expectations, carried herself with a dignity and grace that left him utterly captivated.

Chapter Text

The Bridgerton House was abuzz with anticipation on a bright afternoon, the air thick with the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea and the promise of delightful company. Penelope Featherington, the radiant jewel of the season, had finally graced the esteemed household with her presence, much to the delight of its occupants.

Eloise was overjoyed to have her dearest friend step into their house once more after a long time. While she had seen the redhead five days ago, at their morning excursion at the park, today was Penelope’s first time to grace her presence at their house for almost two years.

Violet Bridgerton, ever the gracious hostess, warmly welcomed Penelope into the drawing room, where her children had gathered in eager anticipation. Introductions were made, and Penelope found herself reacquainted with the youngest Bridgerton siblings, Hyacinth and Gregory, both of whom could scarcely contain their excitement at the prospect of reconnecting with their dear friend.

Hyacinth’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she vied for Penelope’s attention, regaling her with tales of her latest escapades. Gregory, on the other hand, found himself struck by a peculiar shyness, his cheeks flushed with the telltale signs of a boyhood crush that had blossomed anew in the presence of the beguiling redhead.

The conversation flowed seamlessly, with Eloise and Francesca eagerly inquiring about the suitors who had been gracing the Featherington doorstep in recent days. Penelope, ever the demure lady, obliged with a shy smile, her cheeks flushed wit a rosy hue as she recounted the various gentlemen who had sought her favor.

Violet, the ever-watchful matriarch, sipped her tea in contemplative silence, her keen eyes observing the interactions with a maternal warmth and an undeniable air of interest.

The tranquil atmosphere was momentarily disrupted as Anthony and Benedict strode into the drawing room, their arrival punctuated by the masculine air they carried. Violet greeted her sons with a warm smile, beckoning them to join the gathering.

As Anthony settled onto the plush sofa beside Benedict, his gaze swept over the assembled company, coming to rest upon Penelope’s radiant form. “And what, pray tell, has captured my ladies’ attention so thoroughly?” The Viscount inquired, his rich baritone carrying a hint or curiosity.

Hyacinth, ever the eager one, piped up with a delighted grin. “Why, Pen has been regaling us with tales of her suitors, brother!” She exclaimed, her eyes alight with mirth.

A flicker of something indecipherable passed across Anthony’s features as his gaze locked onto Penelope's, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. He remained silent, content to listen as the youngest Featherington recounted her musings on the various gentlemen who had called upon her in recent days.
As Penelope’s melodic voice filled the drawing room, regaling her captive audience with tales of the suitors who had called upon her in recent days, a palpable tension seemed to settle over Anthony. His posture stiffened ever so slightly, his jaw clenching imperceptibly as he found himself torn between a desire to hear her accounts and a mounting sense of discomfort that he could scarcely comprehend.

“Mister Dankworth was among the first to pay a call.” Penelope began, her tone tinged with a hint of amusement. “He presented me with a most extravagant bouquet of roses, each petal more vibrant than the last.”

Hyacinth and Francesca exchanged conspiratorial glances, their eyes alight with the mischievous delight of young ladies reveling in the pursuit of suitors. Elosie leaned forward, her elbows resting upon her knees as she hung on Penelope’s every word. Eloise has never been fond of the marriage aspect, but as it was Penelope who was speaking, her attention was piqued.

“And what of Lord Debling?” Francesca inquired, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I hear he is quite smitten with you, Pen.”

A delicate blush crept across the redhead’s cheeks as she ducked her head, a soft giggle escaping her lips. “Indeed, he has been most persistent in his attentions.” She admitted. “Why, just yesterday, he presented me with a most exquisite set of pearl earrings, claiming they paled in comparison to the radiance of my complexion.”

Anthony’s fingers curled ever so slightly, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to maintain his composure. A muscle twitched in his jaw, betraying the growing sense of unease that churned within him.

Benedict, ever the observant one, cast a sideways glance at his brother, his brow furrowing in silent inquiry. Yet, before he could give voice to his concerns, Hyacinth’s eager voice cut through the tension.

“Oh, Pen, you simply must share the particulars of Lord Fife’s visit!” She exclaimed, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Rumor has it that he arrived with a most extravagant gift, one befitting a true lady of the ton. Wasn’t he included in Whistledown’s issue last time? Whistledown did say that he was enraptured since the night you were announced as Emerald.”

As Penelope launched into yet another tale, her words painting vivid pictures of the lavish attentions bestowed upon her by her suitors, Anthony found himself increasingly unsettled. A foreign emotion churned within him, an unfamiliar beast that he could neither name nor tame, clawing at his chest with each breathless recounting.

Violet noted the subtle shift in her eldest son’s demeanor, her keen eyes missing nothing. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she silently contemplated the implication of Anthony’s apparent discomfort.

Perhaps, she mused, the seeds of something deeper had taken root, a tender blossom unfurling in the depths of Anthony’s heart - a blossom that threatened to upend the carefully cultivated facade he had so meticulously constructed.

As Penelope’s tales of her suitors wound to a close, Violet Bridgerton seized the opportunity to put her eldest son’s affections to the test.

“My dear Penelope.” Violet began, her voice rich with maternal warmth. “I simply cannot bear the thought of you departing so soon. The afternoon has flown by, and yet it feels as though our time together has been far too fleeting.”

The matriarch’s eyes twinkled with a knowing glint as she turned her gaze towards Anthony. “Perhaps you might indulge an old woman’s request and grace us with your presence for dinner, and even spend the night in our humble abode.”

A chorus of delighted exclamations erupted from Anthony’s sisters, their eyes alight with excitement at the prospect of extending Penelope’s visit. They turned their imploring gazes towards their brother, silently beseeching him to acquiesce to their mother’s suggestion.

Anthony’s features softened, his resolve melting in the face of his family’s collective enthusiasm. Truth be told, he found himself equally enamored with the idea of prolonging Penelope’s company, if only to savor the warmth and light she seemed to effortlessly emanate.

“Of course, mother.” He acquiesced, his rich baritone laced with a tenderness that surprised even himself. “I shall pen a note to Lady Featherington, informing her of our intentions to keep Penelope in our care for the night.”

A chorus of jubilant cheers erupted from the younger Bridgerton siblings, their joy palpable and infectious. Hyacinth, ever the vivacious one, sprang from her seat and tugged Penelope towards a plush settee, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Pen, you simply must style my hair for dinner!” She exclaimed, her voice brimming with childlike enthusiasm. “I recall the exquisite braids you once wove for me, and I should dearly love to wear them again this evening.”

A palpable silence descended upon the room as Hyacinth’s innocent request struck a chord within Penelope Featherington. The weight of her memory loss, the fragments of her past that remained elusive, threatened to overshadow the joyous moment.

Before Violet or Anthony could intervene, the redhead’s gentle voice broke the stillness, carrying a warmth and reassurance that belied the turmoil she undoubtedly felt.

“My dearest Hy.” She began her tone soothing and maternal, calling the child by the nickname used by her family. “While I fear I cannot recreate the styles of old, for those memories have yet to return to me, I would be delighted to weave a new and equally beautiful design for you.”

Hyacinth’s face blossomed into a radiant smile, her earlier disappointment forgotten in the wake of Penelope’s gracious offer. Violet, ever the doting mother, summoned a maid to fetch a selection of ribbons and hairpins, ensuring that Penelope had all the necessary accoutrements for her task.

As Penelope’s deft fingers wove intricate braids into Hyacinth’s tresses, Anthony found himself utterly captivated by the scene unfolding before him. The gentle way in which she soothed Hyacinth’s momentary dismay, the patience and care she exhibited - it all coalesced into an undeniable truth that struck him with the force of a thunderbolt.

Penelope Featherington, the woman who had started to slowly ensnared his heart and mind, possessed a natural affinity for nurturing and maternal grace that left him in awe. Unbidden, a vision of her cradling a babe in her arms, her radiant smile illuminating the world around her, flickered through his consciousness, igniting a longing he dared not give voice to.

As Hyacinth marveled at her newly woven tresses, bestowing upon the redhead a grateful kiss and a tender embrace, Anthony found himself wholly enraptured, his heart swelling with an emotion so profound, so all-consuming, that he knew in that moment his world had been irrevocably altered.

For he admits to himself, that this youngest Featherington who he saw as a fragile yet elegant young lady, shy, quiet but with intelligence and wit, kind, graceful and is valued truly by his family, a wallflower who had blossomed into a fine resplendent lady before everyone’s eyes, is someone he had become attracted to.

Anthony Bridgerton is starting to fall in love with Penelope Featherington. And a fast rate at that.

—-

The crackling of the fire in the hearth cast a warm, flickering glow upon the study, where Anthony and Benedict had retreated after the evening’s dinner. The rich aroma of aged whiskey permeated the air as Anthony poured generous portions into two crystal tumblers, the amber liquid glistening invitingly.

Settling onto the plush sofa, the brothers faced each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. It was Benedict who broke the silence first, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that was all too familiar to Anthony.

“So, brother.” Benedict began, his voice laced with a teasing lilt. “Perhaps you might indulge my curiosity and enlighten me as to your intentions towards a certain Miss Featherington.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he feigned ignorance. “Whatever do you mean, brother?” He countered, his tone tinged with a hint of defensiveness.

Benedict’s chuckle was rich and full-bodied, a clear indication that he saw through Anthony’s ruse. “Come now, Anthony, did you truly think your behavior in the drawing room earlier would go unnoticed?” He challenged, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “The way you glared and grimaced with each tale of her suitors - one might almost mistake you for a jealous man.”

A flush crept across the Viscount’s cheeks, his jaw clenching ever so slightly as he fought to maintain his composure. He knew better than to engage in Benedict’s teasing, yet the weight of his brother’s words struck a chord within him.

“I cannot fault you for harboring affections for Penelope, if that is indeed the case.” Benedict continued, his tone growing more contemplative. “She is a remarkable woman - intelligent, kind hearted, and possessed of a wit that few can match. Truly, she would make an exemplary Viscountess. Not to mention, the family dearly loves her already.”

Anthony’s grip tightened around his tumbler, the ice clinking against the crystal as he shifted in his seat. “Penelope is Eloise’s dearest friend.” He continued, his voice being defensive. “And she is but a young woman, hardly suited for a man thirteen years her senior.”

Benedict’s laughter rang out once more, rich and unbridled. “Anthony, dear brother, have you forgotten the ways of our society?” He chided gently. “It is perfectly acceptable for a gentleman to take a bride who has only recently made her debut, provided she is of marriageable age.”

A shadow passed over Anthony’s features as Benedict’s words struck a nerve. “And would you have Lady Featherington secure Pen’s hand, only to relegate her life of servitude to a much elderly lord?” He challenged, his voice tinged with a hint of steel. “Or perhaps you would prefer to see her bound to a man like Lord Fife, whose only redeeming quality appears to be his title?”

The mere suggestion seemed to ignite a spark of fury within Anthony, his eyes blazing with a protective fire that caught Benedict off guard. It was a reaction far more potent than he had anticipated, one that spoke volumes of the depths of his brother’s affections.

“I would sooner see the entirety of the ton damned than allow such a fate to befall Penelope.” Anthony growled, his words laced with a conviction that brooked no argument.

Benedict’s laughter returned, rich and unrestrained, as he regarded his brother with a knowing smile. “Well, well, it seems my teasing has struck a chord.” He mused, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Fear not, brother, your secret is safe with me - for now.”

With a wink and a conspiratorial grin, Benedict raised his tumbler in a silent toast, leaving Anthony to ponder the implications of his own impassioned response and the depths of the feelings he had so vehemently denied.

Chapter Text

The night had settled over the Bridgerton House, cloaking the grounds in a veil of tranquil silence. Anthony Bridgerton, however, found himself sequestered in his study, the flickering candlelight casting elongated shadows upon the piles of paperwork that demanded his attention. Try as he might, his focus eluded him, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that he could scarcely contain.

Partially, he blamed his brother Benedict for the lingering effects of their evening’s indulgence, the whiskey having flowed more freely than intended. Yet, even as the rest of the household succumbed to the embrace of slumber, Anthony’s restless spirit yearned for respite.

Abandoning his desk, he ventured forth into the gardens, seeking the solace of the night air and the gentle caress of the breeze. His steps carried him towards Eloise’s favored swing, a cherished spot where he had often found solace in his younger days.

As he approached, a young lady’s silhouette caught his eye, basked in the ethereal glow of the moonlight. At first, he assumed it to be Eloise, the lilac silk shawl a familiar sight - a gift from his own hand. Yet, as he drew nearer, the unmistakable cascade of fiery tresses revealed the figure’s true identity: Penelope Featherington, lost in contemplation amidst the fragrant rose bushes.

Unwilling to startle her, Anthony cleared his throat, the gentle sound announcing his presence. Penelope turned towards him, her eyes widening momentarily before a warm smile graced her features.

“May I join you, Penelope?” Anthony inquired, his voice a rich baritone that seemed to caress the night air.

“You hardly need to ask permission in your own home, Anthony.” Penelope replied, her tone laced with a gentle teasing that belied the apprehension etched upon her delicate features.

Anthony chuckled, lowering himself onto the vacant swing beside her. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the gentle sway of the swings punctuated by the melodic chirping of crickets and the whisper of the breeze through the foliage.

Yet, Anthony could not ignore the pensive furrow of Penelope’s brow, the unspoken worries that seemed to weigh heavily upon her mind. “Is something troubling you, my lady?” He ventured, his voice soft and reassuring.

Penelope hesitated, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she wrestled with the notion of confiding in him. Finally, she released a soft sigh, her shoulders sagging ever so slightly as the words tumbled forth.

“I fear the weight of my newfound position as the season’s Emerald.” She admitted, her voice tinged with trepidation. “I understand the scrutiny that will be cast upon me, the expectations that must be met, the judgmental eyes that will follow my every move.”

Anthony nodded, his expression one of gentle understanding, for he had weathered such storms himself - the burden of responsibility thrust upon him at the tender age of nine and ten, forcing him to stand tall and unwavering, a bulwark against the cruelties of society.

“Yet, what troubles me most.” Penelope continued, her voice growing softer. “Is the fear that my memory loss will cloud my judgment, rendering me incapable of discerning the true intentions of those who seek my hand. And should this affliction become widely known, I dread the repercussions it may have upon my family’s already tenuous standing within the ton.”

Anthony’s heart ached for her, this woman of such strength and resilience, burdened by the weight of expectations and the cruelties of circumstance. Without hesitation, he reached across the divide, his calloused fingers enveloping her slender hand in a gentle reassuring squeeze.

His touch stirred something inside of Penelope. The warmth of his hands, as the bare skin of their palms pressed together, runs an electric feeling, a burning desire within her. Penelope’s cheeks reddened as she moves her eyes away from their touching hands towards his charming handsome face.

“You need not shoulder this burden alone, Penelope.” He murmured, his voice rich with conviction. “I vow to stand by your side, to shield you from the judgments of the ton, and to ensure that no harm befalls you or your family.”

The redhead draws a warm smile on her features as she feels the sincerity from Anthony’s words. She could not fully explain why, but whenever the Viscount is around her, she feels her worries melt away. His words put her troubles at ease, making her forget her incapabilities. His words give her encouragement, and his smiles.. By God, his smiles were truly enchanting. She could not help but want to see him smile at her every time. His promise of protecting her and her family was one thing Penelope could only be grateful for. For he keeps him safe. With Anthony, Penelope Featherington could only feel safe and secure, entirely happy that such a good man would look out for her.

“Oh, my lord. You need not do that. Being the Viscount - I am fully aware of the great responsibilities you bear with your title, with your family. I no longer want to impose.” Penelope says. “You and Eloise had splendidly provided me good company, despite the lack of my bearings. I can no longer ask for anything else, and you can do nothing more.”

“Allow me to court you, Penelope.” Anthony said, his voice rich and resonant, carrying the weight of his conviction. “In doing so, we shall deter the advances of those unfamiliar suitors granting you the respite and clarity to discern your true desires.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a silent gasp as she processed the implications of his suggestion. Anthony seized the opportunity to elaborate, his gaze never wavering from her captivating countenance.

“I shall be your armor, your shield against the unwanted attentions of the ton.” He vowed, his words ringing with sincerity. “As your suitor, I shall escort you to social gatherings, safeguarding you from any untoward situations or uncomfortable encounters.”

A glimmer of understanding dawned upon Penelope’s features as she recognized the multitude of advantages inherent in Anthony’s proposal. Not only would it provide her with a measure of protection, but it would satisfy the expectations of the Queen, who undoubtedly anticipated a suitable match for the season’s Emerald.

Anthony allowed the weight of his words to settle, giving the redhead a moment to absorb the gravity of his offer. Then, with a steadying breath, he pressed onward, his heart laid bare before her.

“I do not make this proposal out of pity or obligation, Penelope.” He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Rather, it is born of a profound admiration, a burgeoning affection that grows stronger with each passing day.”

A flush crept across Anthony’s cheeks as he mustered the courage to bare his soul, to give voice to the feelings that had taken root within his heart.

“You are a woman of unparalleled grace, intelligence, and strength.” He proclaimed, his gaze unwavering. “Your kindness and compassion know no bounds, and your wit is a constant source of delight. You possess all the qualities that would make an exemplary Viscountess, a loving wife and a devoted mother.”

Anthony’s fingers trembled ever so slightly as he envelops Penelope’s slender hand in his own once again. “I find myself inexorably drawn to you, Miss Penelope Featherington.” He confessed, his voice a reverent whisper. “And with each passing moment in your company, I fall deeper under your enchanting spell.”

The words hung in the air, laden with the weight of his sincerity, his vulnerability laid bare before her. Anthony’s heart thundered in his chest as he awaited her response, his very soul teetering on the precipice of hope and trepidation.

The atmosphere in the gardens became thick with the gravity of Anthony’s unveiled emotions. Penelope found herself utterly enraptured, her mind awhirl with the deluge of feelings that cascaded through her being.

“Anthony, I..” She began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the words to express the tumult within her heart. To be the object of such profound affection from a gentleman of his stature was overwhelming, leaving her both elated and trepidatious in equal measure.

A soft sigh escaped her parted lips as she gathered her thoughts, her gaze never wavering from the depths of his unwavering stare. “I must confess, the idea of your courtship is most delightful.” She admitted, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Yet, I cannot help but feel it an unfair proposition for you, my lord.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, his lips parting to interject, but Penelope raised a slender hand, gently stilling his words.

“Hear me out, I beg of you.” She implored, her voice laced with a tender sincerity. “While the benefits of such an arrangement would undoubtedly favor me, shielding me from the unwanted attentions of the ton, I fear it would be an uneven exchange.”

Her gaze drifted momentarily, her eyes reflecting the weight of her contemplations. “You are a remarkable man, Anthony - devilishly handsome, attentive, and possessed of an impeccable lineage and considerable means. Any woman would be fortunate to bask in your affections. And I.. I’m just me. A Featherington, with nothing to be proud of.”

A wistful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she returned her gaze to his. “And I cannot ignore the stories I have heard of the Bridgerton marriages - unions forged upon the foundation of true love and deep affection. You deserve no less than that, Anthony.”

Penelope’s fingers twisted together in her lap, a nervous gesture that belied the turbulence within her soul. “While I find you utterly irresistible, and our friendship is blossoming into something far deeper, I cannot say with certainty that my feelings for you now extend beyond the bounds of fondness and admiration.”

Her voice grew softer, tinged with a hint of sorrow and regret. “My memories of our past interactions remain elusive, and I fear I may not be the woman you deserve, the woman capable of returning your ardent affections in kind.”

A heavy silence settled between them, punctuated only by the gentle sway of the swings and the distant chirping of crickets. Anthony’s expression was unreadable, a tempest of emotions flickering across his features.

Finally, he inhaled a steadying breath, his gaze softening with understanding and resolution.
“Penelope..” He murmured, his voice rich and soothing. “I would never presume to force your affections, nor would I bind you to a courtship against your will.”

He enveloped both her slender hands within his own, his touch gentle yet unyielding. “However, I cannot deny the depth of my growing feelings for you, nor can I simply surrender without first endeavoring to win your heart.”

A spark ignited in his eyes, a flame of determination that buried bright and true “If you will grant me the privilege of courting you, I vow to leave no stone unturned in my pursuit of your affections. Yet, should the day come when you find another who has captured your heart, I shall step aside without hesitation, content in the knowledge that I have given my all.”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat, her heart thundering beneath her breast as she gazed upon this remarkable man, this unwavering embodiment of strength and vulnerability intertwined. With a tremulous nod, she granted her consent, sealing their fate with a whisper. “Alright, Anthony. I’ll give your courtship a chance.” She said, with a soft smile.

A radiant smile blossomed across Anthony’s features, his eyes alight with unbridled joy. Gently, he raised her knuckles to his lips, bestowing a featherlight kiss upon her flesh, a wordless vow that set Penelope’s soul aflame with the promise of what was to come.

Chapter Text

The morning sun cast its warm, golden rays through the tall windows of the Bridgerton dining hall, bathing the room in a radiant glow. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and the lively chatter of the Bridgerton brood as they gathered for their morning repast.

Amidst the jovial assembly, Penelope Featherington made her entrance, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue as she took her place in the vacant chair to Anthony's right. The Viscount greeted her with a smile that could have outshone the sun itself, rising from his seat to gallantly pull out her chair.

"Good morning, Penelope." He murmured, his rich baritone caressing her name like a cherished melody.

Penelope's lips curved into a warm, radiant smile as she returned his greeting, her eyes sparkling with a newfound light that did not go unnoticed by the ever-watchful Violet and Benedict.

Indeed, the latter could not resist the temptation to tease his elder brother, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. "Well, well, brother.." He quipped, his voice laced with teasing intonation. "What, pray tell, has warranted such a pleasing demeanor on your part this fine morning?"

Anthony arched a brow in response, his gaze flickering towards Benedict briefly before settling upon Penelope once more, as though drawn by an invisible tether.

Eloise, ever the attentive one, leaned forward in her seat, her curiosity piqued. "Penelope, did you sleep comfortably?" She inquired, her tone laced with genuine concern. "I know you have spent many a night under our roof, but this was your first since your return to London."

Penelope's smile broadened, her eyes warm with gratitude as she turned towards Violet. "I slept wonderfully, thank you." She affirmed. "Your hospitality knows no bounds, Lady Bridgerton, and I am ever grateful for the warmth of your embrace."

As the meal drew to a close, Penelope rose from her seat, her gaze sweeping across the assembled Bridgertons as she bid them farewell. Anthony, ever the attentive gentleman, was swift to offer his escort, extending his arm in a courtly gesture.

"Surely you do not need to accompany me." Penelope demurred, her cheeks flushing anew. "Our household is but a stone's throw away."

Yet, Anthony was undeterred, his expression one of resolute determination. "Indulge me, Penelope." He implored, his voice rich and velvety. "I would relish the opportunity to bask in your company, even if for but a fleeting moment."

Penelope's resistance melted away, her arm slipping through the proffered crook of his elbow as they made their way towards the grand entrance of Bridgerton House.

As they traversed the hallways, Penelope's voice carried a gentle chastisement. "You truly need not have troubled yourself, you know." She murmured, her eyes alight with a teasing glimmer.

Anthony's response was one of unwavering conviction. "On the contrary." He countered, his gaze intense and utterly captivating. "I would seize any opportunity to spend time in your enchanting presence, no matter how brief."

A soft, melodious chuckle escaped Penelope's lips, the sound as sweet as the song of a nightingale, filling Anthony's heart with a warmth he had seldom known.

Upon their arrival at the Featherington doorstep, Anthony's fingers enveloped Penelope's slender hand, raising her knuckles to his lips in a tender, reverent kiss. "I shall call upon you tomorrow.." He vowed, his voice low and resonant. "And then, I shall declare my intentions to your mother, Lady Featherington."

“Then I shall await your arrival tomorrow, my lord.” Penelope said as she smiled.

As Penelope disappeared behind the imposing facade, he traced back the steps into his own home. Upon his return, Anthony found himself enveloped in the embrace of his mother's expectant gaze. Violet's eyes shone with a knowing gleam, her lips curved into a gentle, encouraging smile.

"Is there perhaps something you wish to share with me, dearest?" She inquired, her tone laced with maternal affection and curiosity.

Anthony inhaled a steadying breath, recognizing the futility of evasion in the face of his mother's perceptive nature. With a resolute nod, he laid bare the truth, the words tumbling forth in a heartfelt torrent.

"I intend to court Penelope, mother." He declared, his voice ringing with conviction. "She has already granted me her consent, and I shall call upon her and Lady Featherington tomorrow to declare my intentions formally."

Violet's smile broadened, her eyes shining with a mixture of pride and unbridled joy. Reaching out, she enveloped her son's hand within her own, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"Oh, my. This is such great news! I’m so happy for you Anthony.” Violet hugs her eldest. She had long hoped to have Anthony be married with a woman he so deserves. And Penelope being the object of that, is such a perfect choice. “Then I shall eagerly await the day when I can welcome Penelope into our family fold." She murmured, her voice rich with maternal warmth and unconditional love.

In that moment, Anthony knew that he had not only secured Penelope's affections but also the unwavering support of his beloved mother – a blessing that filled his heart with renewed hope and determination to forge a future where love reigned supreme.

—

The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when a crisp rap upon the Featherington's door echoed through the stately halls. Briarly, the family's ever-attentive butler, answered the summons with a curious furrow of his brow as he took in the sight before him – none other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself, brandishing a magnificent bouquet of flowers and a meticulously wrapped gift box.

“My lord.” Briarly greeted, inclining his head respectfully. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit this fine morning?”

Anthony straightened his spine, exuding an air of unwavering confidence and purpose. “I am here to call upon Miss Penelope Featherington.” He declared, his rich baritone resonating with conviction. “And to speak with her mother, Lady Featherington.”

A glimmer of understanding flickered across Briarly’s features, his lips curving into a subtle, approving smile. With a deferential nod, he ushered Anthony into the opulent drawing room, excusing himself to summon the mistress of the house.

The minutes ticked by in anticipatory silence until the rustle of skirts heralded Portia Featherington’s arrival. Her gaze immediately alighted the resplendent bouquet cradled in Anthony’s arms, her brow furrowing in a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity.

“Lord Bridgerton.” She greeted, her tone laced with polite inquiry. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

Anthony inhaled a steadying breath, steeling himself for the weight of his intentions. With a gentle clearing of his throat, he met the dowager baroness’ gaze head-on, his eyes burning with an unwavering resolve.

“Lady Featherington.” Anthony began, his voice carrying the gravity of his noble starion. “I have come to request the honor of courting your daughter, Miss Penelope.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with import, and Portia found herself momentarily rendered speechless. Had this been a request for Prudence’s hand, or a proposal from seasons past, she would have been overjoyed at the prospect of securing a titled match for her daughter.

Yet, the object of Antony’s affections was her youngest, Penelope - the very same daughter who suffered from the affliction of memory loss, the ton’s wallflower, and the same daughter who harbored the closely guarded secret of her identity as the infamous Lady Whistledown.

Portia’s mind whirled with a maelstrom of concerns - the potential for Penelope’s secrets to be unearthed, the delicate state of her health and well-being, and the unwanted attention such a high-profile courtship might bring upon their already beleaguered family.

Yet, she was not blind to the consequences of outright refusal, the potential for irreparable damage to their tenuous standing within the ton.

Drawing upon her reserves of maternal fortitude, Portia leveled the Viscount with an unwavering gaze. “Lord Bridgerton.” She began, her voice steady despite the turmoil that churned within her chest. “Are you certain of your intentions? You must understand the predicament in which my daughter finds herself - her memory loss, our family’s financial constraints, and the delicate nature of her current bearings.”

Anthony’s jaw tensed, his eyes burning with an intensity that brooked no argument. “I assure you, Lady Featherington, my intentions are sincere and genuine.” He vowed, his words carrying the weight of an unbreakable vow. “This courtship will serve to shield Penelope from the prying eyes of the ton, granting her the respite she so desperately needs to regain her bearings.”

His gaze softened ever so slightly, a tenderness stealing into his expression that spoke volumes of the depth of his affections. “Your daughter is a remarkable woman - intelligent, kind hearted, and possessed of a strength that few can match. She would make an exemplary wife, a devoted mother, and a true partner in every sense of the word.”

Portia found herself momentarily disarmed by the sincerity that radiated from Anthony’s countenance, the unwavering conviction that laced his every word.

“I do not make this request out of a sense of duty or obligation.” He continued, his voice dropping to a reverent murmur. “Rather, it is born of a profound admiration, a burgeoning affection that grows stronger with each passing moment in your daughter’s company. Penelope is definitely someone a man could easily fall for.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room, thick with the weight of Anthony's declaration. Portia's mind raced, weighing the potential consequences against the undeniable advantages such a match could afford her family.

Yet, before she could tender her final response, another concern surfaced – one that threatened to unravel the delicate threads of Anthony's proposition.

"And what of your brother, Colin?" Portia inquired, her brow furrowing as she broached the sensitive subject. "Surely you must consider the implications of his past indiscretions toward my daughter."

Anthony's expression morphed into one of bewilderment, his brow arching ever so slightly as he regarded Portia with a questioning gaze. "I fail to see the relevance of Colin in this matter." He countered, his tone tinged with confusion.

Portia inhaled a steadying breath, her eyes betraying a flicker of sorrow and regret. "Penelope, bless her soul, may not recall the events of that fateful night.” She explained, her voice gentle yet laced with a hint of steel. "But surely you cannot have forgotten the manner in which your brother so callously disparaged her, proclaiming to the entire ton that he would never dream of courting her."

A muscle twitched in Anthony's jaw as the weight of Portia's words sank in, the memory of Colin's blunder resurfacing with stark clarity. He could vividly recall the hurt that had etched itself across Penelope's features, the humiliation that had colored her cheeks a vivid crimson as she fled the ballroom in tears. Penelope might not be aware, but Anthony had seen her run away that night.

"I assure you, Lady Featherington, Colin's actions that night were a source of great shame and disappointment for our family." Anthony affirmed, his voice low and grave. "And while Penelope may not recall the incident, I cannot ignore the potential for complications should she regain those memories."

Portia's gaze remained steadfast, her expression resolute. "You must understand, Lord Bridgerton." She pressed on, her tone tinged with a maternal fierceness. "Should Penelope learn of your brother's callous words, it may very well taint the foundation upon which you seek to build your courtship."

Anthony's jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a resolve that brooked no argument. "I cannot undo the wrongs committed by my brother, nor can I erase the pain his thoughtless actions may have caused your daughter." He conceded, his voice rich and unwavering. "However, I vow to you, Lady Featherington, that my intentions toward Penelope are pure and untainted by any lingering shadows cast by Colin's indiscretions."

A heavy silence descended upon the room, thick with the weight of Anthony's vow. Portia studied his countenance, searching for any hint of deception or falsehood, yet finding none.

At last, she inclined her head, a glimmer of acquiescence shining in her eyes. "Very well, my lord." she conceded, her tone softening ever so slightly. "I shall place my trust in your sincerity and the strength of your character."

Relief washed over Anthony's features, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly as the weight of Portia's acceptance settled upon him.

"You have my deepest gratitude, Lady Featherington." He murmured, bowing his head in a gesture of profound respect. "I shall endeavor to prove myself worthy of the faith you have placed in me, and to shield Penelope from any lingering shadows that may threaten to tarnish the purity of our courtship."

—

After a short while, Penelope Featherington made her entrance, a vision of radiant beauty clad in a mermaid green day dress that accentuated her lithe form to perfection.

A radiant smile blossomed across her features as her gaze alighted upon Anthony, standing tall and resplendent in the center of the room. “Lord Bridgerton.” She greeted, her voice like liquid honey caressing his senses. “You have kept your promise.”

Anthony Bridgerton found himself momentarily enraptured, his gaze drinking in the sight of her with unabashed admiration. From the gentle sweep of her crimson red tresses, intricately braided and draped over one delicate shoulder, to the tantalizing curve of her bosom, accentuated by the alluring cut of her gown, every inch of her was a siren’s call, beckoning him ever deeper into her enchanting thrall.

His eyes traced the lush swell of her lips, painted in a beguiling shade of pink that ignited a smoldering desire within him - a yearning to pull her flush against his body and claim those tempting petals with a searing kiss that would leave no doubt as to the depth of his ardor.

Yet, it was the melodic lilt of her voice, calling his name with a gentle inquiry, that shattered the spell of his reverie, jolting him back to the present with a force that left him momentarily breathless.

“My lord?”

“Miss Featherington.” He managed, his rich baritone laced with a husky timbre that betrayed the intensity of his emotions. “You are a vision beyond compare.”

Inclining his head in a gentlemanly gesture, he proffered the resplendent bouquet, its vibrant petals a pale imitation of her own radiant beauty. “For you, my lady.” He murmured, his gaze holding her own with a simmering intensity that threatened to set her very soul ablaze.

Remembering himself, he turned towards Portia, extending the carefully wrapped box of confections. “And for you, Lady Featherington.” He added, his tone softening ever so slightly. “A token of my esteem and gratitude for your kindness.”

Penelope accepted the fragrant blooms with a beaming smile, her cheeks flushed with a becoming blush as she basked in the warmth of Anthony’s attentions. Inhaling their heady scent, she turned towards her maid, wordlessly instructing her to find a suitable vase and deliver the bouquet to her chambers.

Portia, ever the gracious hostess, inclined her head in acknowledgment of Anthony’s gesture, her gaze flickering between the pair with a mixture of curiosity and maternal pride.

“Penelope, dear.” She began, her tone laced with a hint of amusement. “It seems Lord Bridgerton has called upon us with a most momentous purpose. He is wanting to court you, my child.”

To Portia’s surprise, her youngest daughter did not appear the least bit fazed by the revelation of Anthony’s intentions, a sense of serene smile gracing her features as she nodded in affirmation.

“Indeed, mama.” She confirmed, her voice carrying a gentle lilt. “Lord Bridgerton expressed his desires to me last night, beneath the gentle glow of the moonlight.”

Lady Featherington’s eyes widened ever so slightly, her gaze sweeping over the pair with a newfound appreciation for the depth of their connection. Clearing her throat, she offered them a warm reassuring smile.

“Then I shall leave you two to converse freely.” She declared, retreating to a discreet corner of the room, allowing them the semblance of privacy as they settled upon the plush settee near the window.

Though they maintained a respectable distance, adhering to the rigid rules of decorum, an undeniable spark crackled between them, a delicious tension that painted their interactions with a vibrant, effervescent hue.

As they engaged in the familiar dance of courtship, exchanging pleasantries and exploring the depths of their shared interests, Anthony found himself utterly enraptured, his heart thrumming with a rhythm that echoed the stirrings of a love that threatened to consume him whole.

Chapter Text

The Featherington manor was abuzz with activity as the Viscount Anthony Bridgerton just took leave with the youngest redhead, Penelope Featherington for a walk in the park, just after declaring his intentions in courting the youngest Featherington. In the drawing room, Mrs. Varley, the ever-efficient housekeeper, approached the dowager baroness with a questioning look.

“My lady, what are we to do about the other callers who may come for Miss Penelope’s hand?”

Portia let out a resigned sigh, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling slightly. It had been merely a week since her daughter was named the season’s incomparable Emerald by the Queen herself. And now their longtime neighbor, the esteemed Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, had boldly begun courting Penelope.

“Instruct Briarly to politely decline any other callers, Mrs. Varley. Penelope is now officially spoken for.” She clasped her hands tightly, hoping to avoid yet another scandal that so often plagued relations between their families.

Across town, Anthony and Penelope strolled leisurely along The Serpentine in Hyde Park, accompanied by Penelope’s maid as their chaperone. Whispers rippled through the gathered ton as they passed, drawing speculative looks.

The unlikely pairing of a celebrated aristocrat like Anthony and a former wallflower like Penelope was the subject of intense gossip. Anthony caught Penelope’s eyes, concerned by her momentary discomfort under the scrutiny.

“Are you quite alright, Penelope?” He asked solicitously. “I wish to make our courtship plain, but I’ll understand if the attention overwhelms.”

Penelope mustered a small smile. “I’m well, just unaccustomed to such interest.” Her gaze met his steadily. “Since we are formally courting now, might I ask you some questions? To better know the man pursuing me.”

Anthony felt his breath catch at her forthrightness but nodded. “Of course, ask me anything.”

“Well, erm.. What was our relationship before my.. Accident? I confess, those memories elude me still.”

Anthony’s steps slowed as he considered her question. How to explain the strange dance they had kept up for years - friendly neighbors one moment, separated by rigid boundaries the next?

“We were acquainted through our families’ long standing connections. You were best friends with my sister Eloise growing up. But propriety dictated our interaction remain rather formal.”

Penelope nodded, pressing on. “Then might I ask you to tell me more about yourself? Your childhood, interests, past dalliances?” Her cheeks flushed but she held his gaze. “And what you might expect of me, should we proceed to marriage?”

For a long moment, Anthony was rendered silent, absorbing the realization that this remarkable woman wished to truly know him - the man behind the Viscount’s facade. Even his own family had never sought the unvarnished truth about his inner thoughts and struggles.

But here was Penelope, boldly requesting entry past the walls he’d erected over the years. The burden of inheriting his viscountcy at just nine and ten years old, his lifelong quest to prove himself worthy of the honor, his interests in fencing and riding and quiet moments alone with his horses - all this and more sat unspoken on his tongue.

Slowly, a warm smile curved Anthony’s lips. “You ask no simple thing, Penelope. But I shall endeavor to answer you fully.”

He recounted a childhood of contrasting privileges and grave responsibilities thrust upon him entirely too young. The alienation of assuming a title at an age when he should have been enjoying it with his friends at the university. His single, ill-fated love affair with an opera singer that had ended with just a heartache on his part.

Finally, he met the redhead’s gaze solemnly. “Hmm.. For the Viscountess, children are undoubtedly needed. With the title, an heir and a spare must be procured. But I expect loyalty, fidelity and partnership from my wife above all. A meeting of minds and hearts, not just form. In return, you shall have my protection, my faithfulness, and my full self - walls torn away.”

As he spoke those last words, something integral finally unlocked within Anthony’s chest. This woman had seen him, truly and from the genuine stares she had been giving him, she truly accepted what she found.

Whatever came next, he knew this courtship would forge a bond far surpassing anything propriety could dictate. He was undone, remade, and hers.

After Anthony finished sharing the unvarnished details of his life, hopes and expectations, he watched a kaleidoscope of emotions play out across Penelope’s expressive features.

At first, a radiant smile blossomed, as if grateful to be granted a glimpse behind the persona he typically displayed to the world. However, that joy quickly gave way to a palpable sadness that furrowed her brow.

Penelope opened her mouth as if to speak, but then seemed to think better of it, pressing her lips together in a tight line. Anthony could all but see the realization weighing on her - for all the truths he’d laid bare, she could not reciprocate in kind.

Not with her memory still so crucially lacking.

A lump rose in Anthony’s throat at the naked vulnerability etched on her face. Without a second thought, he reached out, giving her gloved hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Penelope Featherington.” He used her complete name deliberately. “I know this courtship must feel unbalanced with your loss of memories. But I assure you, I already see who you truly are.”

His warm brown eyes caught and held her gaze as they continued their leisurely stroll. “A kind and intelligent woman, a person who loves my family. One with an incredibly generous spirit.”

Anthony’s thumb grazed her knuckles soothingly. “Even if those recollections remain elusive, we shall build new memories together. I’ll help you rediscover yourself, if you’ll have me.”

The sincerity in his words was palpable, warming Penelope’s face with a becoming blush. She found herself utterly captivated by this man - his steadfast strength, his undeniable honor, and something softer too when he looked at her.

As if he truly saw her in a way so few ever had.

Unbidden, the thought stole into her mind that if this was the man who would stand beside her as her husband, perhaps the prospect of marriage would not be so forbidding after all.

Penelope’s fingers curled around Anthony’s in a tender hold. “I should like that very much.” She murmured, her eyes shining with the promise of whatever future lay ahead.

As Anthony and Penelope continued their leisurely promenade through Hyde Park, an unwelcome figure approached - Lord Fife. The notorious rake sauntered over, giving the briefest of nods to Anthony before turning his full attention to Penelope.

“Miss Featherington.” Fife purred, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips in an exaggerated gesture. “What a delight to encounter the season’s Emerald looking so radiant on this fine day.”

Anthony felt his jaw tightening as Fife blatantly disregarded his presence, engaging Penelope with cloying compliments and insinuating questions clearly designed to fluster her. Though to Anthony’s displeasure, Penelope seemed to relax slightly into the banter.

That is, until Fife’s roving gaze overtly raked over Penelope’s figure before remarking. “Such a finely shaped woman is sure to provide sturdy, lusty heirs.”

Penelope’s grip on Anthony’s elbow tightened convulsively at the crude insinuation. Before she could respond, Anthony had stepped forward, his expression thunderous.

“Mind your tongue, Fife.” He bit out in bald warning. “Your words stray beyond the bounds of propriety.”

Rather than looking chastened, Fife offered an insolent smirk. “And by what right do you claim to judge me, Bridgerton? We are but two suitors seeking the lady’s favor, unless I miss my mark? Also, your rakish ways are most questionable than mine.”

The clear implication that he and Anthony were on equal footing for Penelope’s hand made Anthony’s flare white-hot. Before he could unleash the full brunt of his ire, however, Penelope Featherington straightened beside him.

“You are mistaken, my lord.” She stated with surprising poise. “Lord Bridgerton and I have already commenced courting. He has every right to take issue with your untoward manner.”

Glancing at Anthony, the redhead’s eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief despite her somber tone. “Is that not the case, my lord?”

Anthony Bridgerton could not help the surge of pride - and undeniable desire - that swelled within him at her brazen declaration. Turning back to Fife, he allowed a slow, smug smile to spread across his face.

“The lady speaks the truth. You’ve been decisively outmatched this round, Fife.”

For once, the rake in the form of Lord Fife seemed to have no caustic retort. His mouth opened and closed uselessly as the reality sank in that the coveted season’s jewel had chosen Anthony Bridgerton over him.

“I believe we’ve exhausted the need for further conversation.” Anthony states smoothly. With a mocking tilt of his head, he escorted Penelope onwards, leaving a fuming Fife in their wake.

—

The Trowbridge Ball

The Trowbridge ball marked the highly anticipated debut of Viscount Bridgerton and Miss Penelope Featherington as an officially courting couple. As the Featherington family made their entrance, Anthony wasted no time in claiming Penelope’s arm, leaving her mother and sister in the capable hands of Mister Robert Huxley.

As they made a sweeping turn about the lavishly adorned ballroom, Anthony leaned in close. “How fares my partner this evening?”

A soft smile played across Penelope’s lips as she recounted the day’s happenings - the frantic last minute visit to the modiste, her mother’s frazzled yet doting fussing, even Mister Huxley’s comic near-tumble onto the front steps. Her dimpled grin and sparkling eyes were a balm to Anthony’s soul.

Their circuit was interrupted, however, by the icy presence of Cressida Cowper and her equally glacial mother. While all painted civility, Cressida’s languid greetings to Anthony were undercut by the barbed asides thrown Penelope’s way.

“And what wiles have you employed to capture the Queen’s interest in announcing you as the season’s gemstone, Miss Featherington?” Cressida purred, her tone dripping disdain. “Surely the gentlemen cannot resist such.. Credentials as yours.”

Penelope stiffened slightly at the brazen insinuation, though Anthony felt his hackles rising in indignation. He knew of Cressida’s cruel tendencies, particularly towards other ladies. But to attack his Penelope so baldly was unforgivable.

For her part, Penelope seemed momentarily wrong-footed, unable to place her history with the spiteful Miss Cower. Polite bewilderment warred with the faintest embers of defiance.

Before Penelope could defend herself, Cressida opened her mouth to spew more unpleasantries. “Why Lord Bridgerton, I cannot fathom what has possessed you to –”

“Enough, Miss Cowper.” Anthony interjected cooly, briefly silencing her. “I will thank you to keep a civil tongue about your betters.”

“You may be acceptably pretty and your dowry ample, but no gentleman of worth will claim you for his own. Not with that poisonous disposition and utter lacking of decorum.”

The words seemed to slap Cressida and Lady Cowper in the face, rendering them both slack jawed. Penelope felt Anthony’s arm tense beneath her hand and quickly tugged him onwards before he could further ignite their tempers.

As much as she wished to allow Anthony to defend her honor, escalating a public scene would only breed more cruel gossip. With a gentle murmur, she deftly motioned for him to let the issue go and for him to remain calm.

Penelope offered him a wan smile, squeezed his arm soothingly. Allowing her presence and tender affection to becalm him, Anthony’s features gradually softened once more into the devoted suitor who adored every moment at Penelope’s side.

“Miss Featherington, would you bless our courtship with an honor of this dance?” He left no doubt it was a command, not a request. Cressida and her mother Lady Cowper’s mouths were left open as they heard the Viscount confirm their courtship.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled with unspoken gratitude as she acquiesced. Anthony spared one last, quelling look at the stunned Cowpers before sweeping Penelope into the whirl of the dance floor.

As they fell into the steps, Penelope glanced up at him curiously. “Forgive me, but I cannot quite place my previous association with Miss Cowper. Her vitriol seemed.. Excessive.”

Pursing his lips, Anthony considered how to explain. “Cressida is a lady known more for her pettiness and cruelty than her grace. She takes immense pleasure in tormenting other young ladies, particularly those she deems.. Beneath her station.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. “Which is utter hypocrisy given her own lacking conduct and character. Pay her malice no mind.”

Penelope’s dimpled grin resurfaced at his heated diatribe. “Then I shall count myself fortunate to have such a champion to whisk me away.” Her eyes shone with impish mirth. “My valiant knight.”

Anthony felt his throat go surprisingly dry at her teasing words and heated look. His desire to take her lips right at this moment has been increasingly dangerous, given that they are in a public view. Her innocent teasing are ringing on his head, making his body burn to touch her skin, to feel her warmth and to make her his. Anthony’s eyes darken as playful thoughts run amok his mind. Clearing his throat, he countered. “Happily given, my lady.”

As she places her hand more firmly into his arm, Anthony silently thanked the fates for this woman's resilient spirit. Tonight was just the first act - he would spend every remaining night battling dragons to keep that light in her eyes and to control his growing urges to take liberties against the irresistible Penelope Featherington.

Chapter Text

Penelope Featherington could not have imagined a more fulfilling existence than the one she was currently living. The past eight weeks had been a whirlwind of excitement and joy, filled with social gatherings, intimate moments with Anthony and the comforting presence of newfound friendships.

As she gracefully navigated through the ballrooms and tea parties of the ton, Penelope could not help but feel a sense of pride in her role as the season’s Emerald. The Queen’s favor had opened countless doors for her, and she relished in the opportunity to engage in lively conversations and forge connections with noble members of society.

But it was Anthony who truly made her heart sing. His unwavering attention and affection filled her with warmth and happiness. From the tender gestures of sending her flowers and gifts to the passionate kisses they shared in stolen moments, Anthony made her feel cherished and desired in a way she had never experienced before.

Their connection has transcended mere physical attraction or courtly expectations. Anthony's ardent courtship and unwavering devotion has allowed Penelope to feel truly seen, cherished and understood on a deep soul level. His romantic gestures - the daily visits, gifts, escorting her to every event - speak to his authentic desire to have her by his side always.

For Penelope, this constancy and the emotional safety it provides has been deeply healing after her trauma and memory loss. Anthony doesn't just pursue her body, but her mind, her essence. Their bond is built on intellectual rapport, philosophical communion and a profound meeting of kindred spirits.

This emotional intimacy has fostered the space for their affections to blossom into a love that touches every facet of their beings - spiritual, mental and physical. While their physical explorations remain chaste for most part, the passion between them is palpable in every heated glance, every brush of hands. Penelope feels utterly adored.

Their physical relationship had blossomed into something intoxicating and exhilarating. Penelope found herself lost in the depths of passion as Anthony’s kisses ignited flames of desire within her. His touch was both gentle and possessive, sending shivers down her spine and leaving her yearning for more.

But it wasn’t just Anthony who brought joy into Penelope’s life. Her renewed friendship with Eloise Bridgerton brought a sense of warmth and companionship that she hadn’t realized she was missing. Eloise’s guidance and support were invaluable, helping Penelope navigate the complexities of high society with ease.

The rest of the Bridgerton family has also enthusiastically embraced Penelope as one of their own in anticipation of her joining their ranks. This warm kinship has been deeply nourishing. No longer adrift, Penelope can feel a sense of home and belonging radiating from the loving Bridgerton ecosystem.

And despite the lingering mystery of Lady Whistledown’s identity, Penelope’s family seemed to be thriving. Portia Featherington breathed a sigh of relief as her daughters found happiness and fulfillment in their respective lives. Prudence’s betrothal brought her joy, while Philippa’s impending motherhood filled her with anticipation. And as for her youngest Penelope, she had found contentment in the arms of the man she had come to love, her memories be damned.

As the weeks passed, Penelope’s satisfaction with her life in London only grew stronger. She had everything she could ever want - love, friendship and a newfound sense of belonging.

—

At the Featherington House

It’s a balmy afternoon in London as Penelope Featherington sits in the comfort of their drawing room, engaged in lively conversation with Eloise. The brunette had escaped the clutches of her mama, as the whole of Bridgerton household were abuzz with preparation for the upcoming ball they will be hosting that night. The sunlight streams in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room as they chat.

Eloise, ever the spirited conversationalist, regales the redhead with tales of their latest social engagements and the various characters they have encountered. Penelope listens attentively, soaking in every detail as she sips her tea.

“And then Lady Wexham had the audacity to claim that her new hat was the talk of the town.” Eloise exclaims, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Can you believe it?”

Penelope laughs, her own eyes sparkling with mirth. “Oh, the audacity indeed! Some people have far too much confidence in their fashion sense.”

Their laughter fills the room, mingling with the soft strains of the birds chirping outside the window. It’s moments like these that the redhead treasures the most - the simple joys of friendship and camaraderie.

As the conversation winds down, Penelope’s thoughts drift to Anthony. She could not help but smile as she recalls their recent moments together - stolen kisses, whispered promises and tender embraces.

Eloise notices the dreamy look on Penelope’s face and grins mischievously. “Ah, I see that love is in the air.” She teases, nudging Penelope playfully.

Blushing slightly, Penelope nods, unable to suppress the grin that spreads across her features. “Yes, it most certainly is.” She admits, her heart fluttering at the thought of Anthony. “Your brother is such a good man. His attentiveness and sincerity towards our courtship is unmatched. He makes it hard for me not to fall in love with him.”

Eloise’s eyes soften with warmth as she looks at her friend. “I’m so happy for you, Penelope.” She says sincerely. “You deserve all the happiness in the world.” Eloise holds the heavy weight of those words. Penelope had gone through numerous ordeals in her life, and truly, she had not deserved any of it. If the redhead was only born from a different family, or different era, she might have had a better life. A life without pain, without familial problems, Penelope might have been a happier person even before her accident. “I love my brother, though I must say, you are courting someone below your station for he is worth six of you. And I’m glad that he has found love in you. You shall make a perfect wife for him.”

Penelope chuckles at Eloise’s words, feeling a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support of her dear friend. “Thank you, Eloise.” She replies, her voice filled with emotion. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Eloise silently smiles at Penelope’s words. “You shall continue to be Whistledown, Pen.” Was what Eloise wanted to say but kept to herself. Despite the bliss of having her friendship reformed with Penelope, the brunette could not hide away her anxiety once Penelope’s memories comes rushing back.

Eloise’s stomach twisted into knots thinking about the inevitable day when Penelope’s lost memories would return.

Would her dearest friend still want her in her life after their explosive falling out? Eloise had hurled such cruel accusations at Penelope upon discovering she was the infamous Lady Whistledown. The things she’d said in anger about betrayal and deception..

Eloise’s voice faltered as the weight of her own hypocrisy threatened to crush her. For in Penelope’s absence, she had taken up the Whistledown mantle herself, pushing out scandal sheets just as her friend had done before. She was a purveyor of ton gossip now too.

How could she ever confess that to Penelope? After all her impassioned condemnation of the very act she’d begun committing herself? Shame burned hot in Eloise’s cheeks.

What if Penelope, her memory fully intact once more, looked at Eloise with anger and disdain for the rank hypocrisy? For turning her back so completely on the very person she’d claimed to love most in the world? The thought made Eloise’s heart stutter in her chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the barrage of anxious thoughts. Memories of their idyllic childhood played in kaleidoscope bursts. Penelope’s warm smiles and tinkling laughter as they’d spun across the lawn. Their whispered secrets and dreams shared in Eloise’s bed keeping each other up well past midnight.

Could she bear to lose that treasured bond forever? But what choice did she have? Eloise had already sowed the seeds for potential irreparable damage to their friendship long ago. All she could do was await Penelope’s restoration and the harsh judgment that may follow. No matter Eloise’s intentions, some rifts could not be mended through willful sacrifice alone. Perhaps the inevitable truth would prove too bitter a pill for even her beloved Pen to swallow. The uncertainty alone was agonizing.

“Eloise?”

Penelope’s worried voice brought back Eloise to present. She could see the bothered gaze from the redhead’s cerulean eyes staring at her.

“Y-Yes, Pen?”

“Are you quite alright? You were silent for a while now..”

“O-Oh. Never mind me, Pen. I was just thinking how I would save myself from bore later at our ball tonight.” Eloise quickly makes up an excuse as not to worry her dear friend. “Surely, you would be there, would you not?”

Penelope smiled as she seemed to see Eloise’s composure back again. “Of course. Violet insisted I must be there with your family. And your brother had required me so, saying it is of utmost import that I show up. He expressed it rather, imposingly.”

“Well, that’s Ant. I told you of his boorish behavior.” Eloise scoffed as she teases her brother behind his back. “Very well, I must go. Mama will surely have me at her wit’s end if I spend the entire day here while my siblings are being chaotic at home.

Penelope laughed at her friend’s barb. “Yes, better hurry along. I’ll see you at the ball tonight.”

—-

At the Bridgerton Ball

The annual Bridgerton ball was always one of the most anticipated events of the season, and this year was no exception. Violet, the esteemed Dowager Viscountess, had spared no expense to ensure every detail was executed to perfection - from the lavish decorations and warm lighting, to the lively performers and sumptuous refreshments laid out for the ton’s enjoyment.

Even her Majesty the Queen had openly expressed her eagerness to attend, gracing the Bridgerton household with her regal presence as the festivities commenced. As she swept into the ballroom on the arm of her trusted equerry, Brimsley, Queen Charlotte immediately sought out the hostess.

Lady Bridgerton, you have outdone yourself once again.” The Queen proclaimed in her rich tones. “Another truly spectacular affair.”

Violet dipped into an elegant curtsy. “You are most gracious, your Majesty. The honor is ours to host you this evening.”

The Queen’s sharp eyes had already begun roving the assembled crowd, searching out a particular face. Spotting Penelope Featherington across the way, she turned back to her equerry.

“Brimsley, do summon Miss Featherington. I would very much enjoy her company.”

Ever obedient, Brimsley hastened off to fetch the requested young lady. Penelope made her way through the throngs, skirts swishing, to stand at an attentive distance from the Queen.

“Your Majesty.” She executed a dainty curtsy, back curving in a smooth arc. “You honor me greatly.”

Queen Charlotte’s lips curved in a rare, fond smile. “Quite the contrary, Miss Featherington. It is my pleasure to bask in the presence of this season’s true emerald.”

For the next hour, Penelope found herself the rapt audience to the Queen’s equally rapt interest in her thoughts and experiences thus far. The redhead was effusive yet eloquent, analytical yet charming as she recounted her journey. More than once, peals of laughter escaped the royal at some sparkling quip from Penelope.

At last, Brimsley materialized to extract her Majesty, allowing Penelope to slip away on grateful feet. She had only begun to sip at a cool lemonade when a familiar, reedy voice cut through the din.

“Well, if it isn’t the emerald of the season herself!”

Lady Danbury’s eyes danced with impish mirth as she sidled up beside Penelope.

“I see her Majesty has thoroughly monopolized your delightful company this evening.” The older woman continued in a dry tone. “One would think of you as the guest of honor, not her!”

Penelope felt her cheeks warm with pleasure at such high praise. Dipping into a curtsy, she responded fondly. “And rob her Majesty of her chance to dazzle the masses, my lady? I could never!”

The two women shared a conspiratorial grin. For all her life lessons cloaked in prickly barbs, Penelope cherished Lady Danbury’s friendship.

“Well, do carry on charming the Queen into naming you her heir.” The older lady quipped. “I should quite enjoy presiding over the ton under the Hanover-Featherington empire!” The two ladies shared a laugh.

As Penelope Featherington and Lady Agatha Danbury continued their playful repartee, the tall, imposing figure of Viscount Bridgerton approached. Anthony’s warm gaze found Penelope immediately, softening the hard lines of his aristocratic features.

“Lady Danbury, might I steal Miss Featherington away for a turn about the room?” His deep voice was lightly tinged with warning. “If you can bear to part with her delightful company for a spell.”

The older woman’s eyes danced with mirth. “Is that impatience I detect from you, Lord Bridgerton?” She tsked in mock rebuke. “One would think a gentleman of your standing could exhibit more decorum.”

Anthony’s jaw tensed minutely, but Penelope laid a calming hand on his arm before he could respond. Penelope chuckled at the famed lioness which made Anthony’s features softened. “Oh, my lady. Please pay him no mind. He has his monthly courses.” The youngest Featherington formed a mischievous and playful grin on her lips.

“Ha! And you wonder why her Majesty and I adore you, Miss Featherington! You have the best humor and wit, all at once.” Lady Danbury wickedly laughs at Penelope’s jest, making fun of Anthony who was just standing there confused on what the pun was about.

“Now, now, you must know how much I relish having a conversation with you, Miss Featherington.” Lady Danbury carried on blithely. “But I suppose even I can be generous on certain occasions.”

With an airy wave of her hand, she released Penelope into Anthony’s keeping. The Viscount wasted no time in claiming Penelope’s arm, tucking her soft hand into the crook of his elbow possessively.

Chapter Text

As Anthony led Penelope away to have a turn for the room, she could not help but notice the slight tension still lingering in his broad shoulders. With a gentle prod, she broached the subject that seemed to be weighing on him.

“Anthony, might I ask what spurred your uncharacteristic display before Lady Danbury?” She kept her tone light, letting her curiosity show. “You are not usually one to exhibit such impatience, even with your closest acquaintances.”

The Viscount let out a rueful sigh, his free hand scrubbing over his face briefly. “You are correct, of course. I should not have allowed my eagerness to override propriety, especially in front of Lady Danbury.”

Meeting Penelope’s warm, understanding gaze, Anthony felt his shoulders finally relax infinitesimally. This remarkable woman had an utterly calming effect on his frequently frayed disposition.

“It has been an exercise in restraint this evening.” He admitted wryly. “Nearly three hours into the ball, and I’d scarcely had a moment alone with you.”

Penelope Featherington’s brows lifted in surprise, and Anthony swiftly expounded. “First, you were monopolized by my entire family, all of them vying shamelessly for your attentions. Then her Majesty spirits you away for the better part of an hour.”

A fleeting scowl crossed his features as he recalled having to stand idly by while Penelope was so thoroughly engaged elsewhere. Anthony Bridgerton was a patient man by nature and necessity - but not when it came to this woman by his side.

“I’ll confess, I grew… apprehensive that my sister Eloise would be the next to abscond with you for the remainder of the evening.” A rueful chuckle escaped him at the thought. “You know how she becomes when the two of you reunite. We’d be fortunate to extract you from her clutches by the ball’s end.”

Penelope felt her heart fluttering traitorously at Anthony’s candid admission. Never would she have anticipated the serious, duty-bound Viscount to be.. Well, jealous was too strong a word. But his clear longing to monopolize her time and attention was both surprising and gratifying.

A teasing smile played across her lips. “Why Anthony, I do believe you are afflicted with a rather severe case of clinginess.”

The playful rebuke had its intended effect - Anthony’s warm chuckle echoed her own mirth as some of the lingering tension bled away. When his rich brown eyes met hers again, they were soft yet gleaming with unmistakable ardor.

“Perhaps I am.” He rumbled in that deep baritone that never failed to raise delicious gooseflesh along Penelope’s arms. “But how can I regret such an ailment when the remedy is your company alone?”

Before the redhead can respond with another flirty banter, the opening strains of a waltz began to swell, and Anthony drew them to a halt. His arm slipped possessively about Penelope’s waist as he gazed down at her, utterly besotted and forgetting that their closeness was too much and had been breaking the rules of propriety and decorum.

“Will you honor me with this dance, my lady?” The request was heated, resonant with the depth of feeling between them.

Penelope felt her chest constrict at the overwhelming tenderness in Anthony’s eyes. With a radiant smile, she accepted his proposal by placing her hand in his.

“With pleasure, my lord.” She murmured, allowing him to pull her into the intimate embrace of the dance.

—

A hushed sense of anticipation blanketed the Bridgerton brood as they watched Anthony and Penelope take to the dance floor. Daphne, radiant in her role as the Duchess of Hastings, and who just returned to London to attend her maternal family’s ball, turned an intent look towards her husband.

“Simon, are all the preparations complete?” Her voice was taut with barely restrained emotion.

The dashing Duke gave a subtle nod, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “The orchestra has been fully briefed and awaits my signal.”

Daphne exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. Beside them, the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton observed the byplay with keenly perceptive eyes.

“Is it that time, my dears?” She murmured, already knowing the answer. Benedict, ever the insightful second brother, materialized at Violet’s side.

“You mean the time when our stodgy elder brother finally works up the nerve to make an honest woman of Miss Featherington?” Benedict’s tone was light, but his gaze shone with undisguised affection.

A tremulous smile graced Violet’s lips as she gave a shallow nod. “Indeed it is.”

Earlier that day, Anthony had summoned Violet, Benedict and Daphne in his study to apprise them of his intentions. The determined set of his jaw told them all they needed to know - he fully meant to ask for Penelope’s hand before the night was through. They did not question the Viscount on why their sister Eloise seemed not to be included on the plan. For they all know how Eloise is so enamored and close with Penelope. And Eloise’s loyalty lies fully to the redhead rather than to her own brother Anthony. If Eloise will get wind of the truth that Anthony will surprisingly propose to Penelope Featherington that night, there is a hundred percent chance that the second Bridgerton daughter will squeal it to her redhead friend.

“I require all of your assistance to ensure the moment is.. Memorable.” were Anthony’s exact words, a brief flush tingeing his cheek at the uncharacteristic sentimentality.

Naturally, the Bridgertons had responded with a flurry of enthusiasm and not a few impertinent quips about their staid brother’s romantic inclinations. But underneath the teasing lay a profound sense of joy that Anthony had finally found the happiness and partnership he’d long sought.

“I assume he has procured the ring?” Benedict asked seriously. “Mother’s ring that passes to each Viscountess?”

Violet nodded, recalling how Anthony had approached her just days prior to request the treasured Bridgerton jewel. His deep brown eyes had shone with naked adoration as he confessed his enduring love for Penelope.

“She is the other half of my soul, mother.” Anthony had murmured with uncharacteristic passion. “I cannot fathom a future without her as my wife, my partner through all things.”

Now, observing her eldest son guiding Penelope through the graceful steps of the waltz, Violet felt her heart swell fit to burst.

“Everything is in readiness.” She assured her children serenely. “Anthony need only ask, and receive his heart’s desire.”

As one, the small huddle of Bridgertons turned their gazes back towards the dance floor with bated breath. The pivotal moment that would change the course of their family’s legacy forever was finally at hand.

—

The ballroom seemed to hold its collective breath as Anthony and Penelope took to the dance floor for the waltz. All eyes were inexorably drawn to the striking couple, gracefully navigating the intricate steps with remarkable poise and fluidity.

Penelope has now been well known throughout the ton for her exceptional dancing skills - every pivot and turn executed with effortless elegance, her body swaying in perfect time to the music’s cadence. Anthony more than held his own however, his tall frame moving with an innate confidence and masculinity that complemented Penelope’s lithe form ideally.

As the pair claimed the central space, they moved as one seamless partner - Penelope’s skirts swirling in tandem with Anthony’s long, powerful strides. Though the appropriate distance should have been maintained, the Viscount could not seem to help pulling his beloved just a fraction closer with each chassis twist.

His warm breath fanned over Penelope’s flushed cheek as Anthony dipped his head, regarding her with an ardent yet oddly apprehensive look,

“Pen.. Might I ask your opinion on our courtship thus far?” He murmured, barely audible over the swelling strains of the orchestra. “Have my efforts proven.. Sufficient to your satisfaction?”

For all his renowned confidence, Anthony Bridgerton felt his customary aplomb desert him in that electrifying moment. Though Penelope had confessed her reciprocal love and affection, part of him would never stop seeking to provide her every happiness.

Penelope felt her heart constrict at the naked yearning in Anthony’s gaze. Gathering his hands more tightly in hers, she bestowed upon him a radiant smile full of reassurance and devotion.

“Sufficient?” Her voice held a hint of fond teasing even as it throbbed with sincerity. “Anthony, your efforts have exceeded even my most fanciful expectations.”

She traced the line of his stubbled jaw with one delicate fingertip. “You have pursued me ardently in the face of all societal speculation. Called upon me daily despite your duties, planned outings tailored to my interests with near single-minded devotion. You have showered me gifts and accepted me despite my defects.”

Penelope felt herself flush becomingly as she continued. “You have never once shied from publicly declaring your intentions, allowing all to know the depth of your regard and affection. How could I feel anything but cherished? Important?”

Anthony’s throat worked convulsively as a powerful tide of emotion threatened to overwhelm him entirely. For once in his meticulously controlled life, words utterly failed him in the wake of such unguarded vulnerability and patently joyful candor.

As the final strains of the waltz faded into silence, the dance’s elaborate finale positions should have required him to relinquish Penelope’s waist and slip back into respectful propriety. Yet the Viscount found himself utterly unable to put even an inch of distance between their forms.

Heedless to the murmurs and speculative glances now swirling around them, Anthony simply pulled Penelope’s pliant body more fully against his own. His gaze riveted and incandescently heated as it bore into her eyes, crystals of azure and the clearest summer skies.

In that suspended moment, the ballroom around Anthony and Penelope seemed to fall away entirely. They existed in a sphere of their own making - intimate, transcendent, utterly complete.

Anthony’s gaze was molten brandy, his angular features softened by an expression of such profound tenderness that it stole Penelope’s breath. When he spoke, his deep baritone caressed her very soul.

“You are life itself to me, Pen.” The words were hushed yet carried the weight of a sacred vow. “Each smile from your lips, every moment in your presence.. You are the tether anchoring me to this world, the reason I greet each new morning with renewed purpose.”

“One of his large, calloused hands came up to hold her small soft hand as if she were the most precious of porcelain. “You embody every quality I could ever hope for in a wife - compassionate, steadfast, intelligent beyond measure. Your wit and insights are a siren’s call I cannot resist.”

Anthony’s thumb traced the back of her palm using his thumb in worshipful reverence. “You carry yourself with more innate grace and eloquence than any lady of the ton, myself included. Truly, you are the season’s incomparable emerald in all ways.”

Penelope Featherington felt her eyes well with joyful tears at the naked adoration blazing in Anthony’s expression and words. She knew then, with every fiber of her being, that whatever distance had stretched between them was finally, utterly erased.

When Anthony spoke again, his voice was thick with ardor yet rang with unmistakable clarity. “I love you, Penelope Featherington. You are the other half of my soul, my way forward into an eternal dawn. The only woman I shall ever want or need as my wife and my life partner.”

On the final word, Anthony stunned the entire ball into breathless stillness by sinking fluidly to one knee before her. From the pocket of his evening jacket, he produced a jeweler’s box which he thumbed open with hands that shook ever so slightly.

Inside lay an exquisite diamond and sapphire ring - the Bridgerton family heirloom that had graced the finger of each Viscountess for generations. As Anthony freed the precious gem from its velvet nest, the orchestra began to swell in a melancholy yet transcendent melody at the Duke of Hastings’ cue.

Anthony’s intense gaze felt seared into Penelope’s very core as he spoke the words she had secretly dreamed of since falling irrevocably into love with him.

“Miss Penelope Featherington, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife and bring me eternal happiness for being my Viscountess?” His voice fairly dripped with smoldering sincerity and unveiled yearning. “Grant me the remainder of our lives to cherish and honor you as you deserve?”

Tears spilled freely down Penelope’s cheeks now, her entire being overwhelmed by the profound joy blossoming within her chest. Before a capacity crowd of the ton’s elite - before the Queen herself - she gave herself over to destiny.

“Yes!” She breathed in a voice thick with devotion. “A thousand times, yes, Anthony.”

With hands that trembled in equal measure, Penelope presented her delicate left hand to Anthony so he could slide the glittering heirloom onto her ring finger. The weight of it, the symbolic meaning, felt like the final piece of her heart clicking immutably into place.

Only then did Anthony allow the rapturous smile to break fully across his features. Surging back to his full height, he grasped Penelope’s hand in both of his and brought it to his lips in fervent homage, brushing his mouth reverently over her sparkling new adornment.

The first elated cheer came from Simon, quickly echoed by Benedict and the rest of the Bridgerton siblings in a rising crescendo of jubilation. Another chorus of happy shouts joined them as the Featheringtons - Lady Portia Feathertington and Prudence celebrated the news.

Eloise stood motionless amidst the chaos, eyes wide and unblinking before hot tears of wonderment and sheer joy began tracking down her cheeks. In that moment, she finally saw the last remnants of her worry towards Penelope melt away in a wave of exhilaration. Her dearest friend, now to be her dearest sister in truth.

As the ballroom erupted into thunderous applause and rapturous felicitations, Anthony finally tore his loving gaze from Penelope’s enraptured face to bestow a look of awed gratitude upon his family. His unspoken vow to love this woman unendingly, completely, shone like a blinding sun.

Pulling Penelope’s hand as he puts his lips at the back of her palm, Anthony sealed his pledge and the start of their new journey with a soul-scorching kiss that stole the very breath from both their lungs.

Chapter Text

At the Featherington Household

The morning after Anthony’s heart-stoppingly romantic proposal, the Featherington household was awash in a dreamy haze. Penelope Featherington floated through the halls, her every movement buoyed by the shimmering jewelry adorning her left ring finger.

As she entered the drawing room, Prudence immediately enveloped her sister in a jubilant voice. “Oh, sister. I could not be more overjoyed for you!” The eldest exclaimed, tears of her happiness shining in her eyes. They might not have a close bond growing up and had constantly tyrannized Penelope over the past years, but Prudence had learned to care for her youngest sister when Penelope’s life had come to hang in balance. And upon knowing the efforts Penelope made for their struggling family, she had come to terms to build a better relationship with her sister, just like how Portia had resolved herself. “You know, the Viscount is the luckiest man in all of England.”

Penelope could not tamp down the radiant smile that seemed permanently etched upon her features. “I scarcely know what I’ve done to be so blessed.” She murmured in wonder.

Their mother, the dowager baroness Lady Portia Featherington, looked on with a more reserved mien - chin lifted haughtily though her eyes betrayed complicated emotions swirling beneath the surface. Rising gracefully, she crossed to bestow a chaste peck upon Penelope’s cheek.

“You have my congratulations and well-wishes, my dear.” Portia intoned carefully. And yet, the wrinkle between her brows hinted toward lingering reservations she did not quite voice.

Was this due to Penelope’s lost memories and the secret Whistledown writings they could never disclose? Or did the memories of past scandals and Colin Bridgerton’s biting insults against her daughter still linger, tainting her view? Whatever the source, Portia could not entirely mask her misgivings about her daughter marrying into the esteemed family across the square.

For her part, Penelope bore the congratulations and veiled censure with the same elegant poise that had so endeared her to the ton this season. Though her heart swelled near to bursting with excitement, she refused to let unbecoming giddiness overtake her.

“Mama..” She caught Portia’s hand in her own, squeezing gently. “Please, tell me true - do you believe the Viscount to be an acceptable match?” I am still not fully well, I would not like to see the illustrious Bridgerton name besmirched by connection to my own.”

The youngest redhead could not help the slight crease of worry lining her brow. “Anthony and his family have embraced me wholeheartedly, but I would not be the cause of their family’s fall from esteem.”

Portia’s painted lips tightened minutely as she stared hard at her youngest. For a long moment, a heavy silence stretched between the three Featherington ladies.

“You must put aside such notions entirely, Penelope.” The redhead mama said at last in clipped tones. “Have you forgotten her Majesty herself named you the incomparable emerald? The most eligible lady to be matched this season?”

Her grip tightened almost fiercely around Penelope’s fingers. “The Bridgertons should count themself fortunate to welcome one so honored into their household. Claim your worth, child!”

Penelope felt her breath catch at the vehemence in her mother’s words. Portia’s expression had gone flinty, implacable as she continued heatedly.

“We Featheringtons may have languished at society’s lowest reaches for a time, but you, my Penelope, soar far above even the loftiest spheres by your own merits.” She paused then, inscrutable eyes boring into Penelope meaningfully. “Your memories may be elusive still, but do not think I nor Prudence is unaware of your.. Other considerable faculties.” Portia added, insinuating her knowledge on Penelope’s secret on Lady Whistledown, despite the object of person unaware of her true identity as the infamous and anonymous gossip writer.

For an instant, Penelope felt lost and confused at her mother’s insinuation. Before she could recover her equilibrium, Portia continued in a tone edged with finality. “Allow no one to make you feel undeserving of the match - not even yourself. The Bridgertons are fortunate to call you their own. Never forget that.”

Though her voice shook slightly, Penelope felt strengthened by her mother’s staunch words and the profound conviction behind them. A fresh wave of determination buoyed her spirit.

With her head held high, she acknowledged Portia’s wisdom with a regal nod. “I shall heed your counsel, mama.”

And as she turned to include Prudence once more, the lingering doubts about the path ahead fell utterly away. She was Penelope Featherington, soon to be Bridgerton - a queen among the ton, destined to reign beside her devoted king.

—

At the Bridgertons

A vibrant din of excited chatter filled the drawing room at Bridgerton House that morning. The entire clan, save for the curiously absent Anthony, had gathered after breaking their fast - a veritable tempest of jubilation in the wake of the previous evening’s monumental events.

In the eye of that celebratory storm sat Eloise, her delicate features caught in a petulant pout that seemed entirely at odds with the joyous atmosphere. With a huff of irritation, she finally allowed her pent-up feelings to spill forth.

“It simply isn’t fair that I alone was left uninformed about Anthony’s proposal plans!” Eloise groused, slumped inelegantly against the divan. “One would think the bride’s closest friend ought to be included in such momentous schemes.”

Her younger sibling, Hyacinth and Francesca, responded with teasing titters from their corner. “Because you’d never be able to contain your excitement and delight around Penelope.” Francesca shot back pertly. “The surprise would be utterly spoiled.”

“And then where would brother’s grand romantic moment have gone?” Hyacinth added with an impish grin.

Even her favorite brother Benedict paused in his tutoring of Gregory over a chess board to weigh in wryly. “Much as it pains me to admit, the scamps have the right of it, El. You’re constitutionally incapable of keeping significant secrets from your bosom friend.”

Eloise Bridgerton could feel her cheeks flushing hotly at being so ganged up upon, the teasing only stoking her chagrin further. Crossing her arms tightly, she directed a piercing look at her mother instead.

“Very well, I shall own to my transgressions.” She sniffed, decidedly unrepentant. “But that does not change the fact that I’ve been cruelly left in the dark!” Her features shifted back to eager animation. “So when shall the wedding preparations properly commence, mama? There will be so much to be done!”

Though decidedly lacking in conventional domestic enthusiasm, as she abhors the idea of women being put to the marriage mart like a prized calf, the prospect of being by Penelope’s side for such important rituals clearly buoyed Eloise’s spirits considerably. Her eyes fairly danced with anticipation.

The dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton, regarded her tempestuous second daughter with a fond smile tempering her aristocratic mien. “Peace, dearest.” She chided lightly. “We must first celebrate the joyous union to come, not race ahead prematurely.”

Smoothing her hands over the exquisite blue silk of her gown, Violet continued. “I intend to invite the Featheringtons to tea here this very afternoon. Portia and I shall determine an appropriate schedule for all the necessary particulars. You may join us then, if you wish.”

Eloise instantly perked up like a puppy offered its favorite treat. “Truly? Oh thank you, mama!” She very neatly bounce from her seat in excitement, drawing amused looks from her siblings.

“Though you must contain your exuberance in Penelope’s company.” Violet cautioned with a wry arch of one brow. “We would not wish to overwhelm the poor bride before her time.”

As if in echo of her mother’s words, Eloise fought to school her features into a semblance of gravity - an effort which lasted all of three seconds before a blithe grin split her face once more.

Surrounded by her family’s warm affection and with the promise of maiden adventures soon to sweep her up, Eloise felt deliriously, inexplicably happy. New vistas of sisterhood and cherished kinship beckoned with the dawn of this newest Bridgerton union.

She could scarcely await their arrival.

—-

That early afternoon, Benedict Bridgerton took his steps towards where their Viscount brother had been spending the day since early morn.

Benedict rapped his knuckles lightly on the sturdy oak door of Anthony’s study. “Anthony? It’s Benedict. May I enter?”

A muffled groan came from within. “Yes, come in.”

Benedict opened the door to find his older brother slouched back in his leather chair, fingers massaging his temples. “A bit too much celebration last night at White’s?” He remarked with an amused grin.

Anthony grimaced. “My head is pounding like the devil’s own drum. I should not have matched you and Simon drink for drink.”

“Ah, but it was a very worthy cause for overindulgence - your engagement to the incomparable emerald Miss Penelope Featherington.” Benedict said merrily. “Though I’ll wager she would prefer her betrothed clear-headed.”

“Yes, yes.” Anthony waved a hand dismissively, though a small smile played at his lips with the thought of his beloved. His eyes then fell on a letter lying open on his desk and the smile fled, replaced by a crease of worry.

Benedict followed his brother’s gaze. “What troubles you, brother? Some matter with the estate?”

“No, it’s.. It’s a letter from Colin.” Anthony met Benedict’s inquisitive look, “He intends to return home from his grand Tour.”

“Well, that’s excellent news!” Benedict exclaimed. “We shall have the family all together again.”

Anthony didn’t look convinced. He twisted the stem of his glass, condensation beading on the surface. “You know the things that happened.. Before. About Colin and what he has done towards Penelope.”

“Ah.” Benedict’s tone sobered as realization set in. The evening of the Featherington ball two years ago, when Colin had behaved so despicably in front of his friends, uttering disparaging words about Penelope Featherington. “You’re concerned about their reunion, and how it may impact Penelope.”

“She has gone through so much.” Anthony murmured, his eyes taking on a faraway look as he undoubtedly reflected on Penelope Featherington’s lack of recollection after the accident. “I don’t want anything to risk reopening old wounds or causing her fresh pain. She means everything to me, Benedict.”

His brother reached over to clasp his shoulder firmly. “Then you must have faith in the strength of your love, and Penelope’s resilience. Whatever comes, you shall face it together and emerge stronger for it. Colin is still our brother, and he deserves a chance to make amends.”

“Have you written to apprise Colin of your courtship with Penelope?” Benedict asked additionally.

“I have not.” Anthony admitted. “Though I am uncertain if mother has taken it upon herself to inform him the lady he never dreamed of courting is to become his new sister.” Anthony said with sarcasm in his voice, parrotting the words Colin used in his blunder.

“You fear his reaction?”

Jaw tensing, Anthony stated firmly. “I fear nothing, save for any potential distress Penelope may suffer. Whatever Colin’s response, it shan’t dissuade me from joining my life to hers. I love her, Benedict.” The Viscount’s features softened with devotion. “She is the very air I breathe. I would tear down the world itself before allowing anything to threaten her peace and happiness.”

Benedict regarded his brother with a respectful nod. “Of course, I do not doubt the ferocity of your feelings, nor your determination to see Penelope as your bride.” He rose then, laying a reassuring hand upon Anthony’s shoulder. “But take heart, whatever comes, you shan’t face it alone. You have me, our siblings, Simon, and mother. The rest of us standing beside you both.”

Some of the tension eased from Anthony’s countenance as he mustered a grateful smile up at his younger brother. “You’re a good brother, Benedict. Now go forth and abuse my servants for something to cure this blasted ache between my temples.”

With a wink and a grin, Benedict headed off to do just that, comforted in the knowledge that their family would ensure Penelope’s path to the altar was an amiable one.

Chapter Text

The rolling emerald hills of Kent welcomed the Bridgerton family as their caravan carriages rumbled up the tree-lined drive toward Aubrey Hall. Violet had decided for the family to spend a quick holiday at the Viscount’s birthright in celebration of her birthday. The stately ancestral manor stood proud and inviting, its weathered stone facade and peaks of its carved gables peeking through the lush canopy of ancient oaks and elms.

For the newly engaged Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and his fiancee Penelope Featherington, it was to be their first extended visit to the Bridgerton country seat as an officially courting couple. As the carriages drew to a halt and footmen hurried to open the doors, Anthony descended first before gallantly assisting Penelope to the ground with a soft greeting. “Welcome to Aubrey Hall, sweetheart.”

Penelope’s eyes shone bright as she drank in the magnificent vistas of the family’s legacy. She was struck by the reality that one day, not so far off now, she would be its chatelaine and mistress. The thought brought equal parts thrill and trepidation.

The rest of the Bridgerton clan soon emerged as well - Violet, the radiant matriarch and soon-to-be birthday celebrant, Daphne with her doting husband the Duke of Hastings and their young son Auggie; the artistic Benedict; Eloise with her teasing smirks; steadfast Francesca; young Hyacinth all energy and sass; and Gregory eager for outdoor pursuits after London’s confines.

Over the week ahead, the house would swell further with joyful chaos as the last remaining Bridgerton sibling, Colin, was expected to arrive home at last from his years-long travels. Unbeknownst to the family revelers though, his return may not be as warmly embraced by Anthony, who harbored concerns over his brother’s former actions with his now betrothed Penelope.

For now though, any brewing storms were held cheerfully at bay as Violet insisted they begin the festivities with a picnic luncheon beside Aubrey’s shimmering lake. The baskets were unpacked, the children frolicked on the grassy banks, and the Bridgertons settled into their time-honored traditions of games, banter and familial camaraderie.

One such tradition was the annual Pall Mall tournament held on the second afternoon. Despite his role as the besotted bridegroom-to-be, Anthony still managed to defend his title as the family’s most formidable mallet player to his siblings’ laments. Yet even victory’s laurels paled beside the pride that swelled his chest whenever his gaze found Penelope amidst the throngs of Bridgerton chaos. For the first time in forever, all the pieces seemed to finally be slotting perfectly into place for the Viscount.

—-

As the Bridgerton siblings take care of their own musings and business at Aubrey Hall, Penelope Featherington finds herself a quiet time in one of the gardens, enjoying the book she had borrowed from the hall’s main library.

Penelope inhaled the fragrant country air deeply into her lungs as she turned another page of her book. The garden at Aubrey Hall was a true oasis of tranquility amidst the week’s lively festivities celebrating Lady Violet’s birthday.

A sudden burst of irritated voices broke the pastoral silence. Penelope’s head swiveled towards the sound to find Hyacinth and Gregory standing beneath a large oak tree, twin expressions of vexation marring their young features as they aimed heated glares upwards.

Closing her book, Penelope rose and made her way towards the siblings. “Hyacinth? Gregory? Whatever seems to be the trouble?”

“Colin put my ribbon up in that blasted tree where we cannot reach!” Hyacinth jabbed an accusatory finger towards the high branches where indeed a violet ribbon fluttered tauntingly.

Gregory harrumphed. “He’s stolen my cravat as well! We cannot return to the house until our things are retrieved. A gentleman cannot be seen looking so rumpled.”

Penelope bit back an amused smile at the boy’s indignant tone. Though she had yet to make Colin’s acquaintance, it seemed the recently returned Bridgerton was wasting no time resuming the teasing torment of his younger siblings.
“I’m certain your brother means no real harm.” She soothed. “Likely he simply missed provoking your ire during his travels and is overcompensating now that he is home again.”

“Be that as it may.” Hyacinth stated firmly. “We require assistance in retrieving our belongings from such lofty heights.” Her assessing gaze roved over Penelope appraisingly before brightening. “You could do it, Pen! You’ve ever so much taller than us. And dreadfully good at climbing.”

The redhead felt her eyes widen as all thoughts of propriety briefly fled. “Climb the tree? Surely you cannot be serious.”

“Why not?” Gregory protested. “It should prove no feat for someone as strapping as yourself! Those branches look substantial enough to hold your weight.”

“G-Gregory!” Penelope sputtered, aghast at the young boy’s suggestion even as her face flamed. “A lady does not.. That is, I could not possibly–”

“Please, Pen?” Hyacinth implored, looking up at her with pleading hazel eyes so reminiscent of Anthony’s. “You wouldn’t see me humiliated before the others in such a disheveled state?”

Penelope’s heart squeezed at the younger girl’s plaintive tone. Drawing a fortifying breath, she slowly exhaled her resignation. “Oh, very well. But you must swear to keep this utter madness to yourselves!”

Eagerly, they bobbed their heads in solemn acceptance of her proviso. Penelope handed her book to Hyacinth before eyeing the tree’s thick, gnarled trunk speculatively. Hiking up her skirt just enough to free her legs for movement, she grasped the first branch and hauled herself upwards with only mild difficulty.

“Be careful, Pen!” Hyacinth cautioned from below.

“Have no fear.” She called back down reassuringly. “I shan’t be getting into any further scrapes this day, I promise you that.”

With a few well-based shimmies and stretches, Penelope managed to gain the heights where the ribbon and cravat were snagged. Plucking them free triumphantly, she began her descent, taking prudent care with each foothold.

Just as Penelope finally reached and grabbed the silk ribbon together with the green colored cravat, Penelope heard something snapped.

Penelope gasped, foot slipping disastrously as her head whipped towards the unexpected sound. She felt the unmistakable swaying of the branch beneath her widening eyes–

Then everything went dreadfully, horribly askew.

“Penelope!!” Gregory and Hyacinth screamed in unison as the tree branch snapped violently and the redhead fell gracelessly from the tree branch.

They raced to her side as she landed with a sickening thud on the ground Throwing themselves to their knees beside her prone form, the sibling’s eyes widened in horror at the grimace of pain marring Penelope’s features.

“Oh Pen, I’m so dreadfully sorry!” Hyacinth sobbed, tears streaking down her cheeks. “Are you quite alright? Please say you’re alright!”

It took a few harrowing moments for Penelope to draw a steadying breath before rasping out. “I.. I am well, dear one. Do not fret so.”

Gingerly, she moved to sit upright, one hand curling gently around the back of her head with a wince. Penelope could feel a tender lump already blossoming there from where she’d struck the ground. Her back too throbbed mercilessly, but she kept the discomfort from her expression.

“You’ve hurt yourself because of us.” Gregory lamented, his own eyes over-bright with unshed tears. “We never should have asked you to do something so uncouth.”

Mustering a reassuring smile, Penelope carefully retrieved the silk ribbon and cravat from where they’d fallen beside her. “Think nothing of it. Here, your belongings as promised.”

As the youngest Bridgertons accepted them with trembling hands, furious voices reached them.

“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Lady Violet Bridgerton demanded, Anthony hot on her heels as they hurried across the garden towards the commotion.

Penelope watched the panic multiply tenfold on Hyacinth and Gregory’s faces as Anthony immediately dropped to one knee beside her, strong hands grasping her shoulders firmly.

“Penelope? Are you injured? What happened?” Anthony’s gaze bored into hers, stormy with a protective ferocity that stole her breath.

“W-We didn’t mean it, truly!” Hyacinth rushed to explain between hiccuping sobs directed at their mother. “Colin was teasing us again and p-put our things up in the tree where we couldn’t reach. We asked Pen to climb up and retrieve them for us. She didn’t wish to, but we persisted until she agreed. Then she fell and–”

Gregory took up the thread fretfully. “It’s our fault entirely! We never should have importuned her so! Please, don’t be cross with Pen.”

Anthony’s jaw ticked visibly as his eyes slitted in a glower that promised retribution upon whomever was at fault. Violet’s own expression was equally thunderous as she regarded her youngest offspring.

Penelope saw the fear radiating from them and felt her heart clench protectively. Sliding her arm through Anthony’s, she rested her other hand against the solid plane of his chest imploringly.

“Anthony, please. Hyacinth and Gregory speak true, but I am unhurt, I promise you. If anything, I failed to judge the stability of that branch before trusting my weight to it. The fault lies with me alone.”

When he seemed unmoved by her words, Penelope raised her hand to his dear face, turning it until their eyes met unflinchingly. Then, in a daring move even she could scarce credit, she leaned in and brushed her lips tenderly across his in a sweet, consoling kiss.

A susurrus of shock rippled outwards from their audience at such an overt display of affection. Even Anthony appeared briefly stunned before the tension melted from his frame and his gaze warmed with affection.

“You’re certain you are hale?” He asked lowly, all sternness dissolved into caring concern. At her nod, the Viscount exhaled heavily and rose to face his siblings once more, drawing Penelope up with him. “You should never coerce someone into an untoward action, no matter your intentions. What’s done is done, but you will apologize to Penelope for putting her in such a compromising position.”

Anthony paused, giving them both a significant look. “And I shall have words with Colin about subjecting you to such harassment in the first place.”

Violet’s expression cleared into one of relief and gratitude as Anthony reined in his temper. “Well said, my son.” She turned to Penelope with a warm smile. “We are fortunate you escaped with naught but a lump, my dear.” Do let me know if you require anything for your comfort.”

Penelope offered the luminous Bridgerton matriarch a dimpled grin. “You are too kind, my lady. I shall be right as rain before you know it. Although..” Her eyes danced with impish humor as she glanced from Hyacinth to Gregory. “I may require a sturdier tree next time you rascals request my climbing services.”

The siblings’ worried expression gave way to sheepish grins, a reminder that no amount of drama could repress the unshakable Bridgerton penchant for mischief for long. As Penelope giggled and accepted Anthony’s supporting arm around her waist, she marveled at feeling so unmistakably at home amongst this loving, exuberant family she would soon call her own.

Chapter Text

A contented silence lay over the patio where Eloise and Penelope sat ensconced in plush chairs, each engrossed in the novel cradled in her hands. The gentle tinkle of fine china chimed occasionally as they sipped from their teacup before returning to the pages before them.

After a few tranquil moments passed thusly, Eloise glanced up to find Penelope’s forehead furrowed as her eyes swiftly tracked back and forth across the text. “Is the book not to your liking, Pen? You seem.. Perplexed.”

Penelope’s lashes fluttered as she emerged from the narrative with a small shake of her head. “Oh no, the story itself is quite engaging. I’m afraid I’m finding it difficult to concentrate due to this incessant pounding in my temples.” She grimaced, raising a hand to lightly massage her brow.

Eloise’s eyes rounded with dismay as realization struck. “That clodpole Colin and his ridiculous pranks!” She fumed. “If you’ve developed a lingering ache from that blasted fall, I’ll murder him in his sleep, so help me!”

Despite her discomfort, Penelope could not repress an amused chuckle. “Now, now, that’s a rather extreme solution, don’t you think? Your mother has only just been reunited with your brother after his years abroad. It would surely break her heart to have one of her sons done away with so soon after his return.”

Her laughing demurral struck an unexpected pang through Eloise’s chest. How Penelope’s sweet nature persisted in assuming the best of her brother, even now. Would her gracious friend extend such unearned kindness if she knew the truth of how carelessly Colin had once trampled her trust and tender feelings?

“Have… have you had opportunity to make Colin’s acquaintance since he arrived?” Eloise asked cautiously, studying Penelope’s expression. “Or has he remained too occupied settling into Aubrey Hall to be seen?”

Penelope shook her hear ruefully. “I’ve yet to cross paths with your wayward sibling, I’m afraid. From what your mother shared, he spent the entirety of yesterday abed, no doubt recovering from the rigors of his journey.” She sighed then, setting aside her book with a grimace. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this headache seems determined to worsen by the moment. I think I shall beg off for a short rest before the noon meal.”

Pushing herself upright, Eloise moved to assist Penelope from her seat with a sympathetic frown. “Of course, Pen. Some restorative sleep may be just what you require. I’ll see you refreshed later then?”

“My deepest thanks.” Penelope mustered a fond smile for her closest friend, giving Eloise’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I shan’t be long, I’m sure.”

Watching Penelope’s retreating back with a furrow marring her brow, Eloise sank back into her chair with a weary exhale. She could only pray that Colin had at last shed the ignorant immaturity of his youth during his worldly travels.

For if their paths crossed and he proved himself unchanged.. If his careless tongue once more inflicted even a whisper of injury upon the remarkable, openhearted woman Penelope was… Well, heaven help him. Eloise’s wrath would be entirely without mercy.

And Anthony’s will surely be another thing.

—-

Penelope ascended the grand staircase, one hand lightly trailing along the ornately carved banister as she made her way towards the family wing where her guest chambers awaited. The dull throbbing in her temples seemed to intensify with every step, lending her gait a vague unsteadiness.

She had just reached the landing when the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps caused her to turn. A young man dressed in a plain but well-cut traveling suit rounded the corner, his quick stride faltering as he caught sight of her.

For the briefest of moments, their eyes locked - his a vivid dark blue she could not place, yet held an uncanny familiarity. Then a fleeing expression akin to shock flitted across his refined features before his countenance carefully blanked.

Penelope studied him curiously as she felt that strange prickling of vague recollection once more. This must be Colin, Anthony’s third brother newly returned from touring abroad if his luggage-tousled appearance was any indication.

“You must be Mr. Colin Bridgerton.” She declared with a polite smile, endeavoring to overlook her growing discomfort. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance at last. I am Penelope Fe–”

“Pen.” He cut her off gruffly, finding his voice as those blue eyes bored into hers with startling intensity. Colin did not seem to realized that her greeting showed her lack of recollection of him. “Penelope, I… that is to say..”

Colin Bridgerton seemed to wrestle briefly with himself before the words came tumbling out in an anxious rush. “I must convey my deepest regrets for my abominable behavior that fateful night at your family’s ball seasons ago. When Fife and the others arrived and I made.. Made sport of you amongst them in such an ungentlemanly fashion. Calling you undesirable and mocking you in the process.”

His expression twisted with remorse. “I was deep in my cups, though that is no true excuse. You were my friend and I cared for you, despite the cruel manner in which I spoke of you. I can scarcely convey how profoundly I’ve rued my callous words these many years since. Please, you must allow me to atone for my unforgivable–”

“Mr. Bridgerton?” Penelope Featherington could make neither hide nor hair of the torrent of apologies spilling from the visibly distraught gentleman before her. His words were indistinct, nonsensical - likely colored by imaginings and misconceptions about why she was here amidst his family in the first place.

The twinges in her temples blossomed into piercing lances of agony, leaving her struggling to track his penitent ramblings as her vision began to swim alarmingly. Dark spots materialized in her peripherals, steadily expanding as a chill sweat bloomed upon her skin.

Distantly, she recognized the signs of imminent collapse, decades of finely honed social decorum engraved on her core being the only tether still holding her upright. She would not risk embarrassing herself or Anthony’s family in such an unseemly public display, no matter her deteriorating condition.

Lifting a trembling hand, Penelope attempted to halt Colin’s confession with a feeble wave.
“P-Please, I.. I do not require..” What little remained of her color drained away rapidly as she fought through a sudden overwhelming wave of dizziness and nausea.

Adopting her most patently false expression of tranquility despite the sheen of cold perspiration blossoming upon her brow, Penelope made a crisp, if shallow, curtsy. “Forgive me, Mr. Bridgerton. I find myself quite indisposed presently. Another time, perhaps.”

Without awaiting a response, she pivoted stiffly and continued down the corridor, leaving him gaping after her in bewildered concern.

“Penelope? Pen! Here, allow me to escort you to your room.”

“No!” The single bark emerged harsher than intended as she threw a withering look over her shoulder. “That will not be required. Good day, sir.”

Pressing onward with every ounce of her dwindling vitality, Penelope managed to regain the sanctity of her private chambers before the world tilted completely askance. As the door slammed shut behind her, she surrendered to the insistent pull of oblivion, crumpling bonelessly to the soft wide bed in a dead faint.

—-

Having put the final flourish upon the towering stack of correspondence requiring his signature, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton set aside his quill with a satisfied exhale. His duties as Viscount, for the moment, were complete. Now his thoughts turned towards locating his beloved Penelope Featherington to enjoy what remained of the pleasant spring morning.

Rising from his seat behind the imposing desk, Anthony strode from the study in search of a footman who could direct him towards his fiancee’s whereabouts. He encountered one in short order dusting an ornate side table in the corridor.

“You there.” Anthony raised a hand to amplify his hail. “Where might I find Miss Featherington presently?”

The liveried man snapped upright with a deferential duck of his head. “The last I witnessed, my lord, Miss Featherington was taking her leisure alongside Miss Eloise in the northeast courtyard patio.”

“My thanks.” Anthony afforded him a curt nod of dismissal before altering his path towards the designated location.

As he neared the arched entranceway, however, his searching gaze found not two ladies idling amidst the patio’s potted shrubbery and trellised seating areas, but merely one - Eloise, bent over some weighty leather-bound tome with a furrow marring her brow.

“Sister?” Anthony called out as he crossed the threshold onto the flagstone terrace. “Where is Penelope? Has she wandered off already?”

Eloise’s head snapped up, blinking owlishly before recalling herself with a cordial incline. “Oh, Anthony. You’ve just missed her, I’m afraid. Pen was not feeling wholly herself earlier and requested to lie down for a short respite before luncheon.”

Her brother’s expression instantly pinched with undisguised concern. “Is aught amiss? Has she taken ill?”

Eloise was quick to ease his mounting unease with a reassuring smile - though a faint tinge of guilt panged within her breast at having to be less than fully forthcoming in allaying Anthony’s worry over his cherished fiancee.

“Nothing so dire as all that, brother. She merely mentioned a headache plaguing her - most likely lingering effects from that silly mishap with Hy and Greg yesterday.” Eloise’s light tone contrasted with the slight edge of reproach in her eyes as she recalled her mother telling about the incident. “Penelope anticipated a brief rest would leave her refreshed to rejoin us come the afternoon.”

Anthony exhaled a soft huff, the rigid line of his shoulders relaxing somewhat at his sister’s placating words. “Very well. I shan’t disturb her slumber then.”

He glanced around the verdant space consideringly. “Although, since it appears I’ve been deprived of more delightful company of my betrothed for the present, perhaps I shall take advantage of this lull to seek out the stables.”

A wry, knowing smile played upon Eloise’s lips as he turned on his heel to depart, already striding with renewed purpose. For all that Anthony was now an ever-besotted fiance, at his core he remained the same restless soul constantly seeking an outlet for his boundless energies.

“Do give my regards to your poor mount, dear brother.” She called out in parting, tone tinged with just a hint of impishness. “I shudder to think how you must punish the creature for want of better engagement.”

Anthony’s rich chuckle reached her over the rhythmic tattoo of his boots crossing the terrace. “I shall attempt to temper my exacting standards on its behalf.. If only for your sake, sweet sister.”

With a fond roll of her eyes, Eloise returned her attentions to the book before her, silently praying Penelope’s repose would be sufficiently remedying. Anthony may be pacified for now but should his beloved’s condition linger overlong.. Well, best not to ponder on the full scope of his fretful reaction.

Her eldest brother’s level of devotion towards Penelope Featherington tended towards the borderline alarming for those who witnessed its fervency up close. Still, she could not begrudge him such ardor given the trying path both clearly had to walk to reach this point.

Chapter Text

Penelope found herself standing in a sunlit park, the laughter of children echoing around her. She watched as a young boy, Colin Bridgerton, galloped on his horse, his carefree smile brightening the day. Suddenly, her bonnet, caught by a gust of wind, flew off and obscured his view. She heard a thud and a laugh, and when she looked again, Colin was on the ground. She ran to him, heart pounding, and helped him up, their eyes meeting for the first time. Even then, she felt a strange connection, a spark of something that would later grow into deeper feelings.

The scene shifted to when she was five and ten, just two days short for her sixteenth birthday. Penelope stood at the edge of the Bridgerton drawing room as the family was having a faux ball at Daphne’s request, feeling out of place and self-conscious. Colin, older and more handsome, approached her with that charming smile she had always adored. He bowed and asked for a dance, her heart fluttering as she took his hand. It was the first time she truly fell in love, the first time she felt seen and valued.

More moments flashed by. Colin inviting her for dances at numerous balls, always there to save her from awkward situations and from Cressida Cowper’s cruel jabs. His kindness was a lifeline in the often harsh social world they navigated.

But then came the memory of her first real heartbreak. Colin had proposed to her cousin, Marina Thompson. Penelope had tried to warn him, knowing Marina’s heart belonged to another. But Colin had been blind to her warnings, his refusal to believe her words a dagger to her heart.

The memory then shifted to a night at her family’s ball. Colin had pulled her away, his grip firm and protective. He confronted Cousin Jack, defending their family’s honor, and then dragged her to the dance floor, whispering promises of protection and care. He told her she was special, and for a moment, she allowed herself to believe it.

But all the happy memories blurred and twisted into the moment that shattered her world. She had overheard Colin telling Fife and his friends how he would never dream of courting her, even in Fife’s wildest dreams. His words, filed with disdain, tore her apart. She felt like an abomination, her dreams of becoming his wife crumbling to dust.

The pain was unbearable. Penelope violently sat up in bed, gasping for air as tears streamed down her cheeks. The dream felt so real, so vivid, that she could not tell if it was a mere figment of her imagination or a resurfacing of forgotten memories. She was too confused to think clearly. If those were indeed her forgotten memories, what parts of them were true? Did her relationship with Colin run deeper than those with Eloise and Anthony? Was Colin’s earlier apology related to the cruel words from her dream?

Penelope shook her head fiercely, pressing trembling fingers to her pounding temples. She could grasp at no firm truths, only scraps of emotion that defied coherent alignment in her addled psyche.

Determined to uncover the truth, Penelope swung her legs out of bed, albeit struggling with the headache that still plagued her. She glanced at the clock and realized the family should be in the dining hall for the midday meal. Not wanting to encounter Colin without understanding their past, she decided to seek out Eloise’s room.

She remembers Eloise, mentioning in passing that she kept a complete collection of Lady Whistledown’s issues. If even a portion of her haunting visions rang true, that inimitable dollop of scandal would surely have inked the tale. Penelope hoped the publications could provide the clarity she desperately needed. She made her way to Eloise’s room, her steps unsteady but her resolve firm, determined to find the answers hidden within the pages of the notorious gossip column.

Penelope Featherington traced the steps towards Eloise’s room, her mind clouded with a sense of urgency and confusion. Though it was untoward to enter the brunette’s bedchambers without her presence and permission, Penelope proceeded to invade her friend’s privacy. She felt a twinge of guilt but pushed it aside, driven by her desperate need for answers.

Upon entering the room, she quickly glanced around, her eyes landing on Eloise’s writing desk. An ornate brass tray on the desk held a stack of parchment, but there was no sign of Whistledown’s pamphlets. Her heart pounded as she moved to check the desk drawers. The first one was filled with ink and quills. The second contained letters and envelopes, probably correspondence from whomever Eloise was writing to. Penelope didn’t bother checking the names on the letters, feeling that it was already too much of an invasion.

Finally, in the third and last drawer, she found what she was looking for: Lady Whistledown’s columns, bundled and ribboned together in chronological order. With trembling hands, she untangled the ribbon and began scanning through the pages. Despite her love of reading and her usual quick comprehension, Penelope found it difficult to absorb the information. Her temples throbbed with pain that intensified with each passing minute.

After what felt like an eternity, she found the issue that might clarify her relationship with Colin Bridgerton. She read through the part where Whistledown had announced Marina Thompson’s pregnancy, causing the ton to question if Colin, who was her fiance at the time, knew of it. Her head pounded harder as she recalled the heartache that news of Colin’s engagement had brought her.

As Penelope continued reading, she found the column about her family’s last ball two seasons ago. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she read how Colin had deemed her undesirable in front of Lord Fife and other bachelors of the ton. Her heart beat loudly and heavily, each throb feeling like a hammer to her chest. She clenched her hand over her heart, struggling to breathe as all her past memories of Colin’s cruel words and her subsequent suffering, as well as her family’s dire situation in London rushed back to her.

Penelope’s knees grew weak, and she slumped to the floor, her body trembling. Her gaze turned to the crumpled pamphlet in her hands, her mind reeling from the flood of memories. As she tried to compose herself, another parchment caught her attention – a handwritten document that had fallen beneath the desk. She grabbed it and began to read through its contents.

To her shock, it was a draft of a Lady Whistledown issue, handwritten in a familiar penmanship she knew all too well: Eloise’s. Penelope’s original memories flowed back with alarming clarity, revealing the harsh words Eloise had uttered upon discovering Penelope’s secret identity as Lady Whistledown, and the subsequent breaking of their friendship. The confusion marred Penelope’s judgment as she struggled to understand why Eloise would be writing a draft for a Whistledown issue.

The pain in her head became unbearable as she tried to make sense of everything. Why was Eloise writing a draft for Lady Whistledown? After condemning Penelope upon learning the truth about her nom de plume, after breaking off their friendship because of it, why was Eloise now trying to become Lady Whistledown herself? Was she attempting to steal her identity?

Penelope’s mind raced with these questions, the pain in her head throbbing in time with her frantic thoughts. She felt betrayed and bewildered, unable to fathom why Eloise, who had once been her closest friend, would now tread this path. Tears blurred her vision as she clutched the parchment, feeling a fresh wave of despair wash over her.

—-

At the Bridgerton dining hall

The Bridgerton clan was assembled in their customary seats around the long, polished dining table when Colin posed his innocent query.

“I don’t see a place set for Penelope.” He remarked, scanning the remaining vacant chairs. “Where is Pen to be situated?”

A fleeting silence fell over the gathered siblings and matriarch before Anthony, seated at the head of the table, cleared his throat authoritatively.

“Penelope will be seated to my immediate right.” He stated in a tone that brokered no argument. “That place belongs to my bride-to-be.”

Colin’s brows shot upwards as he turned an incredulous look upon his eldest brother. “Your bride? Surely you cannot mean Pen is to be your viscountess?”

“Indeed, that is precisely what your brother means.” Lady Violet Bridgerton interjected gently from the other end of the table. “Did you not receive my missive informing you of Anthony and Penelope’s courtship?”

Eloise huffed an unladylike snort from her place across from Colin. “Penelope has every right to that honored seat, Colin. She and Anthony are betrothed - our new sister is soon to be Viscountess Bridgerton.”

The pronouncement seemed to render Colin briefly stupefied as his gaze ping-ponged between his siblings’ resolute countenances. Eventually he found his voice, tinged with audible bewilderment.

“But.. I was never aware Anthony harbored any tenderness towards Penelope. She’s our childhood friend, certainly, but a prospective bride?” He shook his head slowly. “So much appears to have rapidly transformed in my absence.”

Anthony’s jawline tightened almost imperceptibly as his brown-eyes stared drilled into his younger brother. “Be that as it may, the reality remains that I adore Penelope to the very depths of my soul.” His features etched briefly with apprehension. “And on the matter of her current delay in joining us..”

He turned towards Eloise, a slight crease furrowing his brow. “Has Penelope truly not yet risen from her rest, dearest sister? I would hate for her to forgo her meal on account of lingering malaise.”

Colin cleared his throat, features schooling into an expression of sincere contrition as all eyes pivoted towards him once more. “I fear I may have exacerbated Pen’s.. Penelope’s condition when we chanced to cross paths earlier.”

The muscle leapt anew in Anthony’s taut jaw as questions burned in the depths of his eyes. Before he could give them voice, however, Eloise had pushed back from her seat.

“Say no more, I shall ascertain Pen’s wellbeing directly.” She paused beside her eldest brother, murmuring in an undertone clearly not meant for Colin’s ears. “No need to look quite so stricken just yet, brother. You know our Penelope is made of sterner stuff than some passing infirmity.”

With a final reassuring pat upon her brother’s shoulder, Eloise swept from the room in a swish of skirts, leaving a tense lull in her wake.

Anthony exhaled a fortifying breath, returning his attention to Colin as their mother discreetly engaged their younger siblings in light conversation.

Chapter Text

Eloise’s purposeful stride echoed through the hushed corridors as she made her way towards Penelope’s guest chambers. Dread fluttered in her belly - if Penelope yet languished from the lingering effects of her fall, her brother, the Viscount Anthony Bridgerton would be utterly braced.

She knocked twice and called for her friend’s name, but there was no response. Growing more worried, she softly opened the door, expecting to find Penelope resting. Instead, she was met with an empty bed. Her heart raced, knowing that Anthony would be furious if he learned his betrothed wasn’t resting as promised.

Closing the door behind her, Eloise quickly considered where Penelope Featherington might be. She hadn’t crossed paths with her friend on her way upstairs, which meant Penelope couldn’t be heading to the dining hall. Suddenly, a thought struck Eloise - perhaps Penelope, disoriented by her headache, had gone to her room by mistake.

Eloise hurried to her own chambers, hoping her hunch was correct. When she opened the door, she sighed with relief upon seeing the redhead. But her relief was short-lived; worry quickly painted her features as she saw Penelope slumped on the floor, pale and in obvious pain, with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Pen!” Eloise exclaimed, rushing to her side. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Penelope Featherington did not answer the brunette immediately. She stared at Eloise, her eyes filled with a cold, accusatory look that sent a shiver down Eloise’s spine. Eloise’s worry deepened, her mind racing to understand what had caused Penelope to be in such state. A simple headache couldn’t have done this.

Eloise then noticed the crumpled parchment in Penelope’s hands, along with scattered copies of Lady Whistledown’s issues on the floor and on her writing desk. Realization dawned on her – Penelope had been reading them.

Eloise remembered what Colin had said at the dining table about crossing paths with Penelope. Had Colin mentioned something about the past that prompted the redhead to investigate Whistledown’s pamphlets? Was Penelope trying to piece together her relationship with Colin through the gossip columns?

As these questions swirled in Eloise’s mind, she tried to think of comforting words to say, an excuse to explain whatever Colin might have said. But then, her eyes fell on the handwritten parchment in Penelope’s hands – a draft for the column, penned by Eloise herself.
The brunette’s calmness drained away, replaced by a growing sense of dread. Penelope’s voice cut through the silence, icy and sharp. “What is the meaning of this?” She demanded, holding up the handwritten draft. “Are you trying to become Lady Whistledown?”

Eloise stuttered, her fears multiplying. “Penelope, I–”

Penelope’s anger spilled over, her voice shaking. “After you condemn me for being Lady Whistledown? After you said such harsh words to me? After breaking off our friendship despite my explanations that I wrote about you and Theo, only to protect you from the Queen? And now you try to usurp my nom de plume?”

Eloise Bridgerton’s world collapsed as she realized the full extent of what was happening. Penelope’s memories had returned, and with them, all the pain and betrayal she felt. Eloise could see it in her cerulean eyes, feel it in her words. She was facing Penelope’s wrath, a retribution she wasn’t prepared for.

“Penelope, please..” Eloise began, her voice trembling. “I never meant to–”

“You never meant to what?” Penelope cut her off. “To abandon me? To betray me? You called me a hypocrite, a liar, and yet here you are, doing exactly what you condemned me for.”

Eloise’s eyes filled with tears. “I was wrong, Pen. I was so wrong! I was angry, and I didn’t understand... Please, forgive me…”

Penelope’s expression remained angry and her eyes remained cold. “Forgiveness? Eloise, you broke my heart with your close-mindedness and stubbornness. Your words hurt me, you did not even try to understand and hear me out. You tore our friendship apart that instant like it doesn’t mean anything at all! Do you really think it’s that easy?”

Eloise reached out, her hand trembling. “Pen, I will do anything to make it right. Please, give me a chance. I cannot lose you once again. I love you, and your friendship means the world to me! Please, give me a chance.”

“Pen, please…” Eloise begged, tears streaming down her face. “You must allow me to explain, to apologize properly.”

Penelope glared at her, her expression as cold as the winter winds howling in the coldest part of the world. “What possible explanation could you offer that would excuse this Whistledown draft? And how you turned on me that night?”

“I… I know now why you printed about Theo and me in your papers..” Eloise started. “You were protecting me, just as you had been protecting Daphne from Berbrooke.. Colin from Marina’s lie, and the other ladies of the ton all those years by omitting certain indiscretions.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “How magnanimous of you to finally realize that, after you so quickly cast me aside at my mama’s ball.”

“I was foolish and immature!” Eloise admitted, wringing her hands. “I should have given you a chance to explain yourself instead of believing the worst. You were my dearest friend and I let my hurt feelings blind me to your reasons.”

“Your hurtful words cut deeper than any knife.” Penelope said icily. “The looks of your judgment and disdain - and Colin’s mocking laughter in front of his friends. I have never left so humiliated in all my life.”

Eloise flinched as if struck. Sure, she had read what her brother has done and had felt angry at him too. “I cannot begin to make amends for the pain I and my brother had caused you that night.. But I beg you Pen.. from the bottom of my heart, to please forgive me.”

Penelope was silent for a moment, her face an impenetrable mask. Then she abruptly stood, letting the parchment in her hands flutter to Eloise’s lap. “I find I cannot remain in your company a moment longer.”

“No, Penelope, wait!” Eloise scrambled to her feet as her friend turned to leave. “Where will you go?”

“I do not rightly know why I am here.. Though it seems to me I must be at Aubrey Hall.” Penelope said, not meeting Eloise’s frantic gaze. “But I must take my leave. There is no reason for me to linger here any longer.”

“But you cannot go!” Eloise cried desperately. “What about my brother Colin? Surely, he would like to apologize.”

A muscle ticked in Penelope’s jaw. “I have no desire to lay eyes on Colin Bridgerton again after his cruel behavior.”

“What about mama’s birthday celebration then?” Eloise grasped at straws, knowing Penelope’s deep admiration and respect for Violet. “Surely you would not leave before marking such a joyous occasion?”

However, Penelope’s resolve was unmoved. “Extend her my warmest regards, but no.. I cannot bear to be in the presence of your family any longer. Not after everything.”

“But Penelope –”

“No!” Penelope said with finality. “I am returning to London straightaway. It is up to you how to break this news to your family. You owe me that much at least.”

Eloise’s face crumpled in despair as Penelope swept from the room without a backwards glance. How could she possibly explain this to Anthony and the others? Panic rose in her throat as a terrible thought struck her.

“Pen, wait!” She called, running after her friend. She caught up to her in the front hall. “What of your engagement to Anthony? Surely you remember that after regaining your memories?”

Penelope froze, her back stiffening. She turned slowly, brow furrowed in confusion. “R-Regaining memories? Whatever do you mean? And engagement? To Lord Bridgerton?” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I.. do not recall any such thing.”

The words were a blow to Eloise’s stomach. “But you must! After your accident, when your memories were gone.. You and Anthony fell in love and became betrothed!”

Penelope Featherington’s eyes widened in shock, then her face contorted in pain as she pressed a hand to her temple. “I.. I cannot…” She swayed dizzily.

“Penelope?” Eloise moved towards her in concern.

But Penelope stepped back, shaking her head forcefully. “Then that is all the more reason I must leave this place at once. I wish you and your family well.. But I cannot remain here a moment longer.”

Eloise felt her strength drain away, watching helplessly as Penelope turned and walked away. "Penelope, please..."

Eloise stood there, feeling a profound sense of loss and helplessness. How could she possibly face Anthony and the rest of her family now that Penelope's memories had returned - with no recollection of the love she had found with her brother? The weight of this responsibility felt overwhelming, and for a moment, her mind went blank, unable to comprehend the full extent of what had just transpired.

—-

Back at the dining hall

Anthony Bridgerton’s unease was palpable as he turned to his third brother, Colin, and asked. “What exactly transpired during your encounter with Penelope earlier today?”

The room was thick with tension. Violet and Benedict exchanged worried glances, aware of the brewing storm between their eldest and third brother.

Colin, rather than addressing the Viscount’s inquiry, posed a question of his own. “Anthony, what are your real intentions towards Pen? I still could not find reason why you two would be engaged.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and frustration. He knew Colin’s words stemmed from genuine concern, but they cut deeply nonetheless.

Colin pressed on, his voice rising with emotion. “Did you compromise her? Is that why you’re marrying her?”

Gasps echoed around the room. Violet’s voice rang out, sharp and clear. “Colin Bridgerton!” She shot him a reprimanding look, while Benedict added sternly. “That question is uncalled for, brother.”

Violet, not wanting the younger children to witness the escalating confrontation, turned to Francesca. “Fran, please take Greg and Hy out of the room.”

With the younger children gone, Anthony’s anger boiled over. “Penelope’s honor has never been in question.” He said through gritted teeth. Yes, he and Penelope had shared kisses and embraces when they became engaged, but that was the length of it. Though he immensely desire to take Penelope, Anthony never compromised her virtue as he truly respects her. “I’m marrying her because I love her, not out of duty or obligation. If anyone has compromised her honor, it’s you, Colin, with the cruel and thoughtless things you said about her at her mama’s ball.”

Colin’s face turned red with shame and regret. “I’ve been trying to apologize for that. I did so earlier today when I saw her.”

The expressions of Violet, Benedict and Anthony shifted from anger to deep concern. They exchanged worried glances, realizing the potential ramifications of Colin’s actions.

Anthony’s voice grew louder, laced with anxiety. “What?! What exactly did you say to her, Colin?”

Colin, sensing the gravity of the situation but still confused, repeated. “I apologized for what I said about her to Fife and his friends. I asked for her forgiveness.”

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to rein in his temper. He stood up abruptly, his fist clenching at his side. Benedict quickly followed, placing a calming hand on the Viscount’s shoulder, trying to put himself in the middle of Colin and Anthony so as to stand in between when the conversation becomes violent.

“Colin, dearest, you don’t understand.” Violet said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “Penelope lost her memories after the accident. She doesn’t remember what happened between you two.”

Colin’s confusion deepened. “What? I didn’t know. I thought apologizing was the right thing to do.”

Anthony’s tone was strained as he spoke. “Your apology, well-intentioned as it was, must have only confused her. She doesn’t remember the events that led her to leave London. Pen doesn’t have an idea why you would be apologizing.”

Violet added gently. “Penelope’s mind is fragile right now. She’s still trying to piece together her past. Being confronted with an apology for something she doesn’t remember could trigger confusion and emotional turmoil for the poor girl.”

Colin’s face paled as realization dawned on him. “I.. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. What am I to do?”

Anthony, with a fire burning in his eyes, turned to gaze at his younger brother. “If Penelope is distressed because of your idiocy, I’ll tan your hide until next week!”

“Anthony!” Violet chided sharply, ever the disciplinarian when her sons’ tempers flared. She held up a hand as Benedict made to intervene physically. “That is quite enough from the both of you.”

She pierced them with a stern look. “We must handle this latest development with care and discretion. Penelope’s welfare must be our top priority.”

Colin looked appropriately chastened. “You are right, mother. I shall make every effort to avoid upsetting or confusing Pen further.”

Anthony simply gave a terse nod, his arms crossed tightly as he attempted to rein in his fury toward his younger brother’s thoughtlessness.

Violet sighed. Keeping her family in line was never an easy task. But with the situation so tenuous regarding Penelope’s memories, it was even more crucial they maintain calm, level heads. For all their sakes.

Chapter Text

Anthony, Benedict and Violet Bridgerton exited the dining hall, anxiety weighing heavily on them after the confrontation with Colin. As they reached the foyer, they spotted Eloise ascending the grand staircase, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Eloise!” Anthony immediately zeroes in on his younger sister. “Where is Penelope?”

Eloise froze, panic flitting across her features as she took in the intense gazes of her mother and brothers. How could she begin to explain what had transpired – Penelope regaining her memories only to flee Aubrey Hall in haste?

“Eloise, answer your brother.” Violet prompted gently when the young lady remained mute.

Eloise’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before the words finally tumbled out in a rush. “Penelope received an urgent missive from Lady Featherington requiring her to return to London straightaway. She… Pen had to leave immediately.”

The lie felt like ash on Eloise’s tongue, bitter and wretched. But she could not bear to ruin her mother’s upcoming birthday celebrations with the real reason for Penelope’s abrupt departure.

“She wished to convey her deepest regrets for not bidding you all farewell in person.” Eloise went on, hating herself a little more with each fabrication. “But she was in such a hurry to depart…”

Anthony’s expression crumbled into one of dismay and confusion. “That cannot be the entire truth.” He searched Eloise’s averted gaze intently. “Did Penelope leave because of what transpired with Colin earlier?”

Eloise’s heart stuttered in her chest. So he knew of Colin’s foolish actions then. But she could never reveal that Penelope’s memories were fully restored - the shock and devastation would be too much for Anthony to bear, especially if he is to learn that his betrothed does not have any idea of their engagement and the love they share.

“She did receive a letter requiring her immediate presence in London.” Eloise maintained, sticking to her story with grim resolution. “That is why she left in such haste.”

Anthony shook his head slowly, lines of strain etched deep in his forehead. He did not believe his sister, not fully, but neither could he discount that Penelope might had indeed taken her leave of Aubrey Hall. His instincts screamed to take his horse and chase after her carriage immediately. But with Violet’s birthday only two days hence, he could not so easily abandon his family.

“I want the truth.” He bit out, pinning Eloise with an intense look. “There is more you are not telling me.”

Eloise matched his stare, her jaw set mulishly. As much as it pained her to be less than fully candid, she could not bring herself to shatter Anthony’s hopes. Not yet.

“The letter from Lady Featherington was most urgent.” She repeated, willing her voice not to shake. “That is all you need know for now.”

Anthony’s fists clenched at his sides, but he gave a terse nod, clearly recognizing the futility of pressing his sister further in that moment. The anguish in his eyes near broke Eloise’s heart.

Benedict, sensing the brooding tension in their brother’s physique, placed a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should trust Eloise for now. If Pen had to leave urgently, we can reach out to her once things settle.”

Violet nodded, though worry creased her features. “Yes, Portia might have brought up news about Philippa’s pregnancy. It should be a pressing matter for the Featheringtons.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, but he nodded reluctantly. “Very well. But we will discuss this again. I want to know exactly what happened.”

Eloise felt another pang of guilt but continued to maintain her resolve. “Of course, brother. We’ll see and speak with Penelope once we’re back in London.”

As the family dispersed, Anthony remained, his thoughts swirling with concern and doubt. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Eloise was hiding something, but for now, he had to put on a brave face for the sake of his mother’s birthday. The truth would have to wait, but he silently vowed to uncover it as soon as he could.

—-

Back in Mayfair

The carriage ride from Aubrey Hall back to the Featherington townhouse seemed to stretch endlessly for Penelope. She stared sightlessly out the window, her mind a whirl of confusion and regret. Leaving so abruptly, without a chance to bid Violet a proper farewell on her birthday - it pained Penelope deeply. Though her bond with the Bridgerton children was irreparably severed, she still held the deepest respect and affection for their matriarch.

Three grueling hours later, the carriage finally clattered to a stop before the Featherington home on Mayfair. Penelope barely registered the coachman’s overly deferential manner as he handed her down, addressing her as “my lady”. She had more pressing concerns weighing on her than the staff’s suddenly obsequious treatment.

Pushing open the front doors, she was greeted by the bewildered visage of Briarly, the Featherington’s aged butler.

“Miss Penelope?” He managed, raising an eyebrow at her disheveled appearance and unexpected arrival. “We were not expecting you for several days more.”

“Where is mama?” Penelope asked brusquely, sidestepping any explanations for now. Her head gave a vicious throb and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“The dowager baroness is in the sitting room with your sister, Miss Prudence.” Briarly blinked owlishly at her retreating back as she headed that direction without waiting for him to announce her arrival.

Penelope burst through the doors to the sitting room unannounced. Portia looked up from her tea with a startled exclamation, while Prudence’s embroidery hoop clattered to the floor.

“Penelope!” Her sister rose from her chair, openly gaping. “What are you doing here?” I thought you were to remain at Aubrey Hall through Lady Bridgerton’s birthday celebration?”

Portia had recovered somewhat and eyed Penelope critically. “And in such a dishabille state, honestly child.”

Ignoring her mother’s chiding, Penelope focused on her sister. “I.. found it necessary to remove myself from the Bridgertons’ company sooner than anticipated.” Her vice came out clipped, strained.

Prudence’s brows knit together in concern. “But why? Surely there must be an explanation for this abrupt departure?” She paused, taking in Penelope’s pale, drawn countenance more closely. “Are you quite well, sister?”

“I am well enough.” Penelope replied tightly. The throbbing in her skull was intensifying, dark spots flickering at the edges of her vision.

Portia set her teacup down with a clatter. “This has something to do with Lord Bridgerton, does it not?” Her lips thinned with disapproval. “If he has compromised you in any way, I shall have his head!”

“Mama!” Prudence gasped while her features looked scandalized.

But Penelope swayed alarmingly, clutching the door frame for support. Memories were battering against her aching mind - memories of Eloise’s anguished apologies, of Aubrey Hall, of.. Of Anthony?

Prudence was at her side in an instant. “Penelope? Are you ill? You are trembling!”

But Penelope could barely hear her over the pounding in her skull. Images and voices swirled dizzyingly. Then, mercifully, darkness crashed over her and she knew no more.

—--

An hour after collapsing in the Featherington sitting room, Penelope slowly blinked her eyes open. She was in her own bedchamber, tucked comfortably beneath the covers. The throbbing ache in her head has subsided to a dull throb for now.

As she carefully pushed herself uptight, she noticed two figures occupying the chairs beside her bed – her sister Prudence and her mother Lady Portia Featherington. Prudence spotted her first and quickly alerted Portia.

“Mama, Penelope is awake.”

Portia’s head whipped around, her expression one of immense relief and lingering worry. She was at Penelope’s bedside in an instant.

“Oh my dearest girl.” She fretted, taking Penelope’s hand and peering at her critically. “How do you feel? Are you quite well?”

Penelope squeezed her mother’s hand reassuringly. “I am physically well, mama. Just a lingering fuzziness in my head and the occasional ache.”

A crease formed between Portia’s brows as she studied her youngest daughter’s pale complexion. The last time she had seen Penelope in such a state was after her accident going to Scotland when she first beheld her unconscious form. Portia’s heart clenched at the memory.

An uneasy silence fell over the trio until Penelope found her voice again.

“Mama.. what is going on?” She asked hesitantly. “Why was I at Aubrey Hall? I thought I was traveling to Scotland?”

Twin gasps sounded from Portia and Prudence as the realization struck them – Penelope’s lost memories of the past year had fully resurfaced. Prudence shot Portia a worried look.

Portia swallowed hard before gently prodding. “What is the last thing you recollect, my dear?”

Penelope’s forehead furrowed in concentration as she dredged up the fragmented memories. “I remember being on the carriage, heading to Scotland.. The horses grew skittish, then…” She shook her head slowly. “Everything went black. I felt as if I were tumbling endlessly.”

Prudence paled at the recounting while Portia squeezed Penelope’s hand more tightly, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You were in an accident, Penelope.” Portia said shakily. “A terrible accident that robbed you most of your memories during this past year’s time.”

Penelope stared at her mother in shock, her heart pounding violently as fragments of memories began slamming back into her mind’s eye. Faces, conversations, emotions all started spinning dizzyingly.

“What.. what happened?” She rasped out, clutching Portia’s hand like a lifeline.

Portia exchanged a fraught look with Prudence before taking a steadying breath. There was no choice now but to reveal the full truth that Penelope’s missing memories had so mercifully allowed them all to avoid until this point. Penelope deserved to understand what had transpired since her accident.

Steeling herself, Portia began to recount the events of the last year and a half – a narrative that would no doubt shatter her daughter’s world all over again.

Penelope Featherington watched her mother take a steadying breath before beginning her explanation. “When you took your journey to Scotland as you have planned, a man came calling on us the next day.” Portia’s voice trembled slightly. “He informed us that your carriage had been involved in a dreadful accident on the roads near Doncaster.”

Tears slipped down the dowager baroness’ cheeks as she recalled the harrowing memory. “By the time Prudence and I reached you, you were so still and lifeless on the bed. The physician feared your life in most grave danger.”

Penelope paled, her hand tightening almost convulsively around her mother’s. Prudence reached over to grasp her other hand, offering silent support.

“For weeks you lingered betwixt life and death.” Portia continued hoarsely. “We had nearly given up hope and one evening, your solicitor, Mister John Brown, arrived unexpectedly.”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat as dread washed over her. Surely not…

“He revealed to us the truth, sister.” Prudence said gently. “That you were the mysterious Lady Whistledown who had been keeping our family’s finances afloat these many years through your writings.”

Penelope’s gaze flitted between her mother and sister, searching their expressions for disgust or censure. But she found only resigned understanding and pride.

A solitary tear traced its way down her cheek as the burden of her secret weighing her down for so long finally lifted. This was all she had ever wanted - her family’s acceptance, their gratitude for the sacrifices she had made to keep them solvent.

“We had no notion not a single inkling.” Portia said, smiling tremulously.” Though in hindsight, it makes such perfect sense. Who better to observe the ton’s every move than our very own wallflower? An intelligent one that is.”

“Indeed, we are in your debt Penelope.” Prudence added fondly. “Thanks to your efforts, our family’s situation is far more tenable.”

Penelope could only nod, too overcome to find her voice in that moment.

Portia squeezed her hand. “While you remained insensate, many in the ton wrote concerns for your wellbeing.” She paused delicately. “The Smythe-Smith ladies, Lady Danbury and the Bridgertons chief among them.”

Penelope’s back stiffened slightly at that name, fragments of recent memories stirring uneasily.

“Lord Bridgerton in particular seemed most.. Invested in your recovery.” Lady Featherington went on carefully. “He and Miss Eloise arrived in Doncaster unexpectedly during those early weeks.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed in bewilderment as her mother described Eloise’s heartbroken cries at her bedside, and Anthony’s cold determination that she receive only the finest care – even going so far as to make arrangements for her to be moved to Aubrey Hall to recuperate.

“But I did not accept his overtures.” Portia assured her swiftly. “I wished to safeguard our family’s privacy and your reputation.”

The dowager baroness smiled sadly. “Though in hindsight, perhaps that was a mistake given what transpired between yourself and the Viscount in recent months.”

Penelope’s head swam with confusion and a kaleidoscope of disjointed images – Aubrey Hall’s grand facade, Eloise’s tear-stained face, Anthony looking at her with an unfamiliar tenderness. She shook her head slowly, struggling to make sense of it all.

Prudence picked up the thread. “It was many weeks before you regained consciousness, sister. And even then, your lack of memories was most distressing.” She shot a look at their mother. “We knew not how to proceed.”

“The upcoming season afforded us a reprieve.” Portia said pragmatically. “With your recovery in mind, it provided a reasonable pretext for you to remain out of the public eye while you regained your strength.”

“Upon our return to London this season, however, the Bridgertons insinuated themselves back into your life.” The redhead mama went on, a slight crease forming between her brows. “Miss Eloise especially was insistent on rekindling your friendship and reintroducing you to society.”

Penelope frowned as more disjointed scenes flashed through her mind – warmly lit parlor rooms, walking the gardens of an estate, a heated argument perhaps?

“It was through such reintegration that you and Lord Bridgerton developed.. An understanding.” Portia said delicately. “One that eventually led to your becoming betrothed to the Viscount just this past month.”

“TOh, and the Queen also named you as the season’s emerald!” Prudence added with glee. Portia explained to her youngest daughter how she had captured the Queen’s attention during the Danbury Ball, making it known to the ton how her Majesty favors her eloquence and grace, thus bestowing the esteemed title to Penelope.

The breath left Penelope’s lungs in a harsh exhale as the final piece clicked into place. She, the invisible wallflower becoming the season’s jewel? Betrothed even? To Viscount Anthony Bridgerton? Her mind rebelled against the notion even as an indelible image burned itself into her consciousness – Anthony, gazing at her with unmasked longing as he brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek in a tender caress.

Dizziness swamped her senses as Penelope struggled to reconcile the man she had known - aloof, coolly polished, perpetually disinterested - with the obvious tenderness and affection she had clearly developed for him in the interim her memories were lost.

How was such a thing even possible?

Chapter Text

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton sat alone in his study, the dim light of the late evening casting long shadows across the room. A half-empty glass of brandy sat on the table beside him, its amber contents reflecting the flickering candlelight. Anthony felt a gnawing worry, an unease that had settled deep within him ever since Penelope had abruptly left Aubrey Hall. He couldn’t shake the feeling that her sudden departure had been precipitated by his brother, Colin’s premature return from his travels.

Anthony feared that Colin’s presence would complicate Penelope’s fragile state, especially now as she was just starting to reintegrate into high society. The thought of Penelope encountering Colin before her memories had fully returned troubled him deeply. He couldn’t ignore the possibility that Penelope’s old feelings for Colin might resurface. Despite his initial denial, Anthony had come to realize that Penelope might have had feelings for his younger brother in the past. He had noticed how her features brightened whenever Colin was around, speaking with her or dancing with her.

Anthony took another sip of his brandy, feeling a pang of jealousy mixed with relief. Colin had never realized how remarkable she was. Anthony felt a sense of gratitude that it had been him, not Colin, who had been given the chance to be in Penelope’s life as her betrothed. But now, with Penelope gone by his side, the fear of losing her gnawed at him. He couldn’t bear the thought of her feelings for Colin resurfacing and complicating their relationship.

In the solitude of his study, Anthony let out a deep sigh, his mind racing with worry. He missed the redhead terribly, her absence leaving a void that even the strongest brandy couldn’t fill. He decided to write her a letter, hoping to reach out and assure her of his love and concern.

—--

Back in London

Penelope Featherington sat by the window of her bedchambers, the sounds of London life filtering in through the glass. She had just received a missive from Aubrey Hall, from none other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, her betrothed. She hesitated to open it, memories of their time together mingling with the recent tumultuous events.

Remembering her mama’s words about how Anthony had been instrumental and protective with her recovery upon her family’s return in society, Penelope felt a pang of guilt. She decided to give the Viscount the courtesy of reading his letter, hoping to find some clarity in his words.

Penelope’s hands trembled slightly as she unfolded Anthony’s letter. Part of her was apprehensive about its contents, worrying it might stir even more confusing memories and fragmented emotions. But she could not disregard it entirely, not after what her mother had revealed about Anthony’s devoted care during her illness.

Her eyes quickly scanned the elegant script, a crease forming between her brows as she absorbed his inquiries after her wellbeing and abrupt departure from Aubrey Hall. Anthony did not press for details, instead assuring her that the Bridgerton family harbored no ill will over her absence from Violet’s birthday festivities.

-x-

My dearest Penelope,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits. I must admit, I was greatly concerned by your sudden departure here from Aubrey Hall. I wanted to ensure that you are well and to understand the true reason behind your leaving. Your wellbeing is of utmost importance to me.

Your presence is dearly missed, especially as we approach my mother's celebration, but please know that your absence is understood and respected.

Penelope, I want you to know that I will always be behind you, in whatever assistance your family may need.. Your absence has left a void that nothing else can fill. Please take care and know that I am here for you, whenever you need.

I think of you always and hold you most dear in my heart.

Yours eternally Penelope,

Anthony

-x-

It was the letter’s final sentences that made Penelope’s breath catch in her throat:

“I think of you always and hold you most dear in my heart. Yours eternally, Penelope.”

She read the words over and over, scarcely able to comprehend their tender longing and unmistakable affection. How could Anthony Bridgerton, the embodiment of aloofness and the ton’s Capital R Rake, pen such an openly loving sentiment to her of all people?

Fragmented visions assailed her once more – Anthony’s warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, the calloused pad of his thumb brushing almost reverently along her knuckles, the scorching heat of his gaze holding her transfixed from across a crowded ballroom. Flashes of intimacy and tenderness that made absolutely no sense.

For as long as Penelope could remember, Anthony had been a perpetual enigma to her - distantly admired from afar, certainly, but never anywhere within her reach as a potential suitor. He was her closest friend’s eldest brother, a respected Viscount of the ton. Their paths could hardly have been more divergent.

Yet according to her mother and sister, she had somehow become entangled with this man during the long months her memory went missing. Deeply, undeniably entangled, if this letter was any indication.

Penelope slowly set the pages aside, feeling inexplicably bereft now that she had consumed their contents. Part of her was drawn to Anthony’s affection like a moth to a flame, insensibly craving more of the warmth and tenderness it promised.

But a larger part remained bewildered, even troubled, by the thought of nurturing any continued understanding between them. Not with such cavernous gaps opening up in her own mind.

If only she could recall how this had all come to pass, perhaps then it would not seem so frighteningly incomprehensible. In her heart, Penelope knew she owed Anthony a reply, a proper acknowledgment of his overture. But in her present addled state, she had no idea what sentiments would be appropriate to convey.

With a weary sigh, Penelope reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and her quill, determined to at least respond with the truth - that while Anthony’s words confused her terribly, she was safe and recovering in London.

Attempting anything more seemed unwise until she could bring some semblance of clarity to the turmoil of her heart and mind. For now, distance seemed the wisest course until she could reconcile this unfathomable new reality.

-x-

My Lord,

I hope this letter finds you in good health in spirits. I write to assure you that I have safely arrived back in London and am currently in the care of my family. Your concern for my well-being is deeply appreciated, and I am touched by the kindness and thoughtfulness you have shown me these past months.

While I regret missing the celebration of Lady Bridgerton’s birthday, please convey my sincerest apologies and well-wishes to her. She has always shown me much kindness, and I am sorry to disappoint her by my abrupt departure.

Please rest assured that my sudden departure was necessitated by pressing family matters, which I hope to resolve swiftly. Your understanding and patience in this regard mean more to me than words can adequately convey.

I wish to express my heartfelt thanks once more. Your friendship and support are deeply cherished, and I am grateful to count you among those who care for me so deeply.

Yours sincerely,

Penelope Featherington

-x-

Penelope carefully blotted the ink and folded the letter, sealing it with her personal wax seal. She handed it to the waiting footman with instructions to deliver it to Aubrey Hall. As she watched him depart, a sense of resolve settled over her. She had not addressed Anthony’s declaration of love, not out of indifference, but because she needed time to understand her own heart and the truth of their betrothal. For now, she could only hope that Anthony would understand and give her the space she needed to piece together her fragmented memories and emotions.

—-

A couple days after her abrupt return to London, Penelope could feel the restlessness building inside her once more. Now that she had regained her past memories, there were certain matters that needed tending to. Matters that had been utterly neglected during her year and a half of memory loss.

Thankfully, with the Bridgertons still ensconced at Aubrey Hall for the next remaining days, Penelope had the perfect opportunity to address such outstanding business discreetly. Her family, while supportive, would surely balk if they knew of her true intentions. Despite her mama and sister knowing her secret identity, the dowager baroness remains strict on having their family be involved in a scandal that would jeopardize Prudence’s wedding and their family’s standing at the society once more.

“You shall require a chaperone, Penelope.” Lady Portia had said firmly when her youngest daughter announced her desire for an outing this morning. “A lady favored by the Queen’s own attention cannot be ever seen traipsing about unchaperoned.”

And so Penelope found herself conveyed by carriage to the heart of the shopping district, her lady’s maid Rae, dutifully in tow. Her first stop - the shop of her dearest friend and confidant, Madame Genevieve Delacroix.

The bell above the door tinkled merrily as Penelope entered the stylish Paris-import establishment. From a back workroom emerged the petite, raven-haired modiste herself, all smiles and Gallic charm.

“Mademoiselle Featherington! Or should I say future Viscountess Bridgerton.” Genevieve cried in delight, dipping into a deep curtsy. “Quel plaisir to receive you in my humble shoppe.”

Though the proprietress’ greetings seemed innocuous enough on the surface, Penelope caught the shrewd gleam in Genevieve’s obsidian eyes. The other woman clearly suspected this was no mere social call.

Penelope included her head politely in return. “Genevieve.”

A meaningful look passed between the two as the final customer exited the shop. Understanding blossomed across Genevieve’s expressive features as she took in the redhead’s subtly exhausted countenance, the new spark of vibrancy rekindled behind her cerulean blue eyes.

“Mon dieu..” The modiste breathed out reverently. “The writer, she ‘as returned, non?”

Penelope rewarded her with a tired but triumphant smile, using the code name Genevieve had dubbed her gossip persona all those years ago. “Indeed she has.”

Madame Delacroix gave a muffled squeal of delight, her dark eyes swimming with sudden joyful tears. She hurried to the door, flipping the sign to ‘Closed’ before enveloping Penelope in a fierce embrace.

“Oh, ma chère. I am so relieved you ‘ave made a full recovery!” Her words were muffled against Penelope’s shoulder as she wept unabashedly. “So many months not knowing if you would ever be well again!”

Returning the hug with equal fervor, Penelope felt her own throat grow tight with emotion. The Madame had risked everything to keep Lady Whistledown’s identity secret during her debilitating memory loss. Now she could properly convey her eternal gratitude.

Pulling back, she grasped the other woman’s hands tightly on her own. “I owe you a debt I can never fully repay, old friend. But first, we must catch up - I fear I have much to recount about the recent months and regain my bearings once more.”

Genevieve ushered her towards the backroom without hesitation. “Bien sûr, bien sûr. We shall go over everything, just as before.”

As she follows her steadfast friend and accomplice deeper into the familiar surroundings of her double life, leaving her lady’s maid at the shop’s foyer, Penelope felt a profound sense of relief. For the first time since awakening to her memories, she finally felt like herself again.

Lady Whistledown, the infamous scandal and gossip writer had returned, ready to reclaim her empire - and her power.

Chapter Text

It was nearly a week after Penelope’s hasty flight from Aubrey Hall when the Bridgerton family carriage finally clattered back through the streets of Mayfair. As the footmen scrambled to unload their mountain of trunks and cases, Anthony Bridgerton wasted no time in striding across the square towards the Featherington residence.

His family’s cries of protest went entirely unheeded as the Viscount took the front steps two at a time before pounding insistently on the door. He needed to lay eyes on Penelope, reassure himself of her well being after her disappearance. Nothing else mattered until then.

The door finally creaked open to reveal Briarly, the Featheringtons’ loyal butler. “Lord Bridgerton.” He greeted, raising an eyebrow at Anthony’s appearance. “We were not expecting you to call so soon after returning to town.”

“I must insist on seeing Miss Featherington immediately.” Anthony said brusquely, making to push past the butler.

Briarly held up a hand. “I’m afraid Miss Penelope is out at the modiste presently. Shall I inform her you called when she returns?”

Anthony deflated somewhat at the news, though his shoulders remained taut with tension. “Yes, do ensure she knows I wish to call on her again this evening if at all possible.”

“Very good, my lord.” Briarly inclined his head deferentially before closing the door once more.

With a frustrated grunt, Anthony pivoted on his heel and started back towards his own family’s household. There was nothing for it but to wait, though the thought grated on his very last nerve.

Across town, Penelope Featherington sat in the back workroom of Madame Genevieve Delacroix’ modiste shop, listening raptly as her friend recounted the events of the past year and a half regarding Lady Whistledown’s gossip empire. She had been piecing together the events that transpired during her incapacitation, and Genevieve had been instrumental in filling in the gaps. The elegant modiste had recounted how Lady Whistledown’s issues continued to be published despite Penelope’s absence, detailing Eloise Bridgerton’s desperate intervention.

Genevieve had described how Eloise, with resolute conviction, had approached her, insisting she knew the modiste was involved in the publications. Eloise had revealed her discovery of Penelope’s secret identity as Lady Whistledown and explained the gravity of Penelope’s accident and condition. Convinced of the necessity to maintain the ruse, Eloise had persuaded Genevieve to show her how Penelope managed her business. Eloise had taken over the publishing temporarily, ensuring that the ton and, more crucially, the Queen, would not grow suspicious of Whistledown’s sudden silence.

Penelope listened intently, a mixture of gratitude and astonishment washing over her.

“I cannot believe Eloise did all this for me..” Penelope breathed utterly gobsmacked. For the span of several heartbeats, she could only gape silently at her modiste friend.

Genevieve nodded. “She was relentless. She feared that any disruption in Whistledown’s publications would raise questions, especially about your absence.”

Penelope sighed, her thoughts swirling. “Eloise always had a keen sense for the truth. I owe her so much.”

The modiste smiled warmly. “We both did what we could to protect you and your secret. Now that you are back, how do you wish to proceed?”

Penelope took a deep breath, the weight of her responsibilities settling on her shoulders. “I need to take back control of Whistledown. The ton is expecting nothing less than my usual sharp wit and insight. But I must also navigate my personal relations, especially with the Viscount..”

Genevieve’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Speaking of Viscount Bridgerton, have you seen him since your return, of your memories I mean?”

Penelope shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I left Aubrey Hall so abruptly. I’m sure he’s wondering what happened.”

—-

Back at the Featherington household

When the Featherington carriage finally pulled up to the front door, Penelope felt a weight lifting from her shoulders simply at being home again. So much had transpired in such a short span of time - the jarring return of her memories, the revelations about her secret identity, and now the utterly bewildering situation with Anthony Bridgerton.

As if sensing her addled state, Briarly was at her side almost before she’d fully alighted from the carriage. “A visitor called for you earlier this afternoon, Miss Penelope.” The butler informed her gravely.

Penelope’s heart stuttered in her chest even as weariness washed over her. Of course she knew exactly who had come calling. “Lord Bridgerton, I presume?”

Briarly inclined his head. “Indeed, miss. He was most insistent on seeing you, though I regretfully had to turn him away. The Viscount stated he would return again this evening if you were amenable.”

A heavy sigh gusted past Penelope’s lips. She had hoped to postpone this inevitable confrontation for a while longer, at least until she’d regained her metaphorical footing.

“Penelope?” Her mother’s concerned voice drifted over from the open doorway. “Is everything alright, dear? Did you and Lord Bridgerton perhaps have a disagreement of some kind?”

Penelope shook her head slowly as she moved herself deeper into the foyer. “Not precisely a quarrel. I simply..” She hesitated, carefully choosing her words. “I am not yet prepared to receive his call, mama.”

“But why ever not?” The dowager baroness frowned. “Surely your engagement to the Viscount has not been broken?”

The youngest Featherington flinched slightly. “I.. I do not rightly know if I can proceed with any engagement, mama. Given the circumstances..”

Her mother’s expression softened with instant understanding. “Ah, I see now. The return of your memories has you feeling quite at odds with the situation between yourself and Lord Bridgerton, is it not?”

Penelope nodded mutely, silently willing Portia to grasp the true depths of her dilemma. How could she begin to articulate her inner turmoil to Anthony when she herself could scarcely make sense of it?

To her surprise, her mama reached out to grasp her hands reassuringly. “My dearest child, I cannot fathom the upheaval you have endured these past days. But neither can I nor your sisters stand idly by while you falter.”

Portia’s jaw set in that familiar way Penelope recognized from her childhood - an understated show of the baroness’ formidable determination.

“You must grant Lord Bridgerton an audience, if only to convey your wishes regarding your understanding, whatever those may be.” Portia continued firmly. “The Viscount deserves to know where he stands, as does his family. Further prevarication on your part will only lead to more hurt and confusion for all involved.”

Penelope opened her mouth to protest out of sheer habit, but quickly realized her mama spoke nothing but sense. She could not simply avoid Anthony indefinitely, no matter how tempting the prospect. They were too deeply entangled now for anything less than a frank and open discussion between them.

Squaring her shoulders, Penelope met her mother’s gaze levelly. “You are correct, mama. I shall pen Lord Bridgerton a note informing him I am prepared to receive his call this evening.”

For just an instant, raw pride shone in the dowager baroness’ eyes before the moment passed.

—-

Anthony Bridgerton, having received the note from the Featheringtons’ footman, prepared himself with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The evening meal with his family had been a blur, his thoughts consumed by the impending meeting with his fiancée, Penelope. As he stood before the Featherington estate, he took a heavy breath, steeling himself, and knocked on the door.

Briarly, the ever-loyal butler, opened the door and informed the Viscount that Penelope was out in the gardens. The butler led him through the mansion, past the ornate rooms and into the serene outdoor space. There, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, sat Penelope Featherington, engrossed in a book.

Anthony paused, mesmerized by her beauty. Her red hair was braided into a bun, her mermaid green dress hugged her curves perfectly, and the soft pink tint of her lips made him long to rush to her and shower her with kisses. His trance was broken when Briarly announced his arrival.

“Miss Penelope. The Viscount Bridgerton is here to see you, miss.” Briarly said.

Penelope looked up, closing her book and setting it aside. “Thank you, Briarly.” She said, her voice polite but distant. “You may leave us.”

Briarly hesitated, aware of the propriety required, but Penelope’s firm nod reassured him. He then left them alone in the garden.

As soon as the butler was out of their presence, Anthony approached, his heart pounding. “Good evening, Pen.” He said, bowing his head. She stood and gave him a curtsy in return.

“Good evening, my lord.” She replied, using his title rather than Anthony’s Christian name. Her formality cut him to the quick, a reminder of the distance that had grown between them.

“How have you been?” Anthony asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“I have been well, thank you.” Penelope replied, her voice cool and measured.

Anthony’s heart ached at her demeanor. She felt so far away, even though she stood just an arm’s length from him. He tried to bridge the gap with small talk. “My mother’s birthday celebration was lovely, though Hy and Greg have terribly missed your company at Aubrey Hall. The entire family is quite insistent that you join us for tea on the morrow. We have all missed your presence most keenly these past few days. I, for one, could not wait to spend time with you.” He tried for an easy smile.

Penelope’s expression remained impassive. “I am afraid this cannot be allowed to continue, my lord.” She said coldly.

Anthony blinked in shock, feeling a mix of confusion and dread. “What needs to be stopped? Do you mean the tea? Or do you simply want to end my call for tonight?”

The redhead took a deep breath, her gaze unwavering. “I would like to end our engagement.”

The world tilted dizzying on its axis as the implications clanged deafeningly in Anthony's brain, her words hitting him like a physical blow. “End our engagement??” He repeated, scarcely able to believe his ears. “But why?”

She was renouncing their betrothal? After everything they had endured together over the past months, she was utterly rejecting their chance at love and happiness?

“Penelope, no!” He exclaimed, taking an unconscious step towards her even as a thousand disbelieving protests battered around his skull. “You cannot mean that. We are to be married, you and I. How can you throw that all away so cavalierly? Have I wronged you in any way Penelope? Tell me so I can make it right..”

Her jaw jutted out stubbornly. “Because I no longer have any recollection or context for how this came to pass between us, my lord. All that I can recall are the ancient boundaries of propriety that should never have been breached by someone in my position to you.”

Anthony recoiled as if struck, the hurt lancing through him at her searing dismissal. This was his Penelope, his beloved, his future, unfalteringly loyal partner speaking such wretched sentiments? He shook his head forcefully in denial as his heart began splintering to shards within his chest.

“I.. I do not understand Penelope.” He croaked, sounding utterly broken. “We love each other..”

Penelope’s expression shuttered closed as she replied in a dull, hollow tone. “I have returned to my previous frame of mind, Lord Bridgerton. As much as it pains me to admit, I do not remember our courtship nor our engagement. All I remember is.. Nothing. You were always the Viscount, the eldest brother of Eloise. And now, I find myself unable to reconcile my past with the present. I have felt nothing but confusion and conflict about my relations with you.”

As her meaning lanced home with brutal clarity, Anthony felt the first twin trails of devastation burn searing tracks down his cheeks. She had reverted fully to viewing him as an untouchable, unattainable relation, nothing more. Her recovery had erased every last trace of their hard-won love and commitment.

Chapter Text

“I have returned to my previous frame of mind, Lord Bridgerton. As much as it pains me to admit, I do not remember our courtship nor our engagement. All I remember is.. Nothing. You were always the Viscount, the eldest brother of Eloise. And now, I find myself unable to reconcile my past with the present. I have felt nothing but confusion and conflict about my relations with you.”

Anthony’s heart sank as he heard Penelope’s words. “Pen.. I understand this must be incredibly difficult for you. But we can work through this together. My love for you cannot be swayed, I will spare no effort to rebuild what we might’ve lost from your.. Returned memories.”

Penelope shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. “I appreciate your feelings, my lord, truly. But I cannot continue this engagement when I feel so uncertain. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“Penelope.. please.” Anthony rasped out, voice thick with desperation. “I am begging you not to discard what we have so carelessly. Our love is true, you must feel it still beating within your heart as I feel it in mine!”

He pressed one hand over the wildly pounding muscle in his chest as he steps closer to her, moisture blurring his vision. “These past months by your side have been the most blissfully, achingly happy of my entire life.. How can you simply erase that history between us and deem it null?”

Penelope held up a hand, effectively warding off his advance. Though her heart ached at the devastated look marring his beloved features, she could not allow herself to waver. Perhaps a clean break would be kinder in the long run.

“You do not truly know me, my lord.” She stated flatly. “The woman you have come to care for is but a pale shadow, an ephemeral fiction composed of half-truths and fantasies. I am not she.”

Anthony recoiled as if stuck, agony writ large across his chiseled countenance. When he finally found his voice, it was barely more than a hoarse croak.

“That cannot be true. The connection between us runs too deep, is too profound for you to simply cast it aside as illusion!”

Penelope’s jaw ticked as she fought against the impulse to wrap her arms around herself, to shield her traitorous heart from the naked longing burning in Anthony’s brandy-brown eyes. She could not afford to lose herself in those warm depths again, no matter how tempting.

“I am not who you believe me to be.” She repeated steadily. “You know nothing of the truths I have long harbored or the actions I have been compelled to take.”

A crease formed between Anthony’s brows as confusion began leeching into his expression, overtaking some of the rawness. Penelope seized her opportunity.

“I am Lady Whistledown.”

The words exploded between them like a percussive cannon blast, momentarily deafening Anthony and leaving him to gape uncomprehendingly at Penelope’s suddenly cool, expectant expression.

“W-What did you say?” He eventually croaked out once the ringing in his ears subsided.

“I am Lady Whistledown, my lord.” Penelope repeated in a tone of finality. “The infamous pamphleteer who has plagued London with news surrounding the elites of society.”

“You..?” He sputtered out, frozen in utter shock. “Lady Whistledown’s infamous scandal pamphlets are your doing?”

Penelope inclined her head a fraction. “Every last salacious word, penned by my own hand over the course of the seasons are not merely scandals, Lord Bridgerton. They are truths made aware to the ton. Though some reputations may have been hurt, my intention was to shed light on the truth to how the ton sees it, not to belittle or make fun of anyone.”

Anthony shook his head slowly as a cavalcade of revelations flickered across his consciousness - Daphne’s narrowly-avoided ruination at the hands of the ruthless Berbrooke, Colin’s aborted nuptials to the secretly pregnant Miss Marina Thompson, and Eloise’s liaison with the lower-class printer’s assistant that almost cost his sister her reputation.. All of it authored from the quill of this unassuming, gentle-natured young woman now watching him with an expression of distilled ice.

“But how..?” Anthony swallowed hard against a mouth rendered arid by shock. “After your accident, the pamphlets continued from week to week. Whistledown’s presence never faltered in London during your recovery!”

Something darker flickered behind the shuttered depths of Penelope’s gaze. “I suggest you direct that query to your sister, Eloise. I believe she may prove more forthcoming.”

Anthony's breath left his lungs in a harsh exhale at this latest gut-punch, his mind utterly rebelling against the implications. Not only had his naive, delicate Penelope been concealing shocking depths of intrigue and deception all along... but Eloise, his younger sister, had been complicit? A betrayal wrapped within a betrayal, lancing through him with sick, dizzying force.

Penelope turned away then on a sharp heel, signaling an end to the confrontation as finality settled around them like a smothering shroud.

Anthony grasped at her retreating form one final time. “Penelope! You cannot simply castigate our future so indelibly. There must be a path forward, some way to extricate us from this nightmare!”

But Penelope merely paused long enough to pin him with a look of such soulless dispassion that he felt its chill leach into his very marrow.

“Your courtesy and respect are appreciated, my lord. But I believe our future was decided the moment recollections of my previous existence resurfaced to replace.. Whatever tender aberrations had briefly taken root.”

With a precise curtsy, she swept away towards the house, her final words lingering like wisps of smoke over the battleground of Anthony’s shattered hopes.

“A footman shall see you out at your convenience. I wish you good evening, Lord Bridgerton.”

Throat working convulsively, Anthony registered the crunch of gravel underfoot as Penelope made to retreat back towards the house and the dubious shelter it provided. Every rational instinct begged him to give chase, to seize her in his arms and somehow jog that beloved, mischievous light back into her beautiful blue eyes.

But his leaden feet seemed to have taken root in the immaculately manicured garden paths, rendering him powerless as his entire world continued crumbling around him into splinters of anguish.

—-

At the Bridgerton House

The heavy drapes were drawn tight across the windows, cloaking Anthony’s study in deep shadows that perfectly mirrored the Viscount’s increasingly morose temperament. For days now, he had remained entombed within these four walls, seeing no one but the servants who replenished his ever-dwindling supply of brandy.

Even his family’s attempts at rousing him had proven futile - a brusque dismissal was the most any of them could prise from his tightly-clenched jaw before the study door slammed shut once more.

It was only a matter of time before his formidable mother decided to intervene.

The sharp rap of knuckles against the oak-paneled door pierced the gloom where Anthony sat hunched in his leather armchair, glass in hand. He made no move to answer Violet’s softly called greeting.

After a beat of silence, the latch turned and the dowager Viscountess swept into the dimness, mouth thinning with disapproval at the scene before her.

“Anthony, dearest.” Her tone brooked no disagreement as she crossed the floor towards her eldest with brisk strides. “This behavior is unbecoming of you. What on earth has possessed you to descend into such disarray?”

Her sharp eyes raked over Anthony’s disheveled appearance - his untrimmed beard, the rumpled cravat lying discarded at his feet, the two empty decanters of brandy on the side table. Worry creased her brow as she took in the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the sallow hue of his complexion.

“Answer me, son.” She prompted more gently when Anthony remained insensible.

At last, a muscle ticked in his clenched jaw as he dragged his gaze up to meet his mother’s concerned frown. Even in his addled state, a flicker of shame sparked behind his bloodshot eyes.

“She.. remembers.” He rasped out, throat scraped raw from the relentless onslaught of spirits. “Penelope regained her lost memories during her.. Absence from London. Everything before the accident..”

Violet paused, surprise flitting over her features before her expression melted into blatant relief.

“Well, that is wonderful news! Her full recovery is a blessing we scarcely dared hope for.”

She moved closer, laying a soft hand on Anthony’s disheveled head in a rare tender caress. “Is that not cause for celebration rather than this maudlin display? I should think you would be overjoyed at your betrothed’s return to herself.”

Anthony flinched bodily at his mother’s words, finally raising his head to fix Violet with expression of such harrowing desolation that she stopped short. Unshed moisture glimmered in the corners of his reddened eyes.

“She.. cried off on our engagement upon regaining her memories.” He rasped, the words seeming to crush the very air from his lungs. “I have lost her, mother. Penelope is gone once more and I..”

He broke off, throat working convulsively as his composure cracked and splintered.

Violet stared at him in stunned silence, utterly aghast, as the first hot tear tracked its way down Anthony’s stubbled cheek.

All the joy, all the reveled plans she had harbored for her eldest son’s impending nuptials crumbled to ash in that moment. But far worse than her personal disappointment was the visceral anguish she now witnessed etching itself into the beloved contours of her child’s face.

Wordlessly, she gathered Anthony into her embrace, a mother’s tender comfort she feared had not been bestowed upon him for far too long. His body shuddered against hers as the floodgates finally burst and years of pent-up grief and loneliness poured from his battered soul in a torrent of brutal sobs.

“Oh, my dearest son.” Violet murmured brokenly into his sweat-damp hair. “What cruelties have carved such wounds upon your heart?”

Escaping the labyrinthine darkness of Anthony’s misery would be no mean feat. But Violet was determined to see him through whatever anguish had wrought this staggering blow, no matter how arduous the path ahead might prove.

First, however, she needed answers in order to tend the shredded remains of her firstborn’s spirit. She knew how kind and good-hearted Penelope Featherington is. She had seen the redhead grow up together with her daughter Eloise. If Penelope had decided to break off her engagement with Anthony, there should be a deep and meaningful reason behind it.

Still, Violet will do everything in her capacity to help her son reconcile his relations with Penelope. The whole lot of Bridgertons, well except for Colin, had personally seen how a perfect match the two are, how Anthony and Penelope loves each other evident within the past months, it would be a shame if their union would not proceed as planned only because of Penelope’s returned memories.

If she needs to speak and beg Penelope by herself, just to reconsider the engagement, Violet would be willing to do so. As a doting matriarch, she would do anything possible to ensure her child’s happiness and well-being. She knew, as she has been seeing now, that Anthony would not be able to live without Penelope. And she herself had long wished for the youngest Featherington to become her daughter-in-law, as she had loved her as her own since the redhead was but a kid.

If there was one lesson Violet had learned through the tumult of her own life, it was that love, when tenaciously embraced, could ultimately overcome any obstacle.

Chapter Text

“Anthony..” Violet began. She would stop at nothing to inquire what had prompted her favorite redhead to rescind the engagement with her dearest son. “This melancholy cannot be allowed to linger. I know your heart has been grievously wounded, but you must share with me the particulars.. Why did Penelope feel forced to extricate herself from your betrothal so completely?”

Anthony squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of Penelope’s icy cold demeanor flashing behind his lids. When he finally found his voice, it was low and gravelly.

“Penelope.. Has no recollection of anything after her accident, mother. Her mind is entirely devoid of the months we spent cultivating our courtship.”

Violet’s eyes widened fractionally, one delicate hand rising to her lips. “No.. no memories of your growing fondness? Of your attachment becoming something more profound?”

“None whatsoever.” Anthony shook his head morosely. “In her mind, I remain simply the Viscount, the officious elder brother of her dearest friend Eloise. Any intimations of romance between us are.. Unnatural to her.”

Violet made a soft noise of dismay as realization bloomed. “Oh Anthony.. The poor, dear girl. To have come so far, only for this cruelty of fate to dash your hopes entirely..”

Sinking onto the settee beside him, she grasped his hands in her own. “Was that the true extent of her distress? Did Penelope not.. Explain further why she felt compelled to renege on your understanding?”

Anthony’s jaw tensed minutely - Penelope’s other life-altering confession; being the real Lady Whistledown, still burnt like acid in his mind. But he could not bring himself to share that revelation, not even with his own mother. It was Penelope’s secret to disclose, not his own.

“She felt it unforgivably selfish to accept my suit when her own feelings could not meet mine in equal measure.” He answered instead, the words like glass in his throat. “Penelope believed it dishonorable to uphold our engagement under such unbalanced circumstances.”

Violet squeezed her son’s arm reassuringly. “I could truly understand her. Penelope is a kind and selfless young woman. In her current state, she likely believes that continuing with the engagement would be unfair to you, as she cannot recall the depth of her feelings. But do not surrender all hope just yet, Anthony. Her heart still yearns for you, even if her mind cannot remember the details.”

Anthony’s eyes flashed with desperate longing. “You believe.. Penelope’s affections for me endure still? Despite her mind’s attempt at unremembering?”

“I know it to be true, my son. The heart does not so easily forsake what it has given itself to fully, memory or no. Penelope’s younger, cloistered self may be at the fore currently.. But the woman who learned to love you remains within, merely… slumbering.”

“The banns for your wedding have not been removed, and the Featheringtons have made no public declaration of a broken engagement.” Violet continued. “This means there is still a chance to rekindle the flame between you and Penelope.”

Anthony’s misery slowly faded, replaced by a newfound determination. “What would you have me do mother?”

Violet Bridgerton smiled knowingly. “As the gentleman, it falls upon you to guide Penelope’s heart back to you. Court her once more, remind her of the love you share. If you could capture Penelope's attentions once before as a friend, you can surely rekindle her regard as a suitor as well. All she requires is the chance to fall in love with the honesty of your character anew."

For the first time in days, a tentative spark of hope flickered to life in Anthony’s eyes. “You.. you truly believe me capable of such an undertaking, mother? Or rekindling the bond we allowed to bloom between us without her being conscious of its genesis?”

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life.” Violet replied with conviction. “We Bridgertons face this challenge standing firmly united behind you, Anthony. Though the path be newly obstructed, it yet remains ripe with possibility.”

Pulling her son into a fierce embrace, she murmured fiercely into his hair. “Your betrothed’s heart is simply waiting to be reawakened to its truth through the steadfastness of your devotion. Do not concede its capabilities to the temporary veil of this human condition.”

Pulling back, Anthony met his mother’s gaze with rekindled fire. “I will do whatever it takes to win back Pen’s affections, mother. With your guidance and the support of our family, I shall not rest until Penelope remembers the depth of our love.”

“Excellent.” Violet replied, her eyes twinkling. “The first step is to present yourself as a devoted and charming suitor. The Abernathy ball tomorrow night provides the perfect opportunity. Ensure you are at your most dashing, for an emerald like Penelope deserves nothing less than a polished and attentive fiancee.”

Anthony straightened his posture, determination etched across his features. “I shall not disappoint, mother. Penelope will remember the love we share, and our engagement will be restored. I give you my word. She will be the only one to become the next Viscountess Bridgerton.”

Violet smiled proudly, her heart swelling with confidence in her son’s ability to reignite the flame of love between him and the youngest Featherington.

—-

At the Abernathy Ball

The grand ballroom at Abernathy Hall was alive with the hum of conversation and the vibrant swish of silken gowns as the ton’s most esteemed members filtered inside. Light from hundreds of beeswax candles glinted off polished marble and glittering crystal, casting a warm, inviting glow over the proceedings.

The arrival of the Bridgertons, fashionably late as ever, drew the roving eyes of many in attendance. At their head strode Anthony, cutting an unmistakably dashing figure in his perfectly-tailored tailcoat and crisp cravat. He escorted his radiant mother Violet on one arm, with his sister Francesca on the other. Just behind trailed Benedict with Eloise, both exuding sophisticated charm.

Murmurs instantly began buzzing about the ballroom over which, if any, of the infamous Bridgerton rakes might next be intent on claiming a wife this season. Unbeknownst to the gossips, Anthony’s eyes were already keenly scanning the crowd in search of one particular quarry.

There - across the dance floor near the Abernathy matriarch herself stood the familiar ginger tresses of one Penelope Featherington. Heart bloomed in Anthony’s chest as his gaze raked over her elegant champagne green gown, so perfectly complementing the creamy expanse of her decolletage and shoulders. A lace fan fluttered coquettishly as she conversed with her mother and the hostess, entirely unaware of his burning appraisal.

At least, not until the taller figure of Lord Andrew Preston sidled up beside Penelope, shamelessly angling his body to better monopolize her attentions. Anthony felt his jaw clench reflexively as the young lord bent unnecessarily close, clearly relishing any chance to bask in Penelope’s smiles and charms.

The sight proved too much for Anthony’s already overwrought composure. Whirling on his heel, he hastened back to where Violet was holding court with his siblings.

“Mother.” The Viscount rumbled in a low aside. “I’ve located Penelope but she appears.. Indisposed with another suitor’s pursuit at present.”

Violet’s sharp eyes instantly read the tautness around Anthony’s mouth, the slight tinge of color riding high on his cheekbones. Patting his forearm placatingly, she nodded in understanding.

“Say no more, my dear. We shall extricate your betrothed from such distractions posthaste.”

With a conspiratorial look, she began steering their party across the marble towards the small knot of conversants surrounding Penelope and the offending Lord Preston. As they neared, Violet smoothly interjected herself.

“Lady Featherington! Lady Abernathy! What a delightful pleasure to encounter you both amidst such splendid company.” She effused with a luminous smile. “Penelope, oh my dear future daughter-in-law, you are a vision tonight - though I confess I’ve missed your vivacious presence dreadfully these last few days!” Violet explicitly addresses Penelope as such, to emphasize the redhead as her son’s betrothed.

Without preamble, she enfolded a surprised Penelope in an enthusiastic embrace while Anthony adroitly inserted himself like a bulwark between her and Lord Preston. Pulling back Violet kept a possessive hand on Penelope’s arm as Anthony bent over her gloved hand with studious attentiveness.

“A thousand greetings, Miss Featherington. You look resplendent as always.” He purred in that rich baritone, lips brushing her knuckles in a scorching caress. “I hope this evening finds you in utmost felicity?”

Penelope felt her cheeks flush hotly at his ardent regard, suddenly conscious of the surrounding company’s captive interest. What game was Anthony playing at?

“L-Lord Bridgerton.” She stammered, struggling to find her usual poise. “I am well, though perhaps we ought make our own introductions with the others present?”

“Of course, of course.” Anthony replied smoothly, though his eyes never left hers. Straightening, he cast a dismissive look towards Lord Preston. “You’ll forgive me, I trust, for my wanting to acquaint myself with my fiancee’s delightful company first?”

The young lord’s expression soured instantly at the Viscount’s brusque tone and utter indifference to propriety. He opened his mouth to protest, but Lady Abernathy interjected with a politic. “How fortuitous you’ve arrived, Lord Bridgerton. I was just introducing Miss Featherington here to Lord Preston. He has inherited his father’s title after retiring to relish his remaining years in the country.”

Anthony merely arched an insolent brow at the sycophantic declaration as Penelope cast him a quelling look. Very well, have it your way, that exasperated glance seemed to say, and Anthony felt a tiny frisson of satisfaction. If she wanted the niceties observed first, he would oblige - but only so he might then pursue his quarry by his own chosen tact.

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” Anthony drawled, acknowledging the other man for the first time. “Though if you’ll pardon my ruthlessness in this instance, I’m afraid I must commandeer my betrothed’s presence for the evening’s first set.”

He did not wait for assent before pivoting towards Penelope and offering his arm with an insouciant tilt of his head. “If my lady would indulge me?”

Four sets of eyes instantly bored into Penelope, Lady Featherington and Lady Abernathy both frozen in polite expectation. She suddenly realized with a jolt what Anthony’s intention was - to snare her into a private tete-a-tete in the only way honor dictated she could not refuse: by asking her to dance. Portia was clearly on the verge of demurring on her daughter’s behalf, but the very public tableau trapped them all.

Fuming inwardly at the Viscount’s calculated maneuvers, Penelope mustered what remaining grace she had. “I would be delighted, Lord Bridgerton.” She replies, placing her hand on his proffered elbow as cheerfully as she could manage.

Triumph glittered for a fleeting instant in Anthony’s gaze before his expression smoothed to one of consummate suavity. Escorting Penelope away with a shallow bow of consideration to the utterly bamboozled Lord Preston, the pair made their way to take their place among the other couples preparing to take the dance floor.

Chapter Text

The opening strains of a waltz filled the air, and before Penelope Featherington could so much as draw breath, Anthony’s arm snaked possessively around her waist. His other hand captured hers aloft as he deftly guided them into the prescribed frame, bodies aligned with a pen as breadth separating them.

“Lord Bridgerton..” Penelope managed through a thicket of nerves. So close now, the sandalwood and citrus of his cologne enveloped her senses utterly. “Might I inquire as to your precise intentions this evening?”

One elegant chestnut brow arched as Anthony met her questioning gaze head on. “My intentions, my lady?” His tone was all bland innocence despite the tiny upturn of his lips. “Why, to dance with the most captivating partner present, of course.”

She leveled him with a flat look as they began to revolve in time with the swelling music. “You know precisely what I refer to, my lord. The machinations that led me quite literally cornered into sharing this dance with you, despite–”

“Despite your declaring an end to our engagement just days before?” Anthony finished for her, that maddeningly insouciant smile never wavering.

Penelope’s frown deepened at his lack of circumspection. She opened her mouth to protest further, but Anthony expertly cut her off once more.

“Peace, my love.” He murmured, pulling her infinitesimally closer with each turn. “While I acknowledge certain… lapses of your memory may have contributed to your reservations, you’ll forgive me for remaining utterly unable to relinquish you so easily. A temporary confusion on your part. One I have no plans to indulge, despite your insistence otherwise.”

Penelope felt her jaw drop slightly at the sheer audacity of his words. She hastily shuttered her features, lifting her chin in prim defiance.

“I do not consider it mere confusion, my lord. I spoke with utmost certainty in requesting we terminate our betrothal. Your unwillingness to abide by my stated desire is most ungentlemanly.”

Anthony’s fingers tightened fractionally on her waist, his expression turning intent. “I vehemently disagree, my lady. To release you from the connection we have so painstakingly cultivated based on your present lack of memories would be the greater offense against honor and truth.”

His words were like a forceful caress against her senses. Penelope’s treacherous heart kicked up its cadence as they continued to gaze, unblinking into each other’s eyes. Her breath hitched at the undisguised tenderness in his voice, the scorching heat of his gaze. Despite every rational instinct, Penelope found her resistance waning beneath the sincerity of Anthony’s ardor. This close, she could map every tiny laugh line at the corners of those whisky-warm brown eyes, the angle of his jawline that begged for the graze of her fingertips..

“You have simply been.. Disoriented by the trauma of your accident.” Anthony continued in tones of liquid seduction. “Your mind has defaulted to how you perceived me before - as your friend’s elder brother, rather than the man who has spent months earnestly attempting to court your affections.”

They turned again in a warm swirl of skits and coats, bodies brushing with infinitesimal friction. Penelope’s throat felt dry as sunbaked earth.

“Be that as it may..” She managed in a subdued murmur. “You cannot simply disregard my stated objections and proceed as if they held no merit, my lord. That is hardly the makings of an equal partnership between husband and wife.”

Anthony slanted his mouth in a rueful smile that set Penelope’s nerves utterly a jitter. “An equal partnership is precisely what I aim to share with you, Penelope. Which is why I must disabuse you of these misgivings brought on by your lack of recollection on our relations, not hastily acquiesce to them.”

His thumb caressed a searing line across her knuckles as they continued to turn amidst the other dancers.

“I vowed to pursue you with the full force of my being until I had thoroughly claimed your heart. If that path now requires me to patiently, steadfastly re-pursue you until your reservations abate and your memories of your love return..” Anthony gave an artfully careless shrug, though there was nothing nonchalant about the burning feeling in his gaze. “Then that is the path I shall wholeheartedly embrace.”

Emotion swamped in Penelope’s chest at his words, a keen anguish and strange sort of yearning tangling inside her. She could not comprehend the imperative driving this outrageously stubborn, impossible man’s adherence to their attachment.

Yet one thing was inescapable: Viscount Anthony Bridgerton’s feelings clearly ran deeper than she could recollect. And even without those crucial memories resurfacing, a traitorous part of Penelope felt herself tilting irrevocably into their soul-deep undertow once more.

For the remainder of the waltz, Penelope Featherington held her tongue, far too awash in the emotional tumult of Anthony’s proximity to give further voice to her objections. His warmth, his scent, his blazing gaze.. It roused impressions and responses within her that Penelope’s rational mind could not begin to parse.

For now, the only recourse seemed to be basking in the singular experience of being so utterly cherished by a man as extraordinary as Anthony Bridgerton while her heart decided its own truth.

—-

The final chords of the waltz faded, leaving Penelope Featherington acutely aware of the rapid tattoo of her heart against her ribs. As Anthony Bridgerton escorted her back through the dispersing crowd, she caught sight of their mothers - Lady Portia Featherington and Lady Violet Bridgerton - watching their approach with undisguised interest.

To her surprise, Lady Abernathy and Lord Preston had apparently moved on during their dance. Penelope couldn’t deny a tiny flicker of relief at being spared further awkwardness in that particular set’s company, with how Anthony brushed off the young man.

As they neared the matriarchs, Anthony’s hand bore down ever so lightly on her waist. “You’ll forgive me for a brief moment, my lady.” He murmured, lips caressing the whorls of her ear. “I should return presently with refreshment.”

Before she could protest the proprieties, he’d extricated himself with a shallow bow and melted into the milling guests. Penelope found herself the focus of somewhat too-avid gazes.

“Well?” Her mother’s voice broke the silence first. “Was Lord Bridgerton at least a tolerable partner for the dance?”

Penelope fought a grimace, tamping down the memories of Anthony’s searingly candid words still searing along her nerves. “Quite tolerable, indeed.” She managed, aiming for a neutral tone.

Violet’s look remained inscrutable, though the faintest creases formed at the corners of her eyes. “I should certainly hope so, my dear. We Bridgertons do make a concerted effort at being such.”

She allowed a pregnant pause before continuing breezily. “In fact, I had hoped you might indulge us with your delightful company more frequently in the coming days. There are still several delightful outings, salons and concerts I’d dearly love your attendance for.”

Portia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Penelope merely fixed the Bridgerton matriarch with a wry look. “How very kind of you to think of me, Lady Bridgerton. Though I fear my company may bring about certain.. Undue complications, given the circumstances.”

Penelope thought she caught a fleeting tightness around Violet’s mouth before the older woman rallied smoothly. “Nonsense, my dear. Your absence during my birthday celebration was keenly felt, I shan’t be rebuffed again so easily.”

Violet’s next words carried the barest edge of gentle rebuke. “Surely you would not deny an old woman’s simple pleasures on matters of mere propriety?”

Penelope opened her mouth to decline, but Violet’s gentle reminder of how much she had missed Penelope during her birthday made her pause. The young Featherington felt a pang of guilt. She had always admired and respected the dowager Viscountess deeply. “Of course not, Lady Bridgerton.” She replied, her voice soft. “I would be delighted to be in your company.”

Soon after, Anthony returned, holding three glasses of lemonade. He handed once each to Lady Featherington and his mother before offering the last to Penelope. “For you.” He said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he flashed her a seductive smile. Penelope could only say thanks as she felt a hesitant blush creep up her cheeks.

Anthony and Violet stayed close to the Featheringtons, ensuring no other suitors could approach Penelope. Despite that, Violet kept a watchful eye on the ballroom, checking that her daughters were well. Eloise remained with their second brother Benedict, who had his eyes fixed on Francesca, who was currently engaged in conversation with some lord. Satisfied, Violet resumed her small talk with Portia.

As Penelope finished her lemonade, Anthony wasted no time in inviting her for another dance. “Would you honor me with another dance, Penelope?” He asked, his tone both polite and insistent.

Realizing that this was part of Anthony’s plan all along for the evening, Penelope accepted without much protest. She knew how the Bridgertons could be stubborn and relentless in their pursuits. As she placed her hand in his, she resolved to find a way to get back at him for cornering her so effectively tonight.

Anthony saw the flicker of determination in her eyes and could not help but give her a playful, wicked smile. He was enjoying this more than he had anticipated. It was oddly satisfying to tease his already annoyed fiancee, and he relished the challenge of winning her back.

They took their place on the dance floor, the music swelling around them. Anthony’s grip was firm yet gentle as he led her through the steps. “You know, Penelope..” He murmured, leaning in just enough so she could hear. “I’ve missed dancing with you.”

Penelope glanced up at him, her expression a mix of exasperation and curiosity. “You are relentless, my lord.” She replied, her voice a whisper. “But I promise you, I won’t make this easy.”

Anthony chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His smile was pure sin given form and consciousness. As he led her once more into the swaying throngs of dancers, Penelope could not share the intoxicating allure of being so utterly, dizzyingly seen by this man. Past, present, future – none of it seemed to hold any import save the blazing truth of his presence claiming every fiber of her existence.

As they moved gracefully across the floor, Penelope could not help but feel the stirrings of old emotions. Anthony’s determination and charm were formidable, and despite her best efforts to remain detached, she found herself drawn to him once more.

For the rest of the evening, they danced and conversed lightly, the tension between them slowly easing. Penelope was still wary, but Anthony’s persistence and genuine affection began to wear down her defenses. By the time the ball was winding down, she felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, their engagement wasn’t as doomed as she had feared.

Chapter Text

The rhythmic clash of steel sang out across the Bridgerton estate grounds as Anthony traded blows with Benedict. Sweat beaded on his brow beneath the morning sun, muscles straining with each parry and riposte. After days mired in brooding over Penelope, the Viscount finally heeded his brothers’ insistent cajoling to join them for fencing practice.

Benedict feinted left before whipping his foil in a blistering arc. “Well, well.” He panted, narrowly deflecting Anthony’s counter-strike. “Seems our illustrious Viscount has deigned to grace us lowly rakes with his presence at last!”

Pivoting smoothly, Anthony batted aside Benedict’s blade with an audible clang. “Careful now.” He rumbled, the hint of a grin playing at his lips. “Or I may be forced to let this ‘Viscount’ instruct you in humility.”

Before Benedict could retort, Anthony’s foil flashed out in a blur. One moment his brother’s defenses were set, the next his saber clattered to the ground in surrender.

“Touche.” Anthony murmured, utterly unrepentant as Benedict clutched at the fencing vest over his chest.

“Devilish..” Benedict swept his damp curls from his forehead with a rueful grin. “Though I suppose I’ve only myself to blame for poking the slumbering bear, eh?” He arched one brow meaningfully. “Your improved humor this morning wouldn’t happen to stem from indulging in a particular redhead’s delightful company last night, would it?”

To his credit, Anthony’s only reaction was a fractional tightening of his jaw. “A gentleman always takes pleasure in the company of his beloved.” He replies, voice pitched carefully even. “Though I’ll thank you not to make rude insinuations about a lady’s character, dear brother. Especially if it’s Penelope. She is to be my wife and your sister-in-law, do not forget that.”

Benedict held up his free hand in mollifying surrender, sensing he’d prodded the wrong nerve. Anthony’s mood had been utterly mercurial of late regarding Miss Featherington.

“Peace, Ant.” Colin’s voice rang out in timely intervention as he sauntered over, already bedecked in his fencing vest. “No need to impale the messenger simply for insinuating what we all already suspect.”

He cast Anthony an amicable wink as he twirled his foil absently. “Though if the lady in question tamed even a fraction of your usual churlish demeanor.. Well then, my hat is off to her.”

Anthony held his brother’s gaze for a protracted beat, as if weighing the merit of rising to the bait. Finally, he settled for widening his stance in silent acceptance of Colin’s unspoken challenge to a bout.

The clink of their salutes rang out like a gunshot. From the first bell, Anthony’s focus was lasered intensity personified. His feet danced with the ferocity of his cuts and strikes, allowing Colin no quarter for misstep.

Within seconds, Benedict’s brows hiked higher in surprise at the sheer ferocity of the onslaught. Colin, ever the more disciplined technician, took an inadvertent step back with each blistering attack his brother unleashed.

On and on Anthony pressed his advantage, parry after parry battering Colin’s defenses like a battering ram. Then, at last, one final pirouette and flick of Anthony’s saber skittered Colin’s foil from his grasp.

The younger Bridgerton held his hands up in surrender, chest heaving as he stopped to retrieve his weapon. “Good lord, Anthony!” He gasped, shooting his older brother an incredulous look. “What’s got your hackles raised so viciously this day? One might mistake our bout for outright retribut–”

The dawning realization showed plainly on Colin’s face then, derailing his words entirely. When next he spoke, his tone was carefully circumspect.

“This.. this has to do with Penelope, does it not?”

Anthony dragged the back of his sleeve across his perspiring brow as he sheathed his foil briskly. “You’d do well to mind a civil tongue where Penelope is concerned for now, Colin.” He replied, tone weighted with censure.

“After some.. Consideration, it’s come to light she has reacquired certain aspects of her former memories you slighted in past with reckless words.”

Colin’s eyes widened fractionally as Anthony’s stare became utterly glacial.

“While I bear you no true malice, make no mistake - Penelope is mine to cherish now. Any who would risk prompting further hurt or distress are courting an answer from me. Am I unequivocally clear, brother?”

The weight of the moment stretched between them, brittle and utterly devoid of their earlier levity. Finally, Colin bobbed his head in solemn acquiescence.

“I.. understand, Anthony. And you have my word - I shall make amends to Pen most contritely. Whatever insensitivities I perpetrated in immature ignorance, I’ll not compound them further.”

Anthony regarded his younger brother appraisingly for a long moment before offering the barest nod in return. As siblings, there were bonds of trust that transcended even such hallowed ground as courtship. For Penelope’s sake, he would have to accept Colin at his pledge.

“See that you don’t. You need to apologize to her, but only when she is ready to speak with you. Do not force her. If you do, you’ll have to answer to me.” Anthony said strictly, before retrieving his discarded jacket with a decisive snap of the lapels. “Now if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve my lady’s graces requiring my attentions this forenoon.”

With that, the Viscount turned on his heel and strode back towards the manse, every line of his body broadcasting a bachelor’s day had decidedly, officially, come to its conclusion.

—-

As she had promised - or rather, as she had no choice but to agree - Penelope Featherington found herself at the doors of the Bridgerton house across the square. The grand, imposing facade of the estate did little to calm her nerves, but she took a deep breath and approached the door.

The gentle tinkling of china and murmured conversation greeted Penelope as Humboldt ushered her into the Bridgertons’ sunlit drawing room. Despite her lingering trepidation over Lady Violet’s insistent invitation, she could not deny the welcoming ambiance soothed her somewhat.

“Penelope!” The Bridgeton matriarch rose with a beaming smile, crossing the room to warmly embrace her. “We’re simply delighted you could join us.”

“Lady Bridgerton.” Penelope murmured, returning the older woman’s affectionate squeeze. “You’re too kind. I’m honored by your hospitality.”

“Nonsense, my dear!” Violet tittered, ushering her towards the low settee opposite where Francesca and Eloise were seated. “You’re among family here, are you not?”

A tiny traitorous kernel of happiness bloomed in Penelope’s chest at those words, even as her pragmatic side reared up instinctively. Family.. Truly?

Francesca offered her a warm smile as she settled in front of them. “Do forgive us for absconding with you so, Pen. Mama shan’t be deterred once she’s turned that formidable matriarchal will towards something!”

A muffled snort issued from the chess table nearby where Hyacinth and Gregory were engrossed in their game. Penelope hid a smile - some things would never change, it seemed.

“I do hope my presence doesn’t disrupt your usual routines dreadfully.” Penelope replied as Humboldt began pouring fresh tea. “You’re all too hospitable by half, really.”

“Piffle.” Violet interjected breezily, reclaiming her own cup. “You’ve simply been kept away from us too long as it is, that’s all.”

A somewhat strained silence followed, the weight of unspoken implications hanging heavily in the air. Eloise, who’d remained unusually mum since Penelope’s arrival, finally piped up. “We’re just glad for any chance to reassemble the old Covey’s full ranks again, aren’t we?”

The force levity in her tone was palpable. Penelope shot her oldest friend a questioning glance, but Eloise’s gaze seemed fixedly averted. A hot pang of remorse gripped Penelope’s heart - she and Eloise had barely spoken since that awful awakening at Aubrey Hall. How adrift and hurt her dearest friend must feel…

A raucous clatter of boots and jangling spurs from the gallery heralded a new arrival before Penelope could pursue the thought further. All eyes, swiveled as Anthony Bridgerton strode into the drawing room with characteristic insouciance, still bedecked in his fencing practice attire.

Perspiration sheened over the open vee of his shirt where the top laces hung loose. Disheveled chestnut hair tumbled over his brown in a somewhat reckless manner. Yet the overall effect was nothing short of devastatingly, roguishly alluring in Penelope’s utterly discomposed opinion.

“Penelope.” He fairly purred, lifting her knuckles to brush an infinitely tender kiss across them. His lips seared like a brand even through her gloves. “What an unexpected delight to find you gracing our parlor this afternoon.”

Penelope felt her cheeks flush traitorously at the molten timbre of his voice. Deliberately pitching lower than usual, no doubt – and succeeding wildly at demolishing any scant composure she may have retained. Sweet lord, how was she to endure such open seduction?

Lips still hovering perilously near her trembling hand, Anthony’s heavy-lidded gaze slanted up through his lashes to pin her with a look of pure, shuddered sin. “I don’t suppose I might persuade you to indulge my shameless desire for your audience a while longer?”

Of all the unabashedly rakish –!

Despite her furious mental flailings, Penelope was mortifyingly conscious of all the rapt eyes trained on their byplay. The open provocativeness of Anthony’s advances left her utterly poleaxed. How did one respond with any shred of propriety when being so.. So… blatantly ravished before an entire party?!

“I.. ah.. That is..” She began faintly, pulse rabbiting beneath the sheer intensity of his scorching regard. Oh merciful heavens, get a hold of yourself, Penelope!

Rallying the reserves of her rattled sanity, she finally managed. “I should think that depends entirely on the nature of said audience you crave, my lord.”

Anthony awarded her with a half-grin of sheer masculine satisfaction – the self-possessed look of a cat toying with its prey. “Why, the pleasure of your sparkling conversation, of course. That incomparable wit and wisdom I’ve come to so dearly cherish.”

The tips of his fingers skated lightly over her knuckles in a whisper-soft caress. “In short-simply basking in your unparalleled light, a while longer, Miss Featherington.”

Good God, this man would be the utter dissolution of her before week’s end!

Throat perilously arid, Penelope could only nod wordless acquiescence in the face of such overwhelming ardor. Behind them, a discreet cough sounded from the settee. Violet’s gaze shone with a peculiar, maternal gleam as she observed them fondly.

“Well then, you simply must join us properly for tea, dearest.” She pronounced in a tone that simply broke no argument. “Lord knows we’ve been dreadfully remiss in extending the fullest honors and hospitality to our future Viscountess these last few days!”

Penelope’s rebuttal withered on her lips beneath the dawning realization in Anthony’s smoldering gaze. She suddenly knew with inescapable certainty that every shameless tactic, every scorching endearment – it had all been meticulously choreographed with intent to reduce her objections to absolute ash.

And as Anthony boldly claimed the seat beside her with proprietary ease, slinging one arm across the back of the settee in a subconscious embrace, Penelope couldn’t shake the dizzying sense that she’d just been irrevocable, inescapably..

Ensnared.

Chapter Text

As Anthony joined their tea in his fencing attire, Violet couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Anthony, darling, perhaps you should change into something more appropriate for tea?”

Anthony, not wanting to be away from Penelope’s presence so soon, gave a smug smile. “Of course, mother, but not before I properly bid farewell to Miss Featherington.” He turned to Penelope, his eyes softening. Taking a lock of her red hair between his fingers, he pressed it to his lips, inhaling her scent deeply.

Penelope blushed furiously, as red as a tomato, while the Bridgerton ladies nearby exchanged amused glances. Francesca giggled behind her hands, Eloise snorted at her brother’s overly display and Violet couldn’t suppress a knowing smile.

“Until I return.” Anthony murmured, his voice low and intimate. Penelope could only nod, her heart racing.

As soon as the Viscount left the room, Eloise gathered her courage. She turned to Penelope, her expression earnest. “Penelope, could we speak privately?”

Penelope looked at her friend, noting the seriousness in her eyes. She glanced at Violet, who gave her a gentle nod of encouragement. Taking a final sip of her tea, Penelope agreed. “Of course, Eloise.”

The gentle fragrance of roses and freshly trimmed hedges enveloped them as Eloise led Penelope through the French doors and into the Bridgertons’ secluded garden. Wordlessly, she guided her friend over to the swing set sequestered beneath an emerald-green arbor, the very picture of a bucolic girlhood haven.

As they settled onto the time-worn planks, the weight of unspoken history seemed to lodge itself in Penelope’s throat. How many afternoons had they whiled away here as inseparable confidences, two plucky dreamers against the world? Now, the chasm of forgotten trust and wounded bonds stretched between them, raw and palpable.

For several moments, the only sounds were the chirping of birds and the faint lilt of laughter drifting from the house. Penelope did not rush her friend, merely turned an open, questioning look onto Eloise as the brunette finally broke the stifling quiet.

“I’ve made such an utter horror of things between us, haven’t I?” She asked, voice pitched low and wretched.

Penelope remained quiet, allowing Eloise to continue. “I was so hurt and angry when I found out you were Lady Whistledown.” Eloise said. “I felt betrayed that you didn’t tell me, your best friend. And then, when I had to end things with Theo because of the scandal.. I was devastated. But that doesn’t excuse the hurtful things I said to you.”

Immediately, the dam burst, words spilling forth in a torrential outpouring. “That wretched night at your family’s ball.. The things I flung at you in selfish pique over the Whistledown charade – utterly unforgivable. You’d every right to abandon me as a fair-weather friend after that unpardonably lapse, Pen.”

Penelope nodded, her expression unreadable.

Eloise looked up then, huge hazel eyes brimming with remorse. “It’s only then, after nearly losing you forever to that cursed accident, that I’ve come to realize just how irreplaceable you are truly to me.”

Penelope Featherington felt her throat constrict with a welter of emotions at the naked pain etched in her friend’s features. After so many years of steadfast sisterhood, she knew the rift between them had gnawed at Eloise just as keenly as herself.

Before Penelope could formulate a response, the brunette was pressing on in a fervent deluge. “When they brought you in from that horrible wreck.. God, Pen, you can’t know the terror I felt. Not for losing Whistledown’s identity - no, something far more precious was nearly snatched away through my own blasted obstinance!”

She reached out, snagging Penelope’s hands in an almost bruising grip. “The thought of never regaining your friendship, never being able to beg your forgiveness for my hateful words.. It unmanned me in a way I’ve never before known. You are the very dearest of confidantes to me, Penelope Featherington, and I could not bear losing that bond through my own foolish pride.”

Finally, the words came for Penelope, thick and tremulous. “Oh Eloise.. You were well in your rights to feel such hurt and betrayal. My secret caused you such grievous injury.. I should have told you. But I was afraid of putting you in danger. I didn’t want you to be implicated in any of this, which eventually did.. I was afraid of your reaction.. Afraid you would not accept me as the pen behind those gossip sheets –”

“No!” Eloise interjected fiercely, giving her friend’s hands an emphatic shake. “Do not make excuses for me, Pen. Not a single justification exists for how I compounded your pain that night with my violence and scorn. After your accident.. Well, I realized just how precious our bond is to me.”

She took a shuddering breath, fingers tightening almost feverishly around Penelope’s. “Which is why I had to take up Whistledown’s quill in your stead during your recovery. The ton could not suspect your absence from its hierarchy of scandal. So I published in your name, continued the charade so none could ever link the incapacitated Penelope Featherington with Lady Whistledown’s infamy.”

Eloise laughed, a watery, tremulous exhalation. “As if I’d ever let our Queen uncover the truth and risk harming you further. Not on my life, my dearest friend. Not after I’d already proven so wretched a disappointment to you once before.”

For several suspended heartbeats, the enormity of Eloise’s penance resonated between them like the peal of a solemn church bell. Tears swam in Penelope’s vision as the truth washed over her in wave after cathartic wave.

So many hurts still lingering, yet tempered by the searing loyalty of their friendship's truest heart…

Penelope squeezed back Eloise’s hand gently. “We’re both at fault, Eloise. But I’m glad we can talk about this now. I’ve missed you terribly.”

Eloise smiled through her tears. “I’ve missed you too, Pen. Can we.. can we start over?”

Penelope returned her smile warmly. “I’d like that very much.”

“I was so very afraid, El.” She confessed in a choked whisper. “That in regaining my life, I may have lost my dearest ally forever..”

Gathering her friend into a fierce embrace, Penelope murmured fiercely against her hair. “But no more, I promise. We must put the past’s injuries behind us, you and I. The reparations have been made and accepted - our bond shall endure, I swear to you.”

As they pulled back, Eloise wiped her tears away and laughed softly. “You know, Anthony is going to be insufferable now that he has gained me back a rival for your attentions.”

Penelope arched an inquisitive brow at her friend. ”Whatever do you mean?”

Eloise shot her a look dripping with dramatic exaggeration. “Why, the epic struggle to retain any scrap of your attentions once a certain besotted Viscount catches wind of our newly restored confidences!”

Instantly, Penelope felt her cheeks flood with telltale warmth at the oblique reference to Anthony. She waved a dismissive hand despite the hot tendril of awareness unfurling low in her belly. “Surely you exaggerate, Eloise. Whatever romantic affections existed between your brother and I have been.. Severed, for lack of a better term.”

Eloise’s eyes underwent an impressive bout of widening and narrowing in rapid succession. “Severed?” She echoed incredulously. “Pen, have you seen the way that man can’t so much as draw breath without drinking you in like a parched wanderer in the bloody Sahara?”

Flapping one hand in a gesture of resigned exasperation, she pressed on. “Mark my words, once Anthony has even an inkling of me monopolizing your attentions again, he shall be utterly insufferable in his efforts to reclaim your undivided focus!”

Despite herself, a tiny kernel of wistful longing bloomed in Penelope’s chest at her friend’s candid assessment. Hurriedly, she tamped down the spark before it could rekindle further.

“Be that as it may.” She replied loftily. “Lord Bridgerton and I have already had such.. Unpleasantries aired between us. He knows full well the score - that any notion of matrimonial felicity has been suspended indefinitely.”

Eloise’s brows hiked upward in a most unladylike manner. “Felicity, you say?? My dear Pen, the man is utterly besotted with you! One might as well insist the sun no longer burns as try to persuade Anthony into relinquishing his pursuit of your hand!”

Squirming a bit at her friend’s brazen assessment, Penelope felt compelled to offer. “Well, there is.. One other aspect that may complicate matters further between us.”

Curiosity flickered over the brunette’s features, dragging her out of her teasing reverie. “Oh? Do elucidate, I’m on tenterhooks now!”

Penelope drew a steadying breath. There was no point prevaricating or withholding any longer - Eloise deserved the truth. “I.. I’ve made full confession to Lord Bridgerton regarding my being Lady Whistledown.”

For a suspended beat, the garden seemed to crystallize around them in frozen tableau. Then Eloise’s jaw dropped in a most unbecoming manner.

“Penelope Featherington!” She gasped out. “Are you telling me that, that boorish brother of mine had –”

Eloise’s words broke off with a tiny eep! As a throat cleared pointedly from somewhere behind them. In unison, both young ladies swiveled to find the object of their impassioned discussion standing mere feet away.

Anthony regarded them with an amused quirk of one brow, hands tucked casually into his waistcoat. “There you are.” The Viscount said, his voice filled with relief. “I’ve been looking for you both.”

Turning towards his sister Eloise, he dipped his head in a semblance of regretful courtesy. “I’m afraid I shall have to claim the pleasure of Penelope’s company from this point on, dear sister.”

The young brunette shot Penelope a martyred look, as if to say told-you-so before expelling a long-suffering sigh. “Very well, very well. I know when I’m outmatched in the schemes of lovelorn rakes!”

With a defiant pivot, she brushed past her brother with a final apologetic glance to Penelope. Anthony watched her depart with an indulgent shake of his head before turning back to Penelope with a look utterly devoid of apology.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing to the swing next to hers.

Penelope nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “Of course.”

The old swing set creaked softly as Anthony lowered himself down beside Penelope. She turned to him with a wistful smile, taking in the familiar surroundings of the garden they sat in.

“This is where we started our courtship.” Anthony said, his voice hushed but rich with emotion.

Penelope looked at him, curiosity and confusion mingling in her eyes. “It is?”

Anthony reached over, taking her hand in his. “It was late at night, the moon high and full, bathing you in its ethereal glow. You looked positively breathtaking.”

He paused, his eyes intense as he studied her face, as if committed every curve and angle to memory once more. “I knew right then that I wanted to be at your side forever. To be the one who could always make you smile.”

Penelope felt her cheeks warming at his tender words. Anthony continued. “You had confided your worries about being the emerald of the season. How your lack of memories from before might work against you..”

“I don’t recall that.” Penelope murmured, her heart racing. How she wished she could remember those seemingly precious moments.

“You were afraid.” Anthony said gently. “But I vowed then and there to never let you face the cruel realities of society alone. It was that night I asked for your permission to court you. And wonder of all wonders…” He raised her knuckles to his lips, bruising a featherlight kiss there. “You said yes.”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat at the intimate gesture. “My lord..”

“We may not have started as a love match..” Anthony admitted. “But even then, I harbored feelings for you. Feelings that only grew deeper with each passing day of our courtship.” His thumb caressed her skin. “Until I knew without a doubt that I loved you, Penelope. And amazingly, you came to return those feelings.”

Tears burned in Penelope’s eyes at his impassioned confession. She felt unworthy of such profound devotion from this wonderful man. “I’m so sorry, I wish I could remember..”

Anthony hushed her with a tender shush. “Never mind that now, my love.” He lifted his free hand to cup her cheek, his touch scorching her very soul. “Your mind may not recall our romance, but your heart remembers the way it beats for me.”

As if to prove his point, Penelope’s pulse fluttered wildly in her throat at his proximity, his woodsy scent and heated gaze consuming her senses. Her body most certainly recognized its longing for him, even if her mind felt lost.

“My body remembers you.” She breathed, scarcely daring to blink for fear this moment would vanish. “Even if my mind does not.”

“Then trust your body’s memory.” Anthony rumbled, closing the distance between them. “For it knows the truth of our love, my dearest Penelope..”

His lips captured hers in a searing, passionate kiss that finally allowed Penelope to truly feel the echoes of the powerful bond they had forged.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Penelope awoke with a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose as memories of the previous day came flooding back. She felt annoyed with herself for being so flustered around the Viscount, Anthony Bridgerton.

Reconciling with Eloise had been a positive step, one she was grateful for. But her interactions with the Viscount kept nagging at her mind, replaying on an endless loop until she could scarcely focus on anything else. Especially that kiss..

Heat crept up her neck as she recalled the shocking moment their lips had met. His kiss had been searing, igniting a fiery warmth that still smoldered low in her belly. She couldn’t even begin to fathom how their encounter had escalated to such an intimate act.

Hadn’t she vowed to get revenge on Anthony for cornering her into that dance at the Abernathy ball? And yet there she was, breathless and reciprocating his ardent kiss as if drawn like a moth to his flame. As much as she hated to admit it, she had thoroughly enjoyed the experience of being in his arms.

A heavy sigh left her at the confusing tangle of emotions. How had the charismatic Viscount managed to fluster her so completely? The rational thing would be to avoid him until she regained her senses.

And that is precisely what she instructed their butler Briarly to do when Anthony arrived at Featherington house bright and early. Penelope refused to take any calls from suitors, no matter their status or relation to her. She needed time to sort through this inner turmoil he had provoked.

Anthony could scarcely believe it when Briarly turned him away at the door, his brows lowing in displeasure. “But I am not simply a suitor. I am Miss Featherington’s fiancee!”

The butler seemed unmoved. “I’m afraid Miss Penelope has declined visitors of a courtly nature for the time being..”

Before he could protest further, the sound of rapid footsteps announced his sister’s arrival. Eloise strode through the open doors, throwing a careless wave to Briarly who made no move to stop her.

“Eloise!” Anthony called out, irritation lacing his tone. “What are you doing here?”

She arched one elegant brow. “Why, I’m here to see Penelope, of course. We are the closest of friends.”

Realization struck and Anthony whirled on the hapless butler once more. “Then why is my sister permitted entry while I, Miss Featherington’s betrothed, am barred?”

Briarly sighed, clasping his hands in front of him. “Miss Eloise has long had an open invitation to Miss Penelope’s private chambers. She needs no announcement, my lord.”

The obvious double standard grated on Anthony’s nerves. His fists clenched and unclenched as he fought for control of the frustration bubbling with him.

How could Penelope so easily shut him out after the tenderness they had shared just last night? Had he misread the situation completely? His heart ached with confusion and doubt, uncertain how to regain his footing in this newfound courtship.

“Enjoy your visit.” He bit out at last, the terse phrase directed at Eloise though his eyes remained fixed on the butler. “I expect to be granted access upon your departure.”

—-

A soft rap on the door preceded Eloise’s entrance into Penelope’s bedchambers. The redhead looked up with a wan smile as her dearest friend breezed inside.

“There you are.” Eloise began without preamble. “Anthony is downstairs, quite insistent on seeing you despite being denied.”

Penelope sighed, lifting a hand to massage her throbbing temples. “Of course he is. Stubbornness seems to run in your family’s veins.”

Eloise propped her hands on her hips, surveying Penelope shrewdly. “And just what reason do you have for refusing my bull-headed brother an audience? Trouble in paradise already?”

A delicate flush stole across Penelope’s cheeks at the gentle tease. She twisted her fingers in her lap, weighing how much to confide in Eloise. With a fortifying breath, she decided on complete candor.

“I find myself.. Conflicted where the Viscount is concerned.” She admitted softly. “My memories of our courtship are still quite hazy, if not entirely absent. It doesn’t seem fair to proceed with talk of an engagement when I cannot even recollect how we came to be betrothed.”

Eloise’s expression softened with sympathy as she claimed the seat beside her friend. “I see. That is a heavy burden to bear.” She rested a comforting hand on Penelope’s arm. “But tell me, do you not feel anything towards Anthony? Any flutters or stirrings, however small?”

Penelope flushed again, unable to meet Eloise’s knowing gaze. How could she begin to describe the dizzying effect Anthony had on her senses?

“Whenever he is near…” She started haltingly. “My heart cannot seem to remain calm. It beats more rapidly, as if trying to escape my chest entirely.” She pressed a hand over her bodice as the memory arose unbidden. “And when he turns that devastating smile my way, it quite steals my breath. I must look a frightful mess around him, I fear.”

The words had tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks now staining a brilliant crimson. But Eloise simply patted her arm again with a soft laugh.

“Oh Pen, can you not see? Those are your feelings for Anthony shining through, clear as day!” Eloise beamed, appearing relieved. “Even if your mind does not recall how your romance began, your heart most certainly remembers its roots.”
Penelope blinked, absorbing the stark truth of Eloise’s words. Her heart did seem to respond quite vividly to the Viscount’s presence.

“Anthony cares for you a great deal.” Eloise continued, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “That much is plain for anyone to see. If you feel it is unfair to remain betrothed without any memories of your courtship, then allow him the chance to pursue you once more.”

She leaned closer, holding Penelope’s gaze intently. “Court him anew and see if those feelings do not grow deeper, rekindling the spark you two once shared. Your memories may even return in full.” A sly grin curved her lips. “And if not, at least you can decide with fresh eyes if my brother is worthy of you.”

Slowly, Penelope felt her resolve strengthening. Anthony did seem genuine in his efforts to reconnect with her. Should she not grant him the courtesy of trying? Her lips quirked upwards in a matching grin.

“Very well, I shall grant the Viscount an audience.” She paused, a mischievous glint entering her expression. “Though not before extracting a bit of payback for the way he behaved at the Abernathy ball.”

Eloise threw back her head with a rich peal of laughter. “That’s my girl! Shall we go face the dashing rake of my brother together?”

With a decisive nod, Penelope accepted her friend’s proffered hand and allowed herself to be tugged to her feet.

Whatever may come of this second courtship with Anthony Bridgerton, she vowed to keep her wits about her. A lady always had a few tricks to deploy against even the most persistent of suitors.

—--

Penelope descended the stairs alongside Eloise, her steps measured and poised despite the giddy excitement fluttering in her chest. As expected, Anthony still lingered in the foyer, the very image of stubborn determination as Briarly attempted to dissuade him.

The moment the Viscount caught sight of her vibrant hair, his entire demeanor transformed. A brilliant smile broke across his features as he called out. “Penelope!”

There was an almost boyish quality to his eagerness that she found unexpectedly endearing. Schooling her expression, Penelope dipped into a proper curtsy. “Lord Bridgerton.”

Briarly looked towards her expectantly, silently questioning if she required his assistance. But Penelope merely granted him a serene smile and a slight shake of her head. She could manage the situation from here.

“My lady.” Anthony began, clearly making an effort to temper his frustration over the earlier treatment. “I had hoped you might join me for a turn about the park? Some refreshing air would do us both good, I think.”

His hopeful expression likely could have charmed birds from the very trees. But Penelope was not so easily swayed - not when she had a delightful scheme brewing. Affecting an apologetic moue, she replied. “Forgive me my lord, I fear Eloise and I have plans already arranged for the day. We are to make calls on some other friends.”

Eloise started, having been caught unawares by the bald-faced fib. She opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, when Penelope shot her a pointed look weighted with meaning.

Catching the subtle hint, Eloise’s confusion cleared as quickly as it came. “Er.. yes. Yes, of course we did have plans.” She lifted one slim shoulder in an unconvincing shrug. “Though I cannot recall which friends, precisely.”

“Surely your commitments could be delayed?” Anthony pressed, undeterred as Penelope knew he would be. “I should be delighted to join you both on your outings.”

Oh, he had played directly into her hands! Penelope fought to smother the mischievous grin threatening to spread across her lips.

Poor Eloise, however, had no such compunctions. Her jaw dropped, gaping at him as if he’d quite taken leave of his senses. “You cannot be serious? Join us?”

But when she glanced towards Penelope once more, she found no annoyance or hesitation in her friend’s expression. Instead, Penelope regarded Anthony with an unmistakable look of sly satisfaction curving her smile.

Eloise blinked, comprehension gradually dawning. This was a ploy, one she wasn’t privy to the details of but could certainly appreciate. Penelope clearly had some scheme for handling the unrepentant Viscount in mind - a scheme that required his unsuspecting participation.

Eloise was unable to smother her own grin as she rallied behind her friend’s play.

“Well, if Lord Bridgerton is simply determined to impose, I suppose we haven’t any choice but to permit his company.” Penelope Featherington said.

Eloise shot Penelope a wink, silently applauding her ingenuity. Anthony may have thought himself a clever, accomplished rake. But Penelope had quickly proven herself more than his match when it came to games of delicious entrapment.

Let the true battle of wits begin.

Chapter Text

A palpable tension hung in the air within the confines of the Featherington carriage. Anthony’s insistence on joining the ladies had clearly taken Eloise by surprise, leaving an awkward silence in the wake of Penelope’s little ploy.

Eloise Bridgerton shot her friend a questioning look, one brow arched expectantly. “Well? Are you going to remind me whose calls we are to make today?”

There was an unmistakable lilt of amusement in her tone, letting Penelope know she was more than willing to play along with whatever scheme she had devised.

Penelope’s lips curved into a secretive little smile as she met Anthony’s inquisitive stare head-on, not even bothering to hide the playfulness dancing in her eyes. She could not resist allowing her gaze to flit over his frame in a slow, appreciative perusal.

Let the esteemed Viscount Anthony Bridgerton squirm a little under her scrutiny for once.

The carriage rolled to a stop, the footman swiftly moving to open the door. But Anthony had already gained his feet in one fluid motion, determined to be the one to hand the ladies down to the street.

Ever the gentleman – though Penelope intended to test the limits of his polished manners before the day was through.

Eloise’s soft gasp drew her attention, those expressive eyes widening as she clearly recognized their location. “Pen? Is this.. Are we meant to be calling on the Smythe-Smiths?”

She sounded almost pained by the prospect, giving Penelope Featherington’s arm a subtle pinch as if urging her to reconsider this torturous path.

But Penelope was undeterred, returning the playful gesture with a secretive wink. “Indeed, the Smythe-Smith estate is precisely where I intend to take our party for the afternoon.”

Now it was Anthony’s turn to appear bemused, his brow furrowing in a most delectable manner. “The Smythe-Smith ladies? But what business could you possibly have with that family?”

His skepticism was evident, clearly underestimating the depth of society Penelope and Eloise had entree into. Penelope Featherington could have kissed his cheek for playing directly into her trap.

Looping her arm through Eloise’s, Penelope began ascending the front steps with practice grace, all too aware of Anthony’s presence dogging their path as etiquette demanded.

When they reached the imposing front door, she threw one last, impish smile over her shoulder. “Why, to attend to their practices, of course! I simply cannot resist the.. Musical talents of the Smythe-Smith quartet.”

The utter bafflement contorting Anthony Bridgerton’s handsome face was almost too delicious for words. But Penelope stayed resolutely composed, granting the butler admittance with a serene smile and quiet murmur of thanks.

Behind her, Eloise poorly smothered a burst of laughter, shaking her head in grudging admiration. Her friend was an absolute hellion beneath that sweet facade – Anthony wouldn’t know what hit him!

For Penelope knew all too well just how torturous an experience sitting through the screeching vocals and cacophonous musicality of Lady Smythe-Smith’s daughters could be. Especially for one with as refined an ear as the Viscount.

If Anthony believed he could insert himself into her company uninvited and unwanted, then he had best be prepared to face the consequences. A slow, wicked grin curved Penelope’s mouth as she anticipated those consequences unfolding before the day was done.

This time, it was the Viscount’s turn to be utterly and delightfully miserable.

—-

The drawing room of the Smythe-Smith residence was a flurry of excited chatter as Lady Virginia herself ushered Penelope, Anthony and Eloise inside with warm embraces.

“Oh Miss Featherington, you are most kind!” The elderly matriarch exclaimed, positively beaming at Penelope. “To honor us with a visit during preparations for the musicale.. My girls shall be over the moon!”

Penelope returned the woman’s smile with equal warmth and sincerity. “It is my pleasure, I assure you. I wouldn’t dream of missing your daughters’ rehearsals.”

Lady Virginia blinked, her eyes suddenly shining with grateful tears. She opened her mouth, no doubt to articulate the depth of her gratitude, but Penelope stayed her with a gentle pat of her hand. “Now, now, none of that, my lady. Shall we join your daughters? I can hardly wait to hear their progress.”

Nodding briskly, Lady Virginia led the way towards the sound of off-key scales and squeaky violet strings. Eloise shot Penelope a pointed look over the cacophony, to which the redhead could only shrug, the very picture of guileless innocence.

They entered the music room just as Honoria and Iris Smythe-Smith abandoned their torturous efforts, laying down their instruments in relief. Bright smiles split their faces as they caught sight of the familiar guests.

“Why, if it isn’t our dearest Penelope!” Honoria bounded forward to embrace her, every inch the boisterous hoyden. “And Miss Eloise too!” She tilted her head, catching sight of Anthony hovering uncertainly behind them. “Oh, I did not dream you’d be accompanied by a dashing companion, Miss Featherington…”

Penelope laughed lightly, squeezing Honoria’s shoulders. “May I introduce Viscount Bridgerton? He was.. Determined to join our party for the afternoon.”

Penelope’s impish gaze slid towards Anthony, taking petty delight in the uneasy expression gracing his strong features. Clearly, this was not at all what he’d envisioned when insisting on accompanying them.

Oblivious to the tension brewing, Honoria bobbed a cheerful curtsy, ever the abysmal judge of character. “A genuine honor, my lord. And congratulations on your engagement. Any friend of Penelope is a friend of ours!”

Before Anthony could reply, Iris rejoined the group, shuffling somewhat reluctantly. “Is it true you’ve come to attend our rehearsal, Penelope? Oh thank heavens – Henrietta and Lydia have been dreadfully unreliable as of late.”

Lady Virginia tutted in a very maternal fashion. “A fact which simply cannot be abided, not with the performance so near at hand.” Her gaze turned beseeching as it fell upon Penelope once more. “My dear, might I impose upon you to assist? Your guidance at the pianoforte works wonders in improving the girls' skills.”

Penelope’s lips parted with the faintest hint of surprise before curving into a soft indulgent smile. “Of course, my lady, you need not ask. It would be my genuine pleasure.”

A chorus of excited squeals erupted from the Smythe-Smith sisters. Even Anthony had to admit, seeing Penelope so warmly embraced by these eccentric members of the ton filled him with unexpected pride.

As did the gob smacked look of reverence that crossed Eloise’s face when her friend crossed to the pianoforte with such calm, effortless grace.

“You never mentioned Penelope was so.. Accomplished at the instrument.” Anthony muttered under his breath.

Eloise blinked, momentarily thrown by her brother’s frank curiosity before quickly recovering her wits. “There are many hidden talents to our Penelope.” She replied, arching one eloquent brow. “Ones you would be wise not to underestimate, brother.”

Then, with a sly parting grin, Eloise moved to join Lady Virginia’s side, leaving her brother to contemplate her cryptic words in solitude.

Poised with an effortless grace, Penelope’s skilled fingers began to glide across the ivory keys. The first few notes of Mozart’s concerto rang out, rich and pure, immediately commanding the entire room to stillness.

It was as if a heavenly presence had descended upon them all. Penelope seemed utterly transformed, an angel given human form solely to channel this divine music. Her face was alight with serene beauty, drawing every eye helplessly in her direction.

Eloise and Lady Virginia were among the first enraptured, their eyes slipping shut as they surrendered fully to the emotive melody. Even the sisters, Honoria and Iris, held their breaths in reverence despite having heard Penelope’s talents many times before.

But for Anthony Bridgerton, this unveiling of his betrothed’s remarkable gift struck him with the force of a physical blow. He could only gape, utterly transfixed, as Penelope coaxed each flawless note to life. His heart stuttered wildly within the confines of his chest.

How was it possible for one woman to embody such effortless, heavenly beauty?

She was resplendent in that moment, the dim light of the music room gilding her porcelain skin and vibrant curls until she appeared a renaissance masterpiece made flesh. Just as she had that fateful night in his family’s gardens so long ago – Penelope Featherington was ethereal, transcendent in her radiance.

A lump formed in Anthony’s throat, robbing him of speech and breath alike. What could he possibly have done to be granted the honor of loving such as an exquisite, wildly talented woman?

His basking in her brilliance was abruptly shattered seconds later as the harsh, discordant notes of not one, but two violins pierced the tranquility. Anthony’s eyes slammed shut, his teeth gritting against the blatant auditory assault.

Eloise and Lady Virginia both scrambled to maintain composure, stubbornly keeping their expressions pleasantly neutral though their discomfort was palpable.

Penelope alone seemed unruffled, infusing more passion into her playing as if striving to overpower – or at least complement – the squawking strings. But though her notes remained pristine, the overall effect was utterly disastrous.

Anthony could not bite back the tortured wince contorting his features. His brow furrowed deeply, dark eyes squinting against the musical onslaught as it manifested as a physical, blinding light.

Few steps away from him, Eloise was rapidly losing her own battle, lips twitching in poorly concealed hysteria. He shot her a quelling glare, silently willing her amusement distant lest he too crumble into utterly inappropriate guffaws.

At long last, blessedly, the concerto ended on a finally, plaintive note. Penelope rose from the bench, back straight yet entirely relaxed, the very picture of inborn elegance.

“That was simply wonderful, ladies!” She praised with warm sincerity. “Your progress from last I heard you has been extraordinary. Bravo!”

Anthony blinked, wholly dumbfounded by his beloved’s capacity for falsehoods. Even the Smythe-Smith sisters appeared vaguely skeptical yet still grateful, shuffling their feet.

The carriage ride home was predictably tense, weighted with unspoken sentiments. It was Eloise who finally broke, throwing back her head with a rich peal of laughter.

“Oh Anthony, your face!” Eloise reached across the cramped space to give his arm a playful swat. “Did you truly think Penelope simply dragged us along for aimless torment? Really, you ought to know her far better than that by now.”

His sister’s conspiratorial wink made him bristle, leveling her a flat stare as realization bloomed. “So this was your scheme all along, was it?” He directed the question towards Penelope though his eyes remained trained on his sniggering sister. “Revenge for the Abernathy ball, I take it.”

Finally, Penelope surrendered to her impish delight, features alight with mischievous glee. “Indeed it was, my lord. Tell me, how did you enjoy the… music?”

With a rueful huff, Anthony accepted his fate as audience and victim to this delightful plot. Shaking his head with grudging admiration, he met Penelope’s sparkling gaze.

“Breathtaking.” He deadpanned. “If not entirely pleasant.”

The carriage overflowed with fresh laughter then, warm and genuine. And for the first time, Anthony found he didn’t begrudge the teasing remarks one bit. Not when his torment had been orchestrated with such devilishly clever charm.

Mark his words, Penelope would not get away so easily next time. But Anthony found he looked forward to their inevitable clash of wits immensely.

Chapter Text

The gentle tapping from Briarly’s knuckles announced a visitor before the butler himself swept into the Featherington’s sitting room with his usual decorum. “Pardon the intrusion, Miss Penelope. Viscount Bridgerton to call.”

Penelope glanced up with a serene smile, setting aside her embroidery as Anthony strode through the open doorway. He cut an undeniably rakish figure in his tailcoat and perspicacious waistcoat, every inch the dashing nobleman.

“Penelope.” He greeted with a cordial incline of his head. Though his tone remained properly formal, the tender manner in which he caressed her name hinted at far deeper intimacies.

Rising in one fluid motion, Penelope dipped into an elegant curtsy. “Lord Bridgerton. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His lips twitched with barely restrained amusement. “I have come to issue a request, my lady. If you would permit me to serve as your escort for the evening’s.. Engagement?

Ah, so that was his game. Two could certainly play at this. Penelope arched one delicate brow, feigning consideration though her answer was already decided.

“An acceptable proposal.” She replied at length with an errant hum. “Though I shall require one.. Stipulation, if you are to claim such an honor.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed intriguingly, but he accepted the challenge with a slight nod. Whatever her price, he would gladly pay it for the chance to be at her side tonight.

When Anthony Bridgerton arrived later that evening, Penelope was well-prepared for his dashing arrival. She had arranged for her lady’s maid to have her finest evening toilette laid out, a stunning empire gown of shimmering emerald silk brought her eyes and fiery curls into vivid relied.

Anthony faltered the moment she swept into view, openly gaping at her exquisite form. A becoming flush stole across his chiseled features as Penelope bestowed him with a slow, coquettish perusal of her own.

“You look.. Ravishing, my lady.” He rasped, sounding quite parched despite himself. Penelope smothered a self-satisfied grin – her efforts had achieved the desired effect then.

As she permitted the Viscount to lead her outside where his carriage awaited, she asked lightly. “I trust you have met the requirements for my stipulation this evening, my lord?”

The barest crinkle of confusion appeared between his brows before quickly smoothing away. “Indeed. Your prize awaits within the carriage.”

Extending one broad palm, Anthony assisted her up the short step before following closely at her heels. Penelope had just a moment to school her features as she took in the lavish display of sweetly fragrant bouquets artfully arranged across the seat.

Roses, peonies, gardenias – every tempting bloom imaginable seemed represented in lush, overflowing profusion. A sharp inhalation escaped her before she could subdue her reaction. As Penelope settled on her seat, a look of relief and satisfaction crossed her face, and she turned to Anthony with a smile that spoke volumes.

Anthony settled on his own and as he leaned back at the seat, he observed her reaction with interest. “May I ask, Penelope, what are these flowers you’ve requested for?”

Penelope’s smile remained enigmatic as she looked at the beautiful blooms. “You’ll know later on, my lord.” She replied softly, her eyes meeting his with a promise of secrets yet to be revealed.

She allowed her fingers to trail over a cluster of particularly vibrant peonies, admiring their rich hues and velvety textures.

“Whenever you extend a request or invitation to attend the Smythe-Smith musical, I shall require you to include bouquets of flowers, my lord.” She said softly, almost a whisper as she held a little smile on her lips.

Anthony regarded her with wry exasperation, mingled with a tenderness that stole her breath all over again. “Are you quite satisfied now then? With my.. Tribute?”

Penelope flashed him a decidedly impish grin, one she suspected would become quite familiar between them. “For now, my lord. Though I may require fresh persuasion before permitting your company again.”

—--

Outside the stately concert hall, Anthony extended his hand to assist Penelope down from the carriage with the practiced gallantry expected of a nobleman. But Penelope waved him off momentarily, gathering up the lush bouquets that still perfumed the carriage interior.

“Take these as well, my lord.” She instructed, pressing two of the exquisite arrangements into his hands before claiming two more vibrant clusters for herself.

Anthony blinked owlishly down at the fragrant blooms cradled in his palms but wisely made no protest. Penelope was utterly in her element tonight.

She led the way inside with enviable poise and grace, bestowing gentle nods and dimpled smiles at those members of the ton she recognized along the way. At her side, Anthony puffed out his chest with unabashed pride, ensuring all eyes took note of his role as her honored escort.

Though when Penelope made a determined turn towards the front orchestra stalls rather than ascending to the more elite balcony boxes, Anthony could not quite smother his frown of consternation.

“Penelope?” He ventured uncertainly as she selected seats mere rows from the stage itself. “Are you quite certain –?”

His words stuttered to a halt as realization struck, features contorting into an expression of abject horror. Of course she’d chosen such an.. Undesirable location! This entire endeavor was no doubt another ploy to subtly torment him for her own amusement.

Unable to protest without causing a most ungentlemanly scene, Anthony could only trail helplessly in Penelope’s wake. He allowed her to claim the chairs in the very front row, extending his hand wordlessly for her to deposit her own bouquets in his care.

They settled in with a rustle of silk and perfume that did little to settle Anthony’s apprehension. In a hushed undertone, he leaned close to murmur. “Penelope, I had intended for us to have the use of my family’s private balcony box this evening. We should be far more comfortable there, away from the..” He trailed off delicately.

But Penelope only favored him with a serene, secret smile that simultaneously inflamed and doused his myriad concerns. Before he could argue further, a distinct “Ahem!” sounded from the neighboring aisle.

“Well, well. If it isn’t two of my favorite young people.” Croaked the unmistakable timbre of Lady Danbury. Her wizened features crinkled with mischievous delight as she stood in front of them. “Here to support our erstwhile musicians, I presume?”

“Lady Danbury.” Penelope and Anthony responded in unison, inclining their heads respectfully. Pleasantries were exchanged with Penelope’s customary grace, but Anthony couldn’t tear his attention from the fragrant floral bounty on the seat beside him. Trust the perceptive old woman to instantly deduce the situation.

“You are too good a patroness, Miss Featherington.” She praised Penelope with an approving nod. “Not all would willingly endure such.. Unique talents as displayed by the Smythe-Smith ladies.”

“Someone must offer them encouragement, my lady.” Penelope replied simply, with no trace of artifice. “Even if only from the front row with the most dreadful vantage. It is the least I can do. Despite the discomfort their music may bring, seeing a friendly face in the front row can mean the world to them. It is a small sacrifice for their encouragement.”

Anthony, absorbing Penelope’s words, felt a swell of pride. Her earnest explanation landed squarely in his chest, filling him with profound affection and esteem. All along he thought that Penelope was just putting him in another of her ploys to have her revenge from his actions back in the Abernathy Ball. But the truth is, Penelope was just extending her kindness and empathy to the Smythe-Smith ladies, her qualities that know no bounds, shining through that only heightens his admiration for her. An unspeakable gift she would prove as Viscountess.

Lady Danbury’s sharp eyes noticed the shift in his expression, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, Lord Bridgerton.” She teased. “It takes true bravery to sit up front, knowing your refined taste in music.”

Anthony found he could only shake his head in wonderment. “Wherever Miss Featherington dares to tread, Lady Danbury, you may be certain I will follow her as her devoted and committed fiancé, if she permits it.” He rumbled. “No matter the… discomforts to be endured.”

He earned a rich chuckle from the dowager at that, her laugher rich and knowing. “A wise answer, Viscount. So brave and gallant. Though we shall see if your heroic fortitude holds once the.. Musicale commences. But as much as I wish to show them support as well, my old ears would not survive such close proximity to the music. I shall take my leave.”

With that ominous parting remark, Lady Danbury excused herself, pleading advanced years and a desire to escape the punishing acoustics up close. Alone once more, Anthony turned a wry look towards his unfailingly poised companion.

“Tell me true..” He murmured, unable to resist sliding one hand over to cover her lace-draped fingers. “The flowers, are they for the quartet?”

Penelope’s expression turned impish, though she made no move to dislodge his caressing thumb from where it stroked tender patterns over her knuckles. “However did you guess? I should like to gift Honoria and the others with tokens. Receiving tokens after a performance is deeply fulfilling for an artist. It’s a gesture of appreciation, as you no doubt once did for your former paramour, the opera singer..”

Any response from Anthony was rendered obsolete seconds later as a hushed silence descended over the hall. The Smythe-Smith Quartet took the stage in a flutter of muslin and candlelight – utterly oblivious to the true ordeal they were about to commence.

Anthony steeled himself with a resigned inhalation as the first warbling strains of Mozart’s concerto sliced through the sacred quiet. Then, lips twitching despite his most valiant efforts, he turned towards the one person whose presence could render even this auditory onslaught bearable.

After all, he thought ruefully, torment though they might be – at least he suffered it with Penelope together.

Chapter Text

After the concerto, Penelope Featherington found herself in the Bridgerton carriage, being escorted home by Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. The evening had been unexpectedly pleasant, despite the cacophony of the Smythe-Smith musical.

The lone carriage rattled to a stop in front of the Featherington estate, the hooves of the horses clopping against the cobblestones. Penelope smoothed her skirts as the Viscount Anthony Bridgerton opened the carriage door, offering his hand to assist her out. She placed her gloved hand in his and alighted, the evening air carrying the scents of jasmine and night-blooming cereus.

As they turned towards the home’s entrance, a figure stepped out of the shadows. Colin stood apart from the front steps, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he scuffed at the cobblestones with the toe of one boot.

Anthony’s brows drew together in a forbidding line as he caught sight of his younger brother. “Colin?” He questioned, voice low with disapproval. “What is the meaning of this unannounced visit at such an hour?

The third Bridgerton male straightened, shooting Penelope a look rife with uncharacteristic nerves. “I… that is, I had hoped to have a quick word. With Miss Featherington.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Now?” The Viscount’s tone sharpened like a whip-crack. “Surely this can wait until tomorrow? It is well past midnight, and hardly appropriate to be calling on a lady unannounced.”

Colin swallowed hard, desperation in his eyes. “There is no better time than now.”
Anthony’s keen gaze took in the slight flush on Colin’s cheeks and the faint scent of spirits. “You’ve had a drink or two haven’t you?”

Colin, fidgeting, nodded slightly. “Yes, but that’s beside the point. I realize the timing is.. Unconventional. But I assure you, I only wish –”

Anthony was ready to rebuke his brother again when Penelope’s voice cut through the tension. “It’s alright, Anthony. I will speak with him briefly.”

All eyes swiveled towards Penelope at her soft interjection. She held Colin’s gaze steadily, her chin lifted with poise despite the tightness about her eyes.

“A brief conversation in the gardens would be acceptable.” She qualified calmly. “If Mister Bridgerton wishes.” Penelope couldn’t bear the thought of her family overhearing whatever this was about.

Colin bobbed an eager nod, gratitude written plainly across his features. But Anthony’s jaw ticked with obvious reluctance before finally inclining his head in a sharp dip.

Shooting a warning glance at his younger brother, Anthony acquiesced with a curt nod. “Very well. But I shall accompany you to chaperone..”

Stifling an eye roll at his overprotective bluster, Penelope turned on her heel and led the way across the quiet grounds. She could feel Colin’s presence like a specter at her back, Anthony’s heavy footfalls bringing up the rear as self-appointed chaperone.

When they reached the shadowy seclusion of the gardens, blessed night breezes caressing her flushed cheeks, Penelope turned to Colin directly.

“Well?” She prompted, aiming for briskness. “You have my ear, Mister Bridgerton.”

Colin fidgeted, toying with the brim of his coat as he struggled for words. His gaze skittered everywhere but her face – Anthony’s silent imposing figure, the stone pathways, the rustling shrubbery – before finally landing squarely on Penelope’s composed features.

“I’ve come to apologize.” He said at last in a rush. “For words terribly misspoken at Featherington Ball seasons ago. Calling you undesirable, insinuating you unworthy of courtship.. It was deplorable behavior.”

Colin thrust his free hand through his hair, an agitated gesture. “I fear I had consumed rather too much spirits that evening.” He confessed ruefully. “But even inebriated, those insults were inexcusable. They do not reflect my true sentiments in the slightest.”

Penelope remained silent, utterly impassive, refusing to grant him even a flicker of emotion with which to judge her inner turmoil. After a protracted beat of discomfort, Colin ventured on.

“I profoundly regret injuring you so, Pen. You, who have been nothing but a steadfast friend through all my family’s ups and downs.” His eyes were wide and sincere, almost pleading when he murmured. “Might you find it possible to forgive me?”

Lifting her chin a fraction higher, Penelope Featherington pursed her lips in careful consideration. Her stomach felt like lead, recalling only too vividly the stinging humiliation of Colin’s scathing barbs. Spewed so carelessly from one she’d held in the highest confidence..

“Colin, what’s done is done. You cannot take back your words. Of all people, I never imagined it would be you who would say such things. I cannot simply forget the words spoken, nor the hurt they have caused. Time may heal the pain, but it won’t erase the memory of the humiliation.” She said at length, tone clipped.

Colin’s shoulders sagged. “I understand, Pen. I cherish your friendship more than I can rightly express. And I know I have wronged you utterly. But please, if you cannot forgive me as your friend, please find it to consider forgiving me as a brother. We.. We will soon be family.. Once you marry Anthony.”

Penelope’s eyes widened slightly at the reminder of her upcoming marriage to Anthony. She quickly regained her composure, her smile cold, suddenly eager to be away from his earnest gaze and back in the refuge of her bedchambers. “We shall speak no more of the matter. Good night, Mister Bridgerton.”

“Pen –” Colin’s hand snaked out as if to detain her, but Anthony’s large palm clamped down on his forearm like an iron vise.

“Colin.” The Viscount intoned, his rich baritone brokering precisely zero argument. “I believe Penelope has conveyed her position with admirable clarity. It grows late, and we shall not impose further.”

Colin yielded with obvious reluctance, subsiding into a curt bow. “Very well. I.. Thank you, Penelope. For your time.”

Without deigning to respond, Penelope turned her back and continued on towards the house. As she turned away, she stole one last look at Anthony. The Viscount's expression was of pain and heartache, and something flickered in his gaze… Worry? Concern? Penelope felt an unfamiliar flutter in her chest before shaking it off and continuing into the house, leaving the Bridgerton brothers behind in the fragrant garden.

Only once she reached the front steps and the heavy oaken door shuddered closed behind her did she dare release the shaky breath pent up in her lungs. Colin’s apology may have been sincere, but any hope of their rapport regaining its former ease had been dashed to splinters that night.

And Anthony, curse him, with his hypersensitive perception, would surely not have missed the hairline cracks of hurt his own brother had wrought upon her heart.

—-

Penelope awoke with a heavy feeling in her chest. She had tossed and turned most of the night, replaying the events from the previous evening over and over in her mind's eye. Colin's pained apology, her own stoic rejection of his pleas for forgiveness. But most vividly burned into her memory was the troubled expression on Anthony's face as she had turned and left the brothers in the garden.

She had expected to be distraught over facing Colin again after his callous words at the Featherington ball. To have her long-buried feelings for him stirred up and her resolve tested. But instead, it was the image of Anthony, his brown eyes clouded with worry and sadness, that had kept her awake into the early hours.

Why did he seem so troubled? Penelope wondered. Was he aware of her former affections for Colin and feared a relapse? The thought made her cheeks burn with shame. Had she been so transparently lovesick all those years that even Anthony could discern it? The question of why Anthony had appeared so resigned filled her mind, but another revelation soon overtook it: she had referred to Colin as her "former" love.

The word "former" gave Penelope pause. Former affections for Colin… did that mean her feelings had truly changed? She thought back on her interactions with the Bridgerton brothers of late. While Colin's presence no longer made her heart flutter with girlish fancy, the same could not be said for Anthony.

In the weeks since reconciling their ruse of a courtship, Penelope found herself actively seeking out the Viscount's company. What had begun as a tolerable engagement had somehow shifted into something… more. She delighted in their heated banter, their schemes and plans to ruffle against each other’s feathers. When Anthony would flash that rare, lopsided smile or look at her with scorching intensity, she felt her body grow warm and a contented sigh escape her lips.

Anthony's devilish smile, his handsome features, his authoritative presence, and his gentlemanly behavior captivated her. And that heart-stopping kiss in the Bridgerton gardens… Penelope unconsciously raised her fingers to her lips, as if she could still feel the ghost of Anthony's insistent mouth on hers. She had never imagined such dizzying passion could exist between them.

Whereas her affection for Colin had been a sweet, unfulfilled fantasy of youth, what she felt for Anthony was altogether different. Deeper, more visceral, igniting a fierce longing in her core to be near him, to spar wits, to feel his penetrating gaze. Perhaps it was even… Love?

Anthony's unwavering efforts to help her regain memories of their courtship were undeniable. And with everyone around them attesting to their shared love, Penelope couldn't help but believe that their relationship was a true love match. The idea was not as frightening as Penelope would have expected. Quite the opposite, it filled her with a sense of rightness, as if some part of her had been waiting for this all along. For him.

The mere thought of Anthony stirred something deep within her, a feeling that was only amplified in his presence. Determined to address whatever might have worried him the previous night, Penelope decided to wait for his call. She needed to ensure that nothing about her and Colin had troubled the Viscount's mind.

A contented smile curved Penelope's lips as she resolved to speak with Anthony. She owed him an explanation, a reassurance that her heart was entirely his now. That any worries over lingering feelings for Colin were unfounded. Perhaps she would even confess the new emotions blossoming within her.

—-

The morning dragged interminably for Penelope as she awaited Anthony’s anticipated call. But as the hours ticked by with no sign of the Viscount, disappointment weighed heavily in her chest. Had the events of the previous evening affected him more than she realized?

She could no longer sit idly, her restless mind spinning endless scenarios of what could be troubling Anthony so. Penelope resolved to seek him out herself at the Bridgerton estate. If he would not come to her, she would go to him.

The familiar facade of the Bridgerton home loomed before her, and Penelope felt her nerves flutter. What if Anthony was too discomposed to receive her? But she straightened her shoulders determinedly as Humboldt opened the door, his warm smile welcoming her like the lady of the house she was soon to officially become.

“Miss Featherington, to what do we owe the pleasure?” The butler inquired.

“I’ve come to call on Lord Bridgerton.” Penelope replied steadily. “Might he be available?”

“Of course, of course. Right this way.”

Humboldt led her through the elegant halls to just outside Anthony’s study and bid her before departing along with Penelope’s lady’s maid. Penelope took a fortifying breath rapping lighty on the door.

“Come in.” came the muffled response.

She turned the handle slowly, not wishing to disturb if Anthony was in deep concentration over some important matter of business or estate. As she crossed the threshold, Penelope caught him raising his head, surprise flitting across his features when he registered her presence.

“Penelope..” Anthony greeted, a slight tremor in his voice belying his nerves. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, a clear indication he had not slept well.

“Forgive me, my lord. I didn't mean to interrupt if you are occupied.” She said carefully.

He paused, seeming to gather his wits. “No.. no, I am not otherwise engaged. Even if I was, for you, I would not be too busy.”

A sad smile curved Penelope’s lips at his words. “I had hoped you might join me for a walk about the park? Only if you are amenable, of course.”

Anthony’s expression brightened somewhat, perhaps relieved at her simple invitation. “Yes, yes I would like that very much.”

It was the first time since regaining her lost memories that Penelope had initiated spending time together outside societal obligations. Anthony seemed to realize that too, his eyes studying her with cautious optimism. Perhaps a stroll through the park would provide them both an opportunity to unburden their minds of whatever troubles had kept them from restful slumber.

Chapter Text

The silence between Penelope Featherington and Anthony Bridgerton hung heavily as they strolled the meandering paths of Hyde Park, Penelope’s maid trailing at a respectful distance behind. It was a pleasant spring morning, the gentle breeze carrying the sweet scents of fresh blooms and newly unfurled leaves. They exchanged polite smiles and nods with the other promenaders they passed, two figures intimately familiar with the intricate dances of high society.

After several minutes, Anthony broke the quiet between them. “I must admit, your invitation for a stroll took me by surprise.” He said, a hint of curiosity coloring his tone. “Though a welcome one. If I may inquire as to the occasion?”

Penelope felt her cheeks warm slightly at his questioning gaze. She had resolved to speak openly with Anthony, and yet the words stuck in her throat. With a small, reserved smile, she replied. “I wished to discuss.. Certain events from last night, if you’ll indulge me.”

A fleeting shadow dimmed Anthony’s eyes before his expression smoothed into one cautious nonchalance. “Last night? And what events might those be?”

Penelope Featherington halted on the path then, turning to face him fully. Holding his storm-brown gaze unwaveringly with her own cerulean one, she said seriously. “I could not help but notice a hint of worry, perhaps even pain, in your expression. It did not escape my notice.”

The mask slipped from Anthony’s features then, surprise and a glimmer of something more - vulnerability? Fear? - flickering across his countenance as she refused to look away.

“I desire to know what troubles you.” Penelope said, her voice gentling. “Please.. Be honest with me, my lord. Share your thoughts.”

He was silent for a long moment, jaw tensing as he seemed to wrestle with some internal struggle. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained.

“Truthfully? It… it pained me, to witness Colin’s words affect you so deeply last night.” Anthony’s gaze bored into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “You have already suffered such anguish, Penelope. To see you experience more, at the hands of someone who claimed friendship..” He broke off, raking a harsh hand through his chestnut hair.

“It was difficult in ways I cannot describe.” Anthony continued roughly. “Because despite everything.. I fear that in the face of Colin’s presence, your feelings for him may have been stirred anew.” His expression was pained, almost pleading as he reached out to grasp her hands tightly in his own.

“I am terrified that you may still harbor affections for my brother, Penelope. Affections that could supersede any regard you might have for me.” The Viscount’s voice lowered to just above a whisper. “I am afraid I have lost my chance to win back your heart before you ever realizing I held part of it.”

Penelope’s heart tightened as the anguish flickered across Anthony’s features when he bared his fears of losing her to lingering feelings for Colin. The pain in his eyes tore at her soul. She swore in that moment that she would never again allow such devastation to cloud his countenance.

Raising her hand, she tenderly cupped his cheek, holding his turbulent gaze, damning all propriety. “Oh Anthony.. You have no need to fear such a thing.” Her voice ever so gentle, not realizing that she had already dropped addressing him using his title.

Penelope’s mind drifted back to the painful events at the night of Featherington ball and the lingering hurt Colin’s callous words had inflicted. She knew she owed Anthony an honest reckoning about the affections she had harbored for his brother over the years.

Taking a fortifying breath, she began carefully. “I will not deny that I once held Colin in rather.. Elevated regard.” She risked a glance at her betrothed, but his expression remained open and impassive, allowing her to continue uninterrupted.

“As young ladies were inclined to do, I confess I indulged in certain.. Fanciful notions where he was concerned. Built him up into an ideal in my mind - a charming, dashing gentleman who might one day gallantly rescue a wallflower such as myself from the cruel indifference of society’s judgments.” A sad smile curved her lips as she shook her head ruefully. “An impossible romantic dream, I know. But one I clung to for far too long.”

“In truth, I had accepted long ago that Colin would never return my affections in kind. That we could only ever be friends – a reality that now seems utterly lost after his wounding behavior.” Penelope sighed heavily. “I fear the Colin I idealized never truly existed outside the realm of my own yearning imagining. What I loved was only the idea of him, not the reality.”

“Whatever affection I may have harbored for Colin is gone, washed away by his cruel indifference towards me. My heart is entirely yours now, Anthony. You must know that. It is you, and you alone, who occupies my thoughts and stirs my affections.”

Penelope watched the tension visibly bleed from the Viscount’s body at her reassurance. His thumb caressed her wrist in a gentle caress. “Truly, Penelope? You have no regrets over the choices that led us here?”

She shook her head slowly. “None at all, my lord. This.. you and I? It feels utterly right, as if my soul was waiting an eternity for yours.” She took a steadying breath before whispering the words she realized had been blossoming within her. The feelings her mind momentarily buried as she got back all her past memories before her tragic accident. “I love you, Anthony. With everything that I am.”

Anthony’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief, his mouth parting in a silent gasp. Penelope watched as a myriad of emotions - shock, elation, profound relief - flashed across his features in rapid succession. Then, impossible, his eyes grew overly bright with unshed tears.

One glistening drop spilled over, tracking down his chiseled cheek. “Penelope..” He rasped hoarsely, seeming scarcely able to give voice to the depth of feeling welling within him.

She cradled his face in her hands, brushing away the solitary tear with the pad of her thumb. “I love you, Anthony Bridgerton.” She said again, more firmly this time. “You must believe me.”

A tremulous smile slowly curved Anthony’s lips as he covered her hands with his own, turning to press a fervent kiss to her palm. “I do believe you, my dearest, loveliest Penelope Featherington. And you have made me the happiest of men.”

His eyes were shining with profound joy and wonderment as he gazed at her. “You cannot begin to know how I’ve longed to hear those words from your lips. How I’ve dreamed of you returning the love I felt blossoming in my own heart. But to hear you proclaim it thus, with all your memories regained..” He shook his head slowly in awe. “I could scarcely hope for such an outcome. I love you, Penelope. My unexpected soulmate, my destiny unlooked for. You are the very air I breathe, the other half of my heart.”

She squeezed his hand reassuringly, her cerulean eyes shining with sincerity. “You’ve shown me time and again how much you care, how devoted you are. It’s taken me some time to realize, but now that I have, I see clearly that my heart belongs to you.”

Anthony presses his lips into her knuckles, burying her skin into his kiss as he whispered. “Thank you, Penelope. Thank you for giving us this chance, for giving me your heart.”

They stood there for a moment, relishing the brand new start of their love, the world around them fading into the background. Anthony felt a profound sense of contentment settle over him. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the moment when all his fears and uncertainties melted away.

As they continued to walk the steps, Anthony looked into Penelope’s eyes, his expression one of pure adoration. “I promise you, Penelope, I will spend every day of my life making sure you never regret this decision. I will cherish you, protect you, and love you with all that I am.”

Penelope smiled, her heart overflowing with love for the man before her. “I have no doubt, Anthony. With you, I feel safe and cherished. I know that we can face anything together.”

Anthony’s face lit up with a bright, joyful smile. “We have a future to look forward to, Penelope. A future field with love and happiness.”

With Penelope’s hand hooked at the crook of Anthony’s elbow, they continued to walk through Hyde Park, their steps lighter and their hearts full. They greeted the members of the ton with newfound confidence, their smiles genuine and warm.

As they strolled along, Anthony glanced at Penelope, a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, what else does my fiancee have planned for us today?”

Penelope laughed, the sound light and carefree. “Perhaps we could visit the lake? It’s a beautiful day, and I hear the swans are particularly charming this time of year.”

“Lead the way, my love.” Anthony replied, his voice full of affection.

With that, they made their way to the lake, their spirits high and their bond stronger than ever. They knew that challenges lay ahead, but with their love and commitment to each other, they were ready to face anything the world might throw at them.

As they reached the lake, there were less people passing by. Penelope’s maid remained at a safe distance chaperoning them. Penelope leaned her head on Anthony’s shoulder, feeling utterly content. “I can’t wait to see what our future holds.” She murmured.

“Neither can I.” Anthony whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. “Neither can I.”

And so, they stood by the lake, watching the swans glide gracefully across the water, knowing that their love story was just beginning, and that together, they could create a beautiful, lasting future.

Chapter Text

The days following their heartfelt confessions at Hyde Park were pure bliss for the season’s emerald Penelope Featherington and the Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. A new intimacy had blossomed between the betrothed couple, one borne of professed love and cherished devotion. Anthony was more openly affectionate, showering luncheons planned with utmost attention to her tastes.

And Penelope, for her part, had shed her former reserve around the Viscount. She welcomed his attentions readily, even initiating tender caresses and teasing banter when they afforded rare moments of solitude away from prying eyes. Anthony’s siblings delighted in their obvious happiness, shamelessly vying for Penelope’s company, much to his fond exasperation.

It was on one such afternoon retreat, nestled together on a secluded settee in the Bridgerton library, that Anthony broached a delicate subject with his beloved.

“Dearest..” He began, toying idly with a loose curl that had escaped her coiffure. “There is something I have long wished to ask you about, if you would indulge me.”

Penelope shifted to study his expression, her brow furrowing slightly at his serious tone. “Of course, my love. You need only ask.”

Anthony’s thumb caressed her cheek as he seemed to carefully consider his words. “I desire to know.. How did you first come to publish your works as Lady Whistledown? What shrouded networks and confidantes aided you in maintaining your secret identity all these years?”

A fleeting shadow of trepidation passed over Penelope’s features before her shoulders squared in resolution. “If we are to be married, you deserve to know everything.” She said softly. “Though I caution some details may.. Distress you.”

She went on to explain how his late father’s solicitor had inadvertently discovered her anonymous ramblings on the ton, written merely as musings in a private journal. But the clever man had seen the untapped potential in her wry observations and biting wit, convincing her to publish them through a discrete printing press. He had even introduced her to the printer itself and aided her in maintaining secrecy.

“In some instances, Madame Delacroix delivered my draft writings to the printer on my behalf.” Penelope continued, watching Anthony’s expression carefully. “But more often than not, I ventured to Bloomsbury and the printer’s premises myself, disguised as an Irish maid to deflect scrutiny. I would hire a hack to convey me there under cover of darkness.”

A muscle ticked in Anthony’s taut jaw as he absorbed her words. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “You risked traveling to the lower-class district? Alone and unescorted, at night?!” He raked an agitated hand through his chestnut hair. “Penelope, surely you cannot deem such actions anything but wildly reckless! The danger you could have faced…”

He trailed off, seeming overwhelmed by the very notion. Penelope reached up to cradle his face, bringing his turbulent gaze back to hers.

“I know it seemed a perilous undertaking, Anthony. Believe me, I took every precaution.” She soothed. “But you must understand, I guarded my identity as Lady Whistledown more closely than any treasure. I would have done whatever was required to protect it.”

Her betrothed was silent for a long moment, warring with the clear instinct to censure her heedless actions. Finally, he sighed heavily. “I cannot pretend I am comfortable with the risks you took, my love. But I will not attempt to dissuade you from your aims, if publishing is your determined wish. I ask only this..”

He captured her hands, pressing an ardent kiss to her knuckles. “Let me make alternative arrangements to safeguard your future missives, my dearest Penelope. I shall have my own footmen convey your drafts from now on, removing all need for you to hazard Bloombury’s perils unaccompanied.” His brown eyes shone with naked concern. “I could not bear it if any harm came to you because of my obstinance.”

Penelope felt her chest constrict with a surge of affection and gratitude. Her brace protective love - she should have known he would not condemn her secret life outright. “Oh Anthony…” She breathed, leaning in to capture his lips in a searing kiss of thanks and adoration.

Penelope’s heart raced as she mustered the courage to ask the question that had also been weighing heavily on her mind. “Anthony, why do you seem not angry with me for being Lady Whistledown?”

Anthony’s gaze met hers, his eyes filled with a tenderness that took her breath away. He reached out, taking her hand in his, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. “Penelope..” He began, his voice low and gentle. “How could I be angry when you have done nothing but protect my family all these years?”

Penelope’s brow furrowed slightly, her confusion evident. “But I published salacious words about you and your family members, things that must have caused you great distress.”

A warm smile tugged at the corners of Anthony’s mouth. “Yes, you did. But every word you wrote was the truth, and truth, no matter how uncomfortable, is always preferable to falsehood.” He paused, his expression growing more pensive. “I know now that you were not merely a scandal-monger, but a guardian angel, shielding us from the machinations of the ton.”

Recounting her deeds, Anthony’s voice took on a reverent tone. “From revealing Nigel Berbrooke’s indiscretion and saving Daphne from an ill-suited match, to protecting Colin from Marina Thompson’s lies and even rescuing Eloise from the Queen’s wrath – you have been our constant protector, our unseen ally.”

Penelope’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, her heart swelling with a mix of relief and adoration for this man who understood her motivations so completely.

Anthony’s thumb gently caressed her cheek, brushing away a stray tear. “How can I feel anything but gratitude and adoration for the woman who took it upon herself to safeguard my entire family?” His gaze intensified, burning with an ardent devotion. “You have sacrificed so much, endured such cruelty, all to keep us from harm.”

A slight frown creased his brow. “Though I must confess, I cannot fully condone the harsh words you published about yourself and your own family. That pains me deeply.”

Penelope’s chin lifted, her resolve unwavering. “If I did not scrutinize myself and my family, the ton would have questioned Whistledown’s impartiality. They would have suspected bias and dismissed my words as mere gossip.”

Understanding dawned in Anthony’s eyes. “You had to maintain your credibility, even at the cost of your own reputation.”

Penelope nodded solemnly, her gaze never wavering from his.

Anthony’s arms enveloped her, drawing her close, and she melted into his embrace. “You are the bravest, most selfless woman I have ever known.” He murmured into her hair. “And I love you with every fiber of my being, Penelope.”

When they finally parted, she stroked his jawline reverently. "You are far too good to me, my love. I did not anticipate you would be so… understanding about my Whistledown activities."

A lopsided smirk curved Anthony's lips as he gazed at her adoringly. "I'm afraid you have quite thoroughly dashed any prudish assumptions I may have once harbored where you are concerned, Penelope." He teased. "With you as my bride, I must resign myself to a life of scandalous exploits at every turn."

She laughed gaily at that, a freeing sound that warmed him to his very soul. Sobering slightly, Penelope brought their intertwined hands to rest over her heart. "Make no mistake, I shall not put your concerns aside lightly. In truth, I had already determined that, once we are married, I should discontinue publishing Lady Whistledown's works."

It was Anthony's turn to be taken aback. "You needn't do that on my account, dearest..."

But Penelope shook her head firmly, squeezing his hands in silent reassurance. "It is a most prudent decision for many reasons, my love. Once we are wed, and I become Viscountess, there will be far too many responsibilities and duties that will require my full attentions. And we cannot risk my identity being exposed - the shame it could bring on your family's standing would be too severe."

Anthony opened his mouth to protest further, but Penelope hushed him gently. "This is my choice, Anthony, please know that. Whistledown served her purpose, for better or worse. But a new season is fast approaching for me. One where I shall embrace my new role as your wife, and the future mother of our children, with my whole heart."

A look of such profound devotion and wonderment stole over Anthony's countenance that it stole Penelope's breath away. "Children..." He murmured, ghosting the pad of his thumb over her abdomen in an unconscious caress. "The idea of me, life being forever bound to yours, in every possible way… It is almost too much bliss for one man to bear, my Penelope."

Tears pricked unheeded at her eyes as she cupped his face adoringly. "Then we shall bear it together, my dearest love. Just as we were destined to share all the joy and sorrow life may bring us from this day forward."

Relief washed over Anthony, and his thoughts drifted to the times when Lady Whistledown's publications had continued despite Penelope's absence from London. "Penelope, when you were incapacitated, how did Lady Whistledown continue to publish?”

Penelope bit her lip, her hesitancy evident. “Eloise took the reins.” She admitted quietly. “She didn’t endanger herself, I tell you. She enlisted Madame Delacroix’ help to deliver the drafts. I’m grateful to your sister for keeping my secret safe and ensuring Whistledown’s identity wasn’t revealed.”

Anthony nearly stood up, his mind racing with the implications of Eloise’s involvement. His sister’s reputation, her safety – everything could have been compromised. But before he could storm out to reprimand his second sister, Penelope enveloped him in a tight embrace.

“Please, Anthony, don’t be angry with Eloise.” She pleaded. “She did it out of loyalty and friendship. And since my memory has returned, she has nothing to do with Whistledown anymore. I just reconciled with her, and I don’t want anything to come between you and your siblings.”

Anthony exhaled deeply, his anger dissipating in the face of Penelope’s earnestness. He couldn’t ignore the pleading eyes of his fiancee, who had her arms wrapped around him so lovingly. He gave in to her request, his resolve softening.
“Alright, my love.” He said, his voice gentle. “I won’t reprimand Eloise. But please, promise me both of you won’t endanger yourselves.”

Penelope nodded, her eyes shining with gratitude. “I promise, Anthony. Thank you.”

With a relieved smile, Anthony leaned in to capture her mouth in a searing, slanting kiss that spoke of forever. As their limbs entwined and his hands roamed reverently over her curves, Penelope thanked the fates for leading her to this unexpected destiny. She could scarcely fathom a universe without Anthony as her soulmate now. And in the coming years, she knew, there would be no greater purpose than making him as deliriously happy as he had made her.

When they finally broke apart, flushed and breathless, Penelope absently traced the tiny smile lines crinkled at the corners of Anthony's joy-brightened eyes.

Chapter Text

The Featherington estate basked in a tranquil silence, a rare commodity in the bustling world of the ton. Penelope relished these precious moments, curled up in her favorite armchair, a well-worn book cradled in her hands. The gentle scratching of her quill against parchment was the only sound that graced the drawing room, a soothing symphony to her ears.

A sharp rap at the door disrupted the peaceful reverie, and Penelope’s head snapped up, her brows furrowed in confusion. Briarly, the ever diligent butler, announced the arrival of a guest, his voice laced with a hint of reverence that piqued Penelope’s curiosity.

As the door swung open, Penelope felt the air leave her lungs in a sharp gasp. Before her stood a regal figure, clad in the unmistakable livery of the Queen’s household - a lady-in-waiting, no less. Penelope hastily rose to her feet, executing a deep curtsy as propriety demanded.

“My lady.” She murmured, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

The lady-in-waiting, her posture as rigid as a soldier’s, extended a sealed envelope adorned with the royal crest. “Miss Featherington, it is I, Lady Catherine Campbell who serves closely to her Majesty. I bear an invitation from her Majesty, the Queen, requesting your presence at the palace.”

Penelope’s fingers trembled as she accepted the missive, her mind whirling with a thousand questions. It was highly unusual for such an esteemed messenger to deliver a simple invitation. Her gaze flickered to Lady Campbell, silently imploring an explanation.

A knowing smile graced the woman’s lips. “Her majesty holds you in the highest regard, Miss Featherington. Not only are you the emerald of the season, but the Queen finds your company most engaging. She truly delights in your conversations.”

A warm flush crept up Penelope’s cheeks at the unexpected praise, even as a tendril of dread coiled in her belly. The Queen’s relentless pursuit of Lady Whistledown’s identity was no secret, and Penelope couldn’t help but wonder if this invitation harbored ulterior motives.

With trembling fingers, she broke the royal seal and scanned the summons. Her breath caught in her throat – the audience was scheduled for that very day, a mere two hours hence.

“But… so soon?” Penelope stammered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Lady Campbell’s expression remained impassive. “Hence my personal delivery, Miss Featherington. The Queen wishes to afford you ample time to prepare yourself.”

Penelope’s mind raced, a whirlwind of anticipation and trepidation. She managed a feeble nod, her throat constricted with emotion.

Sensing her dismissal, Lady Campbell executed a graceful nod. “We shall await your arrival at the palace.” With those parting words, she swept from the room, leaving Penelope to contend with the maelstrom of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her.

—--

Penelope Featherington’s bedchambers buzzed with a flurry of activity, the usual tranquility shattered by the weight of the Queen’s summons. Penelope’s maid, ever efficient, wasted no time in drawing a bath and laying out one of her finest gowns, fit for an audience with royalty itself.

Within the hour, Penelope emerged from her chambers, a vision of elegance and poise. Her gown, a delicate shade of periwinkle, hugged her curves in all the right places, while the intricate embroidery along the neckline and hem added a touch of understated opulence.

As she descended the stairs, her heart fluttered at the sight that greeted her in the foyer. There, framed by the open doors, stood her beloved Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, his presence commanding as ever in his impeccable attire.

A radiant smile blossomed across Penelope’s features, mirrored by the warmth in his eyes. “Anthony.” She breathed, her steps quickening. “What brings you here?”

He closed the distance between them, taking her hand and pressing a featherlight kiss to her knuckles. “I, too, have received a summons from her Majesty.’ He murmured. “I thought we might make the journey to the palace together.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly at the prospect of his company. “Of course.” She replied, offering him a grateful smile.

With gentlemanly grace, Anthony ushered her into the awaiting carriage, his hand lingering on the small of her back - a simple touch that sent a delicious shiver coursing through her.

As the carriage lurched into motion, Penelope found herself wringing her hands, her mind a whirlwind of questions and concerns. Anthony, ever perceptive, leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern.

“My love..” He murmured, his voice a soothing balm. “Is all well?”

Penelope exhaled a shaky breath, offering him a tremulous smile. “I confess, I am a bit nervous. Do you have any inkling as to why the Queen would summon us both on such short notice?”

Anthony’s expression grew pensive, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. “I cannot say for certain.” He admitted. “But for the urgency of the request, it must be a matter of great import.”

Sensing her growing unease, his lips curved into a roguish grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Perhaps I might aid in easing your nerves?” He purred, his voice dropping an octave.

Before Penelope could protest, he had crossed the space between them, kneeling at her feet. With delicate reverence, he gathered a stray curl between his fingers, pressing his lips to the silken tress. A shudder rippled through her as his mouth blazed a searing path along her jawline, his breath fanning across her flushed skin.

“Anthony!” She gasped, equal parts scandalized and utterly enthralled. “We cannot.. Not here, not now! We are expected at the palace, presentable before the Queen!”

He chuckled, low and rich, as he conceded defeat. “As you wish, my love.” But the unrepentant glint in his eye told her he had accomplished his goal – her nervousness had dissipated, replaced by a delicious heat that suffused her very being.

Returning to his seat, he reached across the carriage, his fingers grazing her cheek with exquisite tenderness. “Forgive me.” He murmured, his voice a husky caress. “I could not resist the opportunity to admire your beauty.”

Penelope felt her blush deepen, even as a shy smile tugged at her lips. Anthony leaned forward, capturing her mouth in a chaste, lingering kiss that promised so much more when they were afforded the luxury of privacy.

—--

At the Royal Palace

The grand halls of the royal palace exuded an air of solemn majesty, each step echoing against the polished marble floors. Penelope’s heart thundered in her chest as she clung to Anthony’s arm, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and trepidation. As their names were announced, they approached the dais where Queen Charlotte sat, regal and imposing upon her elevated throne.

With practiced grace, Anthony guided Penelope up the steps, his steady presence bolstering her wavering courage. Penelope swallowed hard, offering a deep curtsy as Anthony executed a respectful bow. From the corner of her eye, she caught the reassuring smile of Lady Campbell, the queen’s lady-in-waiting, and drew strength from the subtle gesture.

“Rise, my dears.” The Queen’s rich voice commanded, and they obeyed, straightening their spines.

“Your Majesty.” Penelope murmured, her voice betraying a hint of breathlessness. “We are honored by your summons and grateful for the privilege of your company.

The Queen’s stern visage softened ever so slightly as she regarded the young woman before her. “Miss Featherington, how fares your season? I trust it has been a favorable one.”

A relieved smile curved Penelope’s lips. “Indeed, your Majesty. I have been most fortunate, and as my family, for we have remained untouched by scandal.”

Anthony seized the opportunity to interject smoothly. “If I may be so bold, your Majesty, we are curious as to the reason for this unexpected summons. Is there a service we might provide?”

Queen Charlotte’s piercing gaze swept over them, seeming to penetrate their very souls. “Tell me, how progresses your courtship? I am most invested in ensuring a felicitous match for the emerald of the season.”

Penelope’s cheeks bloomed with color as she darted a furtive glance at her betrothed. “Lord Bridgerton has been the most attentive of suitors, your Majesty. Despite his numerous responsibilities, he never fails to make time for me.”

A tender smile softened Anthony’s features as he regarded Penelope with undisguised adoration. “And I, the most fortunate of men, to have secured the affections of such a remarkable woman amidst a veritable sea of eligible bachelors, your Majesty.”

The Queen watched their exchange with an inscrutable expression, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. “I am gratified to see you both so well-suited.” She mused. “But I must confess, I grow impatient to witness the culmination of this courtship. When shall the wedding take place? The season draws ever nearer to its close, and I would have my emerald’s nuptials be a grand affair to remember.”

A heavy silence descended upon the chamber as Penelope and Anthony exchanged a weighted look. So much hung unspoken between them - the fragile rekindling of their romance, the delicate dance of rediscovering their love. Anthony longed to give Penelope the time and space she needed, unwilling to rush her into a commitment for which she might not yet be prepared.

Sensing their hesitation, the Queen arched an imperious brow. “It seems I must take matters into my own hands.” She proclaimed. “I shall oversee the preparations for your wedding myself, and the celebration shall take place here, within these very walls. The ton will bear witness as I celebrate the union of my cherished emerald.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, her lips parting to protest, but one glance at the Queen’s resolute expression stilled the words on her tongue. Anthony, ever the diplomat, smoothly intervened.

“Your Majesty is most gracious.” He murmured, his grip on Penelope’s hand tightening reassuringly. “We are honored beyond measure by your generosity and shall gladly accept your generous offer.”

As they thanked the Queen profusely, Penelope could not help but wonder at the whirlwind of events that had just transpired. Her future, so delicately poised on the precipice of change, had just taken a dramatic turn - one that would bind her irrevocably to the man she loved, witnessed by the entire ton. A thrill of anticipation mingled with a lingering tendril of doubt, but one look into Anthony’s eyes, shining with unwavering devotion, steadied her heart.

Chapter Text

As the carriage gently rocked back towards Mayfair, the weight of the Queen’s decree hung heavily over Penelope Featherington. The delicate lines of concern etched on her face did not escape Anthony Bridgerton’s notice. He watched her with a mix of love and worry, his mind replaying the moment Penelope had professed her love for him, erasing his fears of her lingering feelings for his brother Colin.

Anthony felt joy at their rekindled romance but was acutely aware of the pressure the Queen’s decree placed on Penelope. He had promised to take their renewed courtship slowly, allowing Penelope to fully adjust to the dynamics of their relations, especially after the trauma of her accident. Now, with the Queen’s insistence on a swift marriage, he feared Penelope might be feeling overwhelmed.

Breaking the silence, Anthony reached for Penelope’s hand. “My love? What troubles you so?”
Penelope lifted her gaze to his, a small smile curving her lips through it did not reach her eyes. “The Queen’s decision regarding our nuptials weighs heavily.” She admitted.

Understanding dawned on Anthony’s face, and he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “If you require more time, you need only say so. I shall contrive an excuse to delay the proceedings. I don’t want you to feel forced into marrying me if you’re not ready.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, Anthony, that is not my worry at all. There is nothing I desire more than to be your wife, to be in your arms and spend the rest of my days with you.” Her gaze fell to her lap.

Anthony felt a rush of relief, but Penelope’s next words brought a new worry to light. “But I fear I am not equal to the role, not adequate enough to be the Viscountess Bridgerton, that I’m lacking in so many ways.”

Anthony’s heart ached at her self-doubt, his expression hardened with tender fierceness. “That’s preposterous!” He said firmly. “Penelope, you are more than perfect. You have all the qualities a husband could dream of in a wife. You possess boundless kindness, intelligence, and an unshakable strength that humbles me daily. Your beauty and grace will make you an exceptional Viscountess. Any family would be blessed to call you their matriarch.

A flush stained in her cheeks at his ardent words, but her gaze remained downcast as her insecurities persisted.

“I fear I may fail to.. Satisfy you in our marriage bed as a wife should.” She whispered. “I would understand if you would take a mistress, but I beg of you.. To be discreet and not sleep by my side after being with her.”

Anthony was taken aback, anger flaring briefly at the thought of Penelope undervaluing herself so much. He knelt in front of her, capturing her hands and her gaze. “Penelope, you alone ignite the depths of my desire. I will never seek the company of a mistress, for you are the only one who can truly satisfy me - heart, mind and soul. I will be deeply loyal to you as your husband.” He sealed his avowal with a searing kiss that quickly deepened with unmistakable ardor.

He kissed her softly at first, then more passionately, his hunger for her touch clear. When they finally parted, breathless, Anthony’s lips trailed down the curve of her neck. “Never doubt your hold over me, beloved.” He rasped against her thundering pulse. His lips trailing from the curve of her neck to the exposed skin above her bosom. His hands roamed over her curves, igniting a fire in both of them.

To emphasize his point, Anthony gently took Penelope’s hand and led it to the bulging evidence of his arousal beneath his breeches. Penelope’s cheeks flushed crimson, astonished by the effect she had on the ton's most notorious rake.

“See, my love?” Anthony whispered against her skin. “You have made me like this. You have this effect on me. Only you. Now, I should stop myself from ravishing you or else, the Queen will have to find herself hosting our wedding tomorrow rather than in two weeks' time.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, her heart racing. She could hardly believe that she, the unassuming wallflower, could elicit such a bodily response from the notorious rake. She found herself both embarrassed and thrilled by his words and actions.

“Anthony..” She murmured, her voice trembling slightly. “I.. I didn’t know..”

“Now you do.” He replied, his voice husky with desire. “And never doubt it again.”

Their lips met once more in a fervent kiss, the promise of their future together burning brightly between them. The carriage continued its journey towards Grosvenor Square, carrying the couple closer to their shared destiny.

—-

The carriage rolled to a gentle stop before the imposing facade of Grosvenor Square, and Anthony’s voice broke the comfortable silence that had enveloped them. “Penelope, my love, I think it best if we inform our mothers of the Queen’s.. Intentions before returning to your home.”

Penelope’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, but she nodded in agreement. “Of course. You’re quite right, Anthony.”

With a tender smile, he offered his arm, and she looped hers through it, allowing him to lead her into the Bridgerton household. Once inside, Anthony guided her towards the sanctum of his study, instructing a footman to summon his mother posthaste.

The soft rap of knuckles against wood heralded Violet’s arrival, and at Anthony’s bidding, she entered, her expression one of gentle curiosity. “Anthony, Penelope.” She greeted warmly, her gaze flickering between their pensive countenances. “Is everything quite alright?”

Rising to her feet, Penelope dipped into a respectful curtsy. “Lady Bridgerton.” She murmured, her voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.

Violet’s brow arched delicately, her keen eyes missing nothing. “What troubles you both? Surely you would not have summoned me if the matter were not of import.”

Anthony stepped forward, his hand finding the small of Penelope’s back in a reassuring caress. “Mother, Penelope and I were summoned to an audience with the Queen this very day.”
A soft gasp escaped Violet’s lips, her expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“Her Majesty was most insistent.” Anthony continued, his tone measured. “She has decided to take the matter of our nuptials into her own hands and has decreed that she shall host our wedding there at the palace in two weeks time, sparing no expense in its preparation.”
“The Queen had expressed to have our wedding as the season’s grand affair, showing her grace and favor to Penelope as her emerald.” The Viscount added.

A radiant smile blossomed across Violet’s features, her eyes sparkling with unbridled joy. She had long harbored hopes of welcoming Penelope into the family, and the news of the Queen’s direct involvement could only hasten the realization of her dearest wish.

“Oh, this is marvelous news!” The dowager viscountess exclaimed, her excitement palpable. “The Queen herself overseeing your wedding preparations – it’s an incredible honor!”

Without preamble, Violet swept Penelope into a warm embrace, her affection for the young woman she considered a daughter evident in every gesture. “Oh, my dearest Penelope.” She murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “How I have longed for the day when I might call you daughter-in-law in truth.”

Releasing Penelope, she turned to Anthony, enfolding him in her arms with a fierceness that belied her slight stature. “My son, my heart swells with pride to see you united with your heart’s truest desire. No longer must we fear any obstacles to your happiness.”

As Violet held Penelope once more, basking in the radiance of her joy, Penelope’s gaze was drawn to a portrait hanging upon the wall. A pang of insecurity lanced through her as she studied the subject – a woman of exquisite beauty, her form adhering to society’s idealized standards of desirability. A far cry from Penelope’s own modest curves and unremarkable features.

“Penelope?” Anthony’s voice, rich with concern, broke through her reverie. “Are you quite well, my love?”
Blinking rapidly, she forced a smile, turning her attention back to her betrothed. “Yes, of course. I…” She hesitated, chewing her lower lip. “I suppose we ought to inform mama of the Queen’s decree. She will wish to begin preparations on our end.”

A flicker of understanding passed over Anthony’s features, and he nodded solemnly. “As you say.” Extending his arm once more, he guided her towards the door, pausing only for Penelope to bid Violet a fond farewell, her cheeks flushed with the gentle kisses her future mother-in-law had bestowed.

“We’ll see you soon.” Violet said, her eyes shining with happiness. “And don’t worry, my dear. Everything will be perfect.”

As they made their way across the street towards Penelope’s childhood home, she could not quite shake the lingering tendrils of doubt that had taken root. Yet, one glance at Anthony’s unwavering devotion was enough to steady her resolve.

—--

The Featherington household was a flurry of activity as Penelope and Anthony’s steps drew to a halt before the imposing facade. Portia rose from her seat the moment the door opened, her eyes alight with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation – an emotion that only intensified upon witnessing the pensive expressions adorning her daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law’s features.

“Penelope, my dear child.” Lady Portia Featherington fretted, sweeping forward to envelope her youngest daughter in a tender embrace. “When Briarly informed me of the Queen’s summons, I feared the worst.” Her eyes flickered towards Anthony, silently beseeching an explanation.

A crease marred Portia’s brow as disquieting thoughts took root. What if her Majesty had finally uncovered Penelope’s role as Lady Whistledown? The consequences could be dire, not just for her youngest daughter but for their entire family.

Penelope drew a steading breath, offering her mother a reassuring smile. “Mama, there is no cause for alarm. In fact, we bear most joyous news.”

Portia's brow arched quizzically, her hands finding Penelope's and giving them a gentle squeeze. "Well, do not keep me in suspense, child. What has transpired?"

It was Anthony who stepped forward, his voice ringing with quiet confidence. His next words banished the dowager baroness’ fears in an instant. “Lady Featherington.” He began, his voice rich with solemnity. “The Queen had declared that she shall oversee the preparations for our nuptials herself. The wedding is to take place and the reception is to be at the palace in but two weeks’ time – a gesture of favor bestowed upon Penelope as the season’s emerald.”

A sharp inhalation escaped Portia’s lips, her eyes widening fractionally before a radiant smile blossomed across her features. Relief coursed through her veins, banishing the lingering fear that the Queen had finally unearthed Penelope’s scandalous alter ego. Instead, her Majesty had bestowed a great honor upon her daughter - one that filled Portia’s heart with immeasurable pride.

“Oh, Penelope.” She breathed, cradling her daughter’s face in her hands. “My dearest girl, how blessed you are to have captured the Queen’s favor so thoroughly! How my heart swells to see you honored in such a way. You deserve every happiness, my child.”

Turning towards Anthony, her expression softened with maternal affection. “And you, Lord Bridgerton, what a fortunate man you are to have secured such a treasure for your bride.”

Anthony’s eyes shone with undisguised adoration as he gazed upon Penelope. “Indeed, I am the luckiest of men, my lady.”

Portia beamed, pulling Penelope close once more and pressing a fervent kiss to her brow. "I can scarcely contain my joy at the prospect of witnessing your union, my darling daughter. It has long been my hope to see my daughter united with a Bridgerton – a dream that shall soon become reality." Her eyes glistened with unshed tears of sheer elation. "May your marriage be a wellspring of love and happiness, a bond that grows only stronger with each passing year."

Penelope's eyes shone with unshed tears of joy as she basked in her mother's unconditional love and support. For so long, she had harbored doubts, insecurities that had threatened to overwhelm her. Yet in this moment, surrounded by the warmth of those dearest to her, she felt utterly cherished, valued – a treasure beyond measure.

As Portia enveloped them both in a tender embrace, Penelope caught Anthony's gaze over her mother's shoulder. His eyes, alight with unwavering devotion, promised a future filled with love, laughter, and all the treasures their hearts could fathom.

With a radiant smile, she allowed herself to bask in the joy of this moment, secure in the knowledge that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together – a united front, bound by the unbreakable bonds of love and family.

Chapter Text

The Bridgerton household was a flurry of activity, humming with anticipation and excitement as preparations for Penelope and Anthony’s impending nuptials were set into motion. Violet had insisted on taking her daughters, along with her soon-to-be daughter-in-law, to the esteemed House of Delacroix for their fittings.

As they stepped into the modiste’s salon, Madame Genevieve Delacroix herself swept forward, her face alight with a warm smile. “Lady Bridgerton, Miss Featherington, what an honor to receive you all.” She gushed, dipping into an elegant curtsy.

Violet returned the gesture with practiced grace. “Madame, we are most grateful for your expertise on this most auspicious occasion.” She turned to Penelope, her expression one of unbridled joy. “My dear, it is time for you to select the fabrics for your wedding gown.”

Penelope’s cheeks flushed crimson as she perused the array of exquisite white silks and delicate laces, her fingers trailing over the luxuriant materials. With Violet’s guidance, she carefully chose the pieces that would comprise her bridal attire, her heart fluttering with excitement and a touch of trepidation.

Penelope stood in the center, her red hair glowing under the soft light as Madame Delacroix fussed over her measurements and the selection of materials for her wedding gown.

Genevieve, a master of her craft, circled Penelope, her eyes alight with excitement. “ Mademoiselle Featherington, you will be the most stunning bride the ton will ever see. I promise you, your gown will be the talk of the season.”

Penelope blushed, her heart warming at the modiste’s words. “Thank you, Madame Delacroix. I have every confidence in your skill.”

As the fittings commenced, Violet drew Penelope into a tender embrace, her eyes shining with unshed tears of pure happiness. “Oh, Penelope, how I have longed for this day.” She murmured, her voice thick with emotion. ”There is no finer woman to become the next Viscountess Bridgerton.”

Eloise, ever the exuberant one, could not contain her enthusiasm. “Indeed, Pen.” She exclaimed, looping an arm around her dearest friend. “I am simply delighted beyond measure that we shall finally be sisters in truth!”

Hyacinth chimed in, her youthful enthusiasm infectious. “Yes, Penelope! Now you shall have ample opportunity to join Gregory and I in our games and adventures!”

Violet’s brow arched in gentle reproach. “Now, now, my dears, let us not forget that Penelope’s primary role shall be that of Anthony’s wife and being the Viscountess. She will have duties and responsibilities that must take precedence.”

Twin pouts adorned Eloise and Hyacinth’s faces, their expression comically petulant. “But that is hardly fair!” Eloise protested. “Surely Anthony cannot monopolize Penelope’s time entirely!”

Francesca, ever the voice of reason, chuckled softly. “Perhaps we ought to wish Anthony buried beneath an avalanche of paperwork, confined to his study from dawn until dusk. Then we may enjoy Penelope’s company uninterrupted.”

The room erupted with peals of laughter, the jovial banter a soothing balm for Penelope’s frayed nerves. As she gazed upon the smiling faces of her dearest Bridgertons - her soon-to-be sisters, in every way that mattered - she felt a profound sense of belonging wash over her.

Madame Delacroix returned with a selection of exquisite fabrics. “Now, Mademoiselle Featherington, let us decide on the final touches for your gown. White silk with a touch of lace, perhaps?”

Penelope’s eyes sparkled as she looked at the beautiful fabrics. “That sounds perfect. I trust your judgment completely.”
Violet squeezed Penelope’s hand. “You will be a vision, my dear. And remember, you are already perfect in our eyes.”

As the fitting continued, the Bridgerton sisters shared ideas and suggestions, each adding their own flair to the preparations. The day was filled with laughter, warmth and a shared anticipation for the future. Penelope felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love, knowing she was about to marry not only the man she loved but also become a part of a family that cherished her deeply.

—-

The grand halls of St. George’s Chapel resounded with the melodious strains of the organ, its rich tones filling the vaulted ceilings with a sense of reverent grandeur. Sunlight streamed through the towering stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the polished marble floors and the assembled guests, bedecked in their finest regalia.

At the altar, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton stood tall and resolute, his countenance a portrait of barely contained anticipation and profound devotion. By his side, Simon Hastings and his third brother Colin bore matching expressions of pride and joy, honored to stand as witnesses to their brother’s long-awaited marital bliss.

A hush fell over the congregation as the first notes of the bridal march echoed through the sacred space, all eyes turning towards the ornate double doors. Penelope Featherington made her entrance, a vision of ethereal beauty that stole the very breath from Anthony’s lungs.

Her gown was a masterpiece of delicate ivory lace and shimmering satin, the intricate embroidery glittering like diamonds in the dappled light. A slender train fanned out behind her, its gossamer fabric seeming to float upon an unseen breeze. Penelope’s fiery tresses had been artfully styled, cascading in soft waves that framed her flushed cheeks and radiant smile.

On her arm, Benedict Bridgerton beamed with brotherly pride, his steps measured and stately as he escorted his brother’s bride down the aisle towards her awaiting groom. As they approached the altar, Anthony’s gaze locked with Penelope’s, a silent vow passing between them – a promise of eternal love and unwavering devotion.

The ceremony proceeded with all the pomp and solemnity befitting such an auspicious occasion, each word and gesture imbued with sacred significance. Yet, for Anthony and Penelope, the world had narrowed to the two of them, their souls bound in an unbreakable embrace, oblivious to all else but the profound connection that had brought them to this moment.

“Will you, Anthony Bridgerton, have thou this woman be thy wedded wife to live together in the holiest state of matrimony? And forsaking all others, keeping thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?”

Anthony’s voice was steady and clear. “I, Anthony Edmund Bridgerton, take thee Penelope Anne Featherington, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.”
“This ring I give you, in token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love.”

“Will you, Penelope Featherington, have thou this man be thy wedded husband to live together in the holiest state of matrimony? And forsaking all others, keeping thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?”

Penelope’s voice, though softer, held the same unwavering conviction. “I, Penelope Anne Featherington, take thee Anthony Edmund Bridgerton, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold. I promise to love and comfort you, honor and keep you, and forsaking all others. I will be yours alone as long as we both shall live.”
“With this ring, I wed you and pledge you my love now and forever.”

The reverend smiled, his voice ringing out. “I now pronounce that they be man and wife together. In the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost. Amen. You may kiss the bride.”

As the final vows were exchanged and the clergyman pronounced them husband and wife, a thunderous applause erupted from the assembled guests. Anthony gathered Penelope into his arms, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that spoke volumes of the passion and adoration they shared. The newlyweds turned to face their guests, their smiles wide and hearts full as they walked down the aisle together, hand in hand.

The grandeur of Queen Charlotte’s palace was unparalleled. The reception, hosted in the opulent ballroom, was a vision of splendor and elegance. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the room, while lavish arrangements of flowers adorned every surface. The Queen had spared no expense, ensuring that the Viscount’s and the season’s emerald’s wedding would be the event of the season.

As Anthony and Penelope entered the ballroom, the assembled guests stood and applauded. Queen Charlotte, resplendent in her regal attire, greeted the couple with a warm smile.

“Congratulations, Lord and Lady Bridgerton.” The Queen said, her voice carrying the authority and grace befitting her station. “I am delighted to host this celebration in your honor. May your union be as splendid as this day.”

Penelope curtsied deeply. “Thank you, your Majesty. Your generosity is overwhelming.”
Anthony bowed. “We are deeply grateful, your Majesty.”

The evening unfolded with a seamless blend of music, dancing and conversation. Anthony led Penelope onto the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife. As they moved gracefully to the music, their love and happiness were evident to all.

Lady Agatha Danbury, her keen eyes observing the proceedings, turned to Lady Violet Bridgerton with a knowing smile. “Well, Lady Bridgerton, you must be over the moon. Lord Bridgerton has finally settled down, and with such a lovely girl. Penelope will make a wonderful Viscountess.”

Violet nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears of joy. “Indeed, Lady Danbury. I couldn’t have hoped for a better match for my son. Penelope is everything I wished for and more.”

Nearby, the Bridgerton siblings were engaged in animated conversation with Lady Trowbridge.
“Penelope looks like a princess!” Hyacinth gushed, her eyes wide with admiration. “Her dress is simply stunning.”

Eloise, ever practical, added. “I must say, it’s wonderful to see Pen so happy. And Anthony looks positively smitten.”

Lady Trowbridge smiled, her gaze affectionate. “It is a joy to witness a union base on true affection. They complement each other perfectly.”

In another corner, Colin Bridgerton spoke with his older brother Benedict and his younger sister Daphne. “I must admit, I never thought Anthony would finally settle down. But seeing him with Pen, it all makes sense.”

Benedict chuckled. “Yes, who would have thought? But Penelope has always had a quiet strength. She’ll keep Anthony grounded.”

Daphne nodded. “And she brings out the best in him. They’re truly well-matched.”

As the night progressed, the ballroom was filled with laughter and merriment. Guests enjoyed a sumptuous feast, and the finest wines flowed freely. Musicians played enchanting melodies, and the dance floor remained lively with couples swirling and twirling in elegant patterns.

Queen Charlotte, watching from her elevated seat, smiled with satisfaction. She had always prided herself on her authority to influence and guide the ton, and this union was a testament to her discerning eye. Penelope and Anthony were not just a match made in high society but a match made in heaven.

As the evening drew to a close, Anthony and Penelope shared a private moment on the terrace, overlooking the palace gardens. The stars above shone brightly, mirroring the joy in their hearts. Penelope leaned into her husband, her voice soft. “I can hardly believe this day has come. It feels like a dream.”

Anthony kissed her forehead. “A dream that we’re living together. I love you, Penelope Bridgerton, and I promise to cherish every moment we share.”
Penelope smiled, her heart full. “And I love you, Anthony Bridgerton. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness.”

The night sky seemed to embrace them as they stood there, lost in each other’s presence, ready to embark on their journey as husband and wife. The grand reception at the palace was a perfect beginning to their new life together, a life filled with love, promise, and endless possibilities.

Chapter Text

The grand celebration at the palace had finally come to an end, and Anthony Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington, now Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton, found themselves in a luxurious carriage, making their way to Aubrey Hall. The quiet and intimacy of the carriage offered a stark contrast to the bustling grandiose wedding and reception they had just left behind. The moonlight filtered through the small windows, casting a gentle glow on their faces.

Penelope nestled her head against Anthony's shoulder, their hands intertwined. The warmth of his touch and the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobblestone street soother her. Almost in a whisper, Penelope expressed her disbelief at the day's events.

"Everything feels so surreal." She murmured. "I never imagined I could be so deserving of all this happiness."

Anthony, still processing all the happenings himself, nodded in agreement. "I understand completely, my love. I, too, can hardly believe it. To finally have you as my wife, my Viscountess... it feels like a dream."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, each lost in their thoughts. The memory of the grand wedding, with Queen Charlotte's radiant smile and the applause of high society, played in their minds. The Queen had orchestrated a wedding fit for royalty, and her satisfaction was evident, knowing her chosen emerald of the season had made such a high-profile match.

As Anthony relived the day's moments, a blush crept up his neck, and his muscles tensed. Penelope, always observant, noticed the change. She felt his grip on her hand tighten slightly and looked up, seeing the rare sight of her now- husband blushing.

"What's on your mind, Anthony?" She asked, curiosity gleaming in her cerulean eyes.

Anthony swallowed hard. He knew he couldn't lie to Penelope. As his wife, she deserved to know his thoughts, no matter how vulnerable they made him feel. "Penelope, I'm delighted that we're officially wed. It means there are no more restrictions between us when it comes to physical intimacy. I can hold your hand, kiss you, and share every moment with you without restraint."

Penelope's cheeks turned pink as she listened, but she kept her gaze steady on his. Anthony continued, his voice lower and more earnest. "I'm proud to say that you are mine, and no other man can yearn for your affections without facing my wrath. As your husband, I am the only gentleman who can ask for three dances at a ball, and I am the only one who will escort you to any societal gatherings. Unless I'm unavailable, which, trust me, will be impossible because I intend to flaunt to the entire ton that I am your besotted husband."

Penelope chuckled softly at his possessiveness. She had always known Anthony to be a stern and domineering Viscount, as well as a protective older brother. But hearing him declare his possessive love as a husband was both endearing and amusing.

"Anthony, I'm just as delighted as you are. I'm honored to be the woman you chose to be your wife. I will relish the sight of disappointed faces when we promenade together." She teased.

Anthony couldn't resist the urge any longer. He leaned in and claimed her lips with a hunger that had been building throughout the day. The kiss deepened as he gently bit her lower lip, eliciting a soft moan from Penelope. She parted her lips slightly, allowing his tongue to explore her mouth.

Penelope responded eagerly, her hands moving to his neck, her fingers tangling in his chestnut hair. Their kisses grew more passionate, their hand roving over each other's bodies, seeking skin to skin contact.

Anthony's hand found the back of her dress, and he began to fumble with the buttons and laces. Slowly, he loosened the bodice, exposing Penelope's smooth porcelain skin. He trailed kisses down her jawline, along the curve of her neck, and to the newly exposed skin of her shoulders and chest.

Penelope's breath hitched, a mixture of anticipation and desire. She felt the heat of Anthony's kisses and the gentle, yet firm, pressure of his hands as they roamed her body. The intimate confines of the carriage heightened their senses, making each touch and kiss more electrifying.

Anthony's hand found her waist, pulling her closer, his lips returning to capture hers in another searing kiss. The carriage ride to Aubrey Hall became a prelude to their honeymoon, filled with the promise of many more moments of unrestrained passion and deep, abiding love.

In that secluded space, the newlyweds continued their exploration of each other, their hearts and bodies entwined in a dance of newfound intimacy. The journey to Aubrey Hall was not just a physical trip, but the beginning of their life together as husband and wife, a life filled with love, desire and the promise of forever.

—-

In Aubrey Hall at Kent

The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel path as it drew up to the grand entrance of Aubrey Hall. Anthony Bridgerton stepped out first, his movements elegant despite the disheveled state of his clothing. He turned to offer his hand to Penelope, his wife, who took it with a grateful smile. Their eyes met, and both burst into stifled laughter, amused by each other's slightly rumpled appearances – a testament to the intimate moments they had shared during the journey.

As Penelope descended from the carriage, her dress rustling softly, the household staff assembled to welcome them. The butler, a distinguished man named Hawkins, stepped forward, bowing slightly. Mrs. Lawson, the housekeeper, followed suit with a warm smile.

"Welcome to Aubrey Hall, my lord, my lady." Hawkins intoned respectfully.

"Thank you, Hawkins." Anthony replied, his hand still clasping Penelope's. "It is good to be home, and to reintroduce Lady Penelope, now my Viscountess Bridgerton, to her new home."

Mrs. Lawson stepped forward, her eyes twinkling with genuine warmth. "Welcome back, my lady. We are delighted to have you with us."

Penelope blushed slightly but smiled, her heart swelling with a mixture of excitement and nerves. "Thank you, Mrs. Lawson. I'm looking forward to getting to know everyone and becoming part of the household."

Hawkins nodded. "A bath has been prepared for both of you, my lord and my lady, so you can change and relax before dinner."

Anthony inclined his head in appreciation. "Excellent. Thank you, Hawkins."

The butler and housekeeper led the way up the grand staircase, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpeting. As they reached the third floor, where the master and mistress' chambers were located, Anthony paused outside Penelope's door. He turned to her, his eyes filled with affection, and leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips.

The assembled servants, witnessing this tender moment exchange glances and soft giggles. Anthony pulled back, his thumb brushing Penelope's cheek. "I'll come get you after we've changed." He whispered. "I want to give you a proper tour of the estate."

Penelope nodded. Her eyes sparkling. "I'll be ready, my love."

With a final squeeze of her hand, Anthony turned and entered his own chamber, leaving Penelope to the capable hands of Mrs. Lawson and her lady's maid.

—-

Penelope stepped into her chamber, marveling at the opulence and comfort of the room. A large, inviting bed dominated the space, adorned with plush pillows and soft linens. A roaring fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the richly decorated room. Her bath awaited, steam rising gently from the water scented with lavender and rose.

Mrs. Lawson and the lady's maid Alice, helped Penelope out of her travel-worn dress, and soon she sank into the warm bath. The tension of the journey and the excitement of the day melted away, replaced by a sense of serene contentment. As she soaked, her mind drifted back to the events of the day – the vows exchanged, the grand reception, and the intimate moments shared with her husband Anthony.

After bathing and changing into more comfortable dress, Penelope felt rejuvenated. She stood by the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds of Aubrey Hall, when a soft knock at the door drew her attention. It was Anthony, looking equally refreshed and dressed in a casual but elegant ensemble.

"Ready for dinner and for your tour, Viscountess?" He asked his beautiful wife with a playful bow.

Penelope giggled, curtsying in return. "Lead the way, my lord."

Anthony took her hand, and they walked side by side through the grand corridors of the estate.

The charming Aubrey Hall welcomed its new mistress with open arms, the staff having prepared a sumptuous feast to honor the recent nuptials of Lord and Lady Bridgerton. Anthony beamed with pride as he led Penelope into the grand dining hall, the table groaning beneath the weight of succulent meats, fragrant sides and delectable desserts.

"The cook has quite outdone herself." Anthony remarked, pulling out Penelope's chair and helping her to be seated. "I suspect she wished to make a favorable impression."

Penelope's eyes danced with delight as she surveyed the lavish spread. "It all looks and smells simply divine. I shall have to convey my compliments to the kitchen staff."

As they savored each exquisite course, Anthony regaled Penelope with tales of his childhood, reminiscing on the many adventures that had unfolded within the halls of their stately home. By the time the last crumbs had been polished off, a warm glow suffused Penelope's cheeks – the result of exceptional wine and even finer company.

"Dinner is truly delightful." Penelope said, smiling at Anthony. "I must commend the cook for such a wonderful meal."

Anthony reached across the table, taking her hand. "I'm glad you're pleased, my love. The staff here is eager to make you feel at home."

As the newlyweds dined on succulent lamb and roasted vegetables, Anthony outlined his plans for the evening. "I thought you might indulge me in a grand tour of the estate, my love. There are so many rooms and halls I am eager to show you - as this would be our new home, after all."

The excitement sparkling in Penelope's eyes was all the confirmation he required. Once their plates had been cleared, he took her by the hand and led her on an unhurried exploration.

They wandered through the magnificent drawing rooms with their gleaming hardwood floors and delicately carved moldings. Penelope traced the ornate paneling with reverent fingertips, already envisioning the elegant soirees and dances they would host in these very chambers.

The grand ballroom fairly took her breath away, with its lofty ceilings and walls of polished mirrors. Anthony twirled her slowly, as if there was music playing in the room, admiring the way her sapphire muslin gown swirled around her ankles. Anthony wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

"Do you like it?" He murmured against the shell of her ear, lips brushing her sensitive skin. "I daresay it could use some livening up at the hands of its new mistress. Perhaps a ball thrown in honor of our nuptials?"

Penelope's delighted laughter rang out like silver bells. "Oh, that sounds like a good idea, my lord."

Her unbridled enthusiasm was balm to Anthony's very soul. To see his pragmatic, steadfast Penelope so effervescent with joy made his heart feel fit to burst.

Eventually, their wanderings led them to the imposing double doors of the Bridgerton family library. At the reverent hush that escaped Penelope's lips as they entered, Anthony chuckled fondly. He had suspected this room might enrapture her above all others.

"I foresee you shall be spending many an hour here, my bibliophilic wife." He teased gently as she drifted along the floor-to-ceiling shelves, fingertips trailing over the gilded leather spines of precious tomes.

"More like days on end." Penelope retorted absently, already lost to the library's scholarly lures.

They lingered in the hushed sanctum for a time before Anthony urged them onward with one final detour - the hall housing his mother's suite as well as quarters for his roguish siblings.

The last stop on their leisurely tour was their final destination - the master bedchamber. As Anthony ushered Penelope through the arched doorway, her shar inhalation was audible in the dimly lit space.

"Oh Anthony... this is breathtaking.."

The spacious chamber was decorated richly yet with a restrained elegance - the plush rug underfoot, the intricately carved cherry wood furnishings, and of course, the centerpiece - the enormous featherbed dreamed in sumptuous crimson coverlets.

"My mother harbored sole dominion over this room even after my father's passing." Anthony explained as Penelope drifted further inside, running an admiring hand along the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. "She insisted I not disturb her sanctuary filled with memories of their married life together. "

He came up behind her then, molding his body to hers and winding his arms around her waist. Penelope leaned back against his solid warmth as he brushed the whisper of a kiss to the sensitive spot beneath her ear.

"Now, however, mother has acquiesced that the master suite should become the domain of the reigning Viscount and his Viscountess." Anthony nuzzled along the side of her neck, inhaling the alluring floral scent of her perfume. "Our domain, my dearest wife, if you would have it so?"

Penelope twisted in his embrace, draping her arms over his shoulders as she met his heated gaze. "You know I would have it, my love." She said huskily. "Though I confess I feel somewhat.. Conflicted about displacing your mother from such a place of meaning."

Anthony cupped her face, stroking one thumb over the delicious curve of her lower lip. "You forget, she is the one who insisted." He rasped, already losing himself in the smoldering fire banked in her amber eyes. "Mother would feel most aggrieved if we did not immediately take up residence here, as the new Lord and Lady of the estate."

"Well, we cannot have that now, can we?" Penelope murmured, rising on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his in a maddening caress. Anthony groaned low in his throat, his hands roaming from her hips to the swell of her derriere in a heated grip.

When they finally tore apart, twin blooms of desire stained Penelope's cheeks. She bit her lower lip, eyes dancing impishly.

"You know, my lord.. I do believe this chamber's amenities may require a more.. Thorough exploration. Perhaps a test of its soundproofing, even?"

A low chuckle rumbled from Anthony as he swept her up into his arms, lips seeking hers hungrily. "Your desires are my command, my Lady Viscountess.."

As Anthony bore her towards their marital bed, Penelope could scarcely contain her glee at this new chapter of life unfolding before them. A life and love to call their own at long last.

Chapter Text

The tranquil grounds of Aubrey Hall proved the perfect setting for Anthony and Penelope’s honeymoon. Away from the prying eyes and expectations of the ton, as well as from the attention hungry chaotic bunch in the form of Anthony’s siblings, they could simply exist as husband and wife - devoted lovers getting reacquainted on the most primal of levels.

Though they had known each other peripherally for years – Penelope as the shy wallflower best friend to Anthony’s meddlesome sister, and he the formidable yet caring elder Bridgerton brother - it was only recently that they had peeled away the layers to see one another’s true selves laid bare. What Penelope had perceived as the dashing yet stuffy Viscount was slowly giving way to the real Anthony – passionate, playful, utterly enthralling. And Anthony found himself more enraptured by the Penelope he never truly knew until this recently - brilliant, mischievous, her wry wit matched only by her surprising ardor.

Through Penelope’s lack of recollection, their tangled web of courtship, then Penelope’s return to herself after her accident, as well as Colin’s return and the truth about Penelope being Lady Whistledown; each revelation brought them closer, built an intimacy of souls that went far beyond mere physical closeness. Until finally, the undeniable pull of attraction between them combusted in a passionate awakening.

Their wedding night had been redolent with nervousness and anticipation. As Anthony had slowly, reverently, undressed his bride, he wondered if Penelope could possibly comprehend the devotion, the all-consuming adoration that had been shimmering within him.

When he’d finally joined their bodies as one, her pained whimper at the breaching of her maidenhead nearly undid him. But Anthony meticulously soothed each flinch, each tremor, pressing endless, worshipful kisses to her flushed skin until the sting subsided. Only then did he revel in the velvet heat of her embrace, sensually rolling his hips to build them towards ecstasy.

When she had become accustomed to the stretch of his manhood sheathing her depths, Anthony increased his rhythm. He angled his hips to strike that hidden, hallowed spot within her again and again until Penelope arched against him with a choked cry of release. Only then did Anthony allow himself to let go, his own climax crashing over hers in shattering waves of bliss.

Now, in the afterglow of their passionate lovemaking, they lay tangled amid rumpled bed sheets and melted into one another’s arms. Penelope’s fingers drifted lazily through Anthony’s disheveled chestnut hair as his palm mapped the dips and curves of her body in a languorous caress.

“Good morning, my temptress wife.” He murmured teasingly, pressing an openmouthed kiss to the swell of her breast. Penelope hummed in pleasure, arching her back involuntarily to encourage his wandering lips.

“A very good morning indeed, my insatiable husband.” She purred in return, stroking the strong line of his jaw. “Though if you do not cease your efforts to stir me, I may be forced to return the favor in kind.”

Anthony raised his head, his chocolate brown eyes dancing with undisguised longing as he took in her tousled hair and passion-flushed cheeks. “Is that a threat or a promise, my love?” He rumbled, dipping his head to trail scorching kisses along the elegant column of her neck.

She threw back her head with a breathless giggle that quickly melded into a soft keen of pleasure as Anthony’s insistent mouth landed on that sensitive spot below her ear. “W-Whichever you prefer, my lord.” Penelope gasped out impishly.

In one fluid motion, Anthony rolled until he hovered over her, pinning her deliciously to the featherbed. “Then I believe I shall accept both.” He growled before slanting his mouth over hers in a searing, hungry kiss.

Penelope arched into his touch with a sultry laugh. “If we are to lay abed all morning indulging our baser appetites, my love, I daresay I shall never want to depart these chambers.”

“Then we shan’t.” Anthony husked, claiming her mouth in a searing kiss once more. Penelope gasped against his lips but wound her limbs around him shamelessly, silently inviting him to slake his ardor upon her willing body once more.

As they joined with rising fervor, limbs tangling and twin moans of rapture echoing off the bedroom walls, both Anthony and Penelope reflected they had never known such unbridled ecstasy or intimacy could exist. This blazing, infinite connection was a love forged by fate, one that had merely laid dormant awaiting the perfect moment to be stoked into an all-consuming inferno. Even with Anthony’s known rakish behavior from the recent years, he himself had never imagined how highly pleasurable it is to share such physical connection with Penelope. No actresses, light skirts, or any woman could compare how satisfying it is to be in bed with his wife. His promise of having no mistresses would be no question, an easy task for him.

When they finally parted to breathe for air, bodies humming with delicious satisfaction, Penelope sifted her fingers through Anthony’s sweat-dampened hair. “This is everything..” She murmured in wonder.

Anthony nuzzled her temple reverently. “This is existence entire.” He whispered fervently against her flushed skin. “You and I, made whole at last, I could not wait to spend this love forever with you Penelope.”

Sighing in contentment, Penelope allowed her eyes to drift closed as Anthony gathered her into his arms, her protective haven. This was bliss, this was destiny – two hearts inextricably bound in a love eternal.

—--

The first week of Penelope’s marriage to Anthony Bridgerton was nothing short of blissful. She had been warmly welcomed into her new role as Viscountess of the Aubrey Hall estate, the staff and household treating her with the utmost respect and deference. But it was her husband’s unceasing devotion that truly made her feel cherished beyond measure.

If Anthony had been an attentive, ardent suitor during their courtship, it paled in comparison to the unbridled passion he lavished upon her as his wife. He seemed insatiable in his desire for her company, her touch, her body’s loving embrace. Scarcely a day went by without him stealing her away to the privacy of their bedchambers for intimate pursuits.

More than once, Penelope found herself deliciously ravished in locations far more public than just their marital bed. Like the time she had visited the immense library in search of a new book, only for Anthony to happen upon her browsing the shelves. His heated gaze had burned over her frame until, in a dizzying flurry of movement, he had her pressed back against the plush velvet of a chaise lounge, her skirts shamelessly rucked about her waist as he sheathed himself in her welcoming heat.

Or the hazy afternoon when they had repaired to the drawing room for tea, exchanging idle chat and teasing banter as was their wont. Then Anthony’s talented fingers had begun tracing intricate patterns along her forearm, his eyes darkening perceptibly as she shivered at his touch. Before Penelope knew what was happening, his hand had delved beneath her skirts, two calloused digits shamelessly stroking through her dampening folds until she was mindlessly keening with rapture.

It was utterly shameless, this new appetite for carnal delights they had awakened in each other. Yet Penelope could not find it in her heart to protest, only to hungrily match Anthony’s lustful ardor with her own. Some distant part of her knew that once they returned to London, such wanton indulgences would necessarily be curbed, at least in frequency. The duties and responsibilities incumbent on a Viscount and Viscountess would see to that.

For now, however, she would bask in this hazy, lust-drenched idyll for as long as she was able.

It was that thought that prompted Penelope to seek out Anthony on this particular afternoon. She found him ensconced in his study, brow furrowed in concentration as he poured over correspondence and ledgers. He glanced up as she entered, his handsome features lighting with unabashed pleasure at the sight of her.

“Penelope.” He greeted warmly, instantly rising to his feet. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, my love?”

She drifted further into the room, trailing her fingers over the polished surface of his desk. “I thought, perhaps, my lord might indulge his wife with a turn about the grounds?” Her cerulean eyes danced with impish delight. “The afternoon is unseasonably temperate, and I confess the gardens were looking.. Inviting.”

“The gardens, you say?” His voice had taken on that low, rumbling timbre that never failed to make her shiver. “Why, I cannot think of a better diversion from tedious estate matters..”

Penelope bit back a moan as his mouth descended on hers in a searing, possessive kiss. When they finally broke apart, twin spots of desire stained her cheeks.

“Just allow me a few moments more, my love, to complete this stack of correspondence.” Anthony murmured regretfully, pressing another searing kiss to Penelope’s lips that left her quite breathless. “Then I shall be entirely at your disposal for the remainder of the day.”

Though disappointed at the brief delay of their planned stroll, Penelope could hardly deny her husband when his chocolate brown eyes smoldered with such unabashed promise. "Very well." She acquiesced with a coy smile. "Though do make haste, my lord, before I require a rejuvenating draught from all this… Exertion."

Anthony's rich laughter rolled over her like a caress as he settled back behind his desk, dipping his quill into the inkwell. Penelope watched him intently for a moment, admiring the confident strokes of his hand and the way a lock of chestnut hair fell rakishly over his furrowed brow. Truly, the manly allure of her husband never failed to stir her most wanton longings.

With a contented sigh, she turned to idly explore the intimate surroundings of Anthony's inner sanctum. Her fingers trailed reverently over the spines of well-worn tomes lining the bookshelves, noting that several showed evidence of lately being neglected - a fine sheen of dust marring their once-pristine gilt lettering. Clearly, the new Viscount's marital endeavors had seen his literature taking more of a backseat as of late.

The faint scent of aged brandy met her nostrils as she drifted into the small receiving area, no doubt from the snifters and decanters displayed on a sideboard cabinet. Penelope smiled fondly; Anthony did so enjoy his evening drink, a steadying indulgence after dealing with the stresses of estate matters all day.

Her gaze roamed over the masculine décor - the heavy draperies in rich burgundies and forest greens, plush upholstered chairs, and ornately patterned Persian rugs underfoot. All bespoke a refined, if somewhat sombre, sophistication. Penelope found herself quite at home amid the well-appointed furnishings, despite their former proprietor's reputation for being rather set in his ways and parsimonious.

It was a portrait hanging on one of the study's wood-paneled walls that gave Penelope pause, her breath catching in her throat. Even from across the room, she instantly recognized the subject as the same enigmatic woman whose image gazed down from the Bridgerton's London townhome. A beautiful English rose of a female, undeniably… yet possessing an ethereal, almost otherworldly loveliness that bordered on allegorical.

Penelope drifted closer to the portrait, studying the delicate strokes and colors that composed the lady's exquisite visage. Full, rosy lips seemed on the verge of curving into a beckoning smile. Large, heavy-lidded eyes glinted with secrets unspoken. And waves of lustrous black velvet tumbled in artful disarray over one bare, creamy shoulder left enticingly exposed by her low-cut silk gown.

She was the very embodiment of male desire - unattainable and intoxicating all at once.

An icy lance of insecurity pierced Penelope's chest, her earlier euphoria deflating like a pricked balloon. Curse her foolish, romantic mind that had somehow convinced itself Anthony desired only her, when the evidence of his tastes quite literally stared her in the face!

As if in a trance, Penelope continued to gaze raptly at the painted siren until Anthony's rich baritone shattered her melancholic reverie. "There, all attended to at last." He rounded the desk and approached her with a warm smile, extending his hand in silent invitation. "Shall we to the gardens, dearest?"

Penelope schooled her features into a polite smile despite the weight that had settled over her heart. "O-Of course." She replied faintly, slipping her hand into Anthony's with the barest hesitation. "The gardens await."

If he noticed her muted cheer, Anthony made no mention. Tucking her hand securely into the crook of his elbow, he led them from the oppressive confines of the study into the tranquil solitude of Aubrey Hall's verdant grounds. For now, Penelope allowed herself to be distracted by the simple pleasures of a meandering stroll with her new husband.

But in a shadowed corner of her psyche, seeds of doubt had taken insidious root. Doubts about her own ability to capture Anthony's heart, indeed his very passions, as thoroughly as the ethereal temptress did in that hauntingly exquisite portrait.

Chapter Text

After two blissful weeks ensconced in the peaceful countryside of Aubrey Hall, Anthony and Penelope had returned to the hustle and bustle of London society. While the transition was jarring after their extended marital retreat, they were determined to uphold their duties and responsibilities befitting their new roles.

For Anthony, that meant long hours sequestered in his study, meticulously overseeing the mountain of correspondence, ledgers and legal documents that came with managing the Bridgerton family’s vast wealth and properties. As Viscount, he was the chief patriarch, and such weighty matters could not be neglected overlong.

Penelope, however, found her days full in an entirely different way. She divided her time between assisting her new mother-in-law Violet with running the Bridgerton household, learning from the matriarch on the finer points of being the lady of the manor, and doting on Anthony’s younger siblings who clamored relentlessly for her cherished company.

Then there were the commitments to her own family, the Featheringtons – aiding her mother Portia with overseeing Phillipa’s impending confinement due to her pregnancy, and preparations for Prudence’s rapidly approaching nuptials with Mister Robert Huxley. Penelope’s mornings and afternoons were quite consumed darting between the Bridgerton townhouse and the Featherington estate just across the square.

It was only in the evenings that the new Viscountess Bridgerton could finally carve out a few precious hours for herself. More often than not, Anthony would find her ensconced in a private alcove of the Bridgerton library, curled up on a chaise lounge with her nose buried deep in the latest novel or academic text. The soft glow of candlelight caressed her delicate features, lending an almost ethereal quality to her beauty.

On this particular night, Anthony paused in the archway for a moment, tenderness squeezing his heart at the serene picture his wife made. Only when he cleared his throat lightly did Penelope stir, her lips curving in a warm smile of greeting.

“Good evening, my love.” She called out softly. “Have you finally completed the endless mounds of paperwork for today?”

Anthony crossed the room in long strides, perching on the edge of the lounge and enveloping her hands in his larger ones. “Indeed, the tedious estate business is tended to for now.” He murmured, pressing a worshipful kiss to her knuckles. “And with great relief, I might add. Such matters are a poor substitute for your enchanting company, my dearest.”

Penelope’s melodious chuckle filled his senses like the most intoxicating music. “You do flatter me so, my lord.” She teased lightly. “Though I fully understand your duties require much of your attentions. I am content enough that we can share our nights together as husband and wife.”

Her candid confession made Anthony’s chest constrict ardently. Truly, he did not deserve this brilliant, emphatic creature who somehow grasped the weight of his responsibilities without resentment.
Unable to resist the tender longing filling his heart, Anthony cradled Penelope’s face in his calloused palms and claimed her lips in a searching, soulful kiss. She melted against him with a soft moan, pliant and trusting in his embrace as his tongue delicately traced the seam of her lips until she opened for him.

They lost themselves in the heady onslaught of sensation - Penelope’s fingers skating across the hard planes of Anthony’s chest, his hands roaming the lush curves of her body, kindling scorching need in their wake. When they finally parted, chests heaving and eyes glazed with banked desire, Anthony pressed his brow to hers reverently.

“An understanding wife indeed.” He rasped gruffly. “Yet I confess I sometimes fear my devotions are too wholly consumed by the duties of my position… and not enough upon lavishing the devotion you deserve, my love.”
Penelope hushed him with another achingly tender kiss. “Your heart is true, Anthony.” She whispered against his lips. “And your actions show your devotion to me more clearly than words alone ever could. I require nothing more, for your love is everything to me.”

A tremulous smile curved Anthony’s mouth as he gathered her into his arms, her form fitting against him like she was made to be his perfect match, in body, mind and spirit. As she nestled trustingly against his chest, he could not withhold the hushed vow that spilled from his heart.

“I am ruined for all else that does not involve your smile, your laughter, your love, my Penelope.. You have bewitched me, body and soul, to think only of you and how to fill your every desire. Thank the fates for binding us, for I will love you eternally, my wife.”

—-

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Bridgerton house, casting a warm glow over the elegantly appointed drawing room. Penelope, now the Viscountess Bridgerton, sat primly upon the settee, sharing a leisurely morning tea with her mother-in-law, the ever gracious Violet Bridgerton.

The calm silence was soon interrupted by the arrival of Eloise, Penelope’s best friend and now sister-in-law. Eloise swept into the room, her brow furrowed in a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

“Pen, surely our family need not attend the wretched Cowper’s ball this evening?” Eloise exclaimed, taking a seat beside her.

“Eloise!” Violet calls out the brunette for her language.

Eloise pouts as she continues to question the redhead. “You know how despicable Cressida Cowper has always been tormenting you mercilessly over the years with her cruel barbs.”

Penelope took a measured sip of her fragrant tea, steadying herself before responding to Eloise’s outburst. With a deep breath, she spoke, her voice carrying the poise befitting her new station.

“While my history with Cressida has been far from pleasant, we are among the preeminent families to the ton, El. We must maintain appearances and prove the Bridgertons hold no petty grievances by graciously accepting their invitation.” Penelope’s words were measured yet resolute.

Violet gazed proudly at her daughter-in-law, a contented smile gracing her lips. Penelope had embraced the responsibilities of Viscountess with remarkable poise and wisdom. Truly, she was the ideal choice.

Eloise, not one to concede defeat easily, turned an imploring eye towards her mother. “Mama, surely you can make Penelope see reason? We needn’t subject ourselves to Cressida’s unpleasantries.”

Violet delicately placed her teacup upon its saucer, regarding her daughter with a warm maternal look. “Eloise, dear, Penelope’s decision is a prudent one. I could not dissuade her even if I tried.” Her tone was kind yet carried the subtle finality of a mother’s wisdom. “Besides, she speaks wisely, dearest. We cannot allow petty feuds to dictate our actions in society.”

With an approving smile towards Penelope, Violet continued. “As a Bridgerton, and now as the Lady of this household, Penelope must lead by example. Rejecting the Cowpers’ invitation would be seen as a slight against them, and by extension, against the entire ton.”

“But mama!” Eloise turned beseechingly towards her mother. “Surely you recall how dreadfully Cressida treated Pen over the years? Even Daphne had been targeted by her cruel taunts, the malicious gossip? How can you expect Pen to subject herself to that viper’s company?”

Violet’s expression remained serene, though her voice took on a firmness that brooked no argument. “I expect Penelope to be the bigger person. To show grace and poise in the face of such pettiness. Is that not the mark of a true lady?”

Penelope felt a surge of affection for her mother-in-law, thankful for her steadfast support. She reached out and gave Eloise’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Have faith in me, Eloise. I shan’t let Cressida rattle me. Us Bridgertons will attend with our heads held high.”

With a disgruntled snort, Eloise reached for a lemon biscuit, though a begrudging smile played at the corner of her lips. “Very well. But if Cressida so much as mutters a single untoward remark, I shan’t be responsible for my actions.”

The three ladies shared a look of amused exasperation before dissolving into laughter, ready to face the evening's trials as a unified front.

—-

The Cowper’s Ball

The grand ballroom of the Cowper estate was awash in candlelight and merriment as the Bridgerton family arrived fashionably late. Anthony stood tall at the foot of the carriage, offering his arm to his beloved wife, Penelope. As the new Viscountess Bridgerton emerged, a vision in sage blue silk, their eyes met with a look of pure adoration.

Leading their family inside, Anthony and Penelope made a striking couple - him, the picture of refined masculinity, and her, radiant with a quiet grace. Behind them trailed Violet, ever the elegant matriarch, escorted by the dashing Benedict, and Colin, with Eloise and Francesca on his arms followed, the latter trying in vain to tame her older sister’s frenzied whispers of disdain for their hostess.

As they crossed the threshold, Lord and Lady Cowper extended their practiced welcomes. Eloise barely stifled an unladylike snort of derision upon noting Cressida’s conspicuous absence from receiving line duties, no doubt off gossiping with her vapid cohorts.

After pleasantries with the Cowpers, a familiar tap of a cane heralded Lady Danbury’s arrival. “Ah, the Bridgertons finally decide to grace us with their presence.” The wry woman teased.

“Mother, might I suggest we take our leave?” Benedict stage-whispered to Violet, only to be silenced by Agatha Danbury’s arched brow.

“Too late for that, my boy. I’ve already marked your presence like a hawk sighting her prey.” Her lips curved into an impish smirk as she turned towards Penelope. “And you, my dear, are simply glowing this evening. Married life agrees with you.”

A becoming blush stole across Penelope’s cheeks. “You are too kind, Lady Danbury. Though I must admit, I never imagined I would one day fill the role of a married woman. I had rather resigned myself to life as a spinster.”

“Nonsense.” Anthony cut in, catching Penelope’s hand and pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles. “A woman as utterly perfect as you could never have been overlooked for long. The blind fools of the ton simply failed to see your beauty, inside and out. Their loss is my gain, dearest.”

Agatha and Violet exchanged a satisfied glance, clearly pleased to see the Viscount so openly smitten. Around them, the rest of the Bridgerton brood started to disperse, mingling and making sport of the night’s festivities.

Seizing the moment, Anthony leaned in close, his voice a tender rumble. “May I have this dance, my beautiful wife?”
Penelope nodded, her heart fluttering. “I would be honored, my dearest husband.”

Hand in hand, they made their way to the center of the ballroom. The music swelled, and as they began to dance, all eyes turned to them. Anthony’s hand rested on Penelope’s waist, guiding her with effortless grace. Their chemistry was undeniable, and the way Anthony looked at Penelope made it clear to everyone how deeply in love he was.

“You are a remarkable dancer, my love.” Penelope said softly, her eyes locked onto his.
Anthony chuckled, his voice a tender murmur. “Only because I have the most remarkable partner.”

Their dance continued, drawing admiration and even a touch of envy from the other guests. The grumpy Viscount, once known for his stern demeanor, now wore a perpetual smile whenever he was with his wife. Their love was evident in every step, every glance and every touch.

As the dance ended, the room erupted in applause. Anthony and Penelope bowed to each other, their eyes still locked, lost in their own world. All eyes were still drawn to the couple as they began to leave the ballroom - the gruff, formidable Viscount openly beaming at his bride in an unabashed display of besotted devotion. In that moment, their bond transcended the rigid boundaries of society, a love shining so bright that none could look away.

Chapter Text

The ballroom was a whirlwind of colors and music, the laughter of the ton mingling with the strains of the orchestra. Penelope Bridgerton had just finished a lively dance with her husband Anthony, who was now ensnared in an animated discussion with several lords. She was enjoying a brief respite when Eloise appeared at her side, her expression one of barely concealed urgency.

“Pen, thank goodness!” Eloise looped their arms together conspiratorially. “We simply must take a turn about the room this instant.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow in confusion, but a quick scan of the room revealed the source of Eloise’s distress. Violet was deep in conversation with a promising bachelor and his mother, clearly setting her sights on matchmaking for Eloise. Understanding dawned on Penelope, and she nodded slightly.

“Of course, El. Give me just a moment.” She replied, her eyes darting towards the dance floor.

Francesca was in the midst of a graceful dance with John Stirling, her suitor, and Penelope needed to ensure her chaperoning duties were covered. Her gaze found Benedict on the opposite side of the room. Catching his eye, she gave a subtle nod and inclined her head towards Francesca, silently communicating her need for him to take over.

Benedict, ever the perceptive brother, returned her nod with a smile and mouthed “I’ve got it.”

Satisfied, Penelope turned back to Eloise with a reassuring smile. “Shall we?”

Eloise let out a relieved breath, linking her arm with Penelope’s. “Thank you, Pen. I don’t think I could endure another minute of mama’s matchmaking antics.”

They began a leisurely stroll around the banquet hall, the grandeur of the Cowper estate on full display. The chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests. Penelope and Eloise stopped briefly at the refreshments table, each taking a glass of champagne. The bubbles tickled Penelope’s nose, and she smiled at Eloise over the rim of her glass.

“Violet means well.” Penelope said gently. “But I understand, it can be quite overwhelming.”

Eloise rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Overwhelming is an understatement. It’s a relentless barrage of eligible bachelors and insistent mothers.”

Penelope chuckled, her gaze softening with affection for her sister-in-law. “Perhaps she’s just eager to see you as happy as Daphne.”

Eloise smiled wryly. “And how is married life with my grumpy brother treating you, Pen? You seem positively radiant, despite him a boor.” The brunette snorted as she spoke about her Viscount brother.

Penelope’s smile grew wistful. “It’s been a dream, really. Anthony is… everything I never knew I wanted. But it’s also a great responsibility, managing the household and upholding the Bridgerton name.”

They continued their turn around the room. Moving closer to the performing troupe. The musicians played a lively tune, and Eloise’s eyes sparkled with appreciation for the music.

“I’m happy for you, Penelope. Truly.” Eloise said, her tone sincere. “You deserve all the happiness in the world.”
Penelope squeezed Eloise’s arm. “Thank you, Eloise. That means a lot.”

They stood for a moment near the musicians, enjoying the performance and the rare chance to talk without interruption. The music swelled, filling the room with its joyous notes, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, best friends sharing a quiet conversation amid the chaos of the ball.

After the first set of the musicians had completed their performance, Penelope leaned in close to murmur. “I dare say young Miss Carlos has attracted quite the unsavory reputation this season.”

Eloise’s eyes sparkled with delight at the prospect of salacious gossip, her previous unease forgotten. “Do tell! I suspected there was a reason beyond the typical why Lady Darlington gave her such a contemptuous look earlier.”

Grinning impishly, Penelope obliged, launching into the sordid tale of Miss Carlos’ supposed dalliance with a certain duke’s stable hand. As the words spilled forth, she couldn’t help but be transported back to her previous seasons as the anonymous author of the salacious gossip papers. How deliciously tempting it had been to wield such power through her quill alone.

—-

Penelope’s eyes were drawn across the ballroom, where a new ensemble of performers had taken their places on the elevated platform. The Cowpers had indeed spared no expense, their ball a glittering testament to their wealth and status. The air was electric with the strains of Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, the music echoing through the grand hall and mingling with the murmur of conversation.

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat as her gaze settled on the central figure of the opera group. The singer’s presence was commanding, her voice rich and clear, filling the room with an otherworldly beauty. Though Penelope had never seen this particular performer before, something about her was achingly familiar. The dark hair, the poise, the distinctive, slightly pursed lips that seemed to hold secrets of their own – it was all so hauntingly familiar.

As the singer’s eyes moved gracefully across the room, Penelope’s chest tightened. The recognition hit her like a punch. The woman on stage was the same as the one in the portrait that hung in Anthony’s study – a portrait Penelope had often gazed at, trying to understand the enigma behind those serene eyes. The opera singer was none other than Siena Rosso.

Penelope’s muscles stiffened, her skin paling as a cold sweat trickled down her neck. The room seemed to close in around her, the music now a distant hum. Eloise, ever perspective, noticed the change in her friend’s demeanor. Her brow furrowed with concern.

“Penelope, are you alright?” Eloise asked, her voice laced with worry.
Penelope’s throat was dry, her voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m fine Eloise. I think it’s just a bit of fatigue. The day has been rather exhausting.”

Eloise’s eyes searched Penelope’s face, noting the pallor and the trembling hands. “You should rest. Let’s sit down for a moment. There’s a chaise in one of the drawing rooms, just through here. It might do you good to take a break.”

Penelope nodded, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. “Yes, perhaps you’re right.”

Before they could move, Penelope’s eyes were drawn back to the opera singer. The woman’s gaze was fixed intensely on someone in the crowd. Penelope’s heart pounded as she followed the singer’s eyes, her breath hitching when she realized where they were locked. They were on Anthony, standing tall and regal at the edge of the ballroom, his attention seemingly captured by the performance.

The realization crashed over Penelope with a devastating force. Whispers and rumors had circulated during Daphne’s season about Anthony’s entanglement with an opera singer. The name had been a subject of gossip and speculation, one that Penelope, as Lady Whistledown, had heard about with growing curiosity and unease. Siena Rosso. The name of Anthony’s past love.

Her heart shattered into a thousand pieces as she saw the connection, the unfinished chapter that had been a part of Anthony’s life. The singer’s eyes, filled with memories and unspoken emotions, bore into Anthony, and Penelope felt her world tilt on its axis.

Trying to stave off the tears that threatened to spill, Penelope took a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s go, Eloise.” She said, her voice firm, though her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil. “I think a moment to rest would be good.”

Eloise, sensing the gravity of Penelope’s distress, nodded silently. She guided Penelope through the throng of guests, their steps slow and deliberate. As they reached the drawing room, Penelope sank onto one of the plush chaise lounges, her fingers trembling as she gripped the fabric, taking a moment to close her eyes and breathe deeply. Eloise sat beside her, her hand gently squeezing the Viscountess’ shoulder.

“Pen, what’s really going on?” Eloise asked gently. “You’re not just tired. Something is surely troubling you.”

Penelope opened her eyes, meeting Eloise’s earnest gaze. She hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. But Eloise was her closest friend, and she deserved the truth, or at least part of it.

“Do you remember the rumors about Anthony and an opera singer?” Penelope began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Siena Rosso?”

Eloise nodded slowly, her eyes widening in understanding. “You think that’s her? The one singing tonight?”

Penelope nodded, her throat tight. “I’m sure of it. I have seen her portrait hanging at the wall in Anthony’s study.. And she was staring at Anthony.”

Eloise’s mouth was left wide open as she heard the blunder Anthony had made. How stupid of his brother to not dispose of anything related to his past. “Oh, Penelope.. I’m so sorry. That must be so difficult to see. That stupid brother, I’ll murder him in his sleep!”

Penelope took a shaky breath and gave Eloise an awkward sad smile. “It’s just… I thought we were past all that. I know Anthony loves me, but seeing her here, now… It’s bringing back all those old insecurities.”

Eloise reached out, squeezing Penelope’s hand. “Anthony does love you, Pen. Anyone can see that. And you’re his wife now, the Viscountess Bridgerton. Whatever happened in the past, you are his present and his future.”

Penelope managed a small smile, grateful for Eloise’s words. “Thank you, El. You always know how to make me feel better.”

Eloise grinned. “That’s what best friends are for. Now, let’s stay here for a bit until you feel ready to face the ballroom again. And remember, you’re not alone. We’re all here for you.”

—-

Despite the brief rest in the Cowpers’ drawing room, Penelope’s complexion did not improve. She felt as if her insides were churning and the urge to vomit grew stronger with each passing moment. The sighting of Siena Rosso weighed heavily on her mind, making her feel increasingly unwell.

Seeing no other option, Penelope turned to Eloise. “Eloise, I need to leave. I can’t stay here any longer. Could you please inform Violet that I’ll be going home first? I’ll take one of the carriages and send it back for everyone later. I don’t want to disrupt the evening for everyone else.”

Eloise’s eyes widened with concern. “Penelope, you can’t go home alone. I won’t allow it. I’ll tell mama about your departure, but only if I can accompany you. There’s no way I’m letting you make the journey back by yourself, especially considering what’s caused you to feel this way.”

Penelope sighed, knowing Eloise’s stubbornness was unyielding. “Very well. Please inform Violet, but no one else. I don’t want to create a scene.”

Penelope made her way to the foyer, her steps unsteady. She instructed a footman to bring the carriage around, then leaned against a pillar, trying to steady her breathing.
Meanwhile, Eloise scanned the banquet hall for her mother. Spotting Violet near the refreshments, she approached quickly. “Mama, Penelope and I need to leave. She’s not feeling well, and we think it’s best she goes home and rest.”

Worry flashed in Violet’s eyes. “Oh dear, should I gather everyone so we can leave together?”

Eloise shook her head firmly. “No, mama. Penelope specifically asked that we not disturb everyone. We’ll send the carriage back once we arrive home. She wanted you to know because she trusts you not to overreact. Anthony and the others might blow things out of proportion.”

Violet’s face softened with understanding. “Very well. Take care of her, Eloise. Tell Penelope I’ll check on her as soon as we return.”

Eloise assured her mother, then quickly made her way to the front of the estate. She found Penelope already inside the waiting carriage, her face pale and drawn.
Eloise climbed in beside her and squeezed her hand. “We’ll be home soon, Pen. Just hold on a little longer.”

As the carriage rattled away from the Cowper estate, Penelope tried to focus on her breathing, willing herself to remain calm. Eloise’s presence was a comfort, a reminder that she was not alone in this moment of vulnerability.

“Thank you, Eloise.” Penelope whispered, her voice strained.

Eloise wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “Don’t mention it. What are sisters-in-law for, if not to stick together? Now, rest. We’ll be home soon.”

The journey seemed interminable, but finally, the familiar sight of Bridgerton House came into view. The carriage halted, and Eloise helped Penelope inside. She immediately called for a maid to bring water and asked the coachman to return to the Cowper estate for the rest of the family.

Penelope sank onto the mattress in her bedchambers, her head spinning. Eloise sat beside her, refusing to leave her side.

“Do you need anything? More water? A cool cloth?” Eloise asked, her voice gentle.

Penelope shook her head weakly. “Just… stay with me, please.”

Eloise nodded, her grip on Penelope’s hand reassuringly firm. “I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, Pen. You’re home now.”

As the minutes passed, Penelope’s breathing gradually steadied. The sickly feeling remained, but being home, away from the glaring eyes of the ton and the unsettling presence of Siena Rosso, brought a small measure of relief.

Eloise stayed true to her word, sitting with Penelope until she fell into a fitful sleep. She watched over her friend, determined to protect her from any further distress, ready to offer her support whenever it was needed.

Chapter Text

The night dragged on interminably for Anthony as he found himself trapped in yet another insipid conversation about crop yields and Parliament's latest agricultural bill. His attention couldn't help but drift as boredom took hold. Balls had never been his preferred society event, and were it not for his duty to chaperone his unwed siblings, he would have happily abstained altogether.

The one redeeming quality to such affairs was the chance to openly admire and dote upon his beautiful wife as they whirled across the dance floor. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his gaze instinctively scanned the ballroom in search of that beloved redhead.

But Penelope was nowhere to be seen amidst the glittering throngs. Frowning now, Anthony excused himself and began weaving through the crowd, hoping to locate that cherished form. His eyes swept across the room until he spotted his mother, Violet, conversing with Francesca.

“Mother, have you seen Penelope? I cannot seem to find her anywhere.” He asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

Violet’s usual serene expression faltered slightly. “Ah, about that.. It seems Penelope was feeling quite ill earlier this evening. She’s already returned home to rest.”

White-hot panic lanced through Anthony’s chest as his mother’s words registered. For Penelope to depart without him, without so much as a word of forewarning.. It was drastically unlike her. Exhaling a harsh breath, he struggled to maintain an even timbre.

“And she left alone? Without escort?”

“Of course not, dearest!” Violet was quick to reassure her son. “Eloise accompanied her to ensure she arrived home safely. Penelope did not wish to put a damper on anyone’s evening, you see. She asked that I alone be informed of her early departure.”

Of course - ever thoughtful and considerate of others, even to her own detriment. A rueful pang joined the roiling unease in Anthony’s gut. While Penelope’s motivations were sound, nothing could erase his distress over her tenuous condition.

Raking a hand through his chestnut hair, he growled out. “We’re leaving, immediately. I’ll have a footman fetch Benedict and Colin, I want us on the road within ten minutes time.” Grabbing Francesca’s elbow, he hauled her alongside him, already stalking towards the exits with singular determination.

The journey home seemed to drag on infinitely. Anthony’s knee bounced frenetically, his jaw clenched so tightly he feared his teeth might grind straight through. What ill could have befallen his beloved so swiftly? Endless horrific scenarios paraded through his whirring thoughts until the familiar facade of Bridgerton House finally loomed into view.

Bursting through the front door, Anthony was immediately confronted by a disgruntled Eloise pacing the foyer. “Well, it’s about time.” She groused upon spotting them. “Penelope is upstairs resting, though I’ll not guarantee she’ll remain asleep after all the blasted commotion you’ve ca–”

But Anthony was already taking the stairs two at a time, his family’s voices fading behind him. Flinging open the bedchamber door, he was gripped by the sight of Penelope tucked beneath the coverlet, her complexion alarmingly pale and wan.

A ragged exhalation shuddered through him as he hastened to kneel at her side. With infinite tenderness, he brushed an errant lock of hair from her clammy brow, drinking in every rise and fall of her chest. Alive, she was alive and here with him.

“Penelope..” He whispered softly, not wanting to disturb her rest but needing to feel connected. “My love.”

She stirred slightly but did not wake. Anthony remained by her side, his heart aching with concern. He resolved to stay there, keeping vigil until she awoke, ready to comfort and care for her.

As he watched over her, Anthony’s thoughts drifted to the events of the evening. He couldn’t shake the image of Siena Rosso from his mind, wondering if her presence had anything to do with Penelope’s sudden illness. The idea that his past could have resurfaced to trouble his beloved wife filled him with guilt and dread.

Penelope shifted again, her eyes fluttering open. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and relief. “Anthony.” She murmured, her voice weak. “You’re here..”

“Of course, I am.” He replied softly, squeezing her hand gently. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just tired..” Despite her relief seeing that Anthony is home with her, Penelope could not find the strength to be totally honest with her feelings right now. She knew that Anthony might no longer have any entanglements with the opera singer, however, the truth that Siena’s portraits remain hanging on Anthony’s walls, and seeing the singer in the flesh hurts Penelope so much.

Anthony leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “Rest, my love. I’m here now. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Penelope nodded slightly, her eyes closing again. As she drifted back to sleep, Anthony remained by her side, his hand holding hers, his heart filled with a fierce resolve to protect her from any harm, past or present.

—-

The hours and days blurred together into an endless haze of anxiety for Anthony. Three sunrises had now crested over Bridgerton House since that fateful night at the Cowpers ball, and still Penelope’s condition had not improved. If anything, she seemed to only grow more withdrawn and frail with each passing hour sequestered away.

Trapped in their elaborately appointed bedchamber, she refused all attempts at conversation or even companionship beyond what was strictly necessary. Meals were brought to her room and taken in solitary silence, half-picked at before the tray was inevitably spirited away virtually untouched. The sight of his vibrant, beautifully spirited wife rendered so listless and despondent carved away at Anthony’s heart.

On the third afternoon of this emotional torture, he could bear it no longer. Penelope clearly had no intentions of enlightening him, so he would seek answers elsewhere. Yanking the bellpull, he instructed the footman to summon Eloise to his study at once. She was Penelope’s dearest friend - if anyone could illuminate this panged shroud mystery, it would be her.

It didn’t take long before the very woman in question came sweeping into the study, radiating stormy petulance. “Well? You summoned me, brother, so let’s have it then.” She bit out acerbically.

Rising from behind his desk, Anthony leveled her with an intent look. “You were with Penelope the night everything.. Changed.” He began slowly. “I must know what precipitated this obdurate malady she now suffers. Did something occur at the Cowpers’ to cause such an unenviable reaction?”

He expected a lengthy explanation, some insight into an innocuous event that could have rattled Penelope so thoroughly. What he did not anticipate was the way Eloise’s eyes suddenly flashed with a simmering rage directed squarely at him.

“You claim ignorance over the cause of Penelope’s distress?” She all but spat, fists clenched at her sides. When Anthony could only frown in bewildered silence, Eloise made a noise of disgust low in her throat.

“Of course, what else should I expect from one so oblivious to the wounded feelings of others – particularly those he professes to cherish most?” Her words lashed out like the cruelest of whips, each utterance brimming with venom and accusation.

Wheeling towards the far wall, Eloise thrust an incriminating finger towards the striking portrait hanging there – the one of the beautiful, dark-haired songstress gazing inscrutably outwards. “She bore witness to your lingering keepsake from that.. That wretched opera woman! Searing herself with the knowledge that some part of you yet pines for another’s countenance, another’s affections!”

The ramifications of Eloise’s explanation slammed into Anthony with the force of a sledgehammer. Siena.. Penelope had seen Siena restored amongst his private spaces, and witnessed the sordid reminder of his past indiscretions. Of course it crushed her.

Eloise was not yet finished with her brutal censuring. “You are an oblivious, neglectful fool if you cannot see how such a wounding slight would cripple Penelope’s spirit. She has never been more than your wife through circumstance and convenience, has she?” She shook her head in abject condemnation. She might not be able to murder her brother in his sleep, but the brunette surely will let her brother feel her wrath through her words. “I pity my dearest friend for the misery of settling for so paltry a love as what you’ve offered.”

With that final blistering slight, Eloise spun on her heel and stormed from the room, skirts swishing furiously in her wake.

Anthony was left standing amidst the shattered remains of his complacency. All this anguish, all this devastation.. Because he had callously disregarded the lingering open wound his youthful dalliance with Siena had inflicted upon his most precious love. Worse, he had permitted the salt to continually be ground into that self-same injury by preserving such blatant mementos where Penelope’s eyes could not fail to linger.

As the full weight of his careless oversight came crashing down, Anthony slowly lowered himself back into the chair, cradling his face in shaking hands. Never had he felt like more of a loathsome, wretched beast - unworthy of the selfless devotion his wife had bestowed.

And yet, even now, despicable as his actions had proven to be, he could not surrender her to this corrosive anguish. He would find a way to erase this phantom, this poisonous vestige of his past. If it took every ounce of the Bridgerton fortune, her smile would be restored.. And Anthony would move Heaven and Earth itself to be worthy of its radiance once more.

—--

The damning words from Eloise’s lips continued to reverberate through Anthony’s skull like an incessant peal of condemnation. How could he have been so unconscionably foolish? Penelope – his precious, beloved Penelope – had born witness to that odious relic from his libertine past and been subjected to untold anguish as a result.

Shame and self-loathing roiled sickeningly within him. Yanking hard on the bellpull, Anthony tersely instructed the attending footman to immediately remove the portrait of Siena from the rooms and consign it to the fire. He would not risk Penelope’s eyes being so grievously scorned again.

Only once the task was completed did a modicum of the suffocation tension release its grip around his ribs. One step towards penance, however small. Now came the truly daunting feat – seeking Penelope’s forgiveness for inflicting such a cruel, unintended wound.

With lead weighing down his every step, Anthony climbed the stairs towards their bedchamber. He entered cautiously, braced for the sight of his wife rendered insensible with morose suffering upon the bed once more.

Instead, he found her very much awake and seeming almost.. Vibrant again. Seated at her vanity in a smart day dress, she was just affixing the last jeweled pins into her elegantly coiffed russet curls. A spark of hope flared within Anthony’s chest – perhaps she was finally emerging from the bleak depths of her melancholy.

The quiet click of the door pulling closed behind him drew her gaze up to meet his in the looking glass’ reflection. Her expression remained carefully neutral, devoid of any discernible warmth of tenderness. It was enough to douse that fleeting surge of optimism in an instant.

“I will be spending the rest of the day with my family.” She intoned flatly, continuing her primping with minute adjustments. “Mama and my sister have already been waiting for me.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed, concern for her restoration to full health overshadowing his own turmoil for a moment. “Penelope.. Are you quite certain that’s wise? You’ve been so dreadfully ill these past few days.”

In a flurry of skirts and fiery hair, she abruptly rose and wheeled to face him head-on. “And what would you prefer?” She bit out acidly. “That I continue wasting away within these stifling walls, wracked by the incessant questioning of whether I’ll ever wake to discover some fresh affront awaiting me?”

He flinched as through struck, her vehement ire scorching through the very marrow of his bones. Slowly sinking to his knees before her, Anthony attempted to gentle his features into an appropriately remorseful countenance.

“My love, you must know how deeply I regret–”

“That your oversight caused me such undue distress?” She finished for him, a derisive lilt sharpening the consonants. “I confess, it does wound me considerably to realize some ardent keepsake from your affairs of the heart still lingers untouched in our home.”

A tremulous note entered her voice then as the emotional dam finally shattered. “Can you not fathom how corrosive it is to my spirit? To be surrounded by tokens of your affections for another while I valiantly attempt to establish myself as the only cherished recipient of your esteem?”

Twin rivulets of moisture tracked down her cheeks, yet her gaze remained hard and accusatory rather than plaintive. Anthony felt his throat grow unbearably thick as the compounded sins of his negligence tightened around his windpipe.

“Penelope..” He rasped out, blindly reaching to capture her hands in his calloused grip. “Please, you must believe me. That… portrait of Siena, it meant nothing to me any longer. Just an ill-considered lapse in judgment on my part.”

Imploringly stroking the soft skin of her knuckles with the pads of his thumbs, Anthony pressed onward. “Our marriage, our love – it is my entire world now. I have no desire to cling to any lingering vestiges of the past that inflict such grievous pain upon you.”

Her beautiful mouth twisted in a rueful moue as she gently extracted her hands from his clinging hold. “You make an impassioned argument, I’ll grant you that, my lord. But surely you must appreciate that despite my best efforts, little shards of doubt will perpetually linger.”

Penelope turned away then, not quite meeting his desperate stare. “You see.. I, too, was once inflamed with ardor for another before you permanently claimed my affections. However, unlike you, I chose to divest myself of any memento that could inadvertently remind either of us that you were not my first profound love.”

The barb struck home with surgical precision, dredged up from the deepest recesses of their shared tumultuous history. As she stalked towards the door, Penelope threw one final remark over her shoulder – a coup de grace to his broken spirit.

“I simply lacked the insensitivity to rub that discomforting truth so blatantly in your countenance, as you’ve done mine, my lord.”

With that, she swept out of the room in a flurry of silk and bitter recriminations. Anthony collapsed fully to the floor as the door clicked shut with ominous finality. Harsh, racking sobs tore free as the dam finally burst, his precious tears christening the Aubusson rug where he knelt amidst the smoldering rubble of his marital bliss.

Chapter Text

Just as she left the Bridgerton House, Penelope walked with determined steps to her childhood home across the square, where her mother, Lady Portia Featherington, awaited their planned afternoon tea. The familiar sight of the Featherington residence brought a bittersweet comfort to her troubled heart.

Upon her arrival, the butler Briarly greeted her with a respectful bow and led her to the sitting room, where Portia was already enjoying her tea. “Lady Bridgerton has arrived, madam.” Briarly announced.

Portia stood up, her eyes lighting up a the sight of her youngest daughter. “Penelope, my dear!” She embraced her warmly, but her joy quickly turned to concern as she noticed the sadness etched on Penelope’s features. “Come, sit down.” She urged, guiding the Viscountess to a chair and pouring her a cup of tea.

Penelope accepted the cup with a polite smile and took a sip, savoring the familiar blend that had been a staple in her childhood. The taste brought a small measure of comfort, but it was not enough to dispel the heaviness in her heart.

Portia, ever perceptive, watched her daughter closely. Once Penelope seemed settled, she gently asked. “What troubles you, my child?”

Penelope hesitated, unsure how to begin. The weight of her emotions threatened to spill over, but she struggled to find the right words. Sensing her daughter’s inner turmoil, Portia leaned forward slightly, her voice soft and understanding. “Is it something about your marriage with Lord Bridgerton?”

Penelope’s eyes widened slightly, the shame and confusion evident in her expression. She looked down, unable to meet her mother’s gaze but her silence spoke volumes.
Portia, with the wisdom of her years, chose her words carefully. “Are his family giving you trouble?”

Penelope shook her head. “No, mama! Violet and his siblings have been nothing but kind to me..”

Portia took a moment, then asked the question that had been lingering in her mind. “Is it Lord Bridgerton himself?”
Penelope didn’t respond, her silence speaking louder than any words could. Portia, aware of Anthony’s reputation as a rake before his marriage, pressed on gently. “Has he.. Involved a mistress in your union?”

Penelope looked up, surprised by her mother’s intuition. She quickly clarified. “No, mama, there’s no mistress actively involved.” She took a deep breath, resignation settling in her voice. “But at the Cowpers’ Ball, I saw an opera singer, Siena Rosso. She was Anthony’s former lover, and seeing her brought back all these feelings. And then, I realized that Anthony had kept a portrait of her in his study.. It was like a slap in the face, realizing how deep his affection for her must have been.”

Portia listened intently, her heart aching for her daughter. She reached out and took Penelope’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Oh, Penelope.. I can only imagine how much that must have hurt. But you must remember, dear, that everyone has a past. What matters is the present and the future you are building together.”

Tears welled up in Penelope’s eyes. “But mama, it feels like I’m competing with a ghost. How can I ever measure up to that kind of love? How can I be sure that Anthony truly loves me?”

Portia’s expression softened with empathy and understanding. “Penelope, love is not measured by the remnants of the past but by the actions in the present. Lord Bridgerton chose you, married you, and he will have to prove his love through his actions now. The past may have its shadows, but it does not have to define your future.”

Penelope nodded, wiping her tears away. “I just don’t know how to move past this, mama. Every time I think about that portrait, it feels like a betrayal.”

Portia stood up, guiding Penelope to stand as well. She wrapped her daughter in a comforting embrace. “Take it one day at a time, my dear. Allow yourself to feel the hurt, but also allow yourself to see the love Anthony Bridgerton has for you. Talk to him, let him understand your pain. And know that you have a family who loves you and will support you through this. Remember, before you became a Bridgerton, you are a Featherington.”

Penelope clung to her mother’s words, finding solace in her wisdom. “Thank you, mama. I needed to hear that.”

Portia smiled gently, bruising a strand of heir from Penelope’s face. “Anytime, my dear. Now, let’s finish our tea, and you can tell me more about how you’ve been managing as Lady Bridgerton. I want to hear everything.”
Penelope smiled faintly, grateful for her mother’s unwavering support. As they continued their tea, the weight on her heart felt a little lighter, knowing she wasn’t alone in her struggles.

—-

The familiar facade of Bridgerton House loomed before Penelope as her carriage rolled to a stop. She had spent a surprisingly comforting night ensconced in her childhood bedroom at the Featherington estate, finding solace in the company of her mother and sister. Her visit to her mother’s home was then extended until today’s afternoon as Portia had Penelope looked at by their family physician after learning that she had been ill for the past three days. The reprieve from the often chaotic Bridgerton household had been unexpectedly welcome.

As she alighted from the Featherington carriage, Penelope steeled herself for the inevitable barrage of questions and concerned looks that would surely greet her. First things up first, though – she needed to ensure the household was running smoothly in her absence.

“Mrs. Wilson.” She called out as she entered the foyer, her voice carrying the authoritative tone of the Viscountess. “Is everything prepared for this evening’s dinner?”

The housekeeper appeared, bobbing a quick curtsy. “Indeed, my lady. All is in order for the family meal.”
Penelope nodded, satisfied. “Very good. I shall be joining the family for dinner tonight.” She ignored the flicker of surprise and delight that crossed Mrs. Wilson’s face at this announcement.

With household matters addressed, Penelope made her way up at the grand staircase towards the master bedroom. She longed for a brief respite before facing the inevitably overwhelming concern of the Bridgerton clan. However, as she pushed open the heavy oak door, she realized her hope for solitude was to be dashed.

There, perched on the edge of their opulent bed, sat Anthony. His usually impeccable appearance was in disarray – his cravat loosened, his hair mussed as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, speaking to a sleepless night in her absence.

As she closed the door behind her with a soft click, his head snapped up. For a moment, a spark of life returned to Anthony’s weary gaze.

“Penelope.” He rasped, his voice rough with disuse. His eyes raked over her from, taking in the pale yellow day dress she now wore – different from the one she’d stormed out in the day before. “You’ve.. You’ve returned.”

The words hung in the air between them, laden with unspoken emotions and tentative hope. Penelope remained near the door, her posture still and uncertain.

“Yes.” She replied simply, unsure how to navigate this fragile moment. “I.. I thought it best to resume my duties as Viscountess.”
Anthony’s shoulders slumped slightly at her formal tone. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words.

The silence stretched between them, thick with tension and unresolved hurt. Penelope’s hand unconsciously drifted to her stomach, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Anthony’s sharp eyes.
“Are you.. Are you feeling unwell still?” He ventured carefully, concern evident in his voice.

Penelope hesitated, her mind flashing back to the Featherington family physician’s visit earlier that day. “I’m.. I’m fine.” She said finally, not quite meeting his gaze. “Just a bit tired, I suppose.”
Anthony nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press the issue. He rose from the bed, taking a halting step towards her before stopping himself.

“Penelope, I… I know I’ve wronged you terribly.” He began, his voice thick with emotion. “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to explain.. To make amends..”

Penelope held up a hand, cutting off his plea. “Not now, Anthony. Please. I.. I need time.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’ll be down for dinner with the family. We can.. We can discuss this later.”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving Anthony standing alone his expression a mixture of remorse and desperate longing. As she descended the stairs, Penelope’s mind whirled with conflicting emotions – her lingering hurt, her love for Anthony, and the startling news she now carried within her. How she would navigate these turbulent waters remained to be seen, but for now, she had a family dinner to face.

—--

The Bridgerton dining room buzzed with the familiar cadence of familial chatter, a welcome return to normalcy after days of subdued meals. Penelope, having emerged from her self-imposed seclusion, took her place at Anthony’s right hand, the very picture of a poised Viscountess despite the lingering pallor of her recent illness.

Eloise, seated beside her dearest friend, could scarcely contain her delight. “Oh Pen, how wonderful to see you out and about again! We’ve missed you terribly at these dinners, you know. No one else quite appreciates my witticisms the way you do.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Penelope’s lips at her friend’s enthusiastic welcome. “I’ve missed you all as well.” She replied softly, her gaze briefly sweeping across the familiar faces gathered around the table.

From her position at the far end, Violet’s sharp eyes missed nothing. She noted the careful distance Anthony maintained from his wife, the way his shoulders seemed to slump infinitesimally whenever Penelope’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Something was amiss between the couple, that much was clear.

As the meal progressed, conversation ebbed and flowed around them. Benedict regaled the table with tales of his latest artistic endeavors, while Colin waxed poetic about the culinary delights he’d sampled on his recent travels. Through it all, Anthony remained uncharacteristically subdued, his attempts at engagement stilted and halfhearted.

When the last of the dessert plate had been cleared away, Violet rose to her feet. “Shall we retire to the drawing room, children?” She suggested, her tone light but her gaze fixed pointedly on Penelope.

As the others began to file out, Violet deftly maneuvered to Penelope’s side, linking their arms together. “My dear..” She murmured. “I wonder if you might indulge me in a turn about the gardens? The night air is so lovely, it seems a shame to waste it.”

Surprise flickered across Penelope’s features before she nodded acquiescence. “Of course, Violet. I would be delighted.”

The two women made their way out into the moonlit gardens, the fragrant blooms casting ethereal shadows across the manicured lawns. For a time, they walked in companionable silence, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound.

Finally, Violet spoke, her tone gentle but probing. “Penelope, my dear.. I hope you know that you can confide in me, should you ever need a sympathetic ear. I couldn’t help but notice a certain.. Tension between you and Anthony this evening.”

Penelope’s steps faltered momentarily before she regained her composure. “I.. I’m not sure what you mean, Violet.” She demurred, though the slight tremor in her voice belied her words.
Violet’s answering smile was tinged with maternal understanding. “Come now, my dear. I may be getting on in years, but my eyes are sharp as ever. Something is troubling you both, that much is clear.”

They paused beside a moonlit fountain, its gentle burble providing a soothing backdrop to their conversation. Penelope’s gaze fixed on the play of light across the water’s surface, her expression troubled.

“It’s… complicated.” She admitted at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “Anthony, he… There are aspects of his past that I’m finding difficult to reconcile with our present.”

Violet nodded sagely, having suspected as much. “Ah, yes. The ghosts of lovers past can be tricky specters to banish, can they not?” At Penelope’s startled look, she chuckled softly.
“My dear, I’ve raised eight children. Very little escapes my notice, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. More so, hearing about a portrait being burnt to ashes just yesterday.”

Reaching out, Violet clasped Penelope’s hands in her own. “Whatever has transpired between you and Anthony, I have faith that you can overcome it. The love I see between you is not easily extinguished by past indiscretions or misunderstandings.”

Tears welled in Penelope’s eyes at her mother-in-law’s kind words. “But how can I be sure?” She whispered, giving voice to her deepest fears. “How can I know that I truly hold his heart, when reminders of his past affections linger so prominently?”

Violet’s expression softened further, compassion radiating from her gentle features. “Oh, my dear girl. If you could see the way Anthony looks at you when you’re not watching… There would be no doubt in your mind. He adores you, Penelope. Completely and utterly.”

As Penelope absorbed these words, her hand unconsciously drifted to her abdomen - a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Violet’s keen eye. A knowing smile played at the corners of the older woman’s mouth, but she refrained from commenting, sensing that Penelope was not yet ready to share whatever secret she harbored.

“Come.” Violet said instead, patting Penelope’s arm affectionately. “Let’s return to the house before the others send out a search party. And remember, my dear – my time is always free for you, should you need someone to listen.”

As they made their way back towards the warm glow of Bridgerton House, Penelope felt a small measure of peace settle over her. The road ahead might be fraught with challenges, but with the support of this remarkable family - her family now - perhaps there was hope for reconciliation after all.

Chapter Text

The heavy oak door of the master bedchamber closed with a soft click, sealing Anthony and Penelope into their private sanctuary. The air between them crackled with tension, thick with unspoken words and lingering hurt. Anthony’s eyes, usually so confident and assured, now held a vulnerability that tugged at Penelope’s heart despite her resolve to remain guarded.

“Penelope..” He began, his voice rough with emotion. “I.. I cannot bear another moment of this distance between us. Please, allow me to explain, to make amends for my thoughtless actions.”

Penelope nodded silently, perching herself on the edge of their bed as Anthony paced before her, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

“First and foremost, I must apologize for my inexcusable insensitivity.” He said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “The portrait.. All reminders of Siena.. They have been destroyed. Burned, every last one, including those at Aubrey Hall. I swear to you, Penelope, nothing of that nature will ever come between us again.”

He dropped to his knees before her, taking her hands in his. The warmth of his touch sent a familiar tingle through her, despite her best efforts to remain impassive.
“I know I was once known as a rake, a libertine who cared little for the feelings of others.” Anthony continued, his gaze never leaving hers. “But you, my love.. You have changed me. Reformed me. There is only one woman who holds my heart now and forever, and that is you, Penelope. My wife, my Viscountess, my everything. You are my everything.”

Tears welled in Penelope’s eyes as she listened to Anthony’s impassioned words. She wanted so desperately to believe him, to cast aside the doubts that had plagued her these days.

“These recent days..” Anthony’s voice cracked with raw emotion. “They have been the darkest of my life. To know that my thoughtlessness caused you such pain, such illness.. I can scarcely beat it.”

Penelope’s resolve began to crumble in the face of Anthony’s evident remorse. She drew a shaky breath, finally giving voice to her deepest insecurities.

“Anthony, I.. I cannot deny that your actions hurt me deeply.” She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Siena, she.. She represents everything I am not. She’s the embodiment of desire, of passion. And I.. well, I’m just Penelope.”

Anthony’s grip on her hands tightened, his expression fierce. “No, my love. You are not ‘just’ Penelope. You are everything. Your beauty, your wit, your kindness… they outshine any fleeting infatuation I may have harbored in the past.”

He cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. “Penelope, when I look at you, I see my future. I see a lifetime of love, of partnership, of shared joys and sorrows. You are my match in every way that matters.”

Penelope’s heart swelled at his words, the last of her defenses crumbling. “Oh, Anthony..” She breathed, leaning into his touch. “I want so badly to believe you, to trust in this love we share..”

“Then believe, my darling.” Anthony murmured, drawing her closer. “For I swear on everything I hold dear, my heart belongs to you and you alone. No ghost from my past could ever hope to compete with the vibrant, beautiful reality of you.”

As their lips met in a tender kiss, Penelope felt the lingering hurt and doubt begin to melt away. There was still much to discuss, wounds to heal, but in this moment, wrapped in Anthony’s arms, she allowed herself to hope. To believe in the strength of their love and the promise of their future together.

When they parted for air, Anthony pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you, Penelope Bridgerton. In your eyes, I see the love of my life, the mother of my children, and the only woman I’ll share life with until my dying breath. I love you.”

Penelope’s breath caught at his words, her heart fluttering. She thought of the secret she carried within her, the news she had yet to share. But perhaps, now was not yet the time. A small, secretive smile played at the corners of her mouth as she took Anthony’s hands, guiding their intertwined fingers to rest over her still-flat stomach. She whispered, her eyes shining with a mixture of joy and trepidation. “I love you, Anthony.”

—--

The sun had barely crested the horizon when the Bridgerton household stirred to life, a palpable energy coursing through its halls. The cause of such early morning commotion? A gilded envelope bearing the royal seal had arrived, its contents sending ripples of excitement through the family.

“A royal invitation?” Exclaimed Violet Bridgerton, her eyes wide with delight as she burst into the drawing room where her son Anthony and her daughter-in-law Penelope were taking their morning tea.

Anthony, ever the grumpy Viscount, raised an eyebrow. “Mother, please. What’s all this fuss about?”
Penelope, still adjusting to her role as Viscountess, set down her teacup with trembling hands. “Violet, what do you mean? A royal invitation?”

Violet thrust the letter into Penelope’s hands, practically dancing with excitement. “Read it, my dear. It’s addressed to you!”

With shaking fingers, Penelope broke the seal and unfolded the luxurious parchment. Her eyes scanned the elegant script, growing wider with each line. “It’s.. it’s from the Queen herself. She’s invited us to a private afternoon party at the palace in two days time.”

Anthony leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Us?”

“Yes.” Penelope nodded, still in disbelief. “You, me and Violet. It says it’s a gathering for a select few of the ton’s elite.”

Violet clasped her hands together. “Oh, this is marvelous! Penelope, my dear, you’ve done the Bridgerton name proud. To think, the Queen herself requesting your presence!”
Anthony stood, moving to place a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Well done, indeed. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve shown yourself to be quite the asset to this family.”

Penelope blushed, a mix of pride and anxiety coloring her cheeks. “But what does one wear to a royal gathering? What if I say the wrong thing? Oh, there’s so much to prepare!”

Violet waved away her concerns. “Nonsense, my dear. You’ll be perfect. You are the season’s Emerald and an excellent Viscountess. You’ll be admired by many. Now, let’s call for the modiste. We’ll need new gowns, of course. And Anthony, you’ll need a new waistcoat. This is a momentous occasion!”

As Violet swept from the room, already calling for the servants, Anthony chuckled and squeezed Penelope’s shoulder. “Are you ready for this, my dear?”

Penelope took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “I suppose I’ll have to be. After all, one doesn’t simply decline an invitation from the Queen.”
“That’s the spirit.” Anthony smiled. “Besides, think of the stories you’ll have for your next column. Lady Whistledown would have a field day with his news.”

Penelope’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Indeed she would. Though I daresay this is one secret I’ll have to keep to myself. For now, at least.”

—--

At the Royal Palace

The royal gardens were resplendent that afternoon, a tapestry of vibrant blooms and manicured hedges providing a stunning backdrop for Queen Charlotte’s exclusive gathering. As the titled Bridgertons approached, the air thrummed with anticipation and a touch of nervous energy.

Penelope, resplendent in a gown of deep emerald that complemented her fiery tresses, led the way with Anthony and Violet following closely behind. The young Viscountess’ heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and trepidation as they neared her Majesty.

“Your Majesty.” Penelope curtsied deeply, her voice steady despite her inner turmoil. “We are most honored by your gracious invitation.”

Queen Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with genuine pleasure as she beheld Penelope. “My dear Viscountess Bridgerton, how delightful to see you. Please, do come and sit by my side. I have been most eager for your company.”

As Penelope took her place beside the Queen, Anthony and Violet exchanged a look of pride tinged with surprise. They had not anticipated such a warm reception for their newest family member.

“Lord Bridgerton, Lady Bridgerton.” The Queen acknowledged them with a nod. “Do enjoy the festivities. I hope you’ll forgive me for monopolizing your charming Viscountess for a while.”

As Anthony and Violet moved away, the Queen turned to Penelope with a conspiratorial smile. “Now my dear, I have a small task for you. Allow me to introduce Lord Fletcher of Prussia.”

A tall, distinguished gentleman with piercing blue eyes and a neatly trimmed beard stepped forward, bowing deeply to both the Queen and Penelope.

“Lord Fletcher.” The Queen continued. “This is Viscountess Penelope Bridgerton, one of the brightest jewels of our English society. I’m certain you’ll find her conversation most stimulating.”

Penelope, ever the gracious hostess, smiled warmly at Lord Fletcher. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord. I hope you’re finding your stay in England agreeable?”

As Penelope and Lord Fletcher fell into an animated discussion about Prussian literature and its similarities to English works, Anthony found himself unable to look away. From across the garden, he observed the easy rapport between his wife and the foreign dignitary, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach.

Lord Fletcher leaned in, laughing at something Penelope had said, his eyes never leaving her face. “My dear Viscountess, your wit is as sharp as your beauty is radiant. I dare say, England has been holding out on us by keeping such treasures to itself.”

Penelope blushed prettily at the compliment, unaware of the effect it was having on her husband across the lawn. “You flatter me, Lord Fletcher. I assure you, England has far greater treasures than myself to offer.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he watched the exchange. He was so focused on the pair that he barely noticed when his brother-in-law, Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings, sidled up beside him.

“I say, Bridgerton.” Simon quipped, a mischievous glint in his eye. “If looks could kill, that poor Prussian chap would be six feet under by now. Jealousy doesn’t become you, old friend.”

Anthony scowled. “I don’t know what you mean, Hastings.”

Simon chuckled. “Come now, old friend. Your glare could curdle milk. Sure you’re not jealous of a bit of harmless conversation?”

“Jealous? Hardly.” Anthony scoffed, though his eyes never left the pair across the lawn. “I simply don’t trust the way that Lord Fletcher is looking at my wife.”

“And how is he looking at her?” Simon prodded, clearly enjoying his brother-in-law’s discomfort.

Anthony’s frown deepened. “Like a man who’s just discovered a rare and precious jewel. It’s.. unsettling. I’m not jealous.” He hissed unconvincingly. “I’m merely.. Concerned for Penelope’s comfort.”

Simon chuckled, clapping Anthony on the shoulder. “Of course, of course. And I’m merely concerned about the structural integrity of that glass you’re about to shatter in your grip.”

Anthony looked down, realizing he had indeed been clutching his champagne flute with unnecessary force. He set it down on a nearby table with a sigh.

“She’s my wife, Hastings.” Anthony muttered, his eyes drifting back to Penelope. “And yet here I stand, watching another man make her laugh, make her eyes light up with that special spark she gets when discussing literature.”

Simon’s teasing smile softened into something more understanding. “Anthony, my friend, that spark you see? That’s all Penelope. It’s who she is – brilliant, engaging and utterly captivating. You should be proud that others see what you do in her.”

As they watched, Penelope glanced up, catching Anthony’s eye across the garden. Her smile, already warm, grew even brighter as she beheld her husband. It was a look of such pure love and adoration that Anthony felt his jealousy melt away, replaced by a surge of affection and pride.

“You’re right.” Anthony admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I should feel proud. Proud and incredibly fortunate, for I am the husband of such a remarkable lady.”

Meanwhile, Penelope was thoroughly enjoying herself, despite her initial trepidation. Lord Fletcher proved to be a worthy conversational partner, matching her wit for wit.

“You surprise me, Lady Bridgerton.” Fletcher admitted, his admiration evident. “I had not expected to find such a learned and charming companion at this gathering.”

Penelope smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “My lord, you’ll find that English ladies are full of surprises. We’re not all simpering debutantes, you know.”

Queen Charlotte observed their exchange with satisfaction. “I knew you would get along splendidly.” She interjected. “Lady Bridgerton is a favorite of mine. Such a refreshing change from the usual gossips and social climbers.”

Penelope felt a momentary pang of guilt at the Queen’s words, her secret identity as Lady Whistledown weighing heavily on her conscience. But she pushed the feeling aside, determined to enjoy this rare moment in the spotlight.

As the afternoon wore on, Anthony found it increasingly difficult to maintain his composure. He paced the perimeter of the garden his eyes constantly drawn to his wife and the Prussian lord.

“You know..” Simon mused, still at Anthony’s side. “I remember a time when you swore you’d never marry for love. How things change, eh?”

Anthony shot him with a withering look. “I fail to see how that’s relevant, Hastings.”

Simon’s grin widened. “Oh, it’s entirely relevant. Look at you, consumed with jealousy over a mere conversation. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

Before Anthony could retort, Violet approached, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. “Anthony, dear, do try to relax. Penelope is merely doing her duty as requested by the Queen. There’s no need for such.. Intensity.”

Anthony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, mother. I just.. I can’t help but worry.”

Violet patted his arm sympathetically. “Your wife is intelligent and devoted, Anthony. Trust in that.”

As the party began to wind down, Penelope finally made her way back to her husband’s side, her cheeks flushed from laughter and conversation. “Isn't that fascinating? Lord Fletcher had the most intriguing insights into Prussian diplomacy.”

Anthony forced a smile, wrapping an arm possessively around her waist. “Indeed? How.. enlightening.”

Penelope looked up at him, noting the tension in his jaw. “Anthony, is everything alright?”
He met her gaze, seeing the genuine concern in her eyes, and felt his jealousy begin to dissipate. “Yes, my love. Everything is perfect now that you’re here.”

As they made their farewells and prepared to depart, Lord Fletcher approached one last time. “Lady Bridgerton, it has been an absolute pleasure. I do hope we’ll have the chance to continue our discussion in the future.”

Before Penelope could respond, Anthony stepped forward, his voice polite but firm. “I’m sure my wife would be delighted to correspond on matters of intellectual interest, Lord Fletcher. Perhaps through the proper diplomatic channels?”

Fletcher’s smile faltered slightly as he took Anthony’s protective stance. “Of course, Lord Bridgerton. I meant no offense.”

As they walked away, Penelope deeply exhaled and squeezed Anthony’s hand, finally realizing why her husband has a tense and stiffened look on his features.. “You have nothing to worry about, you know.” She murmured. “My heart belongs solely to you.”

Anthony’s expression softened as he gazed down at her. “I know, my love. And I count myself the luckiest man in all of England for it.”

With a shared smile, the Bridgertons made their way home, leaving behind a garden full of whispers and speculation about the afternoon’s events. And somewhere in the shadows, a certain Lady Whistledown was already penning her next column, filled with tantalizing hints of jealousy, intrigue, and the power of intellectual attraction in the ton’s most celebrated marriage.

Chapter Text

As the golden glow of candlelight illuminated the opulent Opera Hall, the cream of London society gathered in their finest attire, a sea of silks, satins and jewels glittering beneath the grand chandeliers. The air hummed with anticipation, not only for the evening’s performance but for the subtle dance of social politics that would unfold in the boxes above.

The Bridgerton family made their entrance, a vision of elegance and refinement. Anthony, the Viscount, cut a dashing figure in his impeccably tailored evening coat, his chiseled features set in a mask of polite interest that belied the turmoil within. At his side, Penelope, the Viscountess, was a vision in a gown of deep sapphire blue, her fiery curls adorned with delicate diamond pins that caught the light with every graceful movement.

As they ascended the sweeping staircase, a royal attendant approached, bowing low before addressing Penelope. “Pardon the intrusion, my lady, but her Majesty requests the pleasure of your company in the royal box this evening.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, his hand instinctively tightening on Penelope’s waist. “Surely her Majesty would not wish to separate a husband and wife on such an occasion.” He said, his tone carefully measured.

The attendant’s expression remained impassive. “I’m afraid her Majesty was most insistent, my lord. She particularly mentioned her desire for the Viscountess’ charming conversation during the intervals.”

Penelope glanced up at Anthony, her eyes filled with a mix of apology and resignation. “My love..” She murmured, her voice pitched low for his ears alone. “You know we cannot refuse.”

Anthony’s dark eyes met hers, a storm of emotions swirling within their depths. “Of course.” He replied, his voice tight. “One does not decline a royal invitation.”

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, Penelope allowed herself to be led away, leaving Anthony to join the rest of his family in their private box. As he took his seat, his eyes were drawn inexorably to the royal box across the hall.

There, he could see Penelope being greeted warmly by Queen Charlotte, who gestured for her to take the seat beside her. And there, just behind Penelope’s chair, stood Lord Fletcher, the Prussian ambassador, his eyes alight with undisguised admiration as he gazed upon the Viscountess.

“Brother, your scowl is likely to frighten the poor prima donna should she chance to look this way.” Came the teasing voice of Benedict, Anthony’s younger brother.

Anthony schooled his features into a more neutral expression. “I’m merely concerned for my wife’s comfort.” He muttered.

“Indeed.” Benedict replied, his tone dry. “And I’m certain your concern has nothing to do with the rather attentive Prussian gentleman hovering about her like a bee to honey.”

Before Anthony could retort, the lights dimmed and the orchestra struck up the overture. Throughout the performance, Anthony found his attention divided between the stage and the royal box, his heart clenching each time he saw Lord Fletcher lean in to whisper something in Penelope’s ear, or the Queen pat Penelope’s hand approvingly.

During the first interval, Anthony watched as Lord Fletcher offered Penelope his arm, leading her to the refreshment table. Unable to contain himself any longer, Anthony excused himself and made his way across the crowded foyer.

As he approached, he could hear snippets of their conversation.

“.. and your insights into Shakespeare's sonnets are truly remarkable, Lady Bridgerton.” Lord Fletcher was saying, his accent lending a musical quality to his words. “I find myself quite enchanted by your intellect.”

Penelope’s cheeks were flushed, whether from the compliment or the warmth of the room, Anthony couldn’t be sure. “You are too kind, Lord Fletcher. I merely enjoy a lively discussion on literature.”

“Ah, but it is that very passion that makes you shine so brightly, my dear Viscountess.” Fletcher replied, his eyes never leaving Penelope’s face.”

It was at this moment that Anthony stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Pardon the interruption.” He said smoothly, though there was a hint of steel beneath his polite tone. “I wondered if I might borrow my wife for a moment.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in surprise, but a smile of genuine pleasure lit up her face at the sight of her husband. “Anthony.” She breathed, immediately reaching for his hand.

Lord Fletcher bowed slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. “Of course, Lord Bridgerton. I shall not keep you from your lovely wife.”

As Anthony led Penelope away, he could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. Finding a quiet alcove, he turned to face her, drinking in the sight of her beloved face.
“I’ve missed you.” He murmured, his voice low and intense.

Penelope’s expression softened, her free hand coming up to rest on his cheek. “Oh, Anthony..” She sighed. “I’ve missed you too. You must know that my heart is only ever with you, regardless of where duty may place me.”

Anthony leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly. “I know, my love. It’s just.. Difficult to see you showered with attention by others, even when I know it’s at the Queen’s behest.”

Penelope’s lips curved into a tender smile. “My dearest, most beloved husband.” She whispered. “You have nothing to fear. No man, be he lord, duke or even king, could ever hold a candle to you in my eyes.”

As the chimes signaled the end of the interval, Anthony pulled Penelope close, pressing a fervent kiss to her lips. “I love you.” He breathed against her skin.

“And I you.” Penelope replied, her eyes shining with affection. “Always.”
With reluctance, they parted, Penelope returning to the royal box and Anthony to his family.

—--

As the velvet curtains rose for the second half of the opera, the opulent Opera Hall was bathed in a hushed anticipation. The Queen’s box, resplendent in its gilded glory, held not only her Majesty but also the radiant Viscountess Bridgerton, their heads inclined towards one another in quiet conversation.

“My dear Lady Bridgerton.” Queen Charlotte murmured, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “What did you make of that delightful aria in the first act? I found it quite.. Stirring.”

Penelope, her sapphire gown shimmering in the soft candlelight, smiled warmly. “Indeed, your Majesty. The composer’s use of crescendo was particularly moving. It reminded me of–”

But her words faltered as a hauntingly familiar voice filled the hall. Penelope’s gaze snapped to the stage, her breath catching in her throat as she beheld none other than Siena Rosso, resplendent in her costume, her voice soaring to the rafters.

For a moment, Penelope felt as though the world had tilted on its axis. Her fingers gripped the velvet arm of her chair, knuckles whitening as she struggled to maintain her composure. The lump in her throat seemed to grow, threatening to choke her carefully cultivated poise.

“Lady Bridgerton?” Queen Charlotte’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “Lady Bridgerton, are you quite well?”

With a start, Penelope realized the Queen had addressed her twice. She turned, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Forgive me, your Majesty. I was.. Momentarily overcome by the singer’s extraordinary talent. I believe I’ve only had the pleasure of hearing her perform once before, at the Cowper’s ball.”

The Queen’s gaze was sharp, assessing. “Indeed.” She murmured, a hint of skepticism in her tone. “She does possess a remarkable gift.”

Feeling increasingly unsettled, Penelope’s eyes darted to the Bridgerton box across the hall. Her heart leapt as she found Anthony’s gaze already fixed upon her, his dark eyes filled with warmth and understanding. As their gazes locked, he offered her a tender smile, one that spoke volumes without a single word uttered.

Throughout Siena’s performance, Anthony’s eyes never wavered from Penelope. In that silent exchange, he conveyed more than words ever could - that Siena was but a shadow of the past, that Penelope alone held his heart, that his love for her was steadfast and true.

Feeling the knot of tension in her chest begin to loosen, Penelope returned his smile, her eyes shining with love and gratitude. The opera, the crowd, even Siena’s soaring voice faded into the background as she basked in the warmth of her husband’s unwavering devotion.

Queen Charlotte, ever observant, noted the shift in Penelope’s demeanor. Curiosity piqued, she discreetly raised her ornate opera glasses to her eyes, following the Viscountess’ line of sight. A knowing smile curved her lips as she observed the tender exchange between Penelope and Anthony.

“Ah, young love.” The Queen mused to herself, lowering her glasses. She cast a sidelong glance at Penelope, whose cheeks were now flushed with a becoming blush. “It would seem, Lady Bridgerton, that the performance has quite captured your husband’s attention as well.”

Penelope startled slightly, turning to face the Queen with wide eyes. “I.. that is..”

Queen Charlotte’s expression softened, a rare warmth entering her gaze. “My dear, there is no need for explanation. A love such as yours is a precious thing indeed. One might say it outshines even the most brilliant jewels of the season.”

Penelope’s blush deepened, but a genuine smile graced her features. “Your Majesty is most kind.”

As the final notes of Siena’s aria faded away, met with thunderous applause, Penelope found her gaze drawn once more to Anthony. In that moment, surrounded by the glittering elite of London society, she felt a profound sense of peace. For she knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what challenges they might face, the love she shared with Anthony was unshakeable.

And from her vantage point, Queen Charlotte observed it all, a smug smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Without saying a word, she was content with the sight of the genuine affection and understanding between the Viscount and his Viscountess. The scene before her was far more compelling than any opera, a true testament to the power of love and loyalty.

Chapter Text

As the final notes of the opera faded and the heavy velvet curtain descended, a ripple of applause cascaded through the Opera Hall. Penelope, her heart light with the evening’s revelations, found herself reluctantly extricating herself from Queen Charlotte’s company.

“Your Majesty.” Penelope curtsied gracefully, her sapphire gown shimmering in the candlelight. “I fear I must take my leave now. My family will be waiting.”

Queen Charlotte’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Of course, my dear. We mustn’t keep the Viscount waiting, now should we?”

Lord Fletcher, ever the attentive courtier, bowed deeply. “It has been an absolute pleasure, Lady Bridgerton. Your wit and charm have made this evening truly memorable.”

Penelope offered a polite smile, her mind already on finding Anthony. It was only when Lady Danbury approached, her cane tapping a staccato rhythm on the polished floor, that Penelope found her opportunity to slip away.

As she hurried through the emptying corridors, her slippered feet barely making a sound on the plush carpets, Penelope’s thoughts were filled with Anthony. She rounded a corner, intent on reaching the grand staircase, when familiar voices brought her up short.

“Anthony, please..” Came a sultry, pleading tone that Penelope instantly recognized as Siena Rosso’s. “Surely you haven’t forgotten the passion we shared?”

Penelope froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She pressed herself against a nearby pillar, its cool marble a stark contrast to her flushed skin.

Anthony’s voice, when it came, was firm and unyielding. “Miss Rosso, I must insist you desist this unseemly behavior at once. I am a married man, and whatever dalliance we may have shared in the past is precisely that – the past.”

“But Anthony..” Siena purred, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. “Can that plump little wife of yours truly satisfy you as I once did? Does she ignite your blood, make you burn with desire? Surely, your taste in women did not go that sour?”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat, a mixture of hurt and indignation flooding her veins. But before she could step out and confront them, Anthony’s voice rang out, filled with a fury she had never before heard.

“You will not speak of my wife in such a manner.” He growled, each word precise and cutting. “Penelope is everything I could have ever dreamed of and more. Her grace, her intelligence, her beauty – they are unmatched in all of London, nay, in all of England.”

Penelope’s heart soared, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Anthony continued, his voice softening with obvious affection. “And her figure, which you so crudely disparage, is perfection itself. It is the body of a woman made to bear my children, to be the mother of the next generation of Bridgertons. I love every inch of her, from the curve of her cheek to the softness of her skin. Nothing – and no one could ever compare to her.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Anthony spoke again, his tone now cold and threatening. “Let me be perfectly clear, Miss Rosso. Should you ever again seek me out or dare to insult my wife, I will not hesitate to use every means at my disposal to ensure you never set foot on a London stage again. Do I make myself understood?”

Penelope heard a choked sob and the sound of retreating footsteps. Her heart was pounding, not with fear or insecurity now, but with an overwhelming love for her husband. Every doubt, every niggling worry about Anthony’s past with Siena had vanished like morning mist in the sun.

The corridor of the Opera House fell silent as Penelope emerged from her hiding place, her sapphire gown rustling softly against the polished marble floor. The air seemed to crackle with tension as she approached Anthony and Siena, her chin held high and her eyes blazing with newfound confidence.

“Anthony, dearest.” Penelope called out, her voice steady and warm.

Anthony’s head snapped towards her, his expression transforming from surprise to unbridled joy. “Penelope.” He breathed, immediately moving to her side and placing a possessive hand at her waist. The gesture was not lost on Siena, whose eyes widened in shock at this public display of affection.

Penelope’s gaze fell upon the opera singer, her lips curving into a polite yet unmistakably sardonic smile. “Miss Rosso, is it not?” She inquired, her tone dripping with honeyed venom. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Viscountess Bridgerton, the Queen’s favored emerald of the season, and more importantly, Anthony’s wife.”

Siena remained frozen, her mouth agape as Penelope continued, her voice taking on an edge of steel beneath its velvet exterior.

“I feel it necessary to remind you, Miss Rosso, that before I became the Viscountess, I was a daughter of a baron. As such, I expect to be addressed with the respect befitting my station. Something you seem to have forgotten in your… misguided attempts to rekindle a long-extinguished flame.”

Anthony’s arm tightened around Penelope’s waist, a mix of pride and amazement evident in his features as he watched his wife assert herself.

Penelope’s gaze softened as she turned to Anthony, though her words were still directed at Siena. “I believe it’s time you awaken from this futile dream, Miss Rosso. My husband has made his feelings quite clear. And this ‘plump body’ of mine that you so crudely insulted?” A triumphant smile graced her lips. “It now carries the most precious proof of Anthony’s devotion and love.”

Anthony’s sharp intake of breath was audible in the stunned silence that followed. His eyes, wide with wonder and joy, searched Penelope’s face. “My love..” He whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you mean to say.. Are we truly to become parents?”

Penelope’s hand came up to caress Anthony’s cheek, her eyes shining with unshed tears of happiness. “Yes, my darling.” She confirmed softly. “I discovered it during my visit to mama’s estate. The family physician confirmed it – we are to have a child.”

Anthony let out a laugh of pure elation, sweeping Penelope into his arms and spinning her around, heedless of their audience. When he set her down, he cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that had spilled onto her cheeks.

“Oh, my love..” He murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. “You have made me the happiest man in all of England. Nay, in all the world!”

Siena, who had been watching this exchange with a mixture of shock and growing comprehension, finally found her voice. “I.. I see I have gravely misunderstood the situation.” She stammered, her earlier bravado completely dissipated. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, Lady Bridgerton. I shall take my leave and trouble you no further.”

As Siena hurried away, her footsteps echoing in the now-empty corridor, Anthony turned back to Penelope, his eyes alight with love and wonder.

“My dearest, most beloved wife.” He said, his voice low and intense. “You never cease to amaze me. Your strength, your grace under pressure – you are truly remarkable.”

Penelope smiled up at him, her earlier bravado softening into tender affection. “It is your love that gives me strength, Anthony. And now, with our child growing within me, I feel as though I could conquer the world.”

Anthony placed a gentle hand on Penelope’s still-flat stomach, a look of awe crossing his features. “Our child..” He whispered reverently. “I swear to you both, I will spend everyday of my life ensuring your happiness and safety.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world beyond ceased to exist. The opera, the ton, even Queen Charlotte herself – all faded into insignificance. For in that moment, there was only Anthony and Penelope, and the precious new life they had created together – a testament to their enduring love and the bright future that lay ahead for the Bridgerton family.

Chapter Text

The previous season had concluded with resounding success for both the Bridgerton and Featherington families. Anthony’s sister Francesca had settled down with the Scottish Earl, John Stirling, while Penelope’s own sister Prudence had married Mister Huxley, and Philippa had given birth to a daughter. Penelope’s debut as the season’s emerald and her role as Viscountess Bridgerton had been met with widespread acclaim and anticipation from the ton.

As the new social season began, Penelope refused to be sequestered at home, bedridden in anticipation of her child’s arrival. Anthony’s siblings, with their various antics, made it nearly impossible for her to stay away from the social whirl.

Benedict remained elusive when it came to discussions of marriage, much to Violet’s chagrin. Colin, having wised up, had embarked on another grand tour abroad, escaping his mother’s matchmaking schemes. Eloise, ever the stubborn one, had reluctantly agreed to entertain suitors this season, a promise she had made to Anthony the previous year.

However, Eloise would only interact with suitors whom Penelope had vetted and arranged, forcing the heavily pregnant Viscountess to attend social gatherings to facilitate matches for her friend, much to Anthony’s dismay. Violet could only feel gratitude for Penelope, who sacrifices her comfort to ensure Eloise would finally find a match this season.

The Trowbridge ballroom was a sight to behold, awash in the warm glow of countless candles and the shimmer of fine silks and jewels. At the edge of the dance floor, Penelope Bridgerton stood like a beacon, her flame-red hair adorned with delicate pearl pins, her emerald gown expertly tailored to accommodate her eight-month pregnant form.

Despite her condition, Penelope’s eyes were sharp and alert, following the movements of her dear friend Eloise as she twirled across the floor in the arms of Lord Bailey. Beside her, Portia Featherington hovered protectively, ever vigilant of her daughter’s comfort.

“My dear.” Portia fussed, adjusting a fold in Penelope’s gown. “Are you quite certain you wouldn’t prefer to sit? In your condition–”

Penelope gently waved away her mother’s concern. “I assure you, mama, I am perfectly comfortable. Besides, how else am I to ensure Eloise doesn’t frighten off poor Lord Bailey with talk of women’s suffrage?”

As if summoned by the mention of matchmaking, Lady Agatha Danbury appeared before them, her cane tapping a staccato rhythm on the polished floor. Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she took in Penelope’s rounded form.

“Well, well.” Lady Danbury drawled, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “If it isn’t our illustrious Viscountess Bridgerton. I must say, my dear, you wear impending motherhood as beautifully as you do your title.”

Penelope’s cheeks flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Lady Danbury, how kind of you to say. Though I fear I more closely resemble a prized pumpkin than a Viscountess at present.”

Lady Danbury let out a bark of laughter. “Nonsense! You are positively glowing. Though I must admit, I am surprised to see you here. Surely the good Viscount isn’t pleased with his wife gallivanting about town in her condition?”

A wry smile touched Penelope’s lips. “Anthony has.. Expressed his concerns.” Penelope admitted. “But he understands the necessity. With Colin off on his grand tour and Benedict stubbornly avoiding attending balls to escape all talk of marriage, someone must ensure Eloise doesn’t spend another season terrorizing every eligible bachelor in London.”

Lady Danbury’s gaze swept to where Eloise was now engaged in what appeared to be a spirited debate with Lord Bailey. “Ah yes, the indomitable Miss Bridgerton. And how fares your matchmaking endeavor?”

“It is.. A work in progress.” Penelope sighed. “Eloise has agreed to entertain suitors, but only those of whom I personally approve and manage. It’s a delicate balance, finding gentlemen who can match her wit without being cowed by it.”

“A formidable task indeed.” Lady Danbury nodded sagely. “But if anyone is up to the challenge, it’s you, my dear. You’ve worked wonders with the Bridgerton household already.”

Portia beamed with pride. “Indeed she has! Why, just look at how she managed to see Francesca settled with that handsome Scottish earl. And now, to be giving the ton its next generation of Bridgertons..” She patted Penelope’s belly affectionately.

Penelope’s hand instinctively cradled her swollen abdomen. “Yes, well, this little one seems eager to make their debut. Though I do hope they’ll wait until after the season. I shudder to think of the gossip should I go into confinement before seeing Eloise properly matched.”

Lady Danbury’s expression softened. “My dear girl, you mustn’t overtax yourself. Your family will survive if you need to retire to the comfort of your home. Your health and that of your child must come first. Surely, Violet will be more than willing to take over your social duties if you ask so.”

“I appreciate your concern, Lady Danbury.” Penelope replied warmly. “But I assure you, I am being careful. Anthony has insisted our family physician on call at all times, and I have promised to return home at the first sign of fatigue.”

Just then, the music came to an end, and Eloise could be seen making her way towards them, a look of exasperation on her face.

“Speaking of which..” Penelope murmured. “I believe duty calls once more. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”

As Penelope moved to intercept her friend, her gait slow but graceful despite her condition, Lady Danbury turned to Portia with a knowing smile.

“That girl of yours is a true marvel, Lady Featherington. The Bridgertons are fortunate indeed to have her.”

Portia nodded, her eyes misty with pride and affection. “Indeed they are, Lady Danbury. Indeed they are.”

—-

The Trowbridge banquet hall was a swirl of color and light, the air filled with the melodious strains of a waltz and the gentle murmur of conversation. Amidst the glittering throng, Anthony Bridgerton finally extricated himself from a cluster of gentlemen engrossed in parliamentary discourse. His dark eyes scanned the room, seeking out the familiar flame of his wife’s hair.

He found her near the balcony, a vision in Bridgerton blue silk, her heavily rounded belly a testament to their impending joy. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched her delicately savoring an eclair, her face alight with simple pleasure.

Anthony approached, his steps quickening as he drew near. “My love.” He murmured, his hands finding their way to her waist, thumbs gently caressing the swell of their child. “Forgive me for being detained. I hope you haven’t been too lonely without me.”

Penelope’s eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, a soft smile fracking her lips. “Not at all, dearest. I understand we both have our duties to attend to. Besides..” She added with a mischievous glint. “The eclairs have been excellent company.”

She offered him a bite of the sweet confection, which Anthony accepted with a playful nip at her fingers. As he savored the taste, however, he noticed a sudden change come over Penelope’s face. Her eyes widened, mouth falling open in a silent ‘oh’ of surprise.

Alarm flashed across Anthony’s features. “Penelope? What is it? Are you unwell?”

Penelope took a deep breath, her voice remarkably steady as she spoke. “Anthony, my love, I need you to fetch our coachman and bring the carriage around. Then, please find Eloise and mama.”

Confusion furrowed Anthony’s brow. “But why? What’s –”

“My water has broken.” Penelope interrupted, her hand moving to cradle her belly. “It seems our little one is eager to make their debut tonight.”

For a moment, Anthony stood frozen, his mind struggling to process her words. Then as realization dawned, a look of panic flashed across his face. “The babe? Now? But it’s too soon, we’re not prepared, we–”

Penelope placed a calming hand on his cheek. “Anthony, breathe.. We’ve been preparing for months. Everything will be fine, but we must act quickly. We need to go home.. Now.”

Nodding, Anthony’s expression shifted from panic to determination. He signaled to a nearby footman, issuing rapid-fire instructions. “You there! Fetch Miss Bridgerton and Lady Featherington immediately. And send a messenger to Bridgerton House at once – inform Lady Violet that we’re returning early and.. And that the Viscountess is going to give birth.”

Without waiting for a response, Anthony turned back to Penelope, sweeping her into his arms in one fluid motion.

“Anthony!” Penelope gasped, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. “What are you doing? The ton will talk!”

“Let them.” Anthony growled, already striding towards the exit, heedless of the startled looks and whispers that followed in their wake. “I care not for their gossip. You and our child are all that matters to me now.”

Penelope’s protests faded as she saw the fierce determination in Anthony’s eyes. She nestled closer, allowing herself to be carried through the grand foyer and out into the cool night air.

Within moments, Eloise and Portia appeared, both flushed and breathless from their hasty exit.

“Penelope!” Eloise exclaimed, her eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and concern. “Is it really time?”

Portia bustled forward, already issuing orders to the footmen about blankets and hot water. “Now, now, let’s not panic. Everything will be fine, won’t it my dear?”

As Anthony gently settled Penelope into the waiting carriage, she managed a weak smile. “Of course, mama. Though I do hope you’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood for idle chatter on the ride home.”

The carriage lurched into motion, its occupants a curious mix of nervous energy and cautious optimism. Anthony held Penelope close, his hand never leaving hers as they made their way through the lamplit streets of London.

“You’re doing marvelously, my love.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just think, in a few short hours, we’ll be holding our child in our arms.”

Penelope squeezed his hand, her eyes bright with unshed tears of joy and anticipation, hiding her nervousness and worry as she is to give birth a month earlier than scheduled. “I can scarcely believe it. Oh, Anthony, we’re to be parents!”

As the carriage rattled on towards Bridgerton House, the night air was filled with a palpable sense of expectation. For within its walls, a new chapter in the Bridgerton family saga was about to unfold, heralded by the imminent arrival of its newest, most eagerly awaited member.

—-

The Bridgerton House was abuzz with activity, its serene halls echoing with hurried footsteps and urgent whispers. In the master bedroom, transformed into a makeshift birthing chamber, Penelope Bridgerton lay amidst a sea of crisp white linens, her fiery a stark contrast against the pillow.

Dr. Atkinson, summoned with haste, had taken charge of the proceedings. His calm demeanor was a balm to the frayed nerves of those gathered. Violet Bridgerton and Portia Featherington fluttered about the room, offering support and assistance to their beloved daughter in the face of this momentous occasion.

“Breathe, my dear.” Violet cooed, dabbing Penelope’s forehead.
“I’m trying.” Penelope gasped. “But it hurts so terribly!”

Portia clasped her daughter’s hand, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’re doing splendidly, Penelope. Your sister Philippa and I endured this, and so shall you. You’re a Featherington, after all.”

A particularly strong contraction wracked Penelope’s body, eliciting a cry of pain. Outside the door, Anthony paced like a caged tiger, his face etched with concern.

“Surely there’s something more we can do?” He demanded of Eloise, who stood guard at the door.
Eloise, her usual quick wit tempered by worry for her friend, shook her head. “Dr. Atkinson says all is progressing as it should. We must be patient, brother.”

Inside the room, Dr. Atkinson’s voice rose above the din. “It’s time, Lady Bridgerton. With the next contraction, I need you to push with all your might.”

Penelope nodded, gathering her strength. As the pain built, she bore down, a primal scream tearing from her throat.

“That’s it!” Dr. Atkinson encouraged. “I can see the head. One more push!”

With a final, Herculean effort, Penelope felt the pressure release. A moment of silence hung in the air, shattered by the lust cry of a newborn.

“It’s a boy!” Dr. Atkinson announced, his voice thick with emotion. “A healthy, strapping boy!”

Tears of joy streamed down Penelope’s face as the swaddled infant was placed in her arms. She couldn’t take her eyes off her son’s tiny face. “Oh.” She breathed. “Hello, my darling. We’ve been waiting so long to meet you.”

Violet beamed with pride, her hand resting gently on Penelope’s shoulder. “You’ve done beautifully, Penelope. He’s a true Bridgerton, through and through.”

Portia sniffled loudly, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Oh, my darling girl! You’ve made us so proud.”

The door burst open, Anthony unable to contain himself any longer. He rushed to Penelope’s side, his eyes wide with wonder as he beheld his son, the Bridgerton line’s heir.

“He’s perfect.” Anthony whispered, gently stroking the baby’s cheek. “Just like his mother.”

Violet and Portia exchanged tearful smiles, their joy palpable. Eloise peeked around the door frame, her usual bravado softened by the scene before her.

“Well done, Pen.” She said softly. “He’s absolutely beautiful.”

As the family gathered around the bed, cooing and marveling at the newest Bridgerton, Dr. Atkinson quietly instructed the maids to prepare warm water and fresh linens.The room buzzed with a newfound energy, a palpable sense of joy and relief. Penelope felt her heart swell with love. She looked up at Anthony, seeing her own joy reflected in his eyes.

“What shall we name him?” She asked, her voice tired but happy.

Anthony considered for a moment, then smiled. “Edmund.” He said softly. “After our fathers. Edmund Archibald Bridgerton.”

Penelope nodded, tears glistening in her eyes. “It’s perfect. Welcome to the world, Edmund Archibald Bridgerton. You are so very loved.” Violet and Portia both smiled almost to tears, touched with Anthony’s acknowledgement of their late spouses.

As if in agreement, little Edmund cooed softly, his tiny hand grasping Anthony’s finger.

As the night deepened, the Bridgerton house settled into a peaceful quiet, broken only by the occasional soft cry of its newest resident. In the master bedroom, Penelope and Anthony lay side by side, marveling at the miracle they had created.

“I love you.” Anthony murmured, pressing a tender kiss to Penelope’s forehead. “Both of you, more than I ever thought possible.”

Penelope smiled, exhausted but radiant. “And we love you, my darling. Our little family, complete at last.”

As they drifted off to sleep, the first light of dawn began to creep through the windows, heralding not just a new day, but a new chapter in the Bridgerton