Chapter Text
Penelope hurried up the stairs to her room as quietly as possible, holding her breath to keep from sobbing and alerting the people in the sitting room to her presence.
After firmly closing the door behind her, she surrendered to her despair, allowing herself to slide to the ground, not even registering the feeling of her head colliding painfully with the massive hardwood frame.
Silent tears were streaming down her face as the reality of her situation set in.
Live as she knew it was over.
Her father's death and the question of his heir had already unloosened the threats holding together her life of relative peace and comfort.
She, her mother and her sisters would soon be at the mercy of this stranger who could take all their worldly goods, their very home and place in society, without so much as a by-your-leave.
Her mother knew that too, perhaps better than anyone.
She had spent the weeks after her father's death desperately trying to find matches for her and Prudence as well, unsure how the new patriarch would react when he found his inheritance was lost to his brother's vices, hoping that he would honor an existing contract with another man, even if he would readily leave them destitute otherwise.
She supposed she couldn't blame her mother for trying to make arrangements for her daughters.
In her eyes, this truly was preferable to the potential destitution in their future.
Penelope had never met her great uncle and new head of the family. From what she had been told he was a shrewd businessman who had found wealth and success for himself. But he was also a hard man who had little affection for his family, sending his own son off to the Americas out of anger.
Cleary, Portia held out little hope for her and her daughters' status under the new Lord Featherington.
Arranged marriages were certainly not unheard of, but as the daughter of a Barron, Penelope had always hoped, no assumed, that if she failed to secure a husband she would be allowed to live out her life as a spinster in relative comfort.
In fact, given the success of her pamphlet and the hidden wealth she had accumulated for herself, she had become less and less upset at the prospect of such a future.
But these assumptions had been based on an expectation that her father who, despite all his shortcomings, doted on his daughters, would protect her from the harsher realities of life, like she was used to. But this side of her father, along with the prosperity that had allowed for her life of leisure so far, had disappeared as he was drawn ever deeper into his addiction.
Now her mother had taken over the reins. Once the ton returned to London before the start of the season, she began hosting afternoon tees every day, dangling her and her sister in front of aged widowers, whoremongers in need of legitimate heirs or untitled Misters hoping to improve themselves with their dowry.
None of them were particularly appealing to Penelope, but she supposed she could arrange herself with most outcomes if they left her in good standing in London's High society and close to her friend Eloise.
But try as she might, she charmed very few of the gentlemen and even fewer seemed willing to take a gamble on whether her dowry would be provided, once they understood that the new Lord Featherington had not yet arrived and Portia herself was the one inviting them.
This one she had not tried to charm.
Mr. White was the recently widowed second son of an especially wealthy and connected Barron, he had made quite the military career in his youth and expected a healthy inheritance once his father passed. He was reasonably charming and attractive but he had compromised his late wife, causing him to be unable to court traditionally during the season.
All in all, he would be an advantageous match and Prudence fluttered her lashes at him accordingly.
But his staff told a different story.
When Mr White attended Balls and social events, his wife always conspicuously absent or quietly attached to his hip, they conversed with the other servants about what went on behind closed doors.
One does not need to raise their hand to someone to batter them.
When she pulled Prudence aside to warn her off, she wouldn't hear of it, not understanding the gravity of what Penelope was telling her.
So she just continued on, coquettishly vying for a man who, according to his own footman, tortured his wife for years before she died, suddenly and alone, under unknown circumstances.
When she and Prudence were asked to leave, Penelope listened at the door, praying for her sister that he was uninterested in her.
She should have been more specific.
When she heard her own name brought up in the conversation, her heart sank.
She should have known; a meek and quiet wife would be much more appealing to such a man.
After crying for what felt like an eternity, wallowing in her despair, she spotted the loose floorboard, harbouring her riches.
She had accomplished something no other woman of the ton could hope to, and she had done it on her own. It couldn't end like this.
There were few things that couldn't be solved with a quill in the right hands.
Now she needed a plan.
Penelope was a woman on a mission.
She had mapped out the ballroom, delighted at the labyrinth of walls and pillars laden with plantlife, perfect for her approach.
She had picked out the perfect morsel of gossip to set her trap; she'd been sitting on it for months with no audience to share it with during the off-season.
She might get caught, more likely than ever before, and the consequences promised to be much harsher after what she would attempt tonight, but that mattered very little to her in comparison to the fate awaiting her if she did nothing.
Should her plan fail, she would be ready. Her bags were packed. Her most important documents were stowed away under the floorboard with her own fortune and what little real jewelry she had left after her mothers attempts to keep the family afloat until after Lord Featheringtons arrival.
Where to, she did not yet know. Maybe to the Americas, to join the ranks of the travel writers she so adored.
Before her debut, she and Colin had spent hours in the library at Bridgerton House, engrossed in books and maps of far away places. Places she knew she'd never see, but he could.
It had seemed unfair then, being a woman. Little did she know what was in store for her.
But the thought of Colin twisted something inside of her.
Even if her plan succeeded perfectly, she would have to marry the first man interested in her. Clinging to whatever lifebuoy she could secure for herself.
She wished Colin was here, that she would have the opportunity to tell him how she felt, lay it all out for him and ask him to marry her.
She had been a coward before, but at that precise moment she had known what his answer would be. He had been willing to marry a virtual stranger mere days ago, of course he didn't return her feelings.
But since then, they had exchanged letters filled with more consideration and affection than she had ever received from a man other than her father. Her feelings for Colin were unchanged, maybe his weren't.
But it was no use speculating. It could be months until he returned and she would be long gone, trapped in her own personal hell.
And even if he stood before her right now, the chance that he might actually want her, love her, it seemed ridiculous to hope.
Mind made up, she carefully steered Eloise towards the pillar she had picked out, watching her target from the corner of her eye. Once she was in the perfect position, she set her plan in motion.
Interrupting her friend’s remarks on some book, she began, unnaturally loud and slow, making sure to clearly enunciate and repeat the names as often as possible, to tell Eloise about an extramarital affair a prominent member of the House of Lords, that had been a thorn in the Queen's side for some time now, was having with one of his colleague's wifes.
Eloise looked extremely confused by the sudden change in topic and Penelope's peculiar behavior. After tonight Penelope would have to tell her.
Omitting the truth was one thing, but the elaborate lie she would have to spin to explain away tonight's events, would surely ruin their friendship should her secret ever be revealed.
Just like clockwork, the Queen's man Brimsley rounded the pillar.
He cleared his throat, causing Penelope to turn around in feigned surprise.
“Her Majesty would like a word with you.” He stated, already turning around motioning for her to follow.
And Penelope did, leaving behind a confused Eloise.
When she arrived on the other side of the pillar, coming face to face with the Queen herself, her confidence dissipated.
“Tell me again, what you just told your little friend.”
She demanded, looking down at Penelope, her face betraying no emotion. Lady Danbury, who had been accompanying Queen Charlotte, was observing her curiously.
“I did not mean to speak ill of anyone or spread idle gossip, your Majesty. My sincerest apologies.”
She said, like she had practiced. Not wanting to appear too eager to converse with the Queen and prolonging the interaction at the same time.
“You may speak ill of whomever you like. I do.
Don't hold back on my account.” Queen Charlotte replied, in her usual, disinterested manner.
“Of course, thank you, your Majesty.” Penelope said, eyes on the ground, deliberately stalling.
“Well, go on girl! Has the cat got your tongue?”
“No your Majesty… Well, I first heard rumors of…”
_
After giving the her everything she needed to bring the troublesome Lord to heel on a silver platter, she was invited by Queen Charlotte to stay a little while longer, sharing any other gossip she might know.
Emboldened by the success of her plan, the attention of the Queen herself and the envious eyes of the other debuts staring daggers at her, Penelope forgot all about the role she was playing and shared not only the juiciest tidbits of gossip, but sprinkled in her particular brand of sarcasm and humorous double entendre.
At first, the Queen showed little indication of enjoying the conversation; answering clipped and concise, her face a mask of stoicism.
At a particularly biting remark about one of her ladies-in-waiting, who the Queen especially disliked, as Penelope had observed in the past, she rewarded her with the slightest uptick of the corner of her mouth. After that she seemed to speak a little more freely, though her supercilious demeanor remained intact.
After almost half an hour the Queen interrupted her mid sentence, giving her an even more scrutinizing look.
“How do you, of all people, get to know so much? You do not seem like the most popular of women.”
Realizing she had overplayed her hand, revealing far too much, Penelope scrambled for an answer.
She had lost track of her plan quite completely, being lulled into a false sense of security by the clear interest of the Queen and the conspiratorial smile Lady Danbury graces her with.
Indulging in gossip in itself was hardly incriminating. In fact it was expected, after all, what else were women allowed to fill their days with, aside from needle point and pianoforte. But she had demonstrated knowledge of matters far beyond the half baked speculations of the ton.
“Well…I am friendly with my staff.
We often treat them like they are deaf and blind, but they see and hear everything—and they talk.”
By ‘we’, I don't mean me and you in particular of course…I mean all of high society. My apologies, your Majesty.” She added hastily, not wanting to give the Queen any reason to to take offense, as she often did.
And it was the truth, well, part of it. Penelope had always befriended the servants in Featherington House, feeling quite alone even amongst her family. And she had always been their favorite, no wonder given her mothers and siblings rudeness and self-importance.
Informed by this, wherever she was, she always went out of her way to remember the names of the staff and tipped them generously with her pin money.
The things she had learned from them, the thrill of being the only one in her circle to know, ignited her love for gossip. And thanks to those early experiences, she always knew where to find the scandalous truths.
“I see.” Queen Charlotte said, studying her face for a moment longer.
“Well, off you go. Don't just stand there.” She finally dismissed her.
Flustered and confused, Penelope bid a polite farewell to her Majesty and Lady Danbury and turned around to leave.
To her surprise she was soon approached by an eligible gentleman, a Viscount no less.
“Miss Featherington, you look splendid this evening. May I have this dance?”
“Of course, Lord Basilio. I would be honored.”
As he led her to the dancefloor, Penelope considered her companion. The young Lord hadn't had much of an opportunity to create a reputation for himself, other than his earnest but always polite effort to court over the last two seasons. It was surprising that a man of his means with his options had not yet found a wife.
He was likely hoping for a love match or he had extremely high standards, or maybe there was something wrong with him…
She needed to get out of her head. To stop finding faults with potential matches like Whistledown would and start behaving like a debutant, charming and full of flattery.
“You are quite a skilled dancer.” She commented after all but 30 seconds, grasping for something to fill the silence.
“Which dance do you enjoy the most?”
While her creativity and confidence was second to none when holding a quill, her conversation skills, which were usually one of her favorite features, began to break down whenever her nerves got the better of her.
Surprisingly, her offhand remark sparked an enjoyable, if surface level, conversation about the virtues of the different dances. She even managed to make him laugh, comparing the ¾ beat of waltz to a horse in full gallop.
After their dance, he asked to accompany her to the buffet and after some more idle conversation, promised to call on her tomorrow.
As soon as he bid her farewell, she was approached by another gentleman, hoping for a dance.
It seemed like her luck was finally turning.