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Penelope had never been inside a garden so large.
The Bridgertons’ lawns seemed to stretch on forever—green and bright and full of life. Even the trees stood taller here, old and steady, their branches spreading wide across the sky.
Eloise had already kicked off her shoes, declaring that it was impossible to think properly while wearing something so dreadful as ribbons. “Come on, Pen!” she called, hair flying like a banner. “Let’s climb it before anyone says we can’t.”
Penelope hesitated at the foot of the oak. She had never climbed anything taller than the fence behind her own house. But Eloise looked so certain, and Penelope always felt braver near her, like courage was something contagious.
“I’ll be right behind you,” she said, pretending she wasn’t trembling.
They climbed upward, laughing and panting, their skirts catching on the bark. Penelope’s heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. The air smelled like leaves and warm sunlight. When she finally looked down, the ground seemed impossibly far away.
“We did it!” Eloise cried, triumphant.
Penelope grinned, a little breathless. “We’re in terrible trouble.”
“Worth it,” Eloise said grandly, tossing her curls.
And for a moment, it was. The sky was wide and blue, the world below small and peaceful. The house gleamed in the distance, full of the kind of warmth Penelope had only ever peeked at from the outside.
Then came the shouting—maids, the governess, a flurry of alarm. Eloise muttered something unladylike.
“They will scold us,” she said, already climbing down. “Hold tight. I’ll tell them you’re coming.”
Penelope meant to follow. She really did. But when she looked down, her hands froze around the branch. The ground swayed a little, and suddenly everyone was looking at her, dozens of faces, worried, amused, impatient.
She couldn’t move.
Her eyes blurred. Her palms burned. The sounds below began to fade, as if she were drifting farther and farther away from them.
“Pen?”
The voice was small and familiar. She blinked and saw Colin Bridgerton at the base of the tree, sunlight making his hair glow like something from a storybook. He didn’t look worried or cross, only steady, like the world hadn’t tilted at all.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You’re fine. Take your time.”
Behind him, Eloise was pacing, her voice full of encouragement. “You can do it, Pen! Just like before —left foot, then right!”
They weren’t laughing at her. They weren’t shouting. They were just… waiting.
And then the waiting stretched.
A maid was called back toward the house. Another followed, shaking her head. The governess lingered the longest, hands folded tight as she looked up, but at last even she seemed to decide that Penelope was not about to fall. With a final warning about consequences and muddy hems, she turned away.
One by one, the curious faces disappeared. The excitement faded. The moment stopped being interesting, and only two people remained.
Eloise had stopped pacing, arms folded tight as she stared up, her expression fierce with determination, as if she could hold Penelope steady by sheer will.
Colin stayed where he was, hands tucked into his pockets, chin tipped back to keep her in sight. He didn’t fidget or call out again. He simply remained, patient and certain, as though he had all the time in the world.
In that quiet pocket of the afternoon, with the sun above and the grass far below and only two people still waiting—truly waiting—for her, Penelope drew in a breath that didn’t tremble.
She loosened her grip on the branch.
And finally, she moved.
Bark scraped her fingers, her dress tore at the hem, but she climbed down one branch at a time until she felt the grass beneath her shoes again.
Eloise hugged her so tightly that it knocked the breath from her. “See? I told you you could do it!”
Colin grinned at her, dirt smudged on his cheek. “Took you long enough,” he teased, but his eyes were kind.
Penelope wanted to say something clever, something grown-up, but all she could think was that no one had ever waited for her before. Not like that. Not kindly.
The sunlight caught in his hair again, and she thought, just for a second, that maybe he was the nicest boy in the world.
Years later, she would remember that day as the first time she had ever felt truly seen: a girl in a yellow dress, halfway up a tree, learning what love felt like before she even had a name for it.