Work Text:
When she arrives at Penelope and Colin’s house (how strange that thought is, still!), she’s met with a slightly puzzled – and faintly alarmed – expression on the butler’s face.
“Miss Bridgerton,” Dunwoody says, blinking several times in rapid succession before locating a few more words. “Is Mrs. Bridgerton expecting you?”
What an odd question.
Even in the very brief time since Penelope married Colin and moved into his Bloomsbury townhouse, Eloise’s more-frequent-than-her-mother-thinks-appropriate calls have made it clear to their staff who she’s really here to see.
—
Of course, it’s hardly about what’s appropriate; it’s about what Mother thinks newlyweds should be doing with their time instead of entertaining family (making their own).
The less Eloise thinks about that, the better.
And knowing her brother’s wanderlust, she’s sure he’ll sweep Penelope off on some far-flung exotic honeymoon sooner rather than later. Really, she’s more surprised that he doesn’t have some grand adventure already planned.
And then – Good God. And then they’ll eventually move to the country, more likely than not. Not that they have to, of course – not like Benedict and Sophie – but everyone seems to, eventually.
Everyone who marries, that is.
She shakes herself mentally. She shouldn’t be so ungrateful. She is much better off than had either Penelope or she married a man who lived in, say, the north.
Or, God forbid, Scotland! Imagine Francesca and Penelope off in Scotland most of the year while she’s stuck in London alone. It’s bad enough that she doesn’t see Francesca nearly as often as she’d like. She’s more jealous than she cares to admit of all the times Colin’s left at the drop of a hat to see her – her favorite brother and her favorite sister having a grand old time without her.
And now, the next time, Penelope will be there, too.
She shakes her head. Really, what’s unfair is that she has a dowry that would go straight into some stranger’s coffers if she married – and that she can’t access herself if unmarried! – and her brothers get land and houses.
Of course, she knows her brothers are unusually well-provided for. Most younger sons are, at best, raised in comfort then left to fend for themselves or marry heiresses if they want to maintain the lifestyle to which their births accustomed them. And while Penelope had a perfectly respectable dowry, no one would have described her as an heiress.
If anything, she should happy for her brother. For all three of them, really. A good sister would be. Kate had never had a dowry and Sophie’s stepmother had embezzled hers, so Benedict would’ve had a difficult time otherwise. And heaven only knows what Gregory will do.
And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had the option of marrying. She received plenty of proposals – at least a half-dozen and mostly from very wealthy men (and two fortune hunters) – and refused every last one.
But the fact remains that she had been so sure neither of them would marry at this point. Her visions of contented spinsterhood always featured Penelope in a co-starring role. At some point, she hoped, she would convince Anthony to settle funds on her that would allow her to keep her own household and then Penelope could join her and be settled safely away from her dreadful mama. How grand it would be!
And then –
Well, she thought she knew Penelope inside and out and yet she’d missed something huge. Penelope was her dearest friend in the world; what did that say about the sort of friend she was?
She feels a bit stupid, truthfully, not having had so much as an inkling that her best friend and her brother had been inclined in that direction. She hadn’t been lying when she told Penelope that she would have meddled terribly had she suspected. She would’ve put even her mother’s best matchmaking schemes to shame.
Had the possibility of Penelope marrying one of her brothers occurred to her in the abstract, she should have been delighted at the thought. It means that she will always be able to see her best friend at holidays and family events, be assured of a welcome in her home that she could not be had Penelope married someone else . . .
—
“No,” she replies. “I thought I would surprise her.” She raises her voice cheerfully, “Penelope! Your favorite sister is –!”
“Miss Bridgerton,” Dunwoody interrupts loudly. “Mrs. Bridgerton is not available to see you at the moment.”
“Ah, is she out?” she asks amiably. “I can wait.” She can entertain herself easily until Penelope’s return; she has a pamphlet she has scarcely begun reading in her reticule.
Dunwoody does not step aside to admit her. “I, er –” He clears his throat. “That is to say, Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton are not . . . able to receive visitors at present,” he says meaningfully.
Oh.
“I see,” she nearly whispers.
“Shall I tell Mrs. Bridgerton you called?”
“Please don’t!” she says over her shoulder, cheeks flaming, before all but flying down the steps back to the carriage.
Over the years, her married siblings’ love matches (and covert explanations from maids) have provided quite the education and mostly inured her to maidenly fits of outrage, but really –
Good heavens, it’s the middle of the day!
—
(“Tomorrow, we’re taking the knocker off the door,” he mutters to himself, wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist to prevent her from leaving the bed at the sound of his terribly annoying younger sister’s voice.
“Colin!” protests Penelope.
“Penelope,” he mimics, tightening his grasp. Then, lowly, barely a breath against the shell of her ear: “Did you forget the promise to obey?” His lips trail lower. “Or must I tie you to the bed to recall you to your wifely duties?” Lower still.
Her pulse beats satisfyingly fast beneath his lips and he can’t help but smirk at having successfully distracted her from the disturbance.)