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With her last social season finally concluded, Miss Penelope Featherington did not simply retreat to her family home and resign herself to a life of endless loneliness.
Propelled by a gentleman’s good words, she decided she would not be a spinster. She told her mother this and received a quizzical frown.
“Dear, one does not simply choose not to be a spinster; one must be called upon, courted, and wed.”
Yet deterred by her mother’s bluntness, Penelope nodded and sipped her tea. “I know, Mama. I believe my future will not be lonely,” she confessed.
Mama reached out, hand on top of her youngest daughter’s. “I do hope so, darling. It should be good for you to be away from this house.”
Penelope paused. “Mama, do you wish me away?”
“Heavens no! I merely mean that you should not be tied here. Should you have the chance despite your years, you ought to make a home with a man worthy of your mind and love. Your twilight years should be worth the trials of your youth.”
She blinked. “I pray that you do not think ill of your own home because of what Papa left for us.”
Mama smiled vaguely.
“Mama!”
“Do not raise your voice at me, Penelope!”
“I apologize for my outburst, only that I think you ought to have what you wish for me! Do you never intend to remarry? Or to live beside a close confidant? If I am to marry, I do not wish you to be lonely, Mama.” She reminisced about her life—filled with overt snubbing and mild, eternal loneliness— smiling gently. “I would never wish that for you.”
“I would not be lonely!” She scoffed. “I would have my daughters and my sons! And I shall have the most beautiful grandchildren to adore! I see no reason why I should be lonely now or later!”
“I am glad.”
“To be sure, you had not accepted any proposition of courting yesternight?” Mama clarified.
“I have not.” Penelope beamed.
She tilted her head. Then, she sighed. “Daughter, you and your mind bewilder me. You enjoy your secrets much more than a woman should.”
“I believe I am owed my promised few,” she defended. “Regardless, I withhold no truth from you, Mana. I am not a betrothed lady.”
“Yet,” Mama emphasized. “Penelope, someone spoke to you yesternight.”
“I do not deny it.”
“Ah! There it is again!”
“What is there?”
“The sparkle of your eyes! This person—the mere thought of this person ignites a fire in your heart, I see!” She leaned forward. “Do you believe it to be love?”
Penelope flinched. “Love?” She blushed. “I could not be certain.” She hung her head. “I would not want to, so quickly.”
Mama hummed. “I hope it is, or that it will be. And that this gentleman will call and help you.”
“By what do you mean help?”
“That he should be the missing piece to allow you to have your love match.”
“Certainly?” Penelope hesitated. “I believe you had long since entertained the thought of my having a love match.”
She waved her hand. “Do not jest, Penelope. Naturally, I would want my daughter to marry a man of great status and wealth—I make no secret of that to you. But do not think me a blind woman. I know my daughter’s heart. Though your prospects following that boy—“ she spat, “—were irrespectfully lacking, you have required the season. A practical man would not take you, but one for romance might. I know my daughter well enough to know that such a minuscule hope was preferable to isolation.”
Penelope’s hands trembled. “You believed that? Truly?”
“Do not take me for a witch, Penelope. I desire your comfort and security far more than your misery. For such a romantic as you, the spinster life that you and the Bridgerton girl always discussed would only be miserable for you.” She shook her head. “No, I do not desire your misery.”
Penelope had not known that.
In recent years, she and her mother maintained a respectful but tenuous relationship. Mama admired her daughter’s sedulousness and witty independence. Though the young woman felt it envious at times, Penelope desired her mother’s praise and acknowledgment. She persisted in effort until her mother truly accepted her words and works as they were.
Underlying it all was the disappointment of a failed engagement. Penelope and Mama had fought then, that Colin Bridgerton was not right for her. Penelope had protested, certain they had a love that weathered storms. When she was proven wrong mere days later, Mama was vindicated but quiet; in the years after, they spoke little of that betrothal, only for Mama to say that Penelope ought to return to the season.
And when Penelope thought of Lord Alfred Debling, she found that her mother was right, many times over. Only, had they become engaged then, all those years ago, Penelope may have committed a great sin—her eyes would have wandered, desiring a love she still dreamed of having.
Now, when a gentleman suitor called, she never once considered the mystery romance beheld by a boy she had once adored.
“I apologize for the delay, Lord Debling.” She hid her ink-stained hands that could not be fully cleaned in her haste.
He shook his head, a smile serenely gracing his face. “It should be I who should offer apologies, Miss Featherington.”
“For what reason?”
“For calling so late in the day.”
Penelope cracked a smile. “Thank you, but I am simply more grateful for your presence than I am scorned by any ostensible tardiness.”
He hummed. “Has your day been well?”
“Perfectly so, and yours? What has kept you so preoccupied this fine day?”
“I do not intend to bore you with the happenings of my estate, Miss Featherington.”
“Not at all!” Penelope exclaimed. “You had once asked if I would be comfortable running an estate, and I responded affirmatively. It is no different now.”
“Indeed,” he agreed, “though this hardly seems to be appropriate conversation for one’s calling hours.”
She shook her head. “I do not wish for you discomfort, but know, Lord Debling, this does not worry me. I have many skills in managing such a thing.”
“Why do you retain such skills, pray tell?”
“To keep our home, I have paid much attention to our estate since my sisters have married. As a younger lady, too, I had thought I would be a governess, thus I studied much and quite broadly.”
“A governess, you say…?”
Penelope exhaled, huffing out a small laugh. “Do you think it a humorous and ridiculous thought?”
“Surely, I do not!” he protested. “I thought that, had you chosen such a path, the children you would have taught would have been the most blessed to have a governess so intelligent and kind.”
She blinked. “Flattery or otherwise, thank you.”
“I assure you again, I speak only the truth.”
When all was said and done, and the sun set, the two were not engaged to be married.
In truth, they had conversed for so long, sitting in that drawing room with tea and untouched biscuits, until a maid had inquired on Mama’s behalf to discover if Penelope intended to eat dinner with her.
Penelope opened her eyes, and the sun was disappearing. She shot up out of her seat, profusely apologizing for pulling him away from his responsibilities for so long! Lord Debling stood as well, but regally and composed. He was unperturbed, merely thanking her for these respite moments of good company and honest conversation.
They were not betrothed—yet. Instead, they bid goodbye and goodnight with the agreement to remain.
In her spare hours, Penelope assisted the gentleman with the management of his estate. Lord Debling—Alfred, in private—was ever concerned that his shortcomings during this adjustment period were unbecoming and burdensome to the young Miss Featherington.
Penelope simply laughed. “I am merely doing what I can.”
“I do not intend to cause undue complication, Penelope,” Alfred clarified.
She shivered. “I do not fear such complications. More, I am relieved to know I can provide you with aid.” She found his ocean-deep, curious blue eyes. “To have one’s affairs in order before…” She hesitated, not attempting to make an advance. “Is it not agreeable when one’s affairs are in order?”
Alfred’s hands lingered on a stack of papers. “I do agree. Pray tell, Penelope, what affairs are in question?”
She asked, “Whether of mine or yours?” Her fingers threatened to ruffle the detailed hems of her dress.
He nodded. “Whichever occupies your mind.”
In the quiet of the house office of the Debling estate, and the patience of a tender-hearted man, she spoke forthcomingly. “Much concerns me, Alfred. I am certain I am not deluded when I assert that you intend to ask for my hand. Perhaps, that has been your intention since our first night’s reunion.”
“Ever so astute and honest, Miss Featherington,” he seemed to praise.
Emboldened by success and being a recipient of candor, she held his gaze directly. “I am glad. Not to hear that I have answered correctly,” she amended, “but that I am desired as a wife, as a woman. Yet—“
Alfred stiffened.
“—I fear my inadequacies. Still,” Penelope whispered.
“I do not know of any inadequacies. Would you care to enlighten me, Penelope?” he inquired delicately.
She swallowed. “I do not intend to burden you with my family or myself. There is much I intend to do—look after my nieces, prepare a home my mother can reside in comfortably. I, too, desire to be unburdened by my past if I am to have a true future with you, Alfred.”
“To be truly free from the past…” he considered. “In what manner do you speak?”
She inhaled. “Of my former loves.”
He blinked.
“My then-fiancé,” she rushed to explain, “has siblings I adore, siblings who often were kinder than my own. In the dramatics of our disagreements and failed courtship, I too fell out of favor amongst my second family.” Penelope twisted her fingers together. “I have attempted to mend these fractured relationships, but progress has been slow and slight.”
He hummed. “I understand. I do, however, have a query, Penelope.”
“Yes?”
“And I dare not speak out of line or offend here.”
She nodded, prompting him to continue. She had never known Alfred Debling to be thoughtless or unkind; she could not expect it now.
“As you desire these mended relationships, I dearly hope that you are not the sole effortful party present. If it is so that you, Penelope, are the only olive branch seeking forgiveness and reconciliation, perhaps they are unworthy of your good grace. Perhaps,” he drawled slowly and carefully, “you are better to leave them be and live separate lives.”
Penelope had thought this before. Of course, she had. The years had been long and unkind to a maturing chick, tossed aside by a righteous family of goodwill and decent respect. Penelope considered Alfred’s history with his family, one where he was scared and scorned by greedy hands and vulgar tongues. She was certain that his choice was correct, just as hers was, so she smiled wryly. “I cannot help it, Alfred. I will continue to love them as long as I breathe. And I hardly know how to breathe without my admittance of such adoration.”
To her great surprise, Alfred’s response was a smile of equal measure. “May I?” He looked at her hands.
Still twisting and twiddling with her dress trims, she gingerly stopped. Uncertain, she trusted the serene depth of his blue eyes and nodded.
He took her hands into his. “Thank you for your forthcoming honesty. I am glad to hear this,” he confessed, “for it is your soul I desire. That of love, fidelity, and sincerity. Need I wait for the readiness of your mind and soul, I would wait eternally.”
Penelope trembled. Her eyes watered. When had she last felt this way? So overwhelmed by sympathy and clemency…! It made for a sad thought, but out bubbled a magnificent, joyful realization. She laughed. “I dearly pray you do not have to wait so long!”
His thumb wandered the back of her hand before dropping them carefully, delicately even. “I, too, pray I do not have to wait an eternity to have you.”
When Penelope left Lord Debling’s estate, she kept these emotions and experiences tightly in her heart. At a later time, they might be penned in a locked diary for her own indulgence, but never elsewhere.
Returning to Featherington House, she recalled an exchange the two once shared.
Then, practicality and romance seemed at odds. To have both was not an anomaly, only an impossibility. Yet, Penelope’s imagination flourished, and she constantly found herself envisaging a future where a stable, trustworthy home was reliably filled with love and open affection. If she could only have one, she would have chosen the romance, while Lord Debling, the pragmatic spouse.
Only now, as she came to understand the finances of the Debling title, and the eponymous gentleman, neither seemed far from the other.
Certainly, they were both aware of the convenience of a union. Yet, this time around, Penelope doubted that a practical solution was what motivated the lord. And, Penelope began to doubt that this utilitarian marriage would be devoid of love, romance, even…
She confessed none of this to her prospective suitor. It may shatter the agreement between them, that they would be unwed but promised to one another until they were ready. They resigned themselves to the relations of dedicated acquaintances.
No, Penelope had not resigned to anything. She was free to make her choices, just as she was free to uphold her decisions. To be truly worthy of a marriage partner and be of perseverant strength and humanity, Miss Featherington had to first find her favor with the Bridgertons and work to ensure the wealth and future of her dear nieces.
I apologize and am overflowing with remorse, she told her diary, yet the good Alfred Debling must wait for his wife.