Chapter Text
<There must be another way,> she fretted.
She did not want Marina to be forced into marrying Lord Rutlege, but she did not want Colin trying to save her, either.
Deep in thought, she slunk along the wall, trying to figure out how to enlist his family for help. Surely they would all disapprove of Colin marrying Marina.
She stopped when she saw Benedict in the back corner. He was conversing in low tones with Sir Henry Granville, the painter.
“I would simply like to understand your situation,” she overheard him say. “I would just like to understand.”
Sir Henry nodded.
“It is simple,” he said calmly. “I am in love with Lord Wetherby.”
She barely managed to stifle her gasp in time.
<What?!>
Nothing could have prepared her for that revelation.
Clearly, Benedict felt the same.
“You are married!” he exclaimed.
“And our marriage affords my wife her freedoms and protections,” Sir Henry elucidated. “It is a happier union than most of the people in this room have, I assure you.”
She did not doubt that for a moment. Certainly that was true of Mama and Papa.
“And what is the advantage for the young ladies Lord Wetherby is courting?” Benedict retorted. “Or do they also share this understanding? What about honor? Romance?”
“What would you know of either?” Sir Henry shot back. “We live under constant threat of danger, Bridgerton. I risk my life every day for love. You have no idea what it is like to be in a room with someone you cannot live without, and yet you feel as though you are oceans apart. Stealing your glances, disguising your touches. We cannot as much as smile at each other without first ensuring no one else is watching. It takes courage to live outside the traditional expectations of the society. You talk of doing the same. But perhaps it is merely just that. All talk.”
With that rejoinder, Sir Henry stalked off.
Penelope stood completely still, frozen in place.
She could not believe what she had just heard.
Her heart was racing, her mind reeling.
<It is most fortunate that Daphne did not set her cap at Lord Wetherby,> she thought dumbly.
She hoped no other debutante had either. She could not imagine the devastation of finding out the man you loved would never love you back because he was already in love with another man.
It had never even occurred to her that two men could have that kind of relationship.
And yet if what Sir Henry had said was true… it could be the answer to all of her problems.
To Marina’s problems.
She felt a certain sympathy for both Sir Henry and Lord Wetherby, for she knew all too well what it was like to love in secret. To never speak of it to anyone. To attend the same social assemblies, occupy the same space, breathe the same air, forever concealing one’s true feelings.
It felt like torture.
And yet, she still harbored hope that one day the man she loved might come to his senses and love her back.
In the meantime, at least she could dance with him at balls and converse with him during Sunday afternoon tea at Bridgerton House.
At least she was not the wrong sex.
Thoughts churning, she forced her feet to start moving again.
How did one even discover that about oneself, that one loved people of the same sex?
She had never asked herself that question before.
Come to think of it, how had she first known that she was attracted to men?
The answer was – she hadn’t.
She had only known that she loved Colin. Even before she could put a name to it, she had loved him.
That did not necessarily mean that she loved all men, or men in general, but she had assumed that her love for Colin meant it was at least theoretically possible for her to love another man who was not Colin.
She had never felt remotely that way about a woman. Eloise, say. Nor Daphne nor Francesca.
Looking around at the people milling around her, she suddenly saw them in a new light.
Since her debut, she had met many eligible gentlemen. While she had no suitors of her own, Marina had plenty, and she'd had ample opportunity to observe them all during calling hours, promenades and balls.
Even though no one could ever compare to Colin in her eyes, there were still many gentlemen she found pleasing to look at. They often reminded her of Colin in some way – young, boyishly handsome, with dark hair and curls with mischievous smiles and athletic builds. She enjoyed admiring the fit of their clothes upon their well-formed, muscular physiques while they were horseback riding or fencing. Tailored waistcoats, elegantly tied cravats, tight-fitting trousers that showcased their firm backsides…
It was not only their physical attributes that she found attractive, either. Many of them had other excellent qualities as well. Most of them were well-read and well-educated, and they were also amiable and considerate.
At Vauxhall, when Colin had spirited her away to dance The Siege of Ennis, she had found it thrilling to dance with the other gentlemen in their set.
She had not felt the same way about any of the ladies they had been partnering.
No, she was quite certain she was only attracted to gentlemen and would never feel that kind of attraction towards any ladies.
Armed with this new perspective, she studied Lord Wetherby intently.
Like Colin, he was quite tall – taller than most of the men in the ton. He had thick, wavy dark hair and slate blue eyes, and he was very handsome. He seemed like a quiet, serious man – not anywhere as lively and charming as Colin – but there was kindness in his eyes and warmth in his smile. He was also an impeccable dancer and very attentive to all of his dance partners.
She could understand why Sir Henry had fallen for him.
Likewise, Sir Henry was tall and handsome as well. He was only slightly shorter than Colin and Lord Wetherby. He was noticeably older than they were – graying a bit at the temples – but that only made him look distinguished. He was certainly nowhere near as old as Papa, and his disposition seemed far more congenial. He had a very expressive face and an air of openness to new people and experiences.
In addition, she knew him to be a man who was not content to merely rest on his laurels. No, he had a calling, and he followed it. He had no need to paint for a living, but he painted regardless.
Penelope recognized a fellow artist when she saw one. Though her medium was words, she felt the same compulsion to create. She could not be content any other way. When she could not write, she felt restless and consumed by madness.
She imagined Sir Henry felt the same way about putting brushstrokes on canvas.
His paintings were all great works of art – striking and true to life. He certainly never depicted ladies as “human vases.”
<If I ever have a marital portrait done, I want him to paint it,> she decided.
She allowed herself a moment to picture it in her mind’s eye.
A magnificent painting in a gilded frame, depicting a bucolic, pastoral setting… She would be seated in a velvet-upholstered chair with Colin standing beside her, his hand on her back.
<The Honorable Mr. and Mrs. Colin Bridgerton,> she thought dreamily. <Oil on canvas, by Sir Henry Granville, 1815.>
It would look stunning hanging over the mantelpiece in the drawing room of their home…
She blinked.
<Stop!> she admonished herself. <Focus on the task at hand!>
She couldn’t afford to let her mind drift like that. She had work to do.
The point was, it was entirely understandable why Lord Wetherby was attracted to Sir Henry as well.
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.
One did not choose who fell in love with; one simply fell in love.
If she had had a choice, she certainly would not have settled on Colin Bridgerton as the recipient of her affections. Instead, she would have chosen someone more within reach.
She sighed.
In truth, it would have been far simpler and more convenient if she had fallen for El rather than Colin, for El wanted to be spinsters together and spend the rest of their days in a quiet country cottage somewhere. She rather doubted any gentleman of her current acquaintance would be willing to make that type of lifetime commitment with her.
If it had been up to her, she would have let go of Colin years ago. But she had not been able to.
She feared she would love him until her dying day.
Perhaps that was how Sir Henry and Lord Wetherby felt about each other as well.
Despite the obstacles in their way, at least they had been fortunate enough to find love.
From a more practical standpoint, it meant that Lord Wetherby was surely in need of a wife.
<And an heir.>