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Penelope could hardly believe the night she was having. Truly, she had half a mind to pinch herself to make sure she was not dreaming.
She had, as she often did with society functions, had an impending sense of dread at the idea of attending Lady's Danbury's ball. They were never quite that enjoyable for Penelope. She was always forced into some hideous citrus coloured concoction by the her mother and dragged around behind a squawking Philipa and a scowling Prudence, whilst being thoroughly ignored by nearly every person in the place.
At least the Bridgerton's and Lady Danbury were always kind to her. The older ladies always greeted her, and Daphne always gave her friendly, wide smile and complimented something about her hair or her outfit (even though Penelope knew she must have had to try very hard to find something polite and nice to say about her mother's choices). And Lady Bridgerton always made sure either Lord Bridgerton or Benedict danced with her, and neither gentleman ever complained or made it seem like a chore (even though Penelope was sure they groused about it to their mother later).
(She was always very grateful, of course, that they danced with her, sometimes both of them in one night, but she always ended up feeling just a little guilty that despite their generosity, she would have preferred a dance with a completely different Bridgerton brother all together.)
The only other person to ever notice Penelope was Cressida, who always had something cruel to say to her, so she often tried to put herself in Cressida's way early, so that she might have the unpleasantness out of the way before she encountered the Bridgerton's. But aside from the kindness of Eloise's family, there was not much else of the nights to recommend themselves to Penelope, who would much rather have been at home with a good book and a cup of tea.
At the least, she had lots of time to listen and observe and so always had plenty to write about in her next issue at Whistledown.
And so, she had dreaded her attendance and spent much of the beginning of her evening having to follow her mother and sisters around as they greeted any number of social contacts with various levels of interest or distaste at conversing with Portia and overlooked Penelope altogether. Cressida had of course predictably sneered and said unpleasant about her dress. Penelope had merely grimaced into her lemonade to hide her hurt, especially as there was no defence forthcoming from anyone around them, and taken to composing any number of insults towards Cressida that could be written in the next issue of Whistledown. (Why could she never say them herself without stumbling and making a fool of herself, she wondered.)
Her mother was just greeting the Ladies Bridgerton and Danbury when she had felt a thrill run down her spine and turned towards the entrance almost on instinct, like the moth to a flame, to see none other than Colin Bridgerton saunter in.
"I say, Violet, is that your son?" Danbury had asked and Violet had exclaimed in surprise and said something about how he was not due to return until the following week.
Penelope had missed anything else that was said after that, however. (Rather a problem for a gossip columnist.) It was though all her blood was suddenly boiling, heart pounding, the sound of it filling her ears, as her eyes locked onto him as he crossed the room to greet his brothers and sister.
It was the first time she had seen Colin in a year. In person, at least, for he was frequently in her dreams. He was impeccably well dressed, and his skin was almost bronzed in the flickering candlelight, a sign of his travels abroad. It seemed almost impossible to her that he had somehow grown even more handsome since he was last in England, but he had.
Penelope's heart sang. Oh she loved him, loved him, loved him.
She did not expect he would ever return her feelings, or even consider her a possible bride. Penelope was well read and, when she spoke to Eloise at least, a pleasant conversationalist. She could play the pianoforte and knew how to host tea, and to do all manner of things expected of a society wife.
But she was, after all that, just Penelope Featherington, in her horrid yellow gowns that made her look ghastly. She could not flirt, and nearly everyone forgot she was there. And her father was a mere mister, with little money to dower four daughters adequately. She could never be a suitable candidate for a Bridgerton wife.
Still, it was nice to dream, especially of Colin, who was always remarkably kind and sweet and funny to her. In her dreams, at least, she could have him.
And so she had watched him across the floor as he laughed and spoke with his siblings, hardly realising her mother had moved her and her sisters on until she saw Daphne Bridgerton cut a hasty exit from the room, pursued by Nigel Berbrooke, and Lady Bridgerton making her way towards her sons.
There was a shared grimace between them before the three scattered like skittles at a picnic, each trying to escape their mother's clutches. She could hardly be so interested in Anthony and Benedict however, given she saw them daily, and Penelope saw the moment this realisation flitted across Colin's face, as he scanned the room quickly for another buffer now his brother's had fled.
And then, the most remarkable thing had occurred. Colin's dazzling green eyes had locked onto her, and his face had split into a boyish grin that made Penelope's entire heart somersault, before he was crossing the room directly towards her, expertly avoiding his mother's clutches.
"Mrs Featherington!" he had greeted her mother, a touch too enthusiastically to be sure, before enacting a smart bow to her sisters and her in turn. "Miss Featheringon, Miss Philipa." And then his warm eyes had locked on hers, the edges of his grin quirking just a bit more. "Penelope."
It was a liberty, to be sure, to use just her given name, but Colin exuded so much charm and boyish glee, no one called him up on it. Penelope felt her entire being flush though, as she bobbed her own curtsey, and then surprised at her own daring, responded with, "Colin." His eyes had practically glinted with amusement at that, and she had somehow managed to continue talking. "Welcome back from your travels."
Colin, she felt, was the only person other than Eloise that she was completely able to talk with without stumbling over her words.
Portia had started talking about Colin's return at that moment, but with Violet now cutting a path directly to them, Colin had instead practically snatched Penelope's hand in his, exclaiming, "My apologies Mrs Featherington, I did come over to request just this exact dance with Penelope, and I am grateful for your permission to allow it, we don't wish to miss the song."
And he'd spun Penelope so quickly onto the dance floor, she had barely a moment to catch her breath before Colin had neatly slid them into the required steps and rhythm.
She had nearly swooned then. Although she knew it was an excuse to avoid his mother, Penelope could not deny the way her heart raced at the feel of his hand in hers, and well, she had always loved dancing with Colin. She was a very graceful dancer, she would admit, but no dance partner ever suited her as well as Colin did.
"I am sorry," Colin had said, as they came together between steps. "My mother… Well, I am grateful to you for humouring me, at least."
"It is not bother," she had assured him. "I enjoy dancing." Which was the truth, even if it was not the complete truth. "I have even already danced with Benedict this evening."
It had seemed in that moment that Colin's mouth had grown very… tight, and unsmiling, but then they had turned and when they were facing one another again, he was grinning once more, and Penelope had been sure it was the trick of the light.
It was hard to converse overly between steps, though she had expressed an interest in his trip and he had promised to divulge stories the next time she visited his mother for tea. Penelope had hoped for a few moments more of his attention, however once the song ended, she realised their mother's were standing together, and Colin stayed only long enough to return her to her mother before he dodged his own again, falsely claiming Anthony was looking for him.
"He thinks he is clever, but I will catch up to him," Lady Bridgerton had vowed to Penelope, a mischievous glimmer very similar to her son's in her eyes.
Penelope had thought then that that was it for her night. She had survived an encounter with Cressida, danced twice, with two Bridgerton brothers (one of them Colin!), she had seen and spoken and touched (gloved) the man she loved, and had plenty of material for the next issue of Whistledown.
And then he had arrived. Simon Bassett, the Duke of Hastings. Tall, dark and handsome, truly the most imposing man Penelope had ever laid eyes on.
She had watched him be beset by meddling mamas, her own included, all throwing their daughters towards him most uncouthly. Her mother, of course, had championed Prudence and Philipa, but to her own surprise, the Duke had smiled at Penelope and asked after her talents. (Fancy, a Duke taking interest in her!)
After he'd managed to escape her mother's clutches, she saw the Duke encounter the Bridgerton brothers, and well, Penelope was quite delighted to watch them all from her vantage point. Especially once Daphne rejoined them and she realised for all his posturing, the Duke was quite taken with her best friends sister.
(Penelope was not surprised — despite the ton having somewhat overlooked Daphne's charms until now, and Whistledown having had to report on this, it was always clear to Penelope that the eldest Bridgerton daughter was a diamond ready to be discovered.)
Watching them dance had been divine, and Penelope had then watched them take a turn around the room, already preparing her words on their blossoming romance. But then, the most remarkable thing had occurred. Truly, despite her own personal bias, even more remarkable than Colin Bridgerton appearing from thin air and spinning her onto the dancefloor.
The Duke had asked her to dance.
Around her, there had been a murmur of shock. Cressida looked as though she had swallowed a lemon whole, not an uncommon look on her though there was more bitterness than usual. Penelope herself was so taken aback by the request, her own mother could have swooned from surprise and she would not have been aware.
Mutely, unable to form even a yes in response, she had nodded and taken the Duke's gloved hand and followed him to the dance floor.
The Duke was no conversationalist, it appeared, though neither was Penelope, so it suited her fine, and beside the dance steps left little room for discussion. He was polite though, and, unsurprisingly, an exceptional dancer though, well rehearsed, and so her nerves, threatening to bring up her lemonade from earlier, were soon calmed. And though her heart belonged to Colin, the Duke was rather pleasing to the eye, and so it was easy to drown out the whispers around them and instead admire her unexpected dance partner.
What a night, Penelope had thought. An unprecedented three dances, with exceptionally eligible men, one even a Duke, and she had not spilled lemonade or made too much of an embarrassment of herself, except when she had stumbled over her words accepting Benedict's earlier invitation, as it had been directly after Cressida's cruel taunt.
She had been sure, as the dance ended and she and the Duke had bowed and curtsied to one another and he led her off the dance floor and back towards her mother, that she had surely had her share of luck for the evening, and perhaps may be able to escape to the ladies retiring room to catch her breath for her a moment.
However, to her amazement, Colin had returned to her mother's side, clearly confident in his mother's current distraction by the swarm of men around Daphne. Rather than his usual charming smile though, he had a look not too dissimilar to Cressida's, his normally warm green eyes focused a little too coolly on the Duke.
If the Duke noticed though, he gave no indication to Penelope, merely murmuring his thank you for their dance, before darting away from a sudden swell of mother's wanting him to dance with their own daughters.
Colin seemingly ignored all the commotion, marching up to Penelope and snatching her hand once more, none of his grace from earlier present. "Shall we dance again, Penelope?" he all but demanded, as he directed them back to the floor, barely giving her time to respond.
Not that Penelope's answer was anything other than yes, of course, but he was acting rather strange she felt. Still, her queries of concern died on her lips the moment he manoeuvred them into position, and looked down at her with those green eyes.
Better, she felt, to enjoy her unprecedented luck of the evening, which apparently now included two dances with Colin.
The steps of the dance allowed them more time to converse between turns, and Colin, clearly unable to resist his natural chattiness despite his strange mood, soon asked, "did you enjoy your dance? With the Duke?" His mouth was tight, a slight tick appearing at the corner of his lips.
His tone held none of his usual jocularity. It was the most serious Penelope had ever heard him, and when she glanced at his face, she could see he looked confused. "Of course," she responded, unsure what answer he might be looking for. "I do enjoy dancing."
"You said earlier," he murmured, and with a sudden frowned, dropped his voice lower, as to not be heard by the other dancers. "Anthony said he is a terrible sort."
Penelope raised an eyebrow, and fought to keep the grin off of her face. Whatever odd mood had overcome him was clearly passing, if he was being inclined to gossip. When he was in town, at least a third of what she wrote into Whistledown came directly from Colin inserting himself into tea with her and Eloise.
"I will be sure to steer clear," she promised, and the last of his dark mood seemed to dissipate at that time, though he still had an air of confusion around him. "I do not think it will be any hardship, as the Duke is not likely to ask me to dance again."
"Why ever not?" Colin seemed surprised at this, and internally she grimaced, shrugging the question away. She had no inclination to discuss her lack of desirability with Colin.
Instead, she asked him of his travels, and this sufficiently distracted him enough that even once their dance had ended, he was still going into great detail of the places he had visited as he led her from the dance floor. She was so engrossed in his words that she hardly realised he had directed her to the refreshments until she had a glass of lemonade in one hand and an eclair in another, and they walked slowly back towards her mother, still conversing.
It was the actions of a suitor, or at least, a man with interest, but Penelope knew better than to attribute Colin's actions to such meaning. Colin was, above all, kind and considerate, and had clearly correctly guessed she was hungry and thirsty after so many dances and moments of surprise. There was no one else in the room who would mistake his acts for courting either. It wouldn't even be worth a mention in Whistledown, not with news of the Duke to overshadow everything else.
Still, Penelope would treasure every moment of his attentions towards her tonight.
They had reached her mother, who was now simpering over Colin and angling for him to ask one of her sisters to dance. "It has been so kind of you to dance with Penelope, but you know Prudence-" she started, bringing their discussion of his travels to an end.
Colin ducked his head but Penelope still saw his grimace and hid her own grin. "My apologises," he said, looking up once more and smiling winningly at her mother, who Penelope could swear was seconds from fanning herself in response. "I must attend to my sister. Perhaps another time." He was about to stride off, but suddenly turned back, locking his eyes onto hers. "Will you be at tea at my mother's tomorrow?"
Penelope nodded. "Yes, Eloise invited me. She and Fran wished to hear all about the ball."
"Excellent." His enthusiasm seemed genuine. "If you should like, we can continue our discussion."
And with everything she had, Penelope somehow stopped herself from exploding from joy and managed to say, quite calmly, "I should very much like that."
With a departing bow, he quickly evaded her mother's clutches, disappearing from sight. The rest of the evening passed in a blur, with Penelope mostly being ignored except for Prudence's nasty and jealous commentary over the Bridgerton's and her managing to successful evade a second Cressida encounter before they departed for home.
Remarkably, she managed to keep herself cool and collected until she shut and locked her bedroom door, throwing herself onto her bed and grinning widely in the privacy of her own company.
Not only would the next Whistledown issue sell well with news of the Duke courting Daphne Bridgerton, she, Penelope Featherington, had danced four dances, with three eligible bachelors, including a Duke. She had danced with Colin, twice, and he had fetched her refreshments and conversed with her. And he wanted to continue to tell her of his travels at tea at his mothers!
Unable to help herself, Penelope did pinch her arm then. "Ouch!" she muttered, rubbing at the red spot she had just left. And then, unable to help herself, she fell apart, giggling.
It was truly the best night she had ever had. And very soon after, she fell asleep to dreams of being waltzed around the floor by Colin, his green eyes sparkling at her.
A successful night indeed.