Romancing Mister Bridgerton (22 page)

“Don't worry,” Colin said through a smooth smile, grabbing hold of her hand and yanking her back down. “Your mother said Prudence could go.”

“Philippa,” Penelope said.

“What about Philippa?”

“She said Philippa could go, not Prudence.”

He wondered what had happened to her brain, because somewhere between his carriage and this sofa, it had clearly disappeared. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“No, not really, but—”

“Felicity,” Mrs. Featherington interrupted, “why don't you tell Mr. Bridgerton about your watercolors?”

For the life of him, Colin couldn't imagine a less interesting topic (except, maybe, for Philippa's watercolors), but he nonetheless turned to the youngest Featherington with a friendly smile and asked, “And how are your watercolors?”

But Felicity, bless her heart, gave him a rather friendly smile herself and said nothing but, “I imagine they're fine, thank you.”

Mrs. Featherington looked as if she'd just swallowed a live eel, then exclaimed, “Felicity!”

“Yes?” Felicity said sweetly.

“You didn't tell him that you'd won an award.” She turned to Colin. “Felicity's watercolors are very unique.” She turned back to Felicity. “Do tell Mr. Bridgerton about your award.”

“Oh, I don't imagine he is interested in that.”

“Of course he is,” Mrs. Featherington ground out.

Normally, Colin would have chimed in with,
Of course I am,
since he was, after all, an exceedingly affable fellow, but doing so would have validated Mrs. Featherington's statement and, perhaps more critically, ruined Felicity's good fun.

And Felicity appeared to be having a
lot
of fun. “Philippa,” she said, “weren't you going to go after the food?”

“Oh, right,” Philippa replied. “Forgot all about it. I do that a lot. Come along, Nigel. You can keep me company.”

“Right-o!” Nigel beamed. And then he and Philippa left the room, giggling all the way.

Colin reaffirmed his conviction that the Berbrooke-Featherington match had been a good one, indeed.

“I think I shall go out to the garden,” Prudence suddenly announced, taking hold of her husband's arm. “Penelope, why don't you come with me?”

Penelope opened her mouth a few seconds before she figured out what to say, leaving her looking a little bit like a confused fish (but in Colin's opinion a rather fetching fish, if such a thing were possible). Finally, her chin took on a resolute mien, and she said, “I don't think so, Prudence.”

“Penelope!” Mrs. Featherington exclaimed.

“I need you to show me something,” Prudence ground out.

“I really think I'm needed here,” Penelope replied. “I can join you later this afternoon, if you like.”

“I need you
now
.”

Penelope looked to her sister in surprise, clearly not expecting quite so much resistance. “I'm sorry, Prudence,” she reiterated. “I believe I'm needed here.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Featherington said breezily. “Felicity and I can keep Mr. Bridgerton company.”

Felicity jumped to her feet. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, her eyes round and innocent. “I forgot something.”

“What,” Mrs. Featherington asked between her teeth, “could you possibly have forgotten?”

“Uhh…my watercolors.” She turned to Colin with a sweet, mischievous smile. “You did want to see them, didn't you?”

“Of course,” he murmured, deciding he very much liked Penelope's younger sister. “Seeing as how they are so unique.”

“One might say they are uniquely ordinary,” Felicity said with an overly earnest nod.

“Penelope,” Mrs. Featherington said, obviously trying to hide her annoyance, “would you be so kind as to fetch Felicity's watercolors?”

“Penelope doesn't know where they are,” Felicity said quickly.

“Why don't you tell her?”

“For God's sake,” Colin finally exploded, “let Felicity go. I need a private moment with you, anyway.”

Silence reigned. It was the first time Colin Bridgerton had ever lost his temper in public. Beside him, Colin heard Penelope let out a little gasp, but when he glanced at her, she was hiding a tiny smile behind her hand.

And that made him feel ridiculously good.

“A private moment?” Mrs. Featherington echoed, her hand fluttering to her chest. She glanced over at Prudence and Robert, who were still standing by the window. They immediately left the room, although not without a fair bit of grumbling on Prudence's part.

“Penelope,” Mrs. Featherington said, “perhaps you should accompany Felicity.”

“Penelope will remain,” Colin ground out.

“Penelope?” Mrs. Featherington asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” he said slowly, in case she still didn't understand his meaning, “Penelope.”

“But—”

Colin gave her such a glare that she actually drew back and folded her hands in her lap.

“I'm gone!” Felicity chirped, sailing out of the room. But before she closed the door behind her, Colin saw her give a quick wink to Penelope.

And Penelope smiled, love for her younger sister shining clearly in her eyes.

Colin relaxed. He hadn't realized just how tense Penelope's misery was making him. And she was definitely miserable. Good God, he couldn't wait to remove her from the bosom of her ridiculous family.

Mrs. Featherington's lips spread into a feeble attempt at a smile. She looked from Colin to Penelope and back again, and then finally said, “You desired a word?”

“Yes,” he replied, eager to get this done with. “I would be honored if you would grant me your daughter's hand in marriage.”

For a moment Mrs. Featherington made no reaction. Then her eyes grew round, her mouth grew round, her body—well, her body was already round—and she clapped her hands together, unable to say anything other than, “Oh! Oh!”

And then, “Felicity! Felicity!”

Felicity?

Portia Featherington jumped to her feet, ran to the door and actually screamed like a fishwife. “Felicity! Felicity!”

“Oh, Mother,” Penelope moaned, closing her eyes.

“Why are you summoning Felicity?” Colin asked, rising to his feet.

Mrs. Featherington turned to him quizzically. “Don't you want to marry Felicity?”

Colin actually thought he might be sick. “No, for God's
sake, I don't want to marry Felicity,” he snapped. “If I'd wanted to marry Felicity, I'd hardly have sent her upstairs for her bloody watercolors, would I?”

Mrs. Featherington swallowed uncomfortably. “Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, wringing her hands together. “I don't understand.”

He stared at her in horror, which then turned to disgust. “Penelope,” he said, grabbing her hand and yanking her until she was pressed close to his side. “I want to marry Penelope.”

“Penelope?” Mrs. Featherington echoed. “But—”

“But what?” he interrupted, his voice pure menace.

“But—but—”

“It's all right, Colin,” Penelope said hastily. “I—”

“No, it is not all right,” he exploded. “I've never given any indication I'm the least bit interested in Felicity.”

Felicity appeared in the doorway, clapped her hand over her mouth, and quickly disappeared, wisely shutting the door behind her.

“Yes,” Penelope said placatingly, shooting a quick look at her mother, “but Felicity is unmarried, and—”

“So are you,” he pointed out.

“I know, but I'm old, and—”

“And Felicity is an
infant,
” he spat. “Good God, marrying her would be like marrying Hyacinth.”

“Er, except for the incest,” Penelope said.

He gave her an extremely unamused look.

“Right,” she said, mostly to fill the silence. “It's just a terrible misunderstanding, isn't it?”

No one said anything. Penelope looked at Colin pleadingly. “Isn't it?”

“It certainly is,” he muttered.

She turned to her mother. “Mama?”

“Penelope?” she murmured, and Penelope knew that her mother wasn't asking her a question; rather, she was still expressing her disbelief that Colin would want to marry her.

And oh, but it hurt so much. You'd think she'd be used to it by now.

“I would like to marry Mr. Bridgerton,” Penelope said, trying to summon up as much quiet dignity as she could manage. “He asked me, and I said yes.”

“Well, of course you would say yes,” her mother retorted. “You'd have to be an idiot to say no.”

“Mrs. Featherington,” Colin said tightly, “I suggest you begin treating my future wife with a bit more respect.”

“Colin, it's not necessary,” Penelope said, placing her hand on his arm, but the truth was—her heart was soaring. He might not love her, but he cared about her. No man could defend a woman with such fierce protectiveness without caring for her a little.

“It
is
necessary,” he returned. “For God's sake, Penelope, I arrived with you. I made it abundantly clear that I required your presence in the room, and I practically shoved Felicity out the door to fetch her watercolors. Why on earth would anyone think I wanted Felicity?”

Mrs. Featherington opened and closed her mouth several times before finally saying, “I love Penelope, of course, but—”

“But do you know her?” Colin shot back. “She's lovely and intelligent and has a fine sense of humor. Who wouldn't want to marry a woman like that?”

Penelope would have melted to the floor if she weren't already holding on to his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered, not caring if her mother heard her, not even really caring if Colin heard her. Somehow she needed to say the words for herself.

Not what she thought she was.

Lady Danbury's face swam before her eyes, her expression warm and just a little bit cunning.

Something more.
Maybe Penelope was something more, and maybe Colin was the only other person to realize that as well.

It made her love him all the more.

Her mother cleared her throat, then stepped forward and gave Penelope a hug. It was, at first, a hesitant embrace on both of their parts, but then Portia tightened her arms around her thirdborn daughter, and with a choked cry, Penelope found herself returning the hug in equal measure.

“I do love you, Penelope,” Portia said, “and I am very pleased for you.” She drew back and wiped a tear from her eye. “I shall be lonely without you, of course, since I'd assumed we would grow old together, but this is what's best for you, and that, I suppose, is what being a mother is all about.”

Penelope let out a loud sniffle, then blindly reached for Colin's handkerchief, which he had already pulled from his pocket and was holding in front of her.

“You'll learn someday,” Portia said, patting her on the arm. She turned to Colin and said, “We are delighted to welcome you to the family.”

He nodded, not terribly warmly, but Penelope thought he made a rather nice effort considering how angry he'd been just moments earlier.

Penelope smiled and squeezed his hand, aware that she was about to embark upon the adventure of her life.

“Y
ou know,” Eloise said, three days after Colin and Penelope made their surprise announcement, “it's really a pity that Lady Whistledown has retired, because this would have been the coup of the decade.”

“Certainly from Lady Whistledown's viewpoint,” Penelope murmured, lifting her teacup to her lips and keeping her eyes trained on the wall clock in Lady Bridgerton's informal drawing room. Better not to look at Eloise directly. She had a way of noticing secrets in a person's eyes.

It was funny. Penelope had gone years without worrying that Eloise would discover the truth about Lady Whistledown. At least, not worrying overmuch. But now that Colin knew, it somehow felt as if her secret were floating about in the air, like particles of dust just waiting to form into a cloud of knowledge.

Maybe the Bridgertons were like dominoes. Once one found out, it was only a matter of time before they all fell.

“What do you mean?” Eloise asked, breaking into Penelope's nervous thoughts.

“If I recall correctly,” Penelope said, very carefully, “she once wrote that she would have to retire if I ever married a Bridgerton.”

Eloise's eyes bugged out. “She did?”

“Or something like that,” Penelope said.

“You're joking,” Eloise said, making a “pffft” sort of sound as she waved her hand dismissively. “She would never have been that cruel.”

Penelope coughed, not really thinking that she could end the topic by faking a biscuit crumb in her throat, but trying nonetheless.

“No, really,” Eloise persisted. “What did she say?”

“I don't recall, precisely.”

“Try.”

Penelope stalled by setting her cup down and reaching for another biscuit. They were alone for tea, which was odd. But Lady Bridgerton had dragged Colin off on some errand regarding the upcoming wedding—set for only a month hence!—and Hyacinth was off shopping with Felicity, who had, upon hearing Penelope's news, thrown her arms around her sister and shrieked her delight until Penelope's ears had gone numb.

As far as sisterly moments went, it had been something wonderful.

“Well,” Penelope said, chewing on a bite of biscuit, “I believe she said that if I married a Bridgerton, it would be the end of the world as she knew it, and as she wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of such a world, she would have to retire immediately.”

Eloise stared at her for a moment. “That's not a precise recollection?”

“One doesn't forget things like that,” Penelope demurred.

“Hmmmph.” Eloise's nose wrinkled with disdain. “Well, that was rather horrid of her, I must say. Now I doubly wish she were still writing, because she would have to eat an entire gaggle of crow.”

“Do crows gather in gaggles?”

“I don't know,” Eloise replied promptly, “but they should.”

“You're a very good friend, Eloise,” Penelope said quietly.

“Yes,” Eloise said with an affected sigh, “I know. The very best.”

Penelope smiled. Eloise's breezy reply made it clear that she wasn't in the mood for emotion or nostalgia. Which was fine. There was a time and a place for everything. Penelope had said what she wanted to say, and she knew that Eloise returned the sentiment, even if she preferred to joke and tease at that moment.

“I must confess, though,” Eloise said, reaching for another biscuit, “you and Colin did surprise me.”

“We surprised me as well,” Penelope admitted wryly.

“Not that I'm not delighted,” Eloise hastened to add. “There is no one I'd rather have as a sister. Well, aside from the ones I already have, of course. And if I'd ever dreamed the two of you were inclined in that direction, I'm sure I would have meddled horribly.”

“I know,” Penelope said, laughter forcing her lips up at the corners.

“Yes, well”—Eloise waved the comment away—“I'm not known for minding my own business.”

“What's that on your fingers?” Penelope asked, leaning forward for a better look.

“What? That? Oh, nothing.” But she settled her hands in her lap nonetheless.

“It's not nothing,” Penelope said. “Let me see. It looks like ink.”

“Well, of course it does. It
is
ink.”

“Then why didn't you say so when I asked?”

“Because,” Eloise said pertly, “it's none of your business.”

Penelope drew back in shock at Eloise's sharp tone. “I'm terribly sorry,” she said stiffly. “I had no idea it was such a sensitive subject.”

“Oh, it's not,” Eloise said quickly. “Don't be silly. It's just that I'm clumsy and I can't write without getting ink all over my fingers. I suppose I could wear gloves, but then
they'd
be
stained, and I'd be forever replacing them, and I can assure you that I have no wish to spend my entire allowance—meager as it is—on gloves.”

Penelope stared at her through her lengthy explanation, then asked, “What were you writing?”

“Nothing,” Eloise said dismissively. “Just letters.”

Penelope could tell from Eloise's brisk tone that she didn't particularly want to subject the topic to further exploration, but she was being so uncharacteristically evasive that Penelope couldn't resist asking, “To whom?”

“The letters?”

“Yes,” Penelope replied, even though she thought that was rather obvious.

“Oh, no one.”

“Well, unless they're a diary, they're not to
no one,
” Penelope said, impatience adding a short tinge to her voice.

Eloise gave her a vaguely affronted look. “You're rather nosy today.”

“Only because you're being so evasive.”

“They're just to Francesca,” Eloise said with a little snort.

“Well, then, why didn't you say so?”

Eloise crossed her arms. “Perhaps I didn't appreciate your questioning me.”

Penelope's mouth fell open. She couldn't remember the last time she and Eloise had had anything even remotely approaching a row. “Eloise,” she said, her shock showing in her voice, “what is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“I know that's not true.”

Eloise said nothing, just pursed her lips and glanced toward the window, a clear attempt to end the conversation.

“Are you angry with me?” Penelope persisted.

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“I don't know, but it's clear that you are.”

Eloise let out a little sigh. “I'm not angry.”

“Well, you're
some
thing.”

“I'm just…I'm just…” She shook her head. “I don't know what I am. Restless, I suppose. Out of sorts.”

Penelope was silent as she digested that, then said quietly, “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” Eloise smiled wryly. “If there were, you can be sure I'd have already asked it of you.”

Penelope felt something that was almost a laugh rising within her. How like Eloise to make such a comment.

“I suppose it's…” Eloise began, her chin lifting in thought. “No, never mind.”

“No,” Penelope said, reaching out and taking her friend's hand. “Tell me.”

Eloise pulled her hand free and looked away. “You'll think I'm silly.”

“Maybe,” Penelope said with a smile, “but you'll still be my very closest friend.”

“Oh, Penelope, but I'm not,” Eloise said sadly. “I'm not worthy of it.”

“Eloise, don't talk such madness. I'd have gone right-out insane trying to navigate London and society and the
ton
without you.”

Eloise smiled. “We did have fun, didn't we?”

“Well, yes, when I was with you,” Penelope admitted. “The rest of the time I was bloody miserable.”

“Penelope! I don't believe I've ever heard you curse before.”

Penelope gave her a sheepish smile. “It slipped out. And besides, I couldn't possibly think of a better adjective to describe life for a wallflower among the
ton
.”

Eloise let out an unexpected chuckle. “Now, that's a book I would like to read:
A Wallflower Among the Ton.
”

“Not unless you're given to tragedies.”

“Oh, come, now, it couldn't be a tragedy. It would have to be a romance. You're getting your happy ending, after all.”

Penelope smiled. As strange as it was, she
was
getting her happy ending. Colin had been a lovely and attentive fiancé, at least for the three days that he'd been playing that role. And it couldn't have been particularly easy; they'd been subject to more speculation and scrutiny than Penelope could have imagined.

She wasn't surprised, though; when she (as Lady Whistledown) had written that the world would end as she knew it if a Featherington married a Bridgerton, she rather thought she'd been echoing a prevalent sentiment.

To say that the
ton
had been shocked by Penelope's engagement would have been an understatement, indeed.

But much as Penelope liked to anticipate and reflect upon her upcoming marriage, she was still a bit disturbed about Eloise's strange mood. “Eloise,” she said seriously, “I want you to tell me what has you so upset.”

Eloise sighed. “I'd hoped you'd forgotten about it.”

“I've learned tenacity from the master,” Penelope commented.

That made Eloise smile, but only for a moment. “I feel so disloyal,” she said.

“What have you done?”

“Oh, nothing.” She patted her heart. “It's all inside. I—” She stopped, looked to the side, her eyes settling on the fringed corner of the carpet, but Penelope suspected that she didn't see much of anything. At least nothing beyond what was rumbling about in her mind.

“I'm so happy for you,” Eloise said, the words tumbling forth in odd bursts, punctuated by awkward pauses. “And I honestly think I can really, truly say that I'm not jealous. But at the same time…”

Penelope waited for Eloise to collect her thoughts. Or maybe she was collecting her courage.

“At the same time,” she said, so softly that Penelope could barely hear her, “I suppose I always thought you'd be a spinster
right along with me. I've chosen this life. I know that I have. I could have married.”

“I know,” Penelope said quietly.

“But I never did, because it never seemed right, and I didn't want to settle for anything less than what my brothers and sister have. And now Colin, too,” she said, motioning toward Penelope.

Penelope didn't mention that Colin had never said he loved her. It didn't seem like the right time, or, frankly, the sort of thing she cared to share. Besides, even if he didn't love her, she still thought he cared about her, and that was enough.

“I would never have wanted you
not
to marry,” Eloise explained, “I just never thought you would.” She closed her eyes, looking quite agonized. “That came out all wrong. I've insulted you terribly.”

“No, you haven't,” Penelope said, meaning it. “I never thought I would marry, either.”

Eloise nodded sadly. “And somehow, it made it all…all right. I was almost twenty-eight and unmarried, and you were already twenty-eight and unmarried, and we'd always have each other. But now you have Colin.”

“I still have you, too. At least I hope I do.”

“Of course you do,” Eloise said fervently. “But it won't be the same. You must cleave unto your husband. Or at least that's what they all say,” she added with a slightly mischievous spark in her eyes. “Colin will come first, and that is how it should be. And frankly,” she added, her smile growing a bit sly, “I'd have to kill you if he didn't. He
is
my favorite brother, after all. It really wouldn't do for him to have a disloyal wife.”

Penelope laughed out loud at that.

“Do you hate me?” Eloise asked.

Penelope shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “If anything I love you all the more, because I know how difficult it must have been to be honest with me about this.”

“I'm so glad you said that,” Eloise said with a loud, dramatic sigh. “I was terrified you'd say that the only solution would be for me to find myself a husband as well.”

The thought had crossed Penelope's mind, but she shook her head and said, “Of course not.”

“Good. Because my mother has been saying it constantly.”

Penelope smiled wryly. “I'd be surprised if she hadn't.”

“Good afternoon, ladies!”

The two women looked up to see Colin entering the room. Penelope's heart did a little flip upon seeing him, and she found herself oddly out of breath. Her heart had been doing little flips for years whenever he walked into a room, but it was somehow different now, more intense.

Perhaps because she
knew
.

Knew what it was like to be with him, to be wanted by him.

To know that he would be her husband.

Her heart flipped again.

Colin let out a loud groan. “You ate all the food?”

“There was only one small plate of biscuits,” Eloise said in their defense.

“That's not what I was led to believe,” Colin grumbled.

Penelope and Eloise shared a glance, then both burst out laughing.

“What?” Colin demanded, leaning down to press a quick, dutiful kiss on Penelope's cheek.

“You sounded so sinister,” Eloise explained. “It's just food.”

“It's never just food,” Colin said, plopping down in a chair.

Penelope was still wondering when her cheek would stop tingling.

“So,” he said, taking a half-eaten biscuit off of Eloise's plate, “what were you two talking about?”

“Lady Whistledown,” Eloise said promptly.

Penelope choked on her tea.