now. I’m a spinster. There’s no longer a reason to dance with me just so that I don’t feel left out.”
“That’s not why I danced with you,” he protested, but he knew that it was exactly the reason. And half the time he’d only remembered to ask because his mother had poked him—hard—in the back and reminded him.
She gave him a faintly pitying look, which galled him, because he’d never thought to be pitied by Penelope Featherington.
“If you think,” he said, feeling his spine grow stiff, “that I’m going to allow you to wiggle out of a dance with me now, you’re quite delusional.”
“You don’t have to dance with me just to prove you don’t mind doing it,” she said.
“I want to dance with you,” he fairly growled.
“Very well,” she said, after what seemed to be a ridiculously long pause. “It would surely be churlish for me to refuse.”
“It was probably churlish of you to doubt my intentions,” he said as he took her arm, “but I’m willing to forgive you if you can forgive yourself.”
She stumbled, which made him smile.
“I do believe I’ll manage,” she choked out.
“Excellent.” He offered her a bland smile. “I’d hate to think of you living with the guilt.”
The music was just beginning, so Penelope took his hand and curtsied as they began the minuet. It was difficult to talk during the dance, which gave Penelope a few moments to catch her breath and gather her thoughts.
Perhaps she’d been a bit too harsh with Colin. She shouldn’t have scolded him for asking her to dance, when the truth was, those dances were among her most cherished memories. Did it really matter if he’d only done it out of pity? It would have been worse if he’d never asked her at all.
She grimaced. Worse still, did this mean she had to apologize?
“Was something wrong with that éclair?” Colin inquired the next time they stepped toward each other.
A full ten seconds passed before they were close enough again for her to say, “I beg your pardon?”
“You look as if you’ve swallowed something vile,” he said, loudly this time, for he’d clearly lost patience with waiting for the dance to allow them to speak.
Several people looked over, then stepped discreetly away, as if Penelope might actually be sick right there on the ballroom floor.
“Do you need to shout it to the entire world?” Penelope hissed.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, bending into an elegant bow as the music drew to a close, “that was the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard.”
He was insufferable, but Penelope wasn’t going to say so, because it would only make her sound like a character in a very bad romantic novel. She’d read one just the other day in which the heroine used the word (or one of its synonyms) on every other page.
“Thank you for the dance,” she said, once they’d reached the perimeter of the room. She almost added, You can now tell your mother that you’ve fulfilled your obligations, but immediately regretted her impulse. Colin hadn’t done anything to deserve such sarcasm. It wasn’t his fault that men only danced with her when forced to by their mothers. He’d always at least smiled and laughed while doing his duty, which was more than she could say for the rest of the male population.
He nodded politely and murmured his own thanks. They were just about to part ways when they heard a loud female voice bark out, “Mr. Bridgerton!”
They both froze. It was a voice they both knew. It was a voice everyone knew.
“Save me,” Colin groaned.
Penelope looked over her shoulder to see the infamous Lady Danbury pushing her way through the crowd, wincing when her ever-present cane landed on the foot of some hapless young lady. “Maybe she means a different Mr. Bridgerton?” Penelope suggested. “There are quite a few of you, after all, and it’s possible—”
“I’ll give you ten pounds if you don’t leave my side,” Colin blurted out.
Penelope choked on air. “Don’t be silly, I—”
“Twenty.”
“Done!” she said with a smile, not because she particularly needed the money but rather because it was strangely enjoyable to be extorting it from Colin. “Lady Danbury!” she called out, hurrying to the elderly lady’s side. “How nice to see you.”
“Nobody ever thinks it’s nice to see me,” Lady Danbury said sharply, “except maybe my nephew, and half the time I’m not even sure about him. But I thank you for lying all the same.”
Colin said nothing, but she still turned in his direction and