am not going to marry him.” She turned to Benedict, forcing her eyes directly on his. “Does it, Mr. Bridgerton?”
“Of course not,” Benedict answered quickly.
“It’s settled, then,” she said tightly, amazed that, for once, exactly the right words were coming out of her mouth. “No feelings were hurt. Now, then, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I should like to go home.”
The three gentlemen immediately stood back to let her pass, and she would have made a clean escape, except that Colin suddenly blurted out, “Don’t you have a maid?”
She shook her head. “I live just around the corner.”
“I know, but—”
“I’ll escort you,” Anthony said smoothly.
“That’s really not necessary, my lord.”
“Humor me,” he said, in a tone that told her quite clearly she hadn’t any choice in the matter.
She nodded, and the two of them took off down the street. After they had passed about three houses, Anthony said in a strangely respectful voice, “He didn’t know you were there.”
Penelope felt her lips tighten at the corners—not out of anger, just out of a weary sense of resignation. “I know,” she replied. “He’s not the sort to be cruel. I expect your mother has been hounding him to get married.”
Anthony nodded. Lady Bridgerton’s intentions to see each and every one of her eight offspring happily married were legendary.
“She likes me,” Penelope said. “Your mother, that is. She can’t see beyond that, I’m afraid. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter so much if she likes Colin’s bride.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Anthony mused, sounding not so much like a highly feared and respected viscount and rather more like a well-behaved son. “I shouldn’t like to be married to someone my mother didn’t like.” He shook his head in a gesture of great awe and respect. “She’s a force of nature.”
“Your mother or your wife?”
He considered that for about half a second. “Both.”
They walked for a few moments, and then Penelope blurted out, “Colin should go away.”
Anthony eyed her curiously. “I beg your pardon?”
“He should go away. Travel. He’s not ready to marry, and your mother won’t be able to restrain herself from pressuring him. She means well. . . .” Penelope bit her lip in horror. She hoped the viscount didn’t think she was actually criticizing Lady Bridgerton. As far as she was concerned, there was no greater lady in England.
“My mother always means well,” Anthony said with an indulgent smile. “But maybe you’re right. Perhaps he should get away. Colin does enjoy travel. Although he did just return from Wales.”
“Did he?” Penelope murmured politely, as if she didn’t know perfectly well that he’d been in Wales.
“Here we are,” he said as he nodded his reply. “This is your house, is it not?”
“Yes. Thank you for accompanying me home.”
“It was my pleasure, I assure you.”
Penelope watched as he left, then she went inside and cried.
The very next day, the following account appeared in Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers:
La, but such excitement yesterday on the front steps of Lady Bridgerton’s residence on Bruton Street!
First, Penelope Featherington was seen in the company of not one, not two, but THREE Bridgerton brothers, surely a heretofore impossible feat for the poor girl, who is rather infamous for her wallflower ways. Sadly (but perhaps predictably) for Miss Featherington, when she finally departed, it was on the arm of the viscount, the only married man in the bunch.
If Miss Featherington were to somehow manage to drag a Bridgerton brother to the altar, it would surely mean the end of the world as we know it, and This Author, who freely admits she would not know heads from tails in such a world, would be forced to resign her post on the spot.
It seemed even Lady Whistledown understood the futility of Penelope’s feelings for Colin.
The years drifted by, and somehow, without realizing it, Penelope ceased to be a debutante and found herself sitting with the chaperones, watching her younger sister Felicity—surely the only Featherington sister blessed with both natural beauty and charm—enjoying her own London seasons.
Colin developed a taste for travel and began to spend more and more time outside of London; it seemed that every few months he was off to some new destination. When he was in town, he always saved a dance and a smile for Penelope, and somehow she managed to pretend that nothing had ever happened, that he’d never declared his distaste for her on a public street, that her dreams had never been shattered.
And when he was in town, which wasn’t often,