Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,82

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