“I didn’t say I don’t love her. I didn’t even say I don’t like her. I adore Eloise, as you well know. However—”
“Anything that begins with however has got to be bad,” Penelope muttered.
“Eloise,” he said with uncharacteristic high-handedness, “should be married by now.”
Now, that was really too much, especially in that tone of voice. “Some might say,” Penelope returned with a self-righteous little tilt of her chin, “that you should be married by now, too.”
“Oh, pl—”
“You are, as you so proudly informed me, three-and-thirty.”
His expression was slightly amused, but with that pale tinge of irritation which told her he would not remain amused for long. “Penelope, don’t even—”
“Ancient!” she chirped.
He swore under his breath, which surprised her, since she didn’t think she’d ever heard him do so in the presence of a lady. She probably should have taken it as a warning, but she was too riled up. She supposed the old saying was true—courage spawned more courage.
Or maybe it was more that recklessness emboldened more recklessness, because she just looked at him archly and said, “Weren’t both of your older brothers married by the age of thirty?”
To her surprise, Colin merely smiled and crossed his arms as he leaned one shoulder against the tree they were standing beneath. “My brothers and I are very different men.”
It was, Penelope realized, a very telling statement, because so many members of the ton, including the fabled Lady Whistledown, made so much of the fact that the Bridgerton brothers looked so alike. Some had even gone so far as to call them interchangeable. Penelope hadn’t thought any of them were bothered by this—in fact, she’d assumed they’d all felt flattered by the comparison, since they seemed to like each other so well. But maybe she was wrong.
Or maybe she’d never looked closely enough.
Which was rather strange, because she felt as if she’d spent half her life watching Colin Bridgerton.
One thing she did know, however, and should have remembered, was that if Colin had any sort of a temper, he had never chosen to let her see it. Surely she’d flattered herself when she thought that her little quip about his brothers marrying before they turned thirty might set him off.
No, his method of attack was a lazy smile, a well-timed joke. If Colin ever lost his temper . . .
Penelope shook her head slightly, unable even to fathom it. Colin would never lose his temper. At least not in front of her. He’d have to be really, truly—no, profoundly—upset to lose his temper. And that kind of fury could only be sparked by someone you really, truly, profoundly cared about.
Colin liked her well enough—maybe even better than he liked most people—but he didn’t care. Not that way.
“Perhaps we should just agree to disagree,” she finally said.
“On what?”
“Er . . .” She couldn’t remember. “Er, on what a spinster may or may not do?”
He seemed amused by her hesitation. “That would probably require that I defer to my younger sister’s judgment in some capacity, which would be, as I’m sure you can imagine, very difficult for me.”
“But you don’t mind deferring to my judgment?”
His smile was lazy and wicked. “Not if you promise not to tell another living soul.”
He didn’t mean it, of course. And she knew he knew she knew he didn’t mean it. But that was his way. Humor and a smile could smooth any path. And blast him, it worked, because she heard herself sighing and felt herself smiling, and before she knew it she was saying, “Enough! Let us be on our way to your mother’s.”
Colin grinned. “Do you think she’ll have biscuits?”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “I know she’ll have biscuits.”
“Good,” he said, taking off at a lope and half dragging her with him. “I do love my family, but I really just go for the food.”
Chapter 4
It is difficult to imagine that there is any news from the Bridgerton ball other than Lady Danbury’s determination to discern the identity of This Author, but the following items should be duly noted:
Mr. Geoffrey Albansdale was seen dancing with Miss Felicity Featherington.
Miss Felicity Featherington was also seen dancing with Mr. Lucas Hotchkiss.
Mr. Lucas Hotchkiss was also seen dancing with Miss Hyacinth Bridgerton.
Miss Hyacinth Bridgerton was also seen dancing with Viscount Burwick.
Viscount Burwick was also seen dancing with Miss Jane Hotchkiss.
Miss Jane Hotchkiss was also seen dancing with Mr. Colin Bridgerton.
Mr. Colin Bridgerton was also seen dancing with Miss Penelope Featherington.
And to round out this incestuous little ring-around-the-rosy, Miss Penelope Featherington was seen speaking with Mr. Geoffrey Albansdale. (It would have been too perfect if she’d actually danced with him, don’t you agree, Dear Reader?)
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 12 APRIL 1824
When Penelope and Colin entered the drawing room, Eloise and Hyacinth were already sipping tea, along with both of the Ladies Bridgerton. Violet, the dowager, was seated in front of a tea service, and Kate, her daughter-in-law and the wife of Anthony, the current viscount, was attempting, without much success, to control her two-year-old daughter Charlotte.
“Look who I bumped into in Berkeley Square,” Colin said.
“Penelope,” Lady Bridgerton said with a warm smile, “do sit down. The tea is still nice and hot, and Cook made her famous butter biscuits.”
Colin made a beeline for the food, barely pausing to acknowledge his sisters.
Penelope followed Lady Bridgerton’s wave to a nearby chair and took a seat.
“Biscuits are good,” Hyacinth said, thrusting a plate in her direction.
“Hyacinth,” Lady Bridgerton said in a vaguely disapproving voice, “do try to speak in complete sentences.”
Hyacinth looked at her mother with a surprised expression. “Biscuits. Are. Good.” She cocked her head to the side. “Noun. Verb. Adjective.”
“Hyacinth.”
Penelope could see that Lady Bridgerton was trying to look stern as she scolded her daughter, but she wasn’t quite succeeding.
“Noun. Verb. Adjective,” Colin said, wiping a crumb from his grinning face. “Sentence. Is. Correct.”
“If you’re barely literate,” Kate retorted, reaching for a biscuit. “These are good,” she said to Penelope, a sheepish smile crossing her face. “This one’s my fourth.”
“I love you, Colin,” Hyacinth said, ignoring Kate completely.
“Of course you do,” he murmured.
“I myself,” Eloise said archly, “prefer to place articles before my nouns in my own writings.”
Hyacinth snorted. “Your writings?” she echoed.
“I write many letters,” Eloise said with a sniff. “And I keep a journal, which I assure you is a very beneficial habit.”
“It does keep one disciplined,” Penelope put in, taking her cup and saucer from Lady Bridgerton’s outstretched hands.
“Do you keep a journal?” Kate asked, not really looking at her, since she had just jumped up from her chair to grasp her daughter before the two-year-old climbed on a side table.
“I’m afraid not,” Penelope said with a shake of her head. “It requires far too much discipline for me.”
“I don’t think it is always necessary to put an article before a noun,” Hyacinth persisted, completely unable, as always, to let her side of the argument go.
Unfortunately for the rest of the assemblage, Eloise was equally tenacious. “You may leave off the article if you are referring to your noun in a general sense,” she said, pursing her lips in a rather supercilious manner, “but in this case, as you were referring to specific biscuits . . .”
Penelope wasn’t positive, but she thought she heard Lady Bridgerton groan.
“. . . then specifically,” Eloise said with an arch of her brows, “you are incorrect.”
Hyacinth turned to Penelope. “I am positive she did not use specifically correctly in that last sentence.”
Penelope reached for another butter biscuit. “I refuse to enter the conversation.”
“Coward,” Colin murmured.
“No, just hungry.” Penelope turned to Kate. “These are good.”
Kate nodded her agreement. “I have heard rumors,” she said to Penelope, “that your sister may become betrothed.”
Penelope blinked in surprise. She hadn’t thought that Felicity’s connection to Mr. Albansdale was public knowledge. “Er, where have you heard rumors?”
“Eloise, of course,” Kate said matter-of-factly. “She always knows everything.”
“And what I don’t know,” Eloise said with an easy grin, “Hyacinth usually does. It’s very convenient.”
“Are you certain that neither one of you is Lady Whistledown?” Colin joked.
“Colin!” Lady Bridgerton exclaimed. “How could you even think such a thing?”
He shrugged. “They’re certainly both smart enough to carry off such a feat.”
Eloise and Hyacinth beamed.
Even Lady Bridgerton couldn’t quite dismiss the compliment. “Yes, well,” she hemmed, “Hyacinth is much too young, and Eloise . . .” She looked over at Eloise, who was watching her with a most amused expression. “Well, Eloise is not Lady Whistledown. I’m sure of it.”
Eloise looked at Colin. “I’m not Lady Whistledown.”
“That’s too bad,” he replied. “You’d be filthy rich by now, I imagine.”
“You know,” Penelope said thoughtfully, “that might be a good way to discern her identity.”
Five pairs of eyes turned in her direction.
“She has to be someone who has more money than she ought to have,” Penelope explained.
“A good point,” Hyacinth said, “except that I haven’t a clue how much money people ought to have.”
“Neither do I, of course,” Penelope replied. “But most of the time one has a general idea.” At Hyacinth’s blank stare, she added, “For example, if I suddenly went out and bought myself a diamond parure, that would be very suspect.”
Kate nudged Penelope with her elbow. “Bought any diamond parures lately, eh? I could use a thousand pounds.”
Penelope let her eyes roll up for a second before replying, because as the current Viscountess Bridgerton, Kate most certainly did not need a thousand pounds. “I can assure you,” she said, “I don’t own a single diamond. Not even a ring.”
Kate let out an “euf” of mock disgruntlement. “Well, you’re no help, then.”
“It’s not so much the money,” Hyacinth announced. “It’s the glory.”
Lady Bridgerton coughed on her tea. “I’m sorry, Hyacinth,” she said, “but what did you just say?”
“Think of the accolades one would receive for having finally caught Lady Whistledown,” Hyacinth said. “It would be glorious.”
“Are you saying,” Colin asked, a deceptively bland expression on his face, “that you don’t care about the money?”
“I would never say that,” Hyacinth said with a cheeky grin. It occurred to Penelope that of all the Bridgertons, Hyacinth and Colin were the most alike. It was probably a good thing Colin was so often out of the country. If he and Hyacinth ever joined forces in earnest, they could probably take over the world.
“Hyacinth,” Lady Bridgerton said firmly, “you are not to make the search for Lady Whistledown your life’s work.”
“But—”