He looked over at his sister, who was regarding him with a rather bemused expression. He stood, intending to leave before he embarrassed himself beyond repair, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he said.
She narrowed her eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or are teasing me for being an utter lack of help.”
“You were an utter lack of help,” he said, “but it’s an honest thank-you, nonetheless.”
“Points for effort?”
“Something like that.”
“Are you going over to Bridgerton House now?” she asked.
“Why, so I may embarrass myself with Anthony next?”
“Or Benedict,” she said. “He’s there, too.”
The thing about large families was, there was never a lack of opportunity to make a fool of oneself with a sibling. “No,” he said with a small, wry smile, “I think I’ll walk home.”
“Walk?” she echoed, gaping.
He squinted toward the window. “Do you think it might rain?”
“Take my carriage, Colin,” she insisted, “and please wait for the sandwiches. There is sure to be a mountain of them, and if you leave before they arrive, I know I’ll eat half, and then I’ll hate myself for the rest of the day.”
He nodded and sat back down, and was glad he did. He’d always been partial to smoked salmon. In fact, he took a plate with him in the carriage, staring out the window the whole way home at the pouring rain.
When the Bridgertons threw a party, they did it right.
And when the Bridgertons threw an engagement ball . . . well, had Lady Whistledown still been writing, it would have taken at least three columns to chronicle the event.
Even this engagement ball, thrown together at the last minute (due to the fact that neither Lady Bridgerton nor Mrs. Featherington were willing to allow their children the possibility of changing their minds during a long engagement), easily qualified as the party of the season.
Although part of that, Penelope thought wryly, had little to do with the party itself and everything to do with the continued speculation over why on earth Colin Bridgerton would choose a nobody like Penelope Featherington to be his wife. It hadn’t even been this bad when Anthony Bridgerton had married Kate Sheffield, who, like Penelope, had never been considered a diamond of the first water. But at least Kate hadn’t been old. Penelope couldn’t even begin to count the number of times she’d heard the word spinster whispered behind her back during the past few days.
But while the gossip was a bit tedious, it didn’t really bother her, because she was still floating along on the cloud of her own bliss. A woman couldn’t spend her entire adult life in love with one man and then not be almost stupid with happiness after he asked her to marry him.
Even if she couldn’t quite figure out how it had all happened.
It had happened. That was all that mattered.
And Colin was everything anyone could dream of in a fiancé. He stuck to her side like glue the entire evening, and Penelope didn’t even think he was doing it to protect her from gossip. In all truth, he seemed rather oblivious to the talk.
It was almost as if . . . Penelope smiled dreamily. It was almost as if Colin were remaining by her side because he wanted to be there.
“Did you see Cressida Twombley?” Eloise whispered in her ear while Colin was off dancing with his mother. “She’s green with envy.”
“That’s just her dress,” Penelope said with an impressively straight face.
Eloise laughed. “Oh, I wish Lady Whistledown were writing. She would skewer her.”
“I think Lady Whistledown is supposed to be her,” Penelope said carefully.
“Oh, pish and tosh. I don’t believe for one moment that Cressida is Lady Whistledown, and I can’t believe that you do, either.”
“Probably not,” Penelope allowed. She knew that her secret would be better protected if she claimed to believe Cressida’s story, but anyone who knew her would have found that so out of character that it would have been quite suspicious indeed.
“Cressida just wanted the money,” Eloise continued disdainfully. “Or maybe the notoriety. Probably both.”
Penelope watched her nemesis, holding court on the other side of the room. Her regular crowd of cronies milled about, but they were joined by new people, as well, most likely curious about the Whistledown gossip. “Well, she’s succeeded with the notoriety, at least.”
Eloise nodded her agreement. “I cannot even imagine why she was invited. There is certainly no love lost between the two of you, and none of us like her.”
“Colin insisted upon it.”
Eloise turned to her with gaping jaw. “Why?”
Penelope suspected that the main reason was Cressida’s recent claim to be Lady Whistledown; most of the ton wasn’t sure whether or not she was lying, but no one was willing to deny her an invitation to an event, just in case she really was telling the truth.
And Colin and Penelope shouldn’t have had any reason to know for certain otherwise.
But Penelope couldn’t reveal this to Eloise, so she told her the rest of the story, which was still the truth. “Your mother didn’t want to cause any gossip by cutting her, and Colin also said . . .”
She blushed. It was really too sweet.
“What?” Eloise demanded.
Penelope couldn’t speak without smiling. “He said he wanted Cressida to be forced to watch me in my triumph.”
“Oh. My. Word.” Eloise looked as if she might need to sit down. “My brother is in love.”
Penelope’s blush turned a furious red.
“He is,”Eloise exclaimed. “He must be. Oh, you must tell me. Has he said so?”
There was something both wonderful and horrible in listening to Eloise gush. On the one hand, it was always lovely to share life’s most perfect moments with one’s best friend, and Eloise’s joy and excitement were certainly contagious.
But on the other hand, they weren’t necessarily warranted, because Colin didn’t love her. Or at least he hadn’t said so.
But he acted like he did! Penelope clung to that thought, trying to focus on that, rather than the fact that he’d never said the words.
Actions spoke louder than words, didn’t they?
And his actions made her feel like a princess.
“Miss Featherington! Miss Featherington!”
Penelope looked to her left and beamed. That voice could belong to no one other than Lady Danbury.
“Miss Featherington,” Lady D said, poking her cane through the crowd until she was standing right in front of Penelope and Eloise.
“Lady Danbury, how nice to see you.”
“Heh heh heh.” Lady Danbury’s wrinkled face became almost young again from the force of her smile. “It’s always nice to see me, regardless of what anyone else says. And you, you little devil. Look what you did.”
“Isn’t it the best?” Eloise asked.
Penelope looked to her closest friend. For all her mixed emotions, Eloise was truly, honestly, and forever would be thrilled for her. Suddenly it didn’t matter that they were standing in the middle of a crowded ballroom, with everyone staring at her as if she were some sort of specimen on a biology plate. She turned and gave Eloise a fierce hug, whispering, “I do love you,” in her ear.
“I know you do,” Eloise whispered back.
Lady Danbury banged her cane—loudly—on the floor. “I’m still standing here, ladies!”
“Oh, sorry,” Penelope said sheepishly.
“It’s all right,” Lady D said, with an uncharacteristic level of indulgence. “It’s rather nice to see two girls who’d rather embrace than stab each other in the back, if you must know.”
“Thank you for coming over to congratulate me,” Penelope said.
“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Lady Danbury said. “Heh heh heh. All these fools, trying to figure out what you did to get him to marry you, when all you really did was be yourself.”
Penelope’s lips parted, and tears pricked her eyes. “Why, Lady Danbury, that’s just about the nicest—”
“No, no,” Lady D interrupted loudly, “none of that. I haven’t the time nor the inclination for sentiment.”
But Penelope noticed that she’d pulled out her handkerchief and was discreetly dabbing her eyes.
“Ah, Lady Danbury,” Colin said, returning to the group and sliding his arm possessively through Penelope’s. “Good to see you.”
“Mr. Bridgerton,” she said in curt greeting. “Just came over to congratulate your bride.”
“Ah, but I am surely the one who deserves the congratulations.”
“Hmmmph. Truer words, and all that,” Lady D said. “I think you might be right. She’s more of a prize than anyone realizes.”
“I realize,” he said, his voice so low and deadly serious that Penelope thought she might faint from the thrill of it.
“And if you’ll excuse us,” Colin continued smoothly, “I must take my fiancée over to meet my brother—”
“I’ve met your brother,” Penelope interrupted.
“Consider it tradition,” he said. “We need to officially welcome you to the family.”
“Oh.” She felt rather warm inside at the thought of becoming a Bridgerton. “How lovely.”
“As I was saying,” Colin said, “Anthony would like to make a toast, and then I must lead Penelope in a waltz.”
“Very romantic,” Lady Danbury said approvingly.
“Yes, well, I am a romantic sort,” Colin said airily.
Eloise let out a loud snort.
He turned to her with one arrogantly arched brow. “I am.”
“For Penelope’s sake,” she retorted, “I certainly hope so.”
“Are they always like this?” Lady Danbury asked Penelope.
“Most of the time.”
Lady D nodded. “That’s a good thing. My children rarely even speak to one another. Not out of any ill will, of course. They just have nothing in common. Sad, really.”
Colin tightened his hand on Penelope’s arm. “We really must be going.”
“Of course,” she murmured, but as she turned to walk toward Anthony, whom she could see across the room, standing near the small orchestra, she heard a loud and sudden commotion at the door.
“Attention! Attention!”
The blood drained from her face in under a second. “Oh, no,” she heard herself whisper. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not tonight, anyway.
“Attention!”
Monday, her mind screamed. She’d told her printer Monday. At the Mottram ball.
“What is going on?” Lady Danbury demanded.
Ten young boys were racing into the room, nothing more than urchins, really, holding sheaves of paper, tossing them about like large rectangles of confetti.
“Lady Whistledown’s final column!” they all yelled. “Read it now! Read the truth.”