Chapter Text
Chapter One
“Miss, you have a visitor.”
Penelope looked up from the book she was reading on the garden bench and was shocked to see Anthony Bridgerton standing behind her maid.
“It’s fine, Rae. Thank you.” Penelope closed the book and sat it on the bench next to her. She twisted her fan in her hands nervously as Anthony received a warning glare before he approached, top hat in hand. He was dressed impeccably, as usual, in a double-breasted coat, black trousers, and shiny black boots. His waistcoat was so blue it almost looked black, yet his cravat was the same white as his shirt, intricately tied as always. “Miss Featherington,” he said nervously, crinkling his top hat with his fingers.
“Lord Bridgerton,” she greeted back, forcing herself to look in his eyes and straining to keep her voice even. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Anthony glanced back at Rae, who was standing out of earshot, before approaching her. His steps were slow and cautious, as if he was treading on uneven ground. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the empty space beside her.
“Of course.” Pen deliberately picked up the book and put it on her lap so that she could move to the side and grant him adequate room to sit without being too close. However, it didn’t do her much good because she smelled him the moment he sat down and it sent her olfactory senses into chaos. Suddenly, she was holding her breath and closing her eyes in a desperate bid to stop the memories his scent induced from engulfing her. She purposely tilted her head back and took three deep breaths before opening her eyes. She could do this. She would. She had to.
Penelope squinted against the sun while simultaneously basking in it until she regained her composure. Turning to face him, she looked at him expectantly. “Why are you here, Lord Bridgerton? You are newly wed. Surely you have better things to do than visit me.”
Anthony seemed taken aback by her cold but polite demeanor. “Actually,” he hedged, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Penelope blew out a breath. “You do not owe me anything, my lord.” It was a moment. One best forgotten. By them both.
Anthony stared at her, as if studying if she was speaking the truth, before he said, “I tried to write to you. To tell you that Kate had reconsidered her refusal of my proposal. But I didn’t know where you were staying.”
“It’s quite alright, Anthony. As I said, you do not owe me anything.”
“I can’t help but feel as though I do,” he blurted uncharacteristically as he turned toward her.
“You don’t .” Penelope stood, worried what she might be tempted to do if she turned toward him. She held her book and fan close to her chest, using them as a shield (or perhaps armor). Surprisingly, he stayed seated, allowing her the height advantage, meager though it was. “You have my sincerest congratulations on your marriage. I hope the two of you have a long and happy life together.”
He nodded at her words. Once. Tersely.
She took that as her cue to retreat.
“Rae will see you out,” she stated before turning on her heel and fleeing.
~z~
Penelope kept fleeing until she was safely back in her bedchamber with the door locked behind her. Immediately, she tossed the book and fan onto her vanity. Then she covered her eyes and flopped onto the bed with a groan.
Why did he have to be so noble?
To make the effort to come and tell her his news in person like a gentleman?
Seeing him. Hearing his voice. Smelling his scent. It brought it all back. Everything she’d worked hard over the off-season to forget.
Well, not forget. A girl could never forget Anthony Bridgerton. But she could push him and the feel of his body against hers out of her mind.
And she had. Up until today.
Now, the only thing she could think about was the softness of his lips against hers, the heat of his hands on her skin, and the gutteral moan he made when he pushed his clothed hardness against her center.
How he acted like she was a refreshing cool drink of water in the middle of the desert on a scorching day.
Like she was a woman . Like she counted .
They’d come close, so very close, to complete ruin.
She’d been on the grass on her back in her mama's garden with Anthony on top of her. Her skirts had been precariously high, legs spread and cradling his hips between them, when a snap of a twig nearby pulled them from their haze and broke them apart.
He’d torn his lips from hers in haste and sprung away. His eyes, dark as black orbs, stared down at her in want and confusion for endless moments until he cleared his throat and stood, holding out his hand for her to do the same.
She sat up, tucked her breasts back into her gown, and took it. Anthony lifted her like a feather, but let go and stepped away before her hem had even fallen back to the ground.
He stood a few feet away, back to her, breathing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Then he looked heavenward, took a deep breath, and turned to face her. “Miss Featherington, I…,” he started.
Penelope held up a hand and shook her head frantically. “Don’t,” she begged.
“But I must….” he implored.
“No, Anthony,” she interjected. “No. Lord Bridgerton . You mustn’t.” Penelope bowed her head and willed the tears not to come. She covered for her moment of weakness by smoothing wrinkles out of her gown and straightening her gloves. When Penelope looked back up at him, it was with the armor she’d perfected over the years and added, “Miss Sharma will undoubtedly reconsider her rash and ill-advised decision…”
The words made Anthony chuckle despite the tenseness of their situation and one corner of Penelope’s lips turned up in a small, reluctant smile. “And when she does,” Pen continued, “you must be available to allow her to eat her words.”
This made Anthony laugh outright. Pen smiled fully at his amusement. “You do not owe me anything, my lord . No permanent damage was done…” Though she phrased it as a statement, there was question in her tone.
When Anthony shook his head, Penelope let out a relieved breath and continued. “So let us part ways with fond memories of the comfort we provided each other when we needed it most and move on with our separate lives.”
“Penelope… I….,” Anthony stuttered. “I don’t know what to say….”
Pen allowed the warmth she felt over the sound of her Christian name on his lips to wash over her like a hug. What could he say? To him, any words beside marry me would feel inadequate. “How about thank you ?” she suggested, taking pity on him.
“Thank you?” he echoed. “Why?”
“Because I clearly got your mind off your problems. For a little while, at least,” she offered with a nod toward his tented trousers. Though Penelope knew next to nothing about the relations between men and women, she did know Anthony didn’t walk around like that normally.
Anthony’s eyes widened at her words. He looked down and then back up at her, muttered something under his breath, and smiled. “That you did,” he confirmed.
“Well, I should..,” she hedged, pointing over her shoulder toward the house and returning his smile. “Goodnight Lord Bridgerton.”
Penelope lifted her foot to move in the direction of the gravel path that would lead her back to the house, but he stopped her. Anthony had closed the distance between them in three long strides and put a hand on her arm, in the bare space where the capped sleeve of her gown ended and the satin of her glove began. He blocked her path, whispered “Goodnight, Penelope,” and kissed her.
The kiss was unlike their previous ones. It was soft, tentative, gentle, and reverent. The way a first kiss should be.
Not a last.
~z~
“Ma cherie, are you listening to me?” Genevieve said behind her as she tugged the panels of Penelope’s new ball gown together.
Penelope shook herself out of her stupor. The last few days, ever since her conversation with Anthony in the garden, she’d been unable to get him off her mind and often found her thoughts drifting in the middle of conversations. “My apologies, Gen. I was lost in thought.”
“Over your mystery man, no doubt,” her friend teased. Gen had been the only person she told about what happened in the garden the night of her mama’s ball last season, though she’d withheld the name of the man. She greatly respected Anthony, always had, and didn’t want to hurt his reputation by inadvertently revealing what happened between them.
Penelope locked eyes with Gen in the mirror and blushed.
“Well, the best way to get over him, my dear, is to get under someone else.” The modiste finished buttoning the gown she planned to wear to Lady Danbury’s ball and added, “And this ought to help you with that.”
Penelope snorted and then scolded her. “I am seeking a husband, Gen, not a lover.”
Genevieve raised a brow. “Who said you cannot have both?”
~z~
She’d dreamed of making an entrance like that for years, but also had nightmares about the exit.
Of course Cressida would ruin the one good thing she had in her life out of spite.
Just because one could do something didn’t mean they had to, yet Cressida didn’t seem to understand that.
Penelope leaned her hand against one of Lady Danbury’s massive pillars while she waited for her carriage. She fought the sniffles bubbling up inside her in a Herculean effort to not give Cressida the satisfaction of making her cry.
Penelope finally saw her carriage coming up the drive when she heard a concerned, “Miss Featherington? Are you well?” behind her.
Bloody hell . Of all the people to see her like this, it had to be them. Him.
Penelope wiped a sniffle away and straightened. In a choked voice, she replied, “Yes, Lady Bridgerton. It was kind of you to check on me.” Pen forced herself to keep her eyes on Anthony’s wife and not on him, lest she lose what little composure she had left.
Kathani approached her and put her hands on Pen’s shoulders. “Are you certain?”
Pen nodded and Kate released her. “I’m quite used to Cressida’s antics by now.” She paused and worked her throat. “I simply need to go home and change out of this dress.”
“I am sorry she ruined it, Penelope. It’s a lovely gown,” the viscountess commented, stepping back and taking Anthony’s arm.
“Yes, green quite suits you,” Anthony remarked, which prompted her to look at him. She wanted to scold him for his brazen entendre, but she lost the will to do so when she saw his small, genuine smile.
“Green is a good color on you.”
“That’s grass. And it’s under me, not on me.”
“Still. It suits you.”
Penelope offered a quiet, “Thank you,” Anthony’s way and internally praised the arrival of her carriage. Thankful she could make a graceful exit, Pen said, “Goodnight Lord Bridgerton. Lady Bridgerton,” and stepped toward the carriage. She was halfway there when she heard him bark, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Pen stopped and turned around, looking at him questioningly.
“Your chaperone,” Anthony clarified.
Pen snorted involuntarily, making him frown. The frown turned into a glower when she responded with, “Spinsters don’t need chaperones.”
Kate must have felt the tension radiating off of him. Likely chalking it up to concern for his little sister’s former best friend, Kate suggested, “Perhaps we could come with you?”
“I…” Penelope squeaked, at a loss for words. How could she politely decline an uncomfortable carriage ride home with her almost-lover and his wife?
Anthony seemed as reluctant as she was, but acquiesced when Kate turned her puppy eyes on him. “I am quite tired,” she said with a not-so-subtle hand rest on her abdomen.
Anthony, clearly ecstatic about his impending fatherhood, kissed her forehead and extricated himself from her grasp. “As you wish, my dove. Wait here while I send a footman to let mother know we’ve escorted Miss Featherington home.”
On his way back toward the entrance, he sent a loaded glance over his shoulder that let her know he was just as unhappy about this turn of events as she was.
~z~
Viscountess Bridgerton had taken a liking to Penelope. The carriage ride home had been awkward but not completely uncomfortable. Kate worked overtime to fill the silence by peppering Pen with questions about her life and hobbies. Questions that neither Eloise nor Colin had deigned to ask in all the years they’d been friends.
What’s the one thing you wish you could do more than any other? (Travel)
Do you ever read the end of a book first to see if it’s worth reading? (Of course.)
How do you take your tea? (Two sugars, no cream)
After Penelope had dropped them off at their door, stating she’d be fine to travel across the street alone, Kate had sent over a note inviting her to a promenade ahead of the upcoming celestial ball.
During their outing, which included an exuberant Newton, who seemed to take a shine to Pen, too, the two of them became fast friends. Kate, thankfully, understood Penelope’s desire to stay away from Bridgerton House and Eloise and invited herself to tea with Pen the following day.
Tea turned into ices which turned into trips to the bookshop, millner, and market. But, it was an outing to the modiste just after an issue of Whistledown came out that cemented their burgeoning friendship. Penelope’s “I see your business is doing well,” to Gen was returned with a quiet, pointed, “As is yours,” that Kate overheard. The viscountess quickly put two and two together and realized Penelope’s secret identity.
Instead of chastising her, however, Kate complimented her for pulling the wool over the eyes of people too self-involved to see the smart, clever, witty woman she was.
~z~
He looked at her differently when they Iocked eyes at the celestial ball. He was with Kate,
Violet, and Francesca by the refreshment table when she walked in with her brothers-in-law.
He was curious, she could tell. Anthony was studying her as if she was a riddle he couldn’t quite figure out.
Kate must have told him.
Pen expected anger, but it didn’t seem like any was forthcoming.
That was something.
~z~
The night was going splendidly, even for Penelope, who managed to have a five-minute conversation with Lord Remington, when the unthinkable happened.
Lord and Lady Bridgerton were dancing when she suddenly collapsed in Anthony’s arms. He fell to his knees from the weight of her body and clung to her, begging her to wake up.
Violet, always calm in chaos (she had to be with eight children) immediately took charge of the situation and ordered around staff and guests alike.
“Summon a physician!”
“Give them some room!”
And so on and so forth.
Beneath Violet’s calm, soldier-like demeanor, though, she could see, just as Penelope could, the cracks starting to appear in Anthony’s armor.
This was the second time in his life he watched someone he loved die in his arms.
And Kate was dead. Penelope knew that as certainly as she did her own name.
The body was lifeless. Head lobbing, arms dangling, eyes open but unseeing.
Head injuries like the one Kate suffered last season were unpredictable, Penelope had read in a medical text once. The trauma she endured could manifest in the body in ways that no one really knew. Some people were fine afterward and some people were not.
After discreetly requesting that the hostess clear the room to let Anthony and the rest of the family process their unexpected loss in privacy and peace, Penelope fled the ball in tears.
~z~
Penelope somberly changed out of her gown and into her nightclothes, a simple white muslin nightgown and a floral dressing gown. She tried to sleep, but she was restless. Her mind kept flashing back to Anthony’s devastated face as he begged his wife to wake up.
And to know that he lost his unborn child, too?
Her heart broke for him. Penelope was genuinely afraid he wouldn’t survive this. He’d survived losing his father, but not without a cost. Duty and responsibility might not be enough to keep him tethered to the world this time. He did have three brothers after all.
Since sleep was futile, Penelope snuck out of the house and down to the garden bench where they’d had their liaison last year. Perhaps being here in this spot would be enough to satiate her need to comfort him, even if he wasn’t here with her.
Penelope had only been on the bench for a few minutes when she heard rustling nearby. Heart racing in thinking it was an intruder, she looked up only to find Anthony standing there. He was completely disheveled and reeked of alcohol. His eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was tousled, as if he’d repeatedly run his hands through it. He was in shirtsleeves, an unbuttoned waistcoat with no cravat, and trousers.
He didn’t say anything. He just walked to the bench and sank down into the grass beside her legs. Penelope took that as a cue and sank down, too. She immediately wrapped her arms around him. “ Oh, Anthony ,” she whispered.
He turned his body toward her, pulled her close, and silently cried into her shoulder.
~z~
Anthony and the rest of the Bridgerton family left London right after the funeral.
Penelope went to show her respects even though Eloise didn’t want her there.
Because Kate had been her friend, a true non-judgmental one, and she wanted to say goodbye.
If it also gave her the opportunity to say farewell to Anthony, too, well, that was a bonus.
Her quiet but heartfelt, “I’m sorry for your loss,” was met with an equally quiet but heartfelt, “Thank you.”
Later, she heard through the grapevine that those two words were the only ones he spoke the entire day.