Romancing Mr Bridgerton

by Quinn, Julia

  "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 Dan-bury 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."

  CHAPTER 17

  Colin Bridgerton was famous for many things.

  He was famous for his good looks, which was no surprise; all the Bridgerton men were famous for their good looks.

  He was famous for his slightly crooked smile, which could melt a woman's heart across a crowded ballroom and had even once caused a young lady to faint dead away, or at least to swoon delicately, then hit her head on a table, which did produce the aforementioned dead faint.

  He was famous for his mellow charm, his ability to set anyone at ease with a smooth grin and an amusing comment.

  What he was not famous for, and in fact what many people would have sworn he did not even possess, was a temper.

  And, in fact, due to his remarkable (and heretofore untapped) self-control, no one was going to get a glimpse of it that night, either, although his soon-to-be wife might wake up the next day with a serious bruise on her arm.

  "Colin," she gasped, looking down at where he was gripping her.

  But he couldn't let go. He knew
he was hurting her, he knew it wasn't a terribly nice thing that he was hurting her, but he was so damned furious at that moment, and it was either squeeze her arm for all he was worth or lose his temper in front of five hundred of their nearest and dearest acquaintances.

  All in all, he thought he was making the right choice.

  He was going to kill her. As soon as he figured out some way to remove her from this godforsaken ballroom, he was

  absolutely going to kill her. They had agreed that Lady Whistledown was a thing of the past, that they were going to

  let matters lie. This was not supposed to happen. She was inviting disaster. Ruin.

  "This is fabulous!" Eloise exclaimed, snatching a newssheet from the air. "Absolutely, positively smashing. I'll bet she came out of retirement to celebrate your engagement."

  "Wouldn't that be nice?" Colin drawled.

  Penelope said nothing, but she looked very, very pale.

  "Oh, my heavens!"

  Colin turned to his sister, whose mouth was hanging open as she read the column.

  "Grab one of those for me, Bridgerton!" Lady Danbury ordered, swatting him in the leg with her cane. "Can't believe she's publishing on a Saturday. Must be a good one."

  Colin leaned down and picked up two pieces of paper from the floor, handing one to Lady Danbury and looking down at the one in his hand, even though he was fairly certain he knew exactly what it would say.

  He was right.

  There is nothing I despise more than a gentleman who thinks it amusing to give a lady a condescending pat

  on the hand as he murmurs, "It is a woman's prerogative to change her mind." And indeed, because I feel one should always support one's words with one's actions, I endeavor to keep my opinions and decisions steadfast and true.

  Which is why, Gentle Reader, when I wrote my column of 19 April, I truly intended it to be my last. However, events entirely beyond my control (or indeed my approval) force me to put my pen to paper one last time.

  Ladies and Gentleman, This Author is NOT Lady Cressida Twombley. She is nothing more than a scheming imposter, and it would break my heart to see my years of hard work attributed to one such as her.

  Lady Whistledown's Society Papers, 24 April 1824

  "This is the best thing I have ever seen," Eloise said in a gleeful whisper. "Maybe I am a bad person at heart, because I have never before felt such happiness at another person's downfall."

  "Balderdash!" Lady Danbury said. "I know I am not a bad person, and I find this delightful."

  Colin said nothing. He didn't trust his voice. He didn't trust himself.

  "Where is Cressida?" Eloise asked, craning her neck. "Does anyone see her? I'll bet she's already fled. She must be mortified. I would be mortified if I were her."

  "You would never be her," Lady Danbury said. "You're much too decent a person."

  Penelope said nothing.

  "Still," Eloise continued jovially, "one almost feels sorry for her."

  "But only almost," Lady D said.

  "Oh, for certain. Barely almost, truth be told."

  Colin just stood there, grinding his teeth into powder.

  "And I get to keep my thousand pounds!" cackled Lady Danbury.

  "Penelope!" Eloise exclaimed, jostling her with her elbow. "You haven't said a word. Isn't this marvelous?"

  Penelope nodded and said, "I can't believe it."

  Colin's grip on her arm tightened.

  "Your brother's coming," she whispered.

  He looked to his right. Anthony was striding toward him, Violet and Kate hot on his heels.

  "Well, this rather upstages us," Anthony said as he drew up alongside Colin. He nodded at the ladies present. "Eloise, Penelope, Lady Danbury."

  "I don't think anyone is going to listen to Anthony's toast now," Violet said, glancing about the room. The buzz of activity was relentless. Errant newssheets still floated in the air, and all about them, people were slipping on the ones that had already landed on the floor. The hum of the whispers was constant and almost grating, and Colin felt like the top of his skull was going to blow off.

  He had to get away. Now. Or at least as soon as possible.

  His head was screaming and he felt too hot in his own skin. It was almost like passion, except this wasn't passion, it was fury, and it was outrage, and it was this awful, black feeling that he'd been betrayed by the one person who should have stood by him without question.

  It was strange. He knew that Penelope was the one with the secret, the one with the most to lose. This was about her, not him; he knew that, intellectually, at least. But somehow that had ceased to matter. They were a team now, and she had acted without him.

  She had no right to put herself in such a precarious position without consulting him first. He was her husband, or would be, and it was his God-given duty to protect her whether she desired it or not.

  "Colin?" his mother was saying. "Are you well? You look a bit odd."

  "Make the toast," he said, turning to Anthony. "Penelope isn't feeling well, and I need to take her home."

  "You're not feeling well?" Eloise asked Penelope. "What's wrong? You didn't say anything."

  To Penelope's credit, she managed a rather credible, "A bit of a headache, I'm afraid."

  "Yes, yes, Anthony," Violet said, "do go ahead and make the toast now so that Colin and Penelope may have their dance. She really can't leave until you do."

  Anthony nodded his agreement, then motioned for Colin and Penelope to follow him to the front of the ballroom. A trumpeter let out a loud squawk on his horn, signaling the partygoers to be quiet. They all obeyed, probably because they assumed the ensuing announcement would be about Lady Whistledown.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Anthony said loudly, accepting a flute of champagne from a footman. "I know that you are all

  intrigued by Lady Whistledown's recent intrusion into our party, but I must entreat you all to remember our purpose for gathering here tonight."

  It should have been a perfect moment, Colin thought dispassionately. It was to have been Penelope's night of triumph, her night to shine, to show the world how beautiful and lovely and smart she really was.

  It was his night to make his intentions well and truly public, to make sure that everyone knew that he had chosen her, and just as importantly, that she had chosen him.

  And all he wanted to do was take her by the shoulders and shake her until he ran out of strength. She was jeopardizing everything. She was putting her very future at risk.

  "As the head of the Bridgerton family," Anthony continued, "it gives me great joy whenever one of my siblings chooses a bride. Or groom," he added with a smile, nodding toward Daphne and Simon.

  Colin looked down at Penelope. She was standing very straight and very still in her dress of ice-blue satin. She wasn't

  smiling, which must have looked odd to the hundreds of people staring at her. But maybe they would just think she was nervous. There were hundreds of people staring at her, after all. Anyone would be nervous.

  Although if one was standing right next to her, as Colin was, one could see the panic in her eyes, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing grew faster and more erratic.

  She was scared.

  Good. She should be scared. Scared of what could happen to her if her secret came out. Scared of what would happen to her once they had a chance to talk.

  "Therefore," Anthony concluded, "it gives me great pleasure to lift my glass in a toast to my brother Colin, and his soon-to-be bride, Penelope Featherington. To Colin and Penelope!"

  Colin looked down at his hand and realized that someone had placed a glass of champagne in it. He lifted his glass, started to raise it to his lips, then thought the better of it and touched it to Penelope's mouth instead. The crowd cheered wildly, and he watched as she took a sip, and then another and another, forced to keep drinking until he removed the glass, which he did not do until she was finished.

  Then he realized that his childish display of
power had left him without a drink, which he badly needed, so he plucked Penelope's glass from her hand and downed it in a single gulp.

  The crowd cheered even harder.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "We're going to dance now. We're going to dance until the rest of the party joins us and we're no longer the center of attention. And then you and I will slip outside. And then we will talk."

  Her chin moved in a barely perceptible nod.

  He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor, placing his other hand at her waist as the orchestra began the first strains of a waltz.

  "Colin," she whispered, "I didn't mean for this to happen."

  He affixed a smile on his face. This was supposed to be bis first official dance with his intended, after all. "Not now," he ordered.

  "But—"

  "In ten minutes, I will have a great deal to say to you, but for right now, we are simply going to dance."

  "I just wanted to say—"

  His hand tightened around hers in a gesture of unmistakable warning. She pursed her lips and looked at his face for the

  briefest of moments, then looked away.

  "I should be smiling," she whispered, still not looking at him.

  "Then smile."

  "You should be smiling."

  "You're right," he said. "I should."

  But he didn't.

  Penelope felt like frowning. She felt like crying, in all honesty, but somehow she managed to nudge her lips up at the corners. The entire world was watching her—her entire world, at least—and she knew they were examining her every move, cataloguing each expression that crossed her face.

  Years she'd spent, feeling like she was invisible and hating it. And now she'd have given anything for a few brief moments of anonymity again.

  No, not anything. She wouldn't have given up Colin. If having him meant that she would spend the rest of her life under close scrutiny from the ton, it would be worth it. And if having to endure his anger and disdain at a time like this was to be a part of marriage as well, then that would be worth it, too.

  She'd known that he would be furious with her for publishing one last column. Her hands had been shaking as she'd rewritten the words, and she'd been terrified the entire time she'd been at St. Bride's Church (as well as the ride to and from), sure that he was going to jump out at her at any moment, calling off the wedding because he couldn't bear to be married to Lady Whistledown.