#vauxhall gardens

[suburbanbeatnik]

Happy Bridgerton day! The Vauxhall final for DANDIES & DANDYZETTES is at last complete! In the famous Vauxhall pleasure gardens, as musicians play and the whale oil lamps shine, people flirt and dance and fight in a whirl of activity. Many of the people here are also from the class portraits as well.

[gwydpolls]

Time Travel Question 46: Early Modernish and Earlier

These Questions are the result of suggestions from the previous iteration.

This category may include suggestions made too late to fall into the correct earlier time grouping. Basically, I'd already moved on to human history, but I'd periodically get a pre-homin suggestion, hence the occasional random item waaay out of it's time period, rather than reopen the category.

In some cases a culture lasted a really long time and I grouped them by whether it was likely the later or earlier grouping made the most sense with the information I had. (Invention ofs tend to fall in an earlier grouping if it's still open. Ones that imply height of or just before something tend to get grouped later, but not always. Sometimes I'll split two different things from the same culture into different polls because they involve separate research goals or the like).

Please add new suggestions below if you have them for future consideration. All cultures and time periods welcome.

[regencyronnie]

Georgian Illuminations

[revasserium]

scorpio rising

elbert; 1,087 words; elbert takes you dancing. i blame @aquagirl1978 for showing me his teaser pv. this one's for u.

he has always been hungry.

from the first day he meets you, he has hungered for your touch, for your smile, for a sliver of your forever — it is not promised. but he does not care. and there’s beauty in this madness — he has always known it — beauty in the mortified longing threatening to grind his bones to dust.

i want…

it’s a selfish thing, he knows, to want like this, to want so hard that it threatens to consume his very soul. he wants — he wants.

“stay close,” he says, because the night is dark and full of terrors but to him the darkness has always been kind.

he feels your presence at his back, emanating warmth like a hearthstone pulled from the dancing flames. he wants.

“el…bert? where are you taking me?”

your curiosity is cool and crisp, slicing through the heat of his own internal frenzy. he wills the tension from his shoulders as he tries to cast you a small, reassuring smile.

“you’ll see.”

at this hour, vauxhall is a cynosure of bacchic revelry, with fireworks and masked dancers, jugglers and magicians and drunken vendors hawking their wares to laughing, unwitting attendees. a hundred thousand tiny lamps glitter among the branches of trees like so many fallen stars, and the raucous sound of street musicians plays backdrop to it all — the air itself thrums with life and vitality, the earth beneath your feet soaked with the remnants.

“wh-what is going on?”

elbert almost laughs at your clear confusion, but he tugs a pair of masks from the inside of his jacket and offers it to you.

“come… dance with me.”

you slip on the mask, still too bewildered to refuse, and feel elbert slip his fingers between yours, tugging you gently towards him and into a pool of flickering lamplight. the music swells and the world spins around you.

there is beauty in this madness — elbert has always known it — beauty in the way a body might tremble and shake when faced with something it cannot control, but this at least, elbert knows. this at least, he can take into the palms of his own hands and hold it close.

this dance — you.

he watches as a brilliant smile blossoms across your lips, your cheeks flushing high with color. it is beautiful, watching you as you fall into a peel of unexpected laughter as he spins you out and pulls you back in, you chest heaving with the exertion of the song.

he wonders if he’s holding onto your hands too tight and then he knows that he is.

but you’re clutching back at him just as tightly as the music ends and everyone around you cheers. he feels the weight of a million pairs of eyes on him and yet still, he only has eyes for you. when you pull up from your curtsey and meet his eyes, he finds himself transfixed by your gaze so warm and soft and full of an unbridled happiness the likes of which he has never tasted himself.

but with you — he thinks he just might.

the mask affords him the brief veil of anonymity, but even with it, he can feel people’s eyes lingering, their heads turning for a second look, a third. he doesn’t have much time.

“elbert, that was so much fun!”

he allows himself a soft laugh as he pulls you into one of the many shaded promenades, pressing himself back into the thickly cut foliage. you stumble into his chest, letting out a squeak as you pull back but he lifts up a hand to stop you.

“please… let me have one more minute…” he says, and he feels you go still in his arms.

he threads his fingers through your spidersilk hair, letting the tangle carelessly against his skin. like this, he smells the soft, fresh fragrance of your bathing soap, and he leans in ever so slightly to take in another breath. your skin is warm and soft, your lashes a darkened frame to the night sky of your eyes.

“elbert…?”

he purses his lips. he lets you go.

“sorry… i just… wanted a moment…”

you smile, shaking your head. several strands of your hair get caught in his fingers and he has to force himself to let them go.

“i had… a really good time tonight, elbert… thanks for taking me here.”

you walk next to him as the pair of you exit the gardens, you tugging off your mask but he hesitates in taking off his own. he traces the edge with a delicate finger as you watch.

“if… it makes you feel better, you can keep it on while we walk back,” you say, letting your fingers lace behind your back.

elbert smiles as he nods, letting the silence stretch thin and smooth between you. in the distance, big ben tolls in midnight, and the pair of you make your leisurely way back to the castle beneath the full blood-moon. you exchange few words and even fewer glances, but elbert find himself willfully lingering half a step behind you just to watch the way your hair sways, to see the glint of moonlight in your eyes as you turn to grace him with a smile.

“thanks again for taking me out…”

elbert slips off his mask as the castle doors close behind you.

“i thought you might’ve wanted… a chance of pace…”

“yeah, it was really fun!”

you smile up at him, radiant and flushed with joy and he briefly wonders if this might be what ellis is always going on about — the happiest moment in a person’s life. seeing you smile like that, he wonders then if this is his.

at least, it would be a worthy candidate.

“good… we should… do it again sometime.”

you nod, enthusiasm pouring from you like milk from a spilling jug.

elbert licks his lips.

“yes! it’ll be a date!” you say.

he can only nod, letting the sound of your voice ring in his mind like the tolling of bells.

a date.

he wants, he wants, he wants.

“a date… yes, certainly, it will be… if that’s what you wish.”

he feels his heart stuttering his chest as you bob your head once more.

“yep, it’s a date then.”

he feels his lips tug into smile, tastes the familiar greed on this tongue.

he wants. he wants. he wants.

“it’s a date.”

[clove-pinks]

An 1842 poster that makes me long for a set of contemporary fonts—does such a thing exist? I feel like all 19th century fonts one can find are that "Wild West" style or otherwise from later in the century.

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1998 – Massive bomb explodes in Omagh shopping centre at 3.10pm; Twenty-nine people are killed and hundreds injured.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a n-anama. An IRA bomb explodes in Omagh, Co Tyrone killing twenty-nine people, including a pregnant woman with twins. As a result of the Good Friday Agreement of 1998, the people of the north of Ireland thought they had seen the end of violence. However, a tiny breakaway group of IRA dissidents who called themselves The Real IRA thought otherwise and continued the campaign…

[hoochieblues]

I'm chewing through the draft of my sweaty bastard men book, set in C18th London, and procrastinating, and I feel I need to share some of the most entertaining real world places I've namechecked along the way:

Shovel Lane, Cat's Hole, and Pillory Lane (all adjacent)

Gropecunt Lane (self-explanatory) and Puppyekirke Street (Poke-Skirt Street)

watering hole names not limited to but including The Fortune of War, Slaughter's Coffeehouse, Finch's Grotto, and The Salutation and Cat

and that's not even mentioning the gender non-conforming French diplomat and the priest hanged for embezzlement. It was a wild century.

[travsd]

For National Gardening Day: A Little Stroll Through Pleasure Gardens

We don’t often get occasion to add to our little section of posts defining the various types of variety arts and their venues, so we thought we would embrace National Gardening Day as an occasion to talk about Pleasure Gardens. This is a kind of public space that very much continues to thrive, by the way, we’ve just fallen out of the habit of calling it by this name. For a couple of reasons, I…

[suburbanbeatnik]

My next long-awaited update for @mimicofmodes's Dandies & Dandyzettes! Drinking, debauchery and revelry was a way of life at Vauxhall pleasure gardens (brawling too). You may recognize some faces from the class portraits.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Dashboard Confessional

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, mild angst, smut, semi public sex. Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: Billy is forced to deal with past trauma when his girlfriend's car breaks down on the side of the M1, while driving home to Nottingham for Christmas. She finds the perfect way to ease his mind.

Author's note: Day four of the Smuffmas prompts - "reassurance and car sex". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Her hands tighten on the steering wheel, eyes flitting nervously towards the check engine light that’s just lit up on the dashboard panel. They’re only an hour outside of Nottingham, and if she was by herself she’d simply ignore it, finish the journey, and take her crappy old Skodia Fabia to a garage in the New Year. But Billy sits in the passenger seat next to her, and she knows that that little red light will look like a fiery beacon to him, a reason to panic. The best thing she can do in this situation is pull over onto the hard shoulder and call AA Breakdown Recovery.

Billy used to joke that she’d spent more on keeping her shitty little car roadworthy than she had when she’d actually bought it. He’d insist on driving them everywhere, his Vauxhall Cavalier the more reliable of the two vehicles.

That feels like a lifetime ago now though, before the Explosive Ordnance Disposal team had pulled him from it and it had exploded into a fiery ruin in the middle of Cranstead Gardens. Billy doesn’t joke at all anymore, and he’s not gotten behind the wheel of a car since.

He has spent the last four months attending weekly therapy sessions. It’s only in the last month that he’s been willing to allow her to drive him anywhere, and that’s not before they’ve done rigorous checks of the entire car to make sure it’s safe; the wheel arches, under the bonnet, the boot, beneath the seats and in the glovebox all need to be examined thoroughly before he’ll even consider getting in.

When it had come time to arrange their annual visit to Billy’s parents’ for Christmas, he had suggested they get the train. However, a return ticket would be close to one hundred pounds each for them. She had argued they would spend less than half that on fuel if she drove, and it would save them the effort of lugging gifts all the way there, only to have to take all of the ones they inevitably receive back with them the same way - everything could just be stuffed into the boot if she drove.

He had relented eventually, and she had regretted it almost as soon as they’d gotten in the car. For the last two hours of the journey his leg has bounced anxiously, and she’s been met with snappy one word answers to each of her attempts to make conversation, despite his insistence that the radio stays off.

If she were a weaker person she’d have decided that this was all too much and ended things long ago, however, Billy is her everything, he always has been. He has never thought much of himself, but she loves him enough for the both of them. Where he sees a failure, someone that lives in the shadow of his successful older sister, she sees a man with a thousand watt smile, someone that lights up the room just by entering it. That light has dulled over the last few months, but she is determined to help it shine once more.

It’s with this in mind that she clicks on the left indicator, pulling over onto the hard shoulder, and switches the hazard lights on.

“What you doing?” Billy asks, frowning slightly as he removes his thumb from his mouth, the nail of which he’s been chewing absentmindedly on for the last few miles.

She turns the engine off, turning to him with a slight smile, an attempt to appease and keep him calm. “Check engine light’s come on, I need to ring the AA.”

“Fuck’s sake!” He seethes, unclipping his seatbelt and forcefully pushing open the passenger side door.

She watches him, illuminated in the darkness by the motorway lights, rounding the car, before stepping over the crash barrier and onto the grassy verge. Sighing, she unbuckles and climbs out.

“Billy–”

“I told you we should’ve got the fucking train!” He shouts, though there is no anger in his tone, she hears it in the wobble of his voice, sees it in the barely concealed tears he’s attempting to hold back. He’s close to breaking down.

“I know, babe, and I’m sorry,” she soothes, “I should have listened to you. But I promise you it’s nothing serious. You know how this old shitheap gets when it’s damp, remember last time it rained and the electric windows stopped working?”

It’s an attempt to lightheartedly downplay his fears, but it’s obviously unsuccessful. She watches as he fishes his cigarette packet from the pocket of his jogging bottoms, pulling one out and lighting it with shaky hands.

She takes out her phone and calls the recovery service, straining to hear over the roar of the traffic that speeds past on the M1. It’s going to be a forty five minute wait for anyone to get to them, though she should consider herself lucky, bearing in mind it’s December 23rd and there are cars nationwide breaking down on their way home for Christmas.

When she ends the call and tosses her phone onto the driver’s seat, she turns back to see that Billy is three quarters of the way through his smoke, his gaze downcast as he stands there shivering. The sight makes her heart ache.

“It’s freezing,” she calls out to him, “at least come and get your hoodie.”

She opens the door to the backseat, grabbing his Adidas zip up from it and holding it out to him. His head remains bowed, though his eyes look up at her, before he crushes his cigarette beneath his trainer and slowly walks towards her.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, slipping the hoodie on and perching on the edge of the backseat, facing out of the car, long legs stretched out in front of him.

They remain in silence for a few moments, Billy simply sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, staring at the ground, as she stands before him, looking out towards the steady stream of cars, eyes narrowed at the oncoming headlights that rush by.

“How long until you get fed up?” He finally asks, looking up at her.

“Well, I’m fed up already,” she jokes, “but we’ve gotta sit tight until someone comes to get us.”

He huffs a humourless laugh through his nose, lips quirking upwards slightly as he shakes his head. “You know that’s not what I mean. How much more of me can you hack before you finally decide I’m not worth the effort?”

“Oi,” she chastises playfully, ruffling a hand through his shaggy blonde hair. “To me, you will always be worth the effort. I’m not going anywhere.”

Billy bends his legs at the knees, planting his feet flat on the floor and pulls her between them as his arms wrap around her waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she says gently. “It’s been a rough few months, but we’ll get through it.

“God, I love you,” he tells her, stroking his palm across her cheek.

“Tell me again,” she smiles, leaning down to bump her nose against his.

“Love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to hers.

She kisses back, expecting it to be quick and chaste, but gasps in surprise as his hand slides from her face into her hair, gripping and anchoring her to him, as his tongue slips into her mouth. He tastes faintly of tobacco, but she responds eagerly as their mouths move together, the sensation sending heat pooling between her legs.

He leans back against the backseat, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside, dragging her with him. She giggles, pulling away breathlessly.

“Billy, we’re on the side of the motorway, anyone could see us!”

“Best give them something good to look at then,” he grins lazily up at her, fingers tugging at the waistband of her leggings.

It’s been so long since he was this uninhibited and spontaneous, that that’s all the encouragement she needs. She scrambles to pull them from one leg, as Billy lifts his hips, pushing his jogging bottoms and boxers down just enough to free his cock.

As she hovers back over him, his fingers move to push her thong to one side, and she can’t help but smile into the crook of his neck. He’s not even fully hard, though his pushes against her entrance are quickly rectifying that.

There’s no time for either of them to prepare each other properly, not for a quickie on the side of the road, so when the head of him does finally breach her opening the intrusion steals her breath away.

She whines, as each slow withdrawal and thrust upwards from him pushes him deeper, her rapidly gathering slick helping to ease his passage, until he’s fully sheathed inside of her.

He pants along with her when she moans helplessly against his shoulder as he pistons up into her, holding her steady by her hips. The tight confines of the car make it so that every drag of his cockhead brushes against the sweet spot inside of her, making her involuntarily tighten around him.

His pace becomes rushed, sloppy, and the feeling of him pulsating inside of her sends her toppling over the edge, white hot sparks of pleasure shooting through her as she spasms around him. His fingers dig into the meat of her hips as he pushes up one final time, emptying himself into her with a groan.

She shifts to move off of him, but he grips tighter, keeping her where she is. “Don’t,” he whispers breathlessly, eyes closed.

“I need to put my leggings back on, babe,” she chuckles, “I don’t think the AA bloke will appreciate the sight of my bare arse.”

“We’ve got time,” he murmurs, pulling her back to him, stroking her hair. “Just stay like this for a minute.”

She squirms, the chill of the air on her naked skin and his spend leaking out of her around his softening length making her uncomfortable, but she stays where she is. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, slowly blinking open his eyes. “It’s just…this is the first time I’ve been in a car where I haven’t thought about something horrible happening.”

Her gaze softens, and she pecks him on the cheek. “That’s good. So, what were you thinking about?”

“You, just you.”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {6}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: For once things run smoother than planned as you introduce Charles and Lando to your mother. Warnings: 18+ only, light angst, fluff WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

The tiny village of Wickford had been your sanctuary since you first moved there at ten years old. Your mother had thought the sleepy little town would be good for you after the news of your parentage became public knowledge and the place you loved most was suddenly suffocating. She thought some time away from the karting world would be best.

Arriving back in the town that never seemed to change eased the ache in your chest that had been there since Max opened his mouth. It wasn’t gone completely and you weren’t sure it ever would. Of all the things he could have said, he knew that would hurt the most because you loved your mum above all else. She was your biggest supporter even if she couldn’t come to the races.

The Range Rover Lando had hired after landing in Southend should have been inconspicuous but when the majority of the town drove a Vauxhall it caught the attention of the teenagers lingering on High Street. You only hoped the windows were tinted enough to keep your arrival private for a little longer - but it was only a matter of time before word got out. It always did.

The drive had been quiet as you sat in the back seat with Charles, resting your head on his shoulder after the tears had run dry. The only time you spoke was to give directions to the small two bedroom bungalow on the quiet cul de sac that had remained your home at heart even after moving to Monaco. 

No amount of money offered could get your mother to move, you had tried. You had offered to buy her sprawling estates that had names instead of street numbers, you had offered her luxury apartments, you would have offered the world - but she was happy in the home she had worked hard to buy, and had worked harder to keep over your head when times were tough.  

“It’s cute,” Lando said with a smile as he pulled into the driveway. 

The agapanthus plants that lined the garden were budding with big heads of flowers and it was overgrowing onto the driveway, brushing the sides of the SUV. Trimming the plants was always your chore as a teenager during summer break and you hated it, complaining the entire time about how unfair life was. It didn’t seem so bad now.

The weathered front door opened before the car even came to a stop and you felt lighter the moment you saw your mum step out, a welcoming smile on her face. The engine had barely turned off and you were out of the car, expertly dodging the pavers that never sat level and into her open arms. 

Flour dusted her clothes, a damp tea towel hanging on her shoulder and the mouthwatering smell of fresh baking clung to her as you hugged her tight.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she asked as she pulled back and held you at an arm's length to see your face. “You haven’t hugged me that hard since you moved out.”

Her eyes darted to Lando and Charles as they climbed out of the car and you could see the question in her eyes. “Not them,” you said as you shook your head. “I hope it’s alright if they stay with me? We can get a hotel if not.”

“Nonsense, we can make space,” she reassured you with a squeeze before you felt a hand on the small of your back. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Don’t let her fool you, she knows exactly who you are and probably all your stats too,” you said over your shoulder. 

“I’m allowed to keep an eye on your competition, honey.”

“I’m Charles, and it’s lovely to finally meet you,” he said as he offered his hand.

“Please, any friend of my daughter gets a hug. You too, Lando,” she laughed as she opened her arms for them. “You must be special, she never brings anyone to meet me,” she whispered loudly.

“Mum…”

“What? It’s true. The last person you brought here was Max. Oh, speaking of, he called wanting to know if you were here.” Before you could open your mouth she held a hand up. “I figured if you didn’t tell him where you were it was because you didn’t want him to know.”

“Thank you,” you sighed with relief, unconsciously leaning into Lando’s side. 

“You can tell me what’s going on over a nice cuppa tea and a muf- shit, my muffins.” She was quick to turn and dart back in the house, leaving Charles and Lando quietly laughing beside you. Since you weren’t going to be getting a hotel, Lando grabbed the suitcase from the back of the SUV before heading inside the modest home.

“So you didn’t get your cooking skills from her,” Charles teased as he inhaled the sweet scent of berry muffins filling the entrance hall. 

“Depends if she burned them or not,” you said, only half joking. 

“Woah, it’s little Spitz!” Lando stopped in front of the wall that was covered in portraits from being a baby through to winning F2. “Where’s the rest?”

“Jos is always at the races,” you murmured, “and he has a restraining order.”

Charles’ eyebrows lifted at the news and he understood even more why you disliked seeing him at each one supporting Max.

“Apparently trying to get the child support owed is classed as harassment,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “We really put the fun in dysfunctional family.”

Lando snorted but once he started laughing he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry, it’s really not funny.”

You had seen him laugh enough in interviews to know it’s what he did when he felt awkward and didn’t know what to say. “Did you want to put our luggage in our room? It’s there, second door on the right.”

He gratefully took the escape you gave him and wheeled the suitcase down the hall as Charles continued his way along slowly, taking his time to see how you had aged over the years. “Oh my god, this has to be my favourite,” he said pointing to a particularly bad photo. “Why don’t you style your hair like this anymore?”

“Ha-ha, not all of our mothers can be hairdressers. You must be the only one on the grid that hasn’t had one bad hair style,” you huffed playfully before pointing to the photo of your first karting race. “This is mine.”

Charles stepped closer to see the wide smile you had with your helmet tucked under your arms and your two front teeth missing. You had kept the coins the tooth fairy left you in a savings jar so that you could pay for the fuel for the race. At one point you could remember considering pulling out another tooth that wasn’t wiggly just so you could afford a replacement part.  

“You’ve come a long way, amour,” Charles said proudly as he pulled you under his arm and kissed your temple.

“Charles,” your mum called as she stuck her head into the hall as held out a jar of jam. “Could you be a dear and open this for me, please?”

Slipping from your side he went to help your mum while you went to check in on Lando. He hadn’t made any progress at unpacking when you found him standing in front of your closet, his fingers tracing the pencil marks on the door jamb. 

“I can’t ever remember you being this short,” he said as you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your cheek in the dip between his shoulder blades. “Your presence always seemed bigger, I was so intimidated by it.”

You chuckled a little at his admission. “I couldn’t let anyone see how petrified I really was. Mum called it my brave face. I guess she couldn’t really say bitch face at that age.”

Turning in your arms, Lando cupped your face and tipped it back to meet your eyes. “I like brave face better.” Rising on your toes, you closed the distance between your lips and kissed him softly. 

“Lunch is re-” Your mother came to a halt in the doorway but neither of you made an attempt to hide what she had obviously seen. “Sweetheart, can we have a word?”

You chewed your lip as you nodded and stepped out of the room to see Charles was in the hall behind her but he slipped into the bedroom to give you a sense of privacy while still being close enough to step in if needed. 

It was impossible to get a read on your mother’s face as she opened the linen closet in the hall, effectively blocking them from sight, and she started piling blankets into her arms. 

“Honey, I’m not one to tell you how to live your life but I saw the pictures of you and Charles together, and the little moment you had in the hall. So please tell me you’re not planning on breaking his heart? He looks absolutely besotted with you.”

You smiled at the thought and shook your head before looking at her with a nervousness you had never had when telling her the truth. “I’m not planning on breaking either of their hearts,” you said after swallowing the wave of nausea that rose with your trepidation. She had been the first person you told when you had your first kiss, she had been the one you called when you got your first period. There had never been secrets between the two of you and you didn’t want to start now. “I love them, mum.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you can’t string them both along-”

“No, mum, I love them both.” You stared at her as she blinked slowly once, then twice. On the third blink her eyes widened and she nearly dropped the blankets she held. “It also helps that they love each other too.”

You gave her a moment to process her thoughts but when you counted to ten and she still hadn’t said anything the sickening churning in your gut nearly sent you running for the bathroom. “Mum?” She looked at the blankets and silently placed them back on the shelf. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, mum, I didn’t plan to but they make me unbelievably happy.”

“I’m not disappointed, just surprised,” your mum said softly as she closed the linen cupboard and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “I want you to be happy, honey, that’s all any parent wants for their child…I guess it saves me making up the rollout bed.”

You choked out a laugh, grateful that she could accept the news and crack a joke at the same time. “I can stop feeling sick now.”

“As long as you’re not pregnant. You are being careful, right?”

“Yes, thank you for your concern,” you muttered sarcastically. “I really don’t want to talk about this again.”

“You skipped the talk last time,” she reminded you and you remembered feeling the need to escape.

“For good reason too! You tried to tell me your ‘sexual experiences’ but as far as I am concerned you had sex once to make me and that’s it.” 

Her laugh filled the hallway and she clutched her chest. “Oh, darling, you have no idea.”

“I do not need to hear anything else.” You stuck your fingers in your ears as you retreated to your bedroom but her laugh still taunted you when you closed the door behind you. Leaning against the cold wood you met your boyfriends’ amused faces where they sat on the bed and pretended to shiver in disgust. “Gross.”

Lando was the first to rise and he placed his hand above your head as he leaned in with a grin. “That went well.”

“Surprisingly,” you admitted with a giggle of relief. “Though Max set the bar of expectation really low.”

Charles wrapped his arms around Lando’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder with a smile that you returned. “I missed this smile,” he commented quietly as he reached out to trace your lips. “When I see it, I know everything is right in the world.”

“Well, not everything,” Lando stated, earning a pinch to his nipple from Charles. “What? It’s true. We are going to face Max in nine days, that's a fact.”

You sighed at the best case scenario, because you could be called to Milton Keynes at any point before then too. “Then how about we make a deal and not mention it? Let me bury my head in the sand for as long as I can.”

“Deal,” Charles agreed before you both stared at Lando, waiting for his answer. 

“Fine, deal, but I want it noted that this was peer pressured.”

“So sassy,” you said as you grabbed his shirt and pulled him flush against your body. “Now seal it with a kiss.”

Click here for part seven.

[coelagirl]

This poll is in two parts -> part 2

[foxsoulcourt]

An unassuming cheese-monger

It's truly amazing how much you can learn by listening and observing.

Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today Javone. Can I get you a cuppa? Why don't you look over the cheeses and pick two or three you would like to try. I'll make us a plate and we can go sit over in that quiet corner.

As I said earlier, my name is Harriet and I’ve been a cheese-monger in this shop for many years. Before you ask me your questions, let me give you some context for why I contacted your office.

I'm worried. Several of my regular customers have not been in the store in over a week. If it was just one or two of them, especially that particularly handsome one with the gorgeous suits, I wouldn't worry. We often don't see him for weeks at a time. But the others? I'm not sure I can convey to you how unusual their collective absence is, especially for this length of time.

How do you like the Port Salut? I'm glad to see you chose it because it's one of my favourites. Understated, but consistently delicious. Such a lovely texture too.

Now, while many different types of customers frequent our shop, we are known by busy professionals in the area. They count on us for a reliable source of high quality meats, cheeses, beverages, biscuits, and breads. You probably know that type of customer. Those executives who work long hours and rarely set time aside for regular meals, yet still want to eat and drink well while working. We show our gratitude for their steady patronage with delicious goods, prices, and hours which match their needs.

Even though we are not supposed to know many details beyond their name, a career retail employee like myself learns to pick up subtle clues about even casual customers.

Therefore Javone, I can reliably tell you several SIS senior staff frequently shop in our store. Partly it's due to our quality merchandise and, frankly, because we open at the crack of dawn and don't close until very late. It also helps we are an easy ten minute walk away from their home office through Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens. That's just the right amount of time to clear your head after a troublesome meeting, isn't it?

Excuse me young man, did I say something funny? Oh, is it that name? I know, it seems a bit silly, but no need to snicker. <clears throat> Now, back to our mutual concern. I believe I have information you want, is that correct?

Over the years both Mr Tanner and Ms Moneypenny have become particularly friendly. They're terribly kind, both of them and they work such long hours. It's been through helping them I've learned to separate out which cheeses Mr Mallory prefers from the ones he does not care for, the beverages that gentleman in the beautiful suits prefers, and which biscuits to keep in stock for the often distracted younger man with the ever changing hair styles and glasses. He's always so kind to me. I really like talking with him.

Which explains why when I didn’t see any of them come through our doors this past week, I became concerned. They rarely all come in on a daily or even weekly basis, but not seeing any of them this past week felt downright odd. I knew immediately something horrible had happened.

Now Javone, what can you tell me? What do you know? And how can I help you?

[myfairstarlight]

The Innocent Game of Flirting

AO3 Link.

Rated: T

Length: 10.8k

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington

Canon Divergence

Based on the replies on my jealous Colin post here.

Summary:

It is the 1812 season. Penelope Featherington, out in society a year too early and watching the love of her life court her cousin, refuses to wallow in self-pity. Determined to escape her family home, she resolves to secure a proposal. Following a piece of advice from Daphne, Penelope successfully attracts the interest of a suitor in Lord Remington. However, her little scheme brings about unexpected consequences. Or: A season 1 AU where a determined Penelope uses her friendship with Colin to practice her flirting skills, leading to a very confused and flustered Colin, who soon forgets which Featherington lady he is meant to be courting.

*additional notes on ao3

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Penelope grins as she unveils her new dresses, devoid of that horrid yellow she was forced to adorn in her first few social events. Instead, an array of light pink, green and blue now adorn her wardrobe and she could not be more pleased.

“Thank you Papa!” she exclaims, hugging him despite his stiff demeanour.

“I will never hear the end of it with your mother,” her Papa sighs, even as he hugs her back with one arm then pats her head. “But you’re welcome, darling.”

She hums, bouncing on her feet as she releases him. She can now prepare for the ball tonight with a sound mind. The plan worked much more efficiently than she expected, as her Papa managed to resell the old yellow gowns, giving her some extra pin money, and she had Eloise to thank for such a success.

“Your Papa has a soft spot for you, does he not?” her best friend had said, the night after Penelope’s first ball, wherein she spent the whole night sticking to walls. “And you have two older sisters, as well as an older cousin out in society with multiple suitors already, surely your Mama will focus on them first. If you stubbornly refuse to attend events, she will leave you be but your Papa might notice! He’ll ask what’s wrong and voilà, you get better gowns than those ill-fitting yellow atrocities.”

“And even if he does not notice, frankly, you will not miss much at these balls,” Daphne had sighed. “Outside of my brother being insufferable.”

Her wardrobe is now sorted out, but there is still the issue of… well, her personality. For that, Daphne is the one who gives her a piece of advice when they find each other at the Vauxhall Ball.

“Your personality is dazzling as it is,” the other debutante chides. “You simply need to be comfortable, and courtship is meant to do just that— allow you to get to know someone so you may feel comfortable enough to speak your mind.”

“But for that, I would need to not chase them away with my awkward ways in the first place.”

“Well, some gentlemen like that. My brothers never seem to mind!”

“Your brothers have known me for years, it is hardly a good argument.”

“But you never tried flirting with them! It can be good practice, without the pressure of securing a proposal at the end.”

Penelope hums at that. Daphne is right, it could be good practice. Although she hardly sees herself trying to flirt with Anthony, she knows Benedict would humour her and so would Colin.

And if it could allow her to let her feelings about the latter out without any consequence…

“So… how does one flirt?”

“Men are rather simple creatures, my brothers are no different, though they pretend otherwise. Feed their ego, compliment them, but do not appear too eager.”

“Uh…”

“Oh! Anthony is heading this way, I must go,” Daphne says suddenly, promptly untangling their arms and fleeing towards the garden.

“Wait Da— Oh well.” Penelope pouts, watching her go, and then raises an eyebrow when she catches the Duke of Hastings also disappearing in the same direction after avoiding Lady Danbury.

Penelope is about to follow suit, curiosity guiding her thoughts, when she hears a familiar voice call her name.

“Pen!”

She startles, promptly twirling around to see Colin approaching.

“Colin!” She curtsies. “I did not know you would be here!” she says, trying to contain her excitement but failing miserably at it.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Colin jests. “Have you seen Miss Thompson?” he asks next as he looks around.

The smile drops from Penelope’s lips, which she promptly hides behind her hand as she pretends to be thinking. She knew Colin to be deeply infatuated with her cousin, but she expected at least some remark from her friend about her absence in previous social events, instead of asking about Marina’s whereabouts. No such luck, she supposes. 

Daphne’s words echo into her mind again, and resolve settles in her heart.

“She is ill,” she responds, watching the disappointment fall on Colin’s face, “my mama had to stay home with her, my papa had to chaperone tonight.” She points towards her father who’s already downing his third drink of the night, if she has counted correctly.

“It is quite a shame,” she continues, “you look dashing tonight.”

“I—” Colin stammers, clearly taken aback. Penelope tilts her head, does he not think her honest in her compliment?

“I am being earnest!” she insists. “Of course, you always do. This outdoor ball just brings out quite a whimsical atmosphere, do you not think?”

Colin seems to finally find his composure as he smiles fondly. “I agree, it is a breath of fresh air compared to the usually stuffy ballrooms.”

“Exactly!” she chuckles, fiddling with her dance card. She recalls Daphne doing the same to incite gentlemen to sign it, without outright asking for it. The movement draws their eyes to it, and a gentleman never denies a lady a dance, even if the request is unspoken.

“And— you look whimsical as well, Pen,” Colin compliments, making her flush, “that charming green dress suits you finely, one could mistake you for a mystical wood fairy.”

“Colin, you flatter me!”

“I am being earnest,” he repeats her words with a bright smile of his own.

Penelope chuckles — she was right, Colin would humour her without a second thought.

“Mr Bridgerton,” a grating voice interrupts their conversation and Penelope barely holds herself back from rolling her eyes as Cressida Cowper suddenly appears, not so subtly pushing her aside.

“I believe you owe me a dance this evening, and I have only one space left remaining on my card at present,” the blonde debutante coyly says, dangling said card in front of Colin’s eyes.

“How convenient,” Penelope slips out.

Cressida promptly spills her drink on her, and Penelope gasps, jumping back at the sudden coldness hitting her skin. Fortunately, the forest green of her dress hides the stain that the lemonade would have left but Penelope can hear the women accompanying Cressida already giggling and whispering between themselves. She turns around, willing her tears not to fall, but refusing to let Cressida see how affected she is by her action.

“I’m afraid I cannot offer you that dance, Miss Cowper,” Colin says, disdain barely hidden in his innocent tone.

A gentleman never denies a lady a dance.

“I am to escort Miss Featherington to the dance floor.”

Huh? Penelope turns around, blinking away her tears while Colin simply offers his hand, blatantly ignoring the gawking debutantes and a scowling Cressida witnessing the whole scene. When Penelope fails to move, too stunned, Colin gets closer and simply takes her hand and leads her away.

Penelope follows along numbly.

“Colin, you did not have to do that,” she whispers as they take their place on the dance floor. A quadrille.

“I needed a reason to not dance with her, frankly,” he says. “And I wanted to dance with you, too.”

The dance begins before she can think of an answer.

Well, he is just humouring her again now. They used to practise dancing together, before either of them was out in society, in the safety of the Bridgerton drawing room, yet he never expressed a desire to dance with her ever since. At her first ball, she had hoped — foolishly perhaps — that Colin would ask for her first-ever dance, if not as a suitor, at least as a friend, but his eyes quickly settled on Marina and the rest of the room had faded. And now, this instance does not stem from Colin’s desire for her company, but rather his desire to escape Cressida’s vicious claw, is it not?

Even so, Penelope smiles. This remains her first dance as a debutante, and although she wishes to move on, she can at least cherish the fact that this first is with Colin.

“Well, you are my favourite dance partner, after all,” Penelope says suddenly, during a short pause in the frantic steps of the dance. “Did you know?”

“Mm?”

Their hands join as they spin together, never breaking eye contact.

“Your eyes shine the brightest when you are kind. I think I can easily get lost in them.”

Colin’s step suddenly falters, and Penelope almost steps on his feet. Colin promptly winds an arm around her waist so she does not trip. She squeaks, she hopes discreetly, at the way her friend effortlessly lifts her up and then resumes the dance like nothing was amiss.

As the dance ends and they bow to each other, Colin clears his throat.

“Thank you.” His voice cracks. “You’re—” He never finishes his sentence. Penelope almost feels bad at his flustered state.

Daphne was right, flattering men is easy. Penelope grins, emboldened by this successful attempt. She turns around and catches the eye of a gentleman, alone by the refreshment table, with two glasses of lemonade in his hands and a bored pout on his lips. Lord Remington, if she recalls correctly. He raises an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact and Penelope makes her decision right then. She will enjoy her night!

“Well! Thank you for this dance Colin,” she says, “I am quite parched now.”

That seems to startle Colin into reality. “Oh, I can fetch you—”

“No, it is alright, I shall take this as an opportunity to scour for suitors, should I not? Have a good evening, Colin!”

She cannot quite help the way she bounces on her feet, perhaps a bit too eager, as she makes her way to Lord Remington. Fortunately enough, the gentleman only chuckles, as he offers her the extra glass.

For the rest of the evening, she shares two more dances with Colin, who seems rather reluctant to dance with anyone else since Marina is absent, but she spends the rest of her time discussing with Lord Remington at that same refreshment table. When she comes home, she hugs her father once more for the evening — he only half-heartedly returns it as always before disappearing into his study — and collapses on her bed with a relieved sigh.

She still had no name on her card, as Colin monopolised her night otherwise — though she did take it as an opportunity to practise putting her heart out in the open — but it is a start.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

A week or so passes like any other, surprisingly enough without any nagging from Penelope’s mother about her new wardrobe — in fact, her dear mother seems quite distressed about something else, refusing to give more details regarding Marina’s condition and forbidding all her daughters from seeing their poor cousin. 

Penelope does not see Colin nor Lord Remington at the next events in that period either. She knows Lord Remington had business to attend to outside of London, as for Colin, she simply assumes that with Marina indisposed, he is not bothering to entertain other interested debutantes.

(Though, now that she thinks about it, she has not seen any of the Bridgertons at social events at all, not even Daphne or Anthony.) 

On her part, she has tried to speak to suitors again, and she managed short conversations with Lord Debling and a certain Lord Basilio the night before, but she did not feel the same easiness with them as she did with Colin or Lord Remington. And she still has no name on her dance card.

With her mother refusing any visitors for the duration of Marina’s mysterious illness, Penelope could not exactly secure a caller either. It simply feels like a waste of time.

However, that morning, her father abruptly declared that they would be accepting visitors, forcing Marina out of the prison that her room had begun to become.

Therefore, due to Marina’s absence from past social events, her long line of suitors are quite eager to see her again, so it is no surprise that as soon as calling hours fall upon their day, a few gentlemen are already announced. Penelope swiftly finds her place by the windowsill to read, expecting a lively afternoon for her cousin, but a rather boring one for herself, that is, until their footman Briarly announces:

“A visitor for Miss Penelope.”

Her sisters and mother exclaim in surprise, meanwhile, Penelope manages to maintain her composure, somehow. She jumps to her feet when Lord Remington is escorted in.

“Miss Penelope!” he greets with a boyish smile that has Penelope giggling. “For you, dear lady.”

Flowers! Ironically enough, yellow ones, but she is much too elated to care about such triviality. Penelope grabs the bouquet carefully, a wide smile stretching her lips.

“Thank you, Lord Remington,” she says. “I did not expect your visit…” she admits sheepishly.

“That was rather rude of me to not tell you I was back in London indeed, but I wished to surprise you. Your father owed me a favour as well.” Oh, that explains why her father insisted they open their house to society once more, although when she looks at her father, he guiltily looks away. “And I was much eager to continue our last conversation.”

Penelope playfully gasps. “My, have you heard more about Lord Fife’s failed attempts at charming maids?”

Lord Remington chortles. “Perhaps so! Although, I was also hoping to learn more about you, Miss Penelope.” At that, he offers his hand and Penelope gently reaches for it with her free hand. Swiftly, he deposits a kiss on the back of her glove and she turns bright red.

She can hear her mother gasping, a mix of surprise and delight. She refuses to look in her sisters’ direction, however.

“You two might feel a bit crowded in this corner,” Portia chimes in then. “Prudence, stand up and go sit with Philippa instead, let your sister and her suitor be there.”

Prudence glares but eventually listens and stands from the armchair near the fireplace. Penelope has to bite her lips not to grin in triumph.

Therefore, she sits down on the armchair, setting the flowers on the small table near it, while Lord Remington angles his wheelchair so they can comfortably speak to each other. Penelope rests the book she had been reading on the arm between them as they engage in conversation.

Penelope loses track of time afterwards. Her discussion with Lord Remington feels easy, and natural, though she fails to find it anything other than friendly as her heart has not fluttered once outside of that kiss on her hand. She also cannot find it in herself to place any flirty comments to perhaps stir the conversation into more courting material, but she is quite enjoying his childhood tales and hearing all the gossip he seems to have amassed within his family. Perhaps she does need more practice after all… she cannot remain a friend in the eyes of another gentleman she is trying to pursue after all! She refuses to be stuck in that situation a second time!

“Pen,” a familiar voice calls her suddenly and she startles. Lord Remington, on his part, only tilts his head with a raised eyebrow at the intrusion.

Or at the awful familiarity with which this other gentleman has just addressed a lady.

“Oh, Colin, good d—” She is interrupted by Colin suddenly shoving a bouquet of lilies and lavender in front of her. “Thank you…?”

Colin beams, eyes shining akin to a puppy getting praise.

It takes her a few seconds to realise Colin is also kneeling in front of her.

“Uh. I thought Mr Bridgerton was announced for Miss Thompson,” Philippa comments. She probably meant to whisper it, however, the middle Featherington girl has never been good at keeping her voice down.

A heavy silence ensues. Penelope catches Marina’s narrowed eyes, and she is not quite sure if she is supposed to say something — she is just as lost by Colin’s behaviour, and she hopes her confusion translates into her gaze.

“Well, I realised I never gifted Pen anything before despite our years of acquaintances and my many visits here, that makes me an awful friend, does it not?” Colin says eventually.

Friend. Right. Penelope smiles, trying to ignore that familiar feeling of disappointment tugging at her heart.

“Thank you, Colin,” she whispers, as chatter fills the room again. “Have you met Lord Remington?” she asks, not recalling if the two ever exchanged even pleasantries at the Vauxhall Ball.

“We’re familiar,” the latter says. “Though we have not spoken since Eton, have we, Bridgerton?”

“Indeed, Remington.”

Lord Remington narrows his eyes. “So, how are you?”

“Fine.”

What a stilted conversation.

Penelope bites her lip, eyes going from one gentleman to the other and coming to an uncomfortable realisation — they look alike, do they not? Brunettes with deep blue eyes, along with a boyish and charming smile. Oh dear, did she unconsciously seek someone similar to Colin, at least in appearance?

“Will you be staying on the floor, Mr Bridgerton?” Portia asks, confusion apparent in her voice. “We can get you a cushion, at the very least. Although I believe there is still a seat near Miss Thompson available.”

Penelope sees Marina not so subtly shoving a suitor away, forcing the poor gentleman to stand up.

“Oh!” Colin blinks, looking rather lost himself, and he nearly loses his balance, if not for Lord Remington grabbing his arm before he could fall. “Uh, thanks.”

“No worries,” the other gentleman smiles. “Your lady awaits you I believe.”

Penelope gives a bemused smile when Colin looks at her as if asking for guidance. Eventually, although reluctantly, it seems, Colin stands up and takes the seat next to Marina.

“The room is getting rather crowded,” Penelope says, as many others of Marina’s suitors have arrived in the meantime. “Shall we go to the garden, my lord?”

“Please!” the gentleman agrees, letting out a low chuckle. “Some fresh air would be wonderful.”

Penelope quite agrees.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Unfortunately, at the next ball, Lord Remington is not present; he did inform her it would be unlikely for him to attend events where dancing is at the centre, which unfortunately tends to be most of them. The Vauxhall ball just happened to intrigue him with the promise of the light show.

Truth be told, it is a bit frustrating — her father has told her that though Lord Remington specifically asked to call on her, the gentleman has not requested permission to start a proper courtship with her. She wonders if, once again, she found herself a friend, rather than a suitor.

She is not sure where she has failed, once isolated in the garden of her childhood home, she had complimented him the way she had with Colin, and Lord Remington seemed rather unaffected compared to the way Colin had reacted, instead of stumbling with his words and turning a subtle shade of red, Lord Remington had simply smiled and thanked her, giving her compliments of his own.

Her heart also did not flutter at his words, but that was to be expected. Although determined to marry, she knows a love match is not a possibility, for her heart is too stubborn to let go of the man she was born for, but who was born for another.

Even so, she supposes she must entertain other options than Lord Remington, as kind and funny he is, lest she still spends most of the season clinging to walls once more.

“Our host looks a bit fussy,” a familiar voice suddenly says behind her, startling her. “Do you think if he goes to bed we all have to leave?”

Penelope chuckles. “Colin!”

Colin grins cheekily. “It is lucky the lady produced an heir before the old earl croaked, no?”

“Lucky indeed,” she agrees, unconsciously leaning against Colin’s side. “But do you not think the boy bears a passing resemblance to Lady Trowbridge’s footman?”

“Penelope, what a barb!” Colin chuckles before he reaches for her card.

Instinctively, Penelope pulls it away before he can catch it. She regrets it immediately when Colin sends her the saddest look she has ever seen on a human being.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“What are you doing?” Colin counters. “I simply wished to secure a dance with you.”

“... Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

Yes! The desire to court me! She does not say that.

“Well, there is no notion of securing a spot on my card, as it has remained empty, and you know this. I hear Miss Thompson has yet to leave the dance floor, however.”

“I have already spoken with Miss Thompson, all her dances have been claimed indeed.”

Penelope is unsurprised, however she keeps her dance card close to her chest, even with Colin’s hand still hovering in front of her. Perhaps it is petty, but she already had her first dance as a debutante with Colin, and she wishes to have an actual suitor as the first name on her card.

Eventually, Colin seems to understand she will not relent, so he clears his throat. “So… you and Lord Remington?”

“What about him and I?”

“Are you considering him a proper prospect? He’s… young…”

Penelope blinks.

“Colin, he’s your age.”

Colin gapes as if he has forgotten this fact.

“... My point still stands, somewhat. He may not be as serious as you about courtship.”

“Colin, thank you for looking out for me, but you do not need to.”

“Pen that is not…” He pauses. “You love to dance.”

She narrows her eyes at the sudden statement. “Careful before you utter a rude remark.”

“What? Oh! No, I did not mean in regards to his… oh this came out wrong,” Colin stumbles on his words, cheeks turning red in shame. “Simply, you love to dance, and I know you and Lord Remington have… started… uh, a courtship.”

“Do not sound so pained and surprised,” she deadpans, not bothering to correct him anyway.

“But you do not need to deny dances for his sake,” Colin continues, ignoring her remark. “You are not a claimed woman. Should you not entertain other suitors?”

Well, do you see any lining up for my hand?! She almost petulantly answers. Instead, she takes a breath, turning her gaze to the dance floor, where she meets Marina’s eyes for a brief moment. She currently is dancing with an old earl, and looks rather displeased about it — is it cruel of Penelope to despise how ungrateful her cousin is with the natural attention she has brought to herself? Even so, she sends her a supportive smile and does not miss the way Marina’s eyes flit towards Colin for a second.

“Are you volunteering to start my empty list?” Penelope mutters, more of a derisive question than a true request. Before she can find out if he heard her, however, she tugs at his sleeve. “Would you do me a favour?”

“Mm? Of course.”

“Miss Thompson seems rather eager for a rescue.”

Marina’s name seems to startle Colin into reality. He straightens his back. “Oh! Indeed she does.”

Penelope’s heart flutters and breaks at the same time at the hopeful look now in Colin’s eyes. “You’re so cute,” she says  — because she has gotten used to being honest. “Now go.”

“Pen what did you just say—”

She nudges him onto the dance floor before he can finish his question. She then promptly blends into the crowd and leaves the ball early, feeling quite defeated and refusing to admit the fault may lie with her treacherous heart.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

That very night, Marina tells her, in an elated voice, that she has settled her attentions on Colin at last, praising his kindness, his humour, and, more importantly, his youth. Penelope only smiles and wishes her and Colin the best, in a voice she hopes is not half-hearted.

And yet, in the days that follow this declaration, in which Colin visits almost daily, Penelope senses a shift in Marina, she who once treated her gently the way her sisters never did, her cousin now is rather cold, looking at her with apprehension and resentment, though no cruel words leave her lips, at the very least. It makes Penelope itch — she thought she finally found a friend in this dreadful house but it seems she was being naive.

Perhaps it is fate being gentle on her, but just as Marina has decided to regard her as a hindrance, a certain Mr Finch starts to show interest in Philippa, prompting the latter to cling to Penelope as she asks her younger sister for advice — and to have an ear to gush to about the loveable cheese-enthusiast gentleman. As a result, Penelope spends many of her afternoons with her, Mr Finch and Lord Remington around a cup of tea.

(That is when Colin does not decide to make an appearance to steal some cookies from Penelope’s plate every time.)

And yet, as the days pass, no proposal seems to be on the horizon, for any of the ladies in the house. Penelope is not surprised for herself, Lord Remington has not shown any sign of seeking a wife this season despite his flirtatious ways, but Mr Finch seems so besotted with her sister that she is surprised they have not already eloped. As for Colin and Marina, she had been so sure that as soon as Marina started denying her other suitors, Colin would jump on the opportunity to secure his future with her, he who seemed so eager at the beginning of the season.

Penelope has heard the servants talk, however. She knows of her father’s gambling addiction and the very possibility that her and her sisters’ dowries may have gone into one of his dangerous and reckless games. Marina’s dowry, separated from their fortune, should still be intact, however.

She suspects the lack of proposal and this rumour may not be unrelated.

When they get an invitation from the Bridgertons for Daphne and the Duke of Hastings’ engagement party, Penelope cannot help the sense of foreboding taking over her heart as she catches her mother and Marina sharing a conspiratorial look. Even so, she turns to Philippa instead who excitedly intertwines their arms, insisting that they must invite their suitors as well. Penelope agrees wholeheartedly.

Only to learn they cannot.

“It will only be a small gathering, the Duke insisted, and we forgot to put the details in the invitation,” Colin explains later that day when he visits. “You are old friends of the family, so Daphne insisted you must come.” Penelope has to stop herself from laughing. She knows he does not mean the rest of her family. “Oh, and this is for you, Pen.”

He hands Penelope a copy of Sense and Sensibility. She gasps, successfully distracted.

“I heard the wedding is only a week from now, that is rather quick, was your sister not just being courted by the prince?” Lord Remington, who also happened to be calling on Penelope at the moment, inquires.

“The Duke has simply come to his senses and secured my sister’s hand before anyone else could,” Colin responds, and Penelope swears his eyes fall briefly on her. “I do apologise that you cannot be of attendance, my friend.”

“I will pretend that your words are sincere.” The other gentleman chuckles. “Well, if you are to monopolise Miss Penelope’s time tomorrow, my lady, shall we leave for a promenade this afternoon? The weather has not been quite this nice in a while, after all.”

“Oh! Mr Finch should arrive any moment, shall we all go together?” Philippa chimes in, jumping from her seat to wrap her arms around Penelope from behind.

Lord Remington smiles politely, though it is obvious he expected a private outing. “Uh, of course.”

“Splendid! Oh, we should have a picnic as well! Varley, could you have the cook prepare something?”

“I have not even answered yet…” Penelope mutters, meeting Lord Remington's amused eyes. The man has also grown used to her sister's air-headed and excitable ways.

“Shall we join as well, Mr Bridgerton? Some fresh air may be quite pleasing,” Marina says.

Colin seems taken by surprise. “Ah, I'm afraid I cannot, I must help with some preparations.”

“But you said it would be an intimate gathering,” the other gentleman points out.

“Pen, I expect a full commentary of the book tomorrow, yes?” Colin asks, thoroughly ignoring the pointed remark and Marina’s narrowing eyes.

“You… read it?” 

“Of course! You know how Eloise is not so fond of these books, and I need someone to talk about them with. So. Promise?”

Penelope chuckles. “Very well, I promise.”

Colin beams before swiftly taking his leave without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Penelope is not quite sure why, upon the door closing behind him, the rest of the room sends her an incredulous look.

“What? Colin and I are friends, this is not the first time he’s come simply to give me something.” Last time, the flowers were a surprise, but a book is not necessarily a courting gift. This is just Colin being thoughtful — Penelope recalls lamenting being unable to find this book at the beginning of the season although she only shared this information with Eloise.

“Ah! That is true,” Philippa concedes, prompting Marina to relax on the couch. 

Lord Remington looks at the book thoughtfully, and at the way Penelope cradles it ever so gently to her chest. He remains silent, however.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

They find a quaint little spot below a willow tree where they decide to settle for the picnic. Philippa sets the food and baskets with Mrs Varley's help, while Penelope helps Lord Remington out of his wheelchair.

“I can usually manage on my own,” he shares, leaning ever so slightly against her as they sit, “but this is good practice, is it not?”

Penelope’s heart skips a beat. “Do you mean—” 

“Well, perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.” He pauses, looking at Mr Finch for a moment. The other man seems entranced by a piece of cheese Phillippa is presenting him. “Miss Penelope, you must know that your father has advised me and Mr Finch from proposing.” Penelope only sighs. “You do not seem surprised.”

“I have had my suspicions, especially considering our quickly shortening staff. And the fact I have had to wear some gowns twice, to my mother’s dismay”

“A lady such as you should not have to worry about such things.”

“Why should I not if my father’s careless games define my future, my lord?” Penelope says. “On your part, you do not seem angered.”

Lord Remington gives a sheepish smile. “It is true my concern lies more with Mr Finch. To be honest, my lady, I had no intention of finding a wife this season.”

“I gathered.”

“Observant as ever, my lady.”

Penelope chuckles. Her heart feels lighter than she expected to — in fact, it is a bit of a relief to have the confirmation, rather than constantly overthink where she may have failed in her plan to entice a gentleman.

“But I do like you, Penelope.” She startles a little at the sudden familiarity in the lord’s voice. Her breath hitches as Lord Remington reaches for her hand, gently bringing it to his chest. “However, and I apologise for how vain this will sound, but I cannot allow myself to marry if the lady has no dowry. My parents can be… insufferable, in those matters, and I would rather not put you in this situation, especially given how costly my treatments can be. This chair and its maintenance, for one.”

Penelope smiles, fingers curling around his palm and squeezing once. “I understand. And your parents only worry about your well-being as well, I am sure.” Her lack of dowry is a reality she now needs to face. Her prospects have significantly lowered once more, with this factor that is outside of her hands, though, really, it is so late in the season now, she wonders if she simply has to accept that she must wait another year — that is if she is lucky enough to get a second season.

“You give them too much grace,” Lord Remington laughs. “I believe I can settle this matter with time, and as I have mentioned, your father owes me as well. Next season, perhaps, I can proudly present my ring to you, if you are willing to wait for me.”

Penelope does not answer for a while, although that is a dilemma she has just pondered in her head. Her eyes observe the man before her, a perfect suitor by all means. Kind, humorous, young, devoted… Well, does that not sound quite familiar? She looks at her sister and Mr Finch afterwards, noting the lovesick looks and Philippa’s wide smile. It frustrates her, that after all, she still wishes for such a carefree and loving romance. She knows Lord Remington has chosen his words carefully. He likes her. And perhaps it is unfair of her to expect any man to still wish for her hand without a hefty price behind it. Her pragmatic side knows it is not a possibility — Mr Finch is as smitten as they come and yet has not fought her father for Philippa’s hand.

And then, there is the poor romantic soul in her. Perhaps her mother is right, she reads too much, after all.

“It is not a matter of willingness, but rather one of ability, is it not?” she answers eventually.

“You evade my question.”

“Observant as ever, my lord.” She looks at their joined hands. “I cannot honestly promise I will wait,” she admits.

Understanding, rather than disappointment, shapes the curve of Lord Remington’s smile.

“Although, frankly, if I can be in Mayfair again for next season, you would not have much competition anyhow, even without me promising,” she jests.

“You underestimate yourself, Penelope,” the gentleman is quick to refute. “In fact… Someone else has warned me to be careful. That was not the word he used, but I would hate to subject your delicate ears to such language.”

Penelope sighs. “Mr Bridgerton is a protective friend, that is all.”

“I did not even need to say a name.” He laughs at her wide eyes. “Mr Bridgerton is neither your family, nor your suitor, and yet the way he spoke to me gave me the feeling he had a pistol ready to draw.”

“Surely you jest!”

Lord Remington shakes his head. “I wish it was merely an entertaining piece of gossip. Mr Bridgerton is quite blind, or perhaps stupid.” Penelope cannot help the small noise of protest that escapes her lips before she can stop it. “But he has clearly shown his interest these past few weeks, only not in Miss Thompson.” He takes a breath. “Your heart belongs to him, does it not? He is the one you are waiting for.”

“I do not want to!” Penelope refutes, implicitly confirming the man’s suspicion. “I— it was merely an infatuation, when he decided to court my cousin, I knew I had to move on. And please, do not assume I do not like you! If you proposed right at this moment, I’d…” She falters — she cannot even finish that sentence.

Her friend gives her a knowing look. “We can pretend I have. It would simply be a half-truth. If by next season, you are still a debutante, then we shall marry. Otherwise, there is no harm. Simply a promise between us without the pressure of the final decision. And perhaps the rumour of your engagement will spur him into action.”

“James, that is ludicrous.”

“Oh, now you use my name!” He laughs. “Allow me this opportunity to mess with him after the hassle he put me through.”

“You will be thoroughly disappointed, Colin would be supportive, rather than insanely jealous over you as you expect him to be.”

“I would wager a bet over this matter, but that is a dangerous path. As your father would know.”

Penelope rolls her eyes.

“You would lose anyhow,” she insists.

“We will see, my lady.”

She suspects he simply is pleased to be the source of some entertaining piece of gossip for once.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Penelope is not quite sure why she and her family were invited to this engagement party when, aside from Lady Danbury, the Duke does not seem to have invited a family of his own. If they desired an intimate gathering, inviting the eccentric Featheringtons was far from a good idea. And if she has to listen to her mother embarrassingly try to make Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury laugh with her jokes, Penelope might fake an illness to be able to escape.

“A blue dress today? Trying to become an official part of the family?” Benedict Bridgerton comes up to her with that signature charming smile of his.

“Are you volunteering to make that happen?” she jests back, self-consciously brushing her skirts, indeed noting the eerily similar colour to Eloise’s dress or Benedict’s and Colin’s waistcoats. Not a deliberate choice, truth be told.

Benedict laughs. “I hear that you soon won’t bear the Featherington name, I may be too late?”

Ah. So the rumour has already spread in a mere day, for Benedict, of all people to hear about it.

“Tonight is not about me,” is all she says. “Your brother seems miffed.��

“Which one?”

“The Viscount.”

“Ah. The Duke is a close friend of his, yet he does not trust him with our Daphne. I think he’s being purposely obtuse. These two are quite smitten, as we say.”

Penelope recalls Lord Remington’s remark about the pressing wedding date, and despite her best judgement, it makes her observe Daphne and the Duke with more scrutiny than she ought to. They seem happy and content indeed, but she cannot help but sense some guilt from the gentleman, and some tension in the curves of Daphne’s smiles. Penelope sees love, yet one not quite yet resolved, in a sense. But she supposes, married life ought to refine the shape of their bond.

“Colin has been looking for you, so I am surprised to be finding you alone, not even with Eloise,” Benedict says.

“Eloise retired to her room early to avoid your mother,” she responds, prompting the man to chuckle under his breath. “As for Colin, I have not seen him at all apart from a brief glimpse upon arrival.”

“I have not seen your cousin either.” A shiver runs down Penelope’s spine at the remark. Benedict looks troubled, brow subtly furrowed as he scans the room. “Our mothers and Anthony seem fortunately occupied, if you understand what I mean.”

She nods. However, before they part in search of the missing pair, she asks, “Do you not trust your brother?”

Benedict smiles, a bit guiltily. “It is not him I do not trust.” He shakes his head. “I will check upstairs in the bedrooms, could you check the studies and library?”

Penelope has no time to respond before he leaves. She sighs, rubbing her left arm before she swiftly exits the room as well.

Eloise has told her how uneasy her family felt about the courtship between Colin and Marina, yet she has never witnessed it first-hand. Knowing her friend, Penelope assumed Eloise was being her usual hyperbolic self, but if even Benedict seems to distrust the courtship, he who is usually so welcoming, then… She shakes her head, her steps leading her to Anthony’s study by the staircase.

And noticing the door being half-opened, a faint light coming from inside. Her lips press into a thin line — she has heard her mother talk about her youth, when she prepared her and her sisters for the season, of how to secure a gentleman, some ladies would intentionally lure men into an isolated room, but leave the door slightly ajar, in the hope of another guest, or even a servant, taking notice. It could be the other way around as well, although her mother was sure to point out that men are much less eager about a marital prospect. Penelope’s heart sinks — surely Marina would not…?

She tentatively approaches the door. As such she can vaguely discern Colin and Marina standing in the middle of the room. Well, Penelope can only see Colin’s back, completely hiding Marina behind his imposing figure, but she can catch a glimpse of Marina’s yellow dress peeking between his legs.

Suddenly, Colin takes a step back.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice shaking with an emotion Penelope cannot quite place.

“I was hoping for a kiss,” Marina answers frankly.

Penelope stifles her scandalised gasp behind her hand while Colin takes several steps back then, shaking his head vigorously.

“You are a lady, and I am a gentleman. I cannot take liberties of the sort with you.”

“You agreed to an unchaperoned moment with a lady, you believe that to be gentlemanly?” Marina says.

“It did not feel like a choice in the first place when you dragged me here,” Colin responds in kind, sounding just as exasperated as Marina. “I have told you long ago, that I wish to end our courting.”

Penelope blinks. But he has kept visiting?

“But… you kept calling on me,” Marina says softly, voicing Penelope’s thoughts. “I thought you simply needed a little push.”

“I have not?” Colin sounds genuinely confused. “I was visiting Penelope.”

“Penelope!?”

The girl in question winces. She has heard enough as well. She knocks on the door, prompting a loud gasp from the pair inside.

“You are being rather loud, if you wished to have a private moment,” Penelope quips as she steps in. She sees relief fall on Colin’s face meanwhile Marina looks horrified, refusing to meet her cousin's gaze.

“Pen! It is not— I assure you nothing—” Colin tries to explain, surprised when Marina shoves past him and Penelope to get out of the room.

Penelope watches her go, worried, but the glare her cousin gave her just before closing the door behind her tells her she might be the last person Marina would wish to confide in at the moment. She sighs, focusing her gaze back on Colin who is leaning against Anthony’s desk with a hand rubbing his forehead.

“It is lucky I was the one who found you, and not your brother,” she says, earning a derisive laugh from her best friend.

“I know,” Colin sighs. “How much did you…?”

“I heard the mention of a kiss.” Colin stiffens. She shakes her, reaching out to rub his arm reassuringly. “I know nothing happened, Colin, you are a gentleman, a kind and considerate one.”

“Pen…”

“In fact, if you wish I can speak with Marina, surely something—” Her voice trails off as she notices that Colin is starting to lean in, breath caressing her forehead. “Colin?”

Instead of a response, his hand reaches for her chin, tilting it forward so their eyes may meet. Penelope’s breath hitches upon meeting the dark forest of her friend’s gaze.

“I heard…” Colin starts, voice barely above a whisper. “You are not wearing a ring.”

Penelope frowns, before showing him her ring-empty hand with a small derisive smile. “Indeed, I am not. I doubt I ever will.”

“Pen, do not say that.”

“You are sweet, Colin, but the reality is as such — Lord Remington has asked me to wait another year, but he may change his mind, or I may not be able to be here next season anyhow.”

It is Colin’s turn to frown.

“Why would you not be?”

“Colin, I have learned I have no dowry.” Her friend’s eyes widen. “My parents are very much trying to hide it, but no sane gentleman shall wish for the third daughter of a Baron with not even a dowry to evaluate her status.”

Colin’s hold on her is stronger suddenly, both hands framing her face and his gaze piercing through her soul.

“You are wrong,” he announces, fervently.

“... About?”

“So many things. Everything you have just said.” He leans closer, eyes never leaving hers. “You have been driving me insane, Pen.”

“I— I apologise?”

“All the flirting, the compliments, and sweet smiles… but then you turn around and entertain another, leaving me to gather dirt in your devastating garden.”

“Colin, you are not making any sense.”

“Remington is besotted, enchanted. How can you even think for one second he would not propose even without a dowry when he was oh-so bragging about it at the gentleman’s club last night?” He scoffs. “How can you not see the effect you leave in your wake?”

“Do not mock me!”

“May I kiss you?”

Penelope’s eyes widen, too stunned by such an abrupt question, yet before her thoughts can understand, her heart decides to be the bearer of decisions for the first time in a long while and she finds herself nodding.

Colin does not let her take another breath, capturing her lips with his.

And what a glorious moment it is.

Penelope sighs, melting under Colin’s touch who cradles her face as if she were a precious diamond. She tentatively moves her lips to the rhythm he has set, feeling her heart flutter for every brush, for every caress.

“Pen,” Colin whispers as he pulls away. “A kiss is for two people.”

“I–! I am trying my best.” She is not pouting.

He chuckles. “Do you trust me?”

She should not. This is highly improper, and the very scenario she has just prevented Marina from executing. Besides, they were having a very important conversation about her prospect, and she seriously needed to have a word with Lord Remington the next time she saw him. And yet— “Of course— oh!”

Strong arms suddenly wrap around her waist, effortlessly lifting her so she may sit on the desk, with Colin standing between her legs. Then he kisses her again. Penelope hums pleasantly, now able to wind her arms around his neck without straining, inviting him closer and closer. Colin is relentless now, barely allowing her a breath in between kisses, like a stranded man in a desert whose thirst can only be quenched by her lips.

Penelope feels him reach for her face, a thumb caressing her left cheek before it travels to her lower lip, pulling at it before she feels his tongue probing inside and claiming her mouth fully. She moans a sound she never knew she could even produce, and to grab into any sense of self, her hands find her friend’s hair, tugging at it just as Colin inhales deeply, his movements suddenly a bit shakier. Penelope can feel a warmth start to build up and a tingle in her legs — she is thankful to be sitting or she would have surely collapsed. But she needs— she needs—

“Colin! Are you in there?”

They pull apart abruptly, both of them recognising Benedict’s voice. Penelope is the first to react, promptly jumping off the desk to hide under it, just as the door opens.

“There you are!” Benedict says. “And you look a mess, have you taken out Anthony’s secret stash of alcohol in here?”

“Wh— no, I just needed a moment,” Colin manages to reply with a somewhat steady voice. “Bracing myself to announce the end of my courtship at our sister’s engagement party, like the insensitive brother I am, it seems.”

“Uh, alright…? Have you seen Penelope? I had asked her to search for you here or at the library, but I could not find her there.”

Penelope hopes her heaving breath is not as loud as it sounds in her ears.

“No. Perhaps one of our sisters kidnapped her. I heard Eloise retired to her chambers early.”

“Mm. Perhaps.” Benedict sounds entirely unconvinced. “Well, Mother is asking about you, we better get back to the party.”

“Right, yes of course.”

As the brothers leave, Penelope allows herself to simply lie on the floor for a moment as she lets the moment sink in. She brings a hand to her lips, still tingling from the kisses given by the love of her life.

And she is supposed to stand up, and simply exist as if the world as she knew it has not simply collapsed.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

A few days later, they are all invited to a garden party on a quaint sunny spring day, and Lord Remington is pouting. He looks incredibly young in his petulance.

“How come the end of a courtship is gaining more attention than the possibility of an engagement?” he complains, as he watches on the many debutantes surrounding Colin, trying to “comfort” him, and the many gentlemen back by Marina’s side, hoping for her favours.

It seems that nothing has truly changed, after all. Penelope supposes Marina shall get a proposal soon after all, even if from someone she did not choose at first.

Penelope chuckles, poking the lord’s arm. “I did tell you no one would truly care. The Bridgertons are the darlings of Mayfair, after all, and my cousin the diamond of the season.” Well, the second one.

“No, you told me Mr Bridgerton would not care,” James — she might as well start to refer to him as such, as they have agreed on a friendship until next season — corrects with a tut. “And he very much cares if he has ended his courtship with your cousin!”

“Colin ended it a while ago, it had nothing to do with us.”

“Now we both know that is false, as he kept visiting.”

Penelope’s lips form a thin line. Ever since the engagement party, she has been unable to talk to Colin. The news of the end of his and Marina’s courtship broke out the next day, and naturally, the third Bridgerton son did not try to call on her afterwards — would be quite the scandal, if he were to visit the cousin of the woman everyone thought he would be proposing to.

And at this garden party, Colin has not had a single moment to breathe in the middle of his many admirers. It makes Penelope wonder if what she has experienced is even real. It all feels like a distant memory, or a dream even.

“No matter,” James huffs, taking Penelope’s hand, “I suppose it is not so bad.”

She rubs the back of his hand. “I hope your ego is not too bruised, my lord.”

“Why would it be? I get your delightful presence all to myself.”

“James, I already agreed to marry you next season if everything is settled, you do not need to flatter me.”

“Penelope, I am being sincere, dear. And I still need to win your heart, don’t I? If Mr Bridgerton does not hurry…”

She drops his hand. “James.”

He holds his hands in surrender. “Very well, I will stop mentioning him. But I am being earnest, Penelope. I like you, and I know that I could learn to love you.”

Penelope’s heart flutters. How can you not see the effect you leave in your wake? She shakes that voice away.

“Thank you.”

James smiles. “May you help me? I wish to go see the flowers over there.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Carefully, and under the eye of James’ butler, Penelope pushes the gentleman’s wheelchair towards the edges of the garden, where fewer people are gathered, wishing to enjoy a cup of tea among the flowers, rather than the crowd. Jame directs her towards a corner with an empty table, on a ledge. As their respective maid and butler prepare them a glass of lemonade, Penelope quietly sits on a chair, a hand on James’ armrest.

“Would you care for a dance?” James asks suddenly.

“Wh—” Before she can ask, the gentleman takes her hand, prompting her to stand up before he directs her towards the short sets of stairs on their left. Penelope gasps, smiling wide as she understands his plan. She gleefully skips down the few steps, their hands never unlinking. “It is odd,” she says, as she looks up at James now. “I usually have to go up some stairs to meet anyone’s eyes.”

“I am delighted to be an exception,” he responds, leaning forward a little. Penelope holds back a giggle as his butler rushes to his side, worried he might somehow fall, while James waves him away with a roll of his eyes. “Shall we? I think I owe you more than one dance.”

Penelope nods. It is unconventional, she is aware. They are outside, in broad daylight, and she can see the few people around already turning a curious eye on them, but truthfully, she cannot care any less at the moment. The end of the season is near, her prospects are… insignificant as long as her father swims in debt, but she has a promised engagement in the future, and so, she can do whatever she pleases now, she can hardly be ruined, as the Ton believes her to soon be engaged to the man she is currently inappropriately dancing with, the only way she may be truly ruined were if she was caught unchaperoned with another gentleman, like in a closed study, with only the candles for witnesses—

Well, is that not a thought?

She shakes the memory away once more as she lets James twirl her and they improvise a routine with minimal steps, but allowing many spins for Penelope, wherein their hands never stray from each other. She laughs, feeling lighter than she has ever felt before.

After a few minutes, they bow to each other to end their impromptu dance, with Penelope now leaning against the handle of James’ wheelchair to catch her breath. Dancing under the sun sure is a different experience than under the moonlight, she realises, it is much more exhausting, for one. A glass of fresh lemonade is presented to her and she grabs it without looking up.

“Oh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. That was quite the dance.”

She almost spits out her drink at the voice.

“Bridgerton!” James greets him with a friendly smile. “Wasn’t it? Penelope is an excellent dancer, despite having me as a partner.”

“James!” Penelope exclaims. “Do not speak of yourself as such, this was one of the best dances I ever had.”

“Oh,” Colin says, looking rather pained. “Shall I take offence, Pen?”

“Do not start too,” she huffs. “You kept stepping on my feet during our first lessons.”

“Now, those did not count, we were children!”

“So you are very old friends, are you not?” James remarks with a hum.

“Indeed,” Colin says, then he grabs Penelope’s free hand, kissing its back. She squeaks. “And hopefully we will continue to be for many years, yes?”

“Certainly, I will let you visit when we marry,” the lord says, but Penelope can tell he is entirely teasing.

“I do not see a ring attesting to such a promise…” Colin, on the other hand, cannot. “Nor was Lady Featherington boasting about it.”

“I have not asked the patriarch's permission yet indeed, although I have the lady’s agreement, which is the most important part, is it not?”

“And yet you wish to wait for next season. For monetary reasons, I hear.”

James is briefly taken aback. “How— Ah, you told him, didn’t you?”

“I do not like secrets,” Penelope mumbles. “It is not like I will be getting another proposal before the season ends anyhow. Papa would deny it.”

“We will see about that,” Colin huffs.

“Colin?”

He grins, throwing a challenging look at the other gentleman before he winks at Penelope. He explains nothing and simply leaves after giving Penelope’s hand another kiss.

“That was odd,” she comments after a while, trying to undermine the way her heart is now beating wildly, hope fuelling its frenetic dance.

Colin wishes to marry her.

“Entertaining, you mean,” James snickers. “Do you reckon he will allow me to visit?”

Penelope rolls her eyes.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Daphne will be hosting the last ball of the season, Penelope learns when she receives a personalised and handwritten invitation from the former Bridgerton, now the Duchess of Hastings.

Colin delivers it to her personally, in fact.

“It is odd to see your house this empty,” he comments.

She hums, sweeping her gaze across the empty drawing room — Rae is by the door as a chaperone, but she and Colin are otherwise alone. Her mama and sisters are out promenading, while Penelope feigned a headache to stay at home. As for Marina…

A mere week has passed since the garden party, and yet so much has happened at once. The next morning, a certain Sir Phillip Crane showed up at their doors, and before Penelope could understand, Marina jumped in his carriage, leaving Mayfair behind without a second look. Then, James had to retire early to his country estate, a thing he has always done so he may avoid the high temperatures during the long journey there, but he has been sending letters regularly to compensate, and invited her and her family to one afternoon at his estate, whenever they so choose over the off-season.

And then, there is Colin, who has been sending gifts every single day, to her Papa’s growing dismay but her Mama’s astonished delight, who, with Marina now gone, Prudence with no suitor, and Philippa’s Mr Finch having been scared off by the head of the household, has been focusing all her attention on her youngest one. Penelope is both horrified and proud, somehow, an odd mixture she cannot fully grasp.

Her Mama knows James plans on proposing next season, and though pleased, she also seems rather apprehensive of Colin. Overall, she seems frustrated at the lack of imminent proposal from either man.

“These Bridgerton boys, so unreliable,” her Mama said one morning while breaking their fast. “That third one, stringing Marina along and never proposing, I simply do not wish for you to foolishly hope. Lord Remington is a secure match, although as young as Mister Bridgerton, he seems much more serious about marriage!”

Her Mama truly has no idea how similar James and Colin truly are, the only difference between them being a title.

Penelope wonders if Colin has some godly instincts, allowing him to avoid her Mama as he somehow chose the very day she is out of the house to call on Penelope.

“You have mastered the ways of avoiding my family,” she replies at last.

“Not really, Anthony forbade me to leave the house until now. Something about preventing me from tempting scandal,” Colin huffs. “As if he did not try to run away with an opera singer two nights ago.”

“What!”

“Benedict was panicking. Mother thankfully does not know… yet. And I am hoping to bring some news that might distract her. Anthony will owe me.”

Penelope laughs. “It seems you had your own eventful week. But why did he think you would try to tempt scandal?”

Colin clears his throat. “I may have hinted, jokingly, of course, er, perhaps not, that I wished to elope. With you.”

The atmosphere shifts.

“Colin…”

“Penelope.” He takes her hands in his, leaning in. “I must apologise for my blindness. And for taking such… liberties with you.”

“I was very much consenting, to be fair. We can bribe my maid to look away if you wish,” she teases.

“Pen!”

She laughs. “Sorry… sorry. Go on?” she prompts.

“Do not marry him.”

A pause. Penelope pulls back with an unimpressed look. “Try again.”

“Wh—”

“Colin, try again.”

“I was not done actually.”

“You stopped talking!”

“I— got distracted.” Only then does Penelope notice he has been looking at her lips the whole time. He shakes his head and goes down on one knee, hands never letting go of hers. “Penelope Featherington. Penelope. My Pen.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “That is my name, indeed.”

“And are you…?”

“Am I what?”

“Mine.”

“You still have not asked the question.”

He huffs out a smile. “My Pen, my dearest friend, and perhaps something more if you allow us to be. It seems there has been a misunderstanding, for I thought I had made my intentions clear. Every time I came here after the Vauxhall ball, it was you I was hoping to see. It was you I was wishing to court, and I— I believed you knew. And you preferred Remington anyhow, so I sat by Miss Thompson, waiting for an opportunity to speak. One Remington didn’t leave me.”

“Briarly kept announcing you for Marina…”

“And he is lucky I am a gentleman or I do not know what I would do considering his mistake made all of this more complicated than it needed to be!” For emphasis, he glares at the closed door, behind which the footman should be standing. “You could have been mine… weeks ago.”

“Would I be?” she inquires. She tugs at his suddenly tense hands, bringing his gaze back to her. “Colin. My friend, my life, my love, please ask me properly?”

Colin’s eyes shine, hope and adoration swimming in the dark pools of them. Penelope could drown in them, indeed.

“Penelope Featherington, I do not remember a world where you weren’t by my side. From childhood to now, I had a pocket of sunshine by my side. And perhaps I took you for granted, I thought you would always be there, even if our paths may stray. But as I saw you with another, and I felt dissatisfied with the path I had willingly walked on at the beginning of the season, I realised how foolish I had been. It is incredible, how a mere compliment and smile from you pierced through the infatuation I had found myself in. Oh, it is you, of course, it is you. And I can only hope you feel even a slither of what I feel for you, for I know you may simply see me as a friend you felt comfortable enough to… practice, as Daphne put it.”

Penelope blinks. Of course, Daphne told him. She wonders… if the now Duchess had predicted this outcome.

“I love you,” Colin continues, an easy smile on his lips, and all the relief and adoration in the world in the depths of his eyes. “I wish to see the world with you, so we may spend our past, present, and future together. Penelope Featherington, if a husband is what you seek, then let me be yours. Will you marry me? I also already asked your father until he could not take no for an answer, but that is less romantic.”

She laughs, loudly and carefree. “Colin Bridgerton,” she breathes out, a hand reaching for his face. “I have loved you from the moment we met. Yes, I will marry you.”

“From the moment—”

Penelope flushes. “We can discuss that later. Would you kiss me?”

And Colin will, rather gladly.

As luck would have it, the door opens a few moments later before Rae can warn them, and a scandalised Lady Featherington screams at Colin to get away from her daughter.

(Surprisingly enough, no special licence is issued.)

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Daphne fans herself with a proud smile as she overlooks the ball from the top of the staircase. She can see Penelope Featherington, soon to be Bridgerton, discussing vividly with Mr Finch on one side of the room, until Colin strides confidently to her side, finally signs her dancing card, and then swiftly brings her to the dancefloor.

“Your plan, I presume?” Simon whispers into her ear, his eyes equally following the newly engaged pair.

“Indeed,” Daphne confirms firmly. “The moment I heard Penelope wished to find a husband, I knew Colin would need a little push.”

“Seems common in the family.”

“Excuse you! I was willing for a courtship from the beginning, you were the one being difficult with this fake courting nonsense!”

Simon shrugs. “It worked, did it not?”

“You were the one tricked by your own plan,” she huffs. “Anyhow, see? I told you we needed to invite the Featheringtons to our engagement party, for Penelope’s family is an acquired taste, and would soon become a part of ours.”

“Joy,” he deadpans, before he kisses her temple and takes her hand. “Shall we go dance as well, dear wife?”

Daphne closes her fan with one sharp move. “Gladly, dear husband.”

Being the hosts, they easily find a spot right next to Colin and Penelope, so when the dance requires a brief partner change, Daphne finds herself dancing with Colin. She grins at him, nodding towards Penelope who is now dancing with Simon and engaging in a friendly conversation.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she tells her older brother who rolls his eyes.

“Let’s say we’re even now, yes?”

Daphne hums. Indeed, she may not be married now if it weren’t for Colin telling her about the duel, and later encouraging her to speak with Simon regarding their marital expectations.

“Fair enough. Congratulations, Col.”

“Thank you, Daff.”

She pats him on the arm before they find their respective partner, and dance the night away as a celebration of their future.

[pmpknspcaholic]

Not Just Yet

[Just a little something I wrote based off my other post about the code name for s4 being Vauxhall and doing a little digging that led me to finding out that reenactments of the Battle of Waterloo were held at the Vauxhall Gardens during the years of Bridgerton. Thought it would be an interesting opportunity for Philoise to meet.]

1816

Miss Eloise Bridgerton was winded as she quickened her step.  Just a few more feet and she would finally reach the farthest section of tents that had been erected for the day’s activities.  Chancing a look back towards the direction she’d left her mother, Eloise froze when she thought she saw the exact shade of rich violet her mother had worn that day come into view. 

Squinting her eyes in an attempt to see better, she let out a sigh of relief.  Nope, someone else’s meddling mother. 

Turning again, Eloise decided not to take any more chances and hastened her steps to the very last tent in a long row of about eight.  Managing not to trip over the ropes anchoring the tent to the ground, she made her way towards the next tent in the following row which led towards where everyone gathered was heading.  Breathing in the fresh scents of the garden just beyond the trees to her left, Eloise looked past the groups of people walking in the direction of the open field beyond.  Two rows of tall trees lined both sides of the field and within its long width stood many many groups of similarly dressed men.  Eloise couldn’t remember ever seeing so many people at a social event.  But then again, this wasn’t just an ordinary event. 

This year, a reenactment was being hosted at the Vauxhall Gardens to mark the anniversary of the Battle of Waterloo.  Many were expected to be in attendance, the gathering having been advertised as such a significant event for many weeks now.  Hardly anyone in her family had wanted to miss out.  Especially Gregory, because word had spread that numerous regiments of soldiers would be there to fill the roles of both the French and British armies. 

Eloise hadn’t been that keen on the event itself, but she hadn’t minded the idea of an entertainment.  Then again, she hadn’t expected her mother to seize onto the opportunity, with so many men about, to start shoving suitors her way again.  Claiming in need of refreshment, Eloise had managed to hasten away before her mother had spied the next gentleman on her newly penned list of eligible suitors. 

Reaching the edge near the opening of the tent, she peeked around for any sight of her family.  But after looking down as far as she could see, Eloise relaxed enough to remain just within the edge of the long line of tents.  Smiling with her momentary success, she tilted her head back and felt the heat of the sun. 

It should have been hot being June and having so many people about, but there was a mischievous breeze fluttering about from between the trees.  One minute slightly calm and the next erratic and wild.  She enjoyed the feel as it brushed over her skin, soothing and fragrant.  But not entirely noise free.  Looking to her right, she saw the edge of the tent’s fabric around the opening was, at times, aggressively flapping back and forth.  The wind stilled briefly allowing her to notice there was a severely ripped corner resulting in the fabric having to be tied down further along the edge at the bottom. 

Oh well.  There was nothing she could do about it, having no wish to seek out a different spot and chance having her mother see her.  But at least it had shown her that the tent seemed to be empty, which she had already assumed, having not heard any voices nor seen any shadows within thus far.  The few glimpses she’d managed to see of the interior showed her the contents inside were only a couple of tables laden with refreshments.  All for the soldiers no doubt since she also spied some of their military equipment piled up at the other side of the opening. 

Turning away, she glanced again over the crowds for any sign of her family, but all seemed oddly in her favor.  For who knew how long that is.  But she had no desire to waste any more moments worrying about being able to maintain this brief peace. 

Eloise turned her attention to the field.  She crossed her arms over her chest and settled in to enjoy the military battle taking formation as more and more soldiers gathered around.  But just when her attention was about to fully be caught up in the excitement on the field, that erratic wind decided to be mischievous again and caught the loose corner of the tent whipping it back so far it revealed a man standing just inside the tent practically right next to her. 

She froze in shock even as her gaze took in the sight of him as the tent flap whipped back and forward more forcefully.  Where had he come from?  Her gaze combed over him.  He wasn’t dressed as a soldier, wearing instead the finer garments of a gentleman.  His dark green jacket clung to him smartly, the shade handsome paired with his white shirt, yellow waistcoat and dark pants.  Having been subjected to many suitors, Eloise felt for certain she had never seen him before out in society. 

There were fewer people about now and those even remotely near all had their backs to her and the gentleman as everyone’s attention was drawn to the battle starting up as the sound of drums filled the air.  Which meant that the two of them were basically alone. 

She should have left at that very moment and yet a startling curiosity filled Eloise as her gaze came back to his face. 

The wind whipped at his honey brown locks, but he didn’t react as it made a mess of it about his head.  He had such a forlorn look on his face, his gaze staring out ahead of him, but not seeming to really be seeing those beyond even when some of the soldiers on the field grew to be terribly loud.  This led Eloise to think perhaps he might not even be aware that she was there. 

She was startled from her thoughts when horns blared out on the field.  Looking back at the gentleman to see if he’d been jolted by the noise too and spotted her, she was surprised instead when his expression broke ever so fleetingly before he turned his face away from her. 

He pulled out a handkerchief and Eloise heard him clear his throat.  It was at this moment that she realized she was intruding in his desire for solace and composure.  That the battle must be having an effect on him which had led him to seek out a space alone. 

Deciding to leave, it was unfortunate that right at the moment Eloise turned, the loose corner of the tent swung so violently in the wind that it smacked against her leg.  Startled, she jumped back and bumped into a tree branch behind her back.  Managing to remain upright on her feet, Eloise stepped away enough to get clear of branches but barely managed to not trip over the rope at her feet.

“Are you alright?”

Eloise glanced towards the inquiring voice to find a set of kind blue eyes.  The blue eyes of the gentleman she had not wanted to disturb.  The gentleman who was now holding aside the loose flap of the tent to better direct his kind, and now accessing, blue eyes at her. 

“I’m terribly sorry.  I didn’t mean to intrude.  I was just looking for a moment alone,” she said quickly, feeling bad about having bothered him but not wanting to reveal the truth of why she had been there to begin with. 

The gentleman shook his head as a look of concern crossed his face, “You’re welcome to remain.  Did you lose someone in the battle as well?”

Eloise felt her cheeks heat to near burning as she realized her foolishness. 

“No, I didn’t,” she admitted.  Here she was trying to escape her mother’s unrelenting matchmaking attempts when of course others were here grieving those lost in the war.  How absurd of her.  Looking to rectify her mistake, she asked, “Who are you here to commemorate?”

A warmth filled the gentleman’s calm blue eyes, “My brother, George.”

“I’m so sorry.  You were close?”

“Yes,” he exclaimed, then paused and glanced away regaining the look on his face from just moments ago.  “Yes,” he added much more quietly.

Seeing the obvious grief over his loss surprisingly tugged at feelings Eloise thought she’d locked away some time ago.  Without meaning to, she admitted, “I know how you feel.”

Her eyes flew to his where she saw him studying her.  Eloise should have found his quiet observation of her awkward, after all, she wasn’t one for silent observations.  She much preferred voicing and sharing her thoughts and ideals.

It had been a miracle she’d survived her time in Scotland at the Kilmartin estate with her sister, Francesca, Francesca’s husband John Stirling, the Earl of Kilmartin, and his mother as company.  All individuals who thrived in moments of silence.  Michaela, John’s more sociable cousin, had been there too, but even she, after a time, had seemed to relish the silence of the castle.  More often than not, Eloise had found her lost in deep thought. 

But here now, she oddly found something comforting in the gentleman’s demeaner.  As if he knew how hard sharing of her loss was for Eloise and that if he uttered even one word it might result in her deflecting. 

Surprising herself, Eloise held his gaze and said, “My father, when I was much younger.  He died after being stung by a bee.”

The gentleman frowned, but merely said, “You loved him?”

“We all did, yes.  He was the kindest man I knew.”

“You have my deepest sympathies.”

Eloise turned away from his understanding gaze when she felt tears start to sting the corner of her eyes.  Directing her gaze forward, she watched the men as they started to line up in formation, a few others walked the lines while shouting orders. 

She hadn’t anticipated the feeling of losing her father to hit her so unexpectedly.  Taking a deep breath, she realized it had been some time since she’d allowed herself to truly think back to the moment such a small thing as a bee had so easily befallen such a great man as her father had been.  

The silence stretched as she tried to rein her feelings back in.  But eventually, being who she was, Eloise started to feel awkward in the silence again, especially if she discovered the gentleman to still be watching her. 

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she saw that he too had turned his attention towards the men.  She couldn’t help feeling appreciative that he had given her time to compose herself.  On second glance, he almost seemed quite happy with the moment spent in shared reflection.  She detected a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

Unfortunately for her, it was starting to gnaw at her nerves because she was finding herself suddenly intrigued and wanting to find out more about him.  This gentleman that had shown immeasurable consideration when most would have come up with any excuse to avoid the threat of female tears. 

Contemplating a safe topic, she turned to him and asked, “Have you been in London long?  Are you here for the season?”

He turned his head and directed his open gaze at her, “No.  I’m merely here for the commemoration.  My interests don’t often give me reason to come to London.”

“And what interests are those,” Elosie asked, her curiosity peaked by just about anything that had nothing to do with the social season, but then she froze when she realized how improper her question might be perceived.  She had to remind herself that they were strangers after all who hadn’t been properly introduced.  Good heavens, they hadn’t even exchanged names.  Her mother would be mortified.  This gentleman could be a lord for all she knew.  And in her experience, to many didn’t like to share such information believing it shouldn’t be of any concern to the gentler sex.  Quickly, she added, “If you don’t mind my asking?”

But to her surprise, his eyebrow shot up and he smiled, “I don’t mind at all.  I am a botanist.  I have a greenhouse at my residence where I conduct experiments.  Do you do any gardening?”

Eloise’s face fell, “I don’t, no.”  But then she quickly added, “I can’t say I’ve ever put much thought into botany, but I am curious about the experiments you mentioned.  Could you tell me more?”

The gentleman’s face actually beamed.  So much so, that Eloise experienced a moment of excitement.  She knew it was ridiculous, but rarely anymore did she have anyone to talk to about things beyond what others believed women should only concern themselves with.  Penelope, the one person Eloise used to be able to share just about anything with, was more often than not quite occupied with Colin, Pen's husband and Eloise’s brother, and their son. 

The gentleman stepped outside the tent towards her and open his mouth to speak, but then the excitement of the moment came to an immediate halt when behind her, she heard, “Eloise Bridgerton, mother is looking for you.” 

Eloise tensed as her heart sank.  Gritting her teeth, she reluctantly turned to find not only her brother Benedict, but Colin as well, walking towards her.  Heavens, her mother must be really concerned if she had managed to convince these two to look in between the tents to find her. 

She opened her mouth to acknowledge them when Colin glanced behind her then excitedly exclaimed, “Sir Phillip Crane!  I’m glad you could come.”

“Mister Bridgerton, I arrived just yesterday.  Thank you for getting word to me about the commemoration.”

Shocked, it took many moments to sink in what had just been revealed.  Eloise looked at the gentleman whose face had immensely brightened as he shook her brother’s hand in greeting. 

Sir Phillip Crane?  As in Marina Thompson’s husband.  The same Marina, who had been Colin’s fiancée before scandal had ended their courtship.  Lady Crane.  Good heavens, Eloise found herself confounded by the realization that she had been conversing with a married gentleman. 

“Eloise, I wasn’t aware you had met Sir Crane.”

Thankfully, Sir Crane rescued her from responding to Colin’s inquiry, “Only just now.  We stumbled upon each other here in between the tents.  I had lost my way and Miss Bridgerton was kind enough to direct me.  We got to briefly conversing and she displayed an interest in my work.”

“Is that right,” Benedict turned to her, his tone one she’d heard many times when he was just about to tease her.  But the look on her face must have given him pause for he asked more quietly, “Eloise, are you alright?”

Pushing her disbelief and disappointment aside, she pulled herself together and she quickly exclaimed, “Yes of course.  I’ll just go find mother, shall I?”  Taking a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face and turned to Sir Crane, “Sir Crane, it was a pleasure speaking with you.”

Now looking quite solemn, Sir Crane gently said, “The pleasure was all mine, Miss Bridgerton.”

He bowed to her then and Eloise curtsied in response.  She stepped away towards her brothers and quickly turned to flee past them.  She didn’t dare look up feeling Benedict’s gaze boring into her face.  Hastening back towards the direction she had initially fled from, Eloise heard her brother Colin’s excited voice as he began telling Sir Crane--oh god, Marina’s husband--all about his travels and the book he had written. 

Don’t look back, Eloise, don’t look back, she told herself as she neared the edge of the tent.  Without thought, she tried her best to put one foot in front of the other. 

But the need to glance back clawed at her.  She just wanted one last look before the moment was completely lost to her. 

Reaching the edge of the tent, she grabbed onto a rope and turned, her eyes immediately locking on Sir Crane standing with one of her brothers on either side of him.  Eloise stumbled on her next step, barely steading herself when the very second her seeking gaze found his face, his swiftly flew up and intertwined with hers. 

Eloise’s experience with men was pretty limited.  She had received two proposals while she’d been in Scotland, but neither gentleman had led her to believe they would support her interests in furthering her education and becoming more familiar with the world.  So, any intentions towards courtship had been quickly nipped in the bud much to her mother’s later disappointment when she’d found out.  So, having the opportunity to converse with a gentleman most eager to share in an intellectual conversation with her stripped away felt oddly gut wrenching. 

Eloise groaned.  How positively pathetic.  And yet there it was.  The loneliness she had been trying to ignore since the wedding of Pen to Colin.  A loneliness she thought she could get over during her stay in Scotland.  But no.  Not even applying herself to reading and expanding her interests had distracted her from longing for someone she could truly talk to, who wouldn’t judge or discourage her regardless the possible topic. 

After another moment locked in a sort of wordless exchange with this gentleman she barely knew but achingly wanted to know better, Eloise turned from him again and blindly walked away, not really knowing where she was going.  But one last thought relentlessly lingered.  She couldn’t help thinking that the disappointment and regret she was feeling was the exact thing she saw mirrored back at her just now in Sir Crane’s steady blue gaze. 

A couple of years later

“It’s just a condolence letter, doesn’t mean anything,” Eloise muttered to herself. 

Letting out a larger than normal puff of air, she dropped her head onto her hand and looked about her mother’s small writing room.  Like much of the rest of her mother’s dowager residence, the writing room was comfortably furnished with plush chairs, ornate tables, a sturdy yet delicate looking desk and various vases overflowing with flagrant flowers. 

It shouldn’t have surprised Eloise that it had become one of her favorite rooms to slip away to read in since she’d returned from her first visit to Scotland.  Her new bedchamber in her mother’s home wasn’t lacking in any way, much the same as her other family residence bedchambers, but for some reason, it just felt lacking compared to the bedchamber she’d stayed in at the Kilmartin residence which had looked out over the estates’ well-kept garden.  

And if she was being honest, there was much that just hadn’t felt right within herself.  Not for some time at least.  Things for her had improved.  Her family supported her more in her interests in learning more scholarly pursuits and traveling.  She’d even accompanied Colin and Pen a time or two when they’d traveled the continent.  And she’d convinced her brother Anthnoy on letting her tag along the next time he and Kate visited India. 

And yet she still felt a desire for more.  Which was ridiculous surely.  Right?

Feeling exasperated, Eloise turned the chair behind her mother's desk towards the window to look over the flowering trees out behind the house. 

What was ridiculous really was that she had spent four days now arguing with herself over something that should have been such a simple task.  Five days ago, Eloise had gone to call on Penelope and learned that Sir Phillip Crane had paid them a call two days before that with news of Marina’s passing. 

After the initial shock, Eloise had left a questioning Pen and sought out this small fragrant writing room for . . . . . .  oh she still didn’t really even know.  It shouldn’t have been so hard.  Writing condolences to those who’d just lost a loved one was a pretty common thing.  Nothing at all improper about it.  Just a quick note to express that her thoughts were with him in his time of need.

Eloise chocked on her next breath.  Oh, heavens no!  She couldn’t say it like that. 

Resting her chin on her hand, she squinted her eyes thinking she could somehow find the answer hidden in the puffy clouds slowly floating past in the calm blue sky. 

Why was she making this so difficult.  It wasn’t like she had overly obsessed about him those few days after their encounter.  Then again, that might very well have had to do with the fact that any time thoughts of him had tried to invade, always seemly at the oddest times, she’d quickly shoved them aside.  And she hadn’t at all compared the few gentlemen that had tried to court her since to him.  Replaying in her mind how delighted he had seemed to want to engage in an intellectual conversation about his work with her.  The fact that he even engaged in such work where many other gentlemen only seemed interested in sport and conversing with other men was a fascinating appeal that she had hastily tried to quell at every opportunity.    

Sighing, Eloise stood and paced the length of the room. 

It didn’t have to mean anything, she reminded herself.  People sent letters of condolence all the time to those they knew.  Uh, barely knew.  And besides, he was probably going to be receiving a lot of letters from others.  Hers could very well get lost in the mix or even disregarded.  Eloise frowned.  No, she didn’t see Sir Crane being the type of gentleman to do that.  But surely this was a most trying time for him.  And receiving correspondence from others would be a comfort to him. 

It was this very thought that just about convinced her enough that she was doing the right thing. 

Writing to him was a most proper thing to do.  After all, even though Marina had been briefly engaged to Colin, Eloise herself, had barely known her.  All the information that she knew about her had come through Pen.  And if Sir Crane was on such great terms with his wife’s ex-fiancé, surely there was nothing wrong with the ex-fiancé’s sister expressing her sympathies.  Right?  Right!

“Nothing at all improper about it,” she exclaimed.  Hurrying back to the desk she sat down, took up the quill and hastily wrote Sir Phillip Crane.  Looking down at her writing, she couldn’t help feeling quite elated with herself, “Well, I’ve written that.  And since I’ve got that much down, I can’t very well not write the rest.  Just a letter of condolence after all.”

“Did you say something dear,” Eloise’s mother suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Eloise’s head snapped up to find her mother walking towards her.  Dropping the quill, she stood and slid the book she had been reading the last few days over the piece of parchment. 

Hoping her mother hadn’t noticed nor suspected what she was up to, she quickly said, “Nope nope, just mumbling to myself over this absurd book and its findings.”

Reaching the front of the desk, her mother’s gaze dropped down to the cover of the book, “You’re reading one of your brother’s agriculture books?”

“Yes.  I ran out of things to read, so I borrowed it.  It’s been quite informative, well except for the findings, of course.  But the next time Anthony drones on about soil, I’ll have an idea of what he’s talking about.”

Her mother stared at her looking slightly concerned, but after a few seconds merely said, “Alright dear.”

Eloise held her breath as she pointedly watched her mother turn and leave, her fleeting steps somehow managing to sound just as flabbergasted and worrying as her tone and expressions normally did.  Once she was sure her mother was truly gone, Eloise dropped back down in the desk chair, tossed the book aside, grabbed up the quill and hastily started scribbling again. 

“It’s just a letter to express my condolences,” she whispered to herself.  “That’s all.”

[clove-pinks]

I want to be an 1830s gentleman.

I will spell trousers as trowsers and use degrees farenheit. I will watch celebrated actors like Mr. Charles Mathews and Madame Vestris at the Olympic Theatre and the Royal Gardens Vauxhall. I'll have oysters and French dishes at an eating house and try not to die of cholera. I would go to grog shops every night and take the steam packet to Calais. I am also more likely to meet Washington Irving, George Cruikshank, Captain Marryat and William IV.

I wish I was an 1830s gentleman. :(

(the original)