Chapter Text
To be accosted on the roads of Mayfair was really quite rare. Penelope had frequently ventured out, after dark no less, to the less affluent neighborhoods of London. Disguised and unchaperoned, but nevertheless, she had been. Never once did she encounter a threat. She knew it was possible, but Penelope figured that danger lurked everywhere in reality. After all, she knew some of the darkest secrets of the ton. Even Mayfair had its share of villains.
Now, it seemed that her luck had finally run out.
And it ran out in the streets of Mayfair, which were supposedly safe.
Lady Whistledown had recently reported that there was a string of incidents— petty robberies, pickpocketing— happening within the neighborhood. It was gossip and a warning to her neighbors. Even Lord Ambrose had been held at knifepoint and robbed of his own dagger. A family heirloom he had been devastated to lose. A dagger that Penelope figured was aimed at herself and Marie, her accompanying maid.
The Mayfair streets were deserted at this time of day, just about the dinner hour, as the ton prepared for the Eldridge ball. Penelope had been returning from a fitting with Genevieve. A new dress. She and her maid took a narrow cut-through road, as they had done so very many times before.
Penelope adjusted her stance on the uneven bricks. There would be no running in her dress and heels. Heels that her mother demanded to compensate for her stature.
“Give us those pretty bags, pretty girls. Do not scream now.” He waved the blade to emphasize his point.
The man was bearded, with skin that appeared as rough as crinkled parchment. His cloths were not battered or torn, despite descriptions from rumors depicting him as being a street urchin. The man looked to be quite well-kept, indeed. The clothes may have been old, but they were tended. It was not his appearance, however, that had Penelope nervous. It was his eyes.
Eyes that were terribly cold and angry and hungry.
She felt Marie shift as if she would run. Penelope reached for her arm to stop her. Her heart was in her throat at the slight, caustic smile that came to the man’s face at the action. He slithered forward then, waving the knife in his hand. Certainly, it was Lord Ambrose’s. The golden filigree was exactly as he had described to Lord Cho at the ball last week.
“Hand us the bags now. Nice and gentle like.”
Penelope swallowed, lifting the bag out to him. Marie shakily did the same. His eyes turned to Marie, something predatory about them that Penelope could not explain. Marie was quite taller than Penelope and had a lithe, willowy figure that was largely hidden behind her yellow-gold cape. Her shaking hand lifted her own bag, a well-worn leather purse.
She tried not to appear weak or allow her shaking to become too obvious as the man approached, knife still gleaming in the fading sunlight.
“Pretty things,” the man said. Before Penelope could form a plan to escape, the man lunged forward to grab Marie’s arm. He jerked her forward, using the knife to press against Penelope’s side. Terror tore through her at the idea that this man wanted more than money. The escalation was a far cry to the rumors she had heard. She felt the knife prick her skin. It had cut through her dress and her bodice. It was now pushing into her skin. Penelope barely kept herself from crying out.
“Please just take our purses.” Penelope gasped, ignoring Marie’s crying as she man pushed further into her. The knife pressed more firmly to Penelope’s side, likely to keep her quiet. Pain was growing there. Not a deep cut, but a cut nonetheless. Penelope was terrified too, but evening trips to less affluent neighborhoods of town had taught her to keep her wits about her. “There is quite a sum of money in my purse. Take it and let us—”
Something struck her head and Penelope felt collapsed, catching her upper body with her hands on the rough brick road. Her head spun and she lifted her eyes to the attacker, who was now pushing a struggling Marie back against the alley wall.
Her head was throbbing, and her hands ached. Her mind whirring and her heart racing, she knew she had to do something. It had to be her. There was no one else. No hero to rescue her. No one else to do a thing, but her. In her youth, she had imagined a specific hero, but that was not reality.
If this continued…
The dagger was now held down to his side as he manhandled Marie to the alley wall. Marie, who was crying and scrunching her eyes shut. He was distracted.
Penelope saw her opportunity.
She screamed. As loud as she could.
The man turned to her with wide eyes, releasing Marie as if she were a hot coal. Her maid stumbled and slid down the alley wall, sobbing. She curled into herself as tightly as she could. Penelope glared up at him and pushed herself to stand, using the wall for support. She determined to shout even louder. “Help! Help us! Over here! Help us!"
He took two strides toward her and angled the knife as if to stab.
Just a few more seconds, Penelope knew, he would bring the dagger down upon her. “You stupid bitch!”
“You there!”
The man turned and Penelope followed his attention to the mouth of the alley. There, stood Anthony Bridgerton. The man cursed and turned on his heel, running as fast as he could toward the opposite end of the street. She thought she heard a metal clattering, but the fight was bleeding out of her and Penelope fell with relief against the wall. Lord Bridgerton ran toward her, looking briefly at Penelope and Marie with wide eyes before continuing after the assailant.
Kate Sharma— No, Lady Bridgerton now— was there a moment later, kneeling at Penelope’s side. There was a rushing sound, like water over a waterfall, as Penelope looked over to find another maid helping Marie to her feet, drawing her into an embrace. Marie’s safety gave Penelope leave to breathe and she leaned more heavily against the wall.
Lady Bridgerton’s lips were moving, but Penelope could not seem to focus on her words.
Marie was safe. The ordeal had ended.
She saw Marie being led away, limping, toward the brighter end of the alley and Penelope sat forward. Concern overpowered her own exhaustion. “Is Marie—” The world snapped back into focus and all the sounds rushed back into her ears. Lady Bridgerton’s voice drew her attention down to where Lady Bridgerton was holding something firmly to Penelope’s stomach.
“Marie—”
“Marie is just fine, Miss Featherington.” Lady Bridgerton declared, looking up from where she was focused on Penelope’s stomach. It was then that Penelope saw it. The blood. Lady Bridgerton was holding what looked to be a handkerchief to the wound, sopping up blood that had already soaked the small square of fabric half through. The world tilted and Penelope gasped. “Miss Featherington, you need to breathe.”
“Penelope.” She gritted her teeth and leaned her head back against the wall. Her mama was going to be unbearable. Blood on this new dress. Blood ruining such a fine yellow fabric. Her mama would certainly make her displeasure known. Penelope realized that she would need to figure out some way for Marie to keep her position. Her mama would likely find some way to blame the maid. Her mama always needed someone to blame. “Marie?”
“Kate?”
Her eyes opened and she found Lord Bridgerton standing over her now, looking both frantic and in-control. Penelope always admired that about the eldest Bridgerton brother. He always seemed in-control, even when he was most assuredly not. He looked so like Colin at times. Or rather, Colin looked so like him. When they were concerned, their concern was very obvious. They had the same nervous mannerisms as well: shifting their weight or stiffening their stances to appear strong.
Colin was due to return from Italy today, was he not?
She missed him.
She was so hurt by him, but she missed him.
Penelope hoped he arrived home safely.
No matter what he said last season.
“—bleeding quiet heavily, but the cut seems to be rather small. I believe that she was struck. She keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. It is her concern for her maid that keeps her awake.” Lady Bridgerton’s voice was strong, decisive. “We need to get a doctor.” Penelope felt a hand on the side of her face and her eyes opened. When did she close her eyes? “Marie is safe. You are safe.”
Lady Bridgerton’s expression was earnest.
Penelope nodded and then, everything went black and silent.
When she awoke, Penelope lay in the quiet of an unfamiliar bedroom. Her eyes stared up at the canopy above the bed, not entirely sure where she was or how she arrived there. For a few moments, she could not remember anything beyond leaving the modiste. After that— Penelope recalled then. A knife. A man with cold, hungry eyes. Marie’s crying. A sharp pain in her side and something striking her head. Anthony and Kate Bridgerton’s arrival. Penelope lay there, trying to make sense of it all.
She was not in her own bedroom, so she must not have been returned to her home. Her mother was not in her room, so perhaps she had not been summoned. Or, a darker part of Penelope thought, she did not care to come after hearing Penelope was at least alive. Best to leave her in the care of the viscount, along with the payment of the doctor.
Penelope knew that outlook was horribly bleak, but she figured she knew her mother better than anyone.
Pushing herself up a bit, she reached instinctually for where bandages covered the wound to her side. The effort had her breathless. Her body was much weaker than she was expecting. It was, after all, just a scrape. There was no reason for her to be so weak.
The door opened and Lady Bridgerton stepped inside, quickly pulling the door shut after her. “You are awake. I am sorry that I was not here. I am sure you are very disoriented.”
“Lady Bridgerton, where— where am I?”
The woman smiled and moved to a chair at the side of the bed. “Please, call me Kate. You are in our home. We thought it best to bring you here as I believe your mother is still at Eldridge Manor. We have sent word.” Penelope’s mouth opened and shut, hurt and surprise lancing through her. If Kate saw it, then she said nothing. “Your maid— Marie— was uninjured. Just a few bruises about her wrist. She has been escorted home.” Nodding, Penelope looked toward a large window to her left. “You were stabbed, and you have a bit of a bruise about your eye. I believe he punched you.”
That made sense. Penelope remembered being struck, but it all happened so fast that she was not sure exactly what had hit her. The stabbing idea however seemed odd. “I only recall a small cut?”
Kate frowned, shaking her head. “The doctor was quite surprised. He believes that wearing a corset saved your life.”
Surely, it was not as serious as all that. Penelope drew her fingers over the bandage on her abdomen. It did not feel like a stab at the time. Perhaps it was the rush of the moment that allowed her not to feel pain? She had read of that in books. Her hands shook and she wrapped one about the other to hide the building panic. The reality of what had happened was quickly crashing in and Penelope was determined not to allow Lady Bridgerton to see her dissolve.
She was stronger than that.
“Anthony felt it was best you be brought here so that your wounds could be tended. He sees you, I believe, as rather like family.”
Like family. Penelope drew in a breath. She was not like family. She had brought the Bridgertons to the very brink of ruin. Even if she tried to help as she could by not relaying bits and pieces of true situations, Penelope knew that she still took risks with their name. Eloise was right. Eloise had not spoken to her for ten months for it. Never once meeting her eyes and barely remaining in the same room as her.
And Colin had made it very clear that she would never bear his last name as she so dreamed when she was younger.
“I…am grateful for Lord Bridgerton’s generosity.”
Confusion flickered over Kate’s face at Penelope’s distant tone. She seemed to decide something then as she shifted in her seat. “Miss Featherington—”
“Penelope, please.”
“Penelope,” Kate amended. “I am not sure you realize how afraid for you my husband was. Anthony is quite a calm man as I am sure you know. His upset was as if this occurred to one of his own sisters. He is meeting with the local constable now to ensure there are more patrols in the area and that the man is apprehended. He truly was afraid for you.”
Penelope felt herself soften at that. The barriers she had set in place crumbled a bit. Her eyes lowered to her folded hands. “I am grateful.” Her voice was softer, and her tears barely held at bay.
Relying upon others was not something Penelope considered herself particularly good at. No, others relied upon her. Her savings kept her family from ruin. Her work— in the face of a male-dominated society— was something that allowed her a voice. Her father was unreliable. Her mother was… Penelope drew in a steadying breath and looked to Kate. The woman seemed to understand. She said nothing regarding Penelope’s tears.
“Now, how are you feeling? The doctor mentioned that you may have bouts of dizziness and some pain.”
“I feel…fine.”
Kate levelled her a disbelieving stare. Penelope, while having relished in Kate Sharma’s wit and brashness as Lady Whistledown, was sincerely hoping the woman would let it go. She was also quite sure the woman did not know how to let something go. “You were stabbed. You will forgive me if I do not believe ‘fine’ to be an answer.”
“I feel tired.” Penelope breathed her way through a jolt of paint that tore across her stomach. “I am not ungrateful, but I wish to return home.”
“It would not be wise for you to move right now. The doctor said that tomorrow would be the earliest for you to begin to move and only with extreme caution. You need to be careful of the stitches.”
Stitches. Penelope felt bile rise in her throat.
There was a knock at the door and Lord Bridgerton’s head peaked through the door. Penelope had never taken him as uncertain, but he seemed quite self-conscious as he entered the room. Kate scoffed, looking him over with a critical look.
“She is quite decent. You need not be so cautious.”
He shot her a scathing look before refocusing on Penelope, attention lingering quite long on her face. She could guess that she appeared quite out of sorts. She likely had a bruise from the punch she received. In her weakness, she also knew that she must be quite pale. “Miss Featherington, I would like you to know that there will be more standard patrols in the area.”
Penelope had known Anthony Bridgerton since she was quite young. She saw him as something of a fixer. It was a trait that Colin had learned from his brother. Lord Bridgerton did all that was within his power to resolve situations to the best of his abilities. “I am glad to hear that, Lord Bridgerton. Thank you.” She swallowed and looked down at her hands. “Thank you for rescuing me and my maid.”
He cleared his throat and looked away, toward the windows. Kate laughed lightly, shaking her head. Penelope could not help but to smile.
“You should never have been in such a position. It was luck that allowed you to survive that encounter. If we had not decided to not attend the Eldridge ball, there may not have been anyone—”
Happenstance saviors were still saviors. Penelope tried not to imagine the alternative. She had been too powerless in that situation, too at the mercy of that man. Drawing in a breath, Penelope settled herself. It was something to think on further when she was alone and left to her thoughts. Instead, she focused on more immediate matters.
“Lady Bridgerton said—”
Kate cleared her throat and raised her brows.
“Excuse me, Kate. Kate said that a message was sent to my mother. How long ago was that now?”
Lord Bridgerton hesitated before turning and folding his hands behind his back. “Two hours.”
Penelope blinked away the tears. Prudence must have had a potential suitor or her mother was playing at a match. She saw the anger and frustration in Anthony’s expression before he turned away. It would be hard for him to understand, she knew. It was difficult for any of the Bridgertons to understand. Drawing in a breath, Penelope was about to explain away her mother’s behavior when there was a commotion outside the door. It sounded as if it were coming from the foyer with the way it seemed hollow and distant.
Something alit in Lord Bridgerton’s eyes and he strode toward the door, disappearing into the hallway.
“— as soon as I heard. Oh, Anthony, how could this happen?”
“Where is she?”
Penelope’s heart nearly flew into her throat at that voice. Her wide eyes turned to Kate, who was smiling softly and giving her a patient look. She said nothing though as the sound of pounding sound of footsteps drew nearer. Penelope found she could barely breathe. Before she could think of a plan of escape, a way to hide herself, Colin was there in the doorway.
He looked disheveled. His hair windswept and his jacket and carvat askew. There was still stubble from his travels.
Fear and concern were so obvious in his expression that Penelope wanted to cry at the mere sight of it. He felt fear and concern for her. Even after his declaration and his betrayal, some part of him at least cared. Penelope’s mouth opened, to say his name, but it stuck in her throat. She had not said his name since then.
Behind him, his mother appeared and pushed past his frozen form, hurrying to the her bedside.
Penelope’s attention shifted, completely captured by Violet Bridgerton’s tears. “Penelope, are you alright? We did not receive word until— Well, no matter. You must have been so frightened.” Her hand grasped Penelope’s and the tears that Penelope had kept at bay began to fall. Hurriedly, Penelope whipped them away. She could not cry in front of them. She could not be weak. “It is alright, dear.”
“If you are not going to move, I will make you.”
Penelope’s wide, tear-filled eyes moved to the door again. Colin still stand there, unmoved. Eloise moved past him, eyes alight with anger. Penelope swallowed and reigned her emotions in with more strength. She could not cry in front of Eloise or Colin.
“Why did you go down such an alley at such a time of day?” Eloise charged, pointing her finger. “That was a foolish decision, and you know it. You are smarter than that.”
“Eloise,” her mother admonished.
Eloise paced to the windows and back, throwing out her arms. “Are there not patrols in this area?” Her critical eyes fell on Lord Bridgerton, who stepped into the room and made his way around the bed to Kate’s side. “Was it the same man that attacked Lord Ambrose?”
“It was the same man.” Penelope affirmed.
There was movement in the corner of her vision and Penelope looked over to where Colin stood. He had only taken a couple steps forward, attention solely focused on her. Penelope willed her heart stop racing as it was. His attention meant nothing. It would never mean anything. She could not treat his attention any different than that of the rest of the Bridgertons.
“Penelope was quite heroic. She drew attention away from her maid who the man seemed quite fixated upon.” Kate added. Penelope shook her head. She was not heroic. Not in the slightest. “She was very brave and quite fortunate that the stab wound is not deeper.”
Lady Bridgerton’s grip on her hand grew stronger and Penelope looked down, not sure how to accept the compliment. She really did not do anything but call for help. In all reality, she was rather helpless. That feeling did not settle well with her. Penelope was many things, but she could not stand the idea of being helpless.
“She was stabbed?” Eloise questioned, voice shaking a bit. “You were stabbed? They only said she was attacked.”
Penelope looked up to see Eloise’s expression. It was heartwarming that, despite everything, Eloise also still cared.
For the longest time, Penelope believed that there was truly no one who did.
“I never want to see or speak to you again.”
“It was only a scratch.” Penelope responded as evenly as she could manage, forcing a smile to her lips. No matter how long they were not speaking, Penelope truly dreaded Eloise’s tears. Eloise never cried and when she did, it was heartbreaking.
“It is not ‘only a scratch.’” Kate scoffed. “A few centimeters deeper it would have been a most grievous injury indeed.”
It seemed even the viscount was not going to aid in her bid to settle Eloise’s concerns. “Yes, I hardly believe that punch you received was a mere nudge either.” He seemed to remember himself and gave her an apologetic look. He cleared his throat and adjusted his stance. “Regardless, Penelope handled herself well and the doctor has taken care of her injuries. It will take a bit, but she will recover just fine.”
There was a sound to her right and Penelope turned to see Colin was gone.
Her heart sank and the tears threatened to return to her eyes. Having him there, even silent and distant, was reassuring. Even when he did not know it, his mere presence— “Not in your wildest dreams…”— was enough to settle her nerves. A moment later, she saw Eloise walk out as well, a determination in her steps that Penelope recognized. She had likely gotten over her shock and had remembered why she was so angry in the first place. Now, Penelope felt the pain in her head and the pull of the stitches felt tighter and the cut deeper. She did not realize she was staring at the place where he had stood until Lady Bridgerton’s hand moved from her own to brush along her cheek.
It was then that Penelope realized she was not able to hold back her tears any longer.
“We should allow you to get some rest.” Anthony said, obviously in a bid to give her some privacy. “Kate, come along with me please. We should arrange for security at the upcoming ball.”
Kate gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before she stepped away, drawing her shawl tighter around her arms. “I shall return soon. Please do rest easy. We will look after you here.”
Lord Bridgerton pulled the door shut and Penelope looked to Violet Bridgerton’s face, knowing that she could not hold herself together any longer. The fear, the grief, the feelings of helplessness. Penelope had been trying so hard to keep herself from shattering.
A single comforting brush of a hand along the back of her head and Penelope broke down at last, sobbing into Violet Bridgerton’s shoulder.
Her stomach ached and her head throbbed. And her world had been, once again, tilted on its axis.