Chapter Text
Penelope was not entirely sure why she was doing this. Sometimes she wished she could simply mind her own business. Sometimes she wished she did not care at all.
Unfortunately, it was not in her nature.
When Miss Margaret Goring started rumors about Lord Fife, or about the two of them together more specifically, it felt odd. Perfect Miss Goring planting fake gossip like vicious seeds, quick to take root and spread into weeds before anyone could think to pull them?
But then it finally made sense. It was all part of an elaborate plan to entrap him.
Penelope was certain—she had heard it herself. While the men were out hunting, Lady Bridgerton had insisted that Penelope and Eloise socialize with the other young women. Eloise despised every minute of it, but Penelope found it entertaining. She never truly had any friends outside of the Bridgertons, so it made for an interesting afternoon, and extremely productive for Lady Whistledown as well thanks to refreshments and the country air. The lemonade tasted rather strong, and Penelope suspected the servers had mixed up the regular batch with the one meant for the older ladies.
Between the spiked lemonade and the heat of the high afternoon sun, the gossip flowed freely—as did Miss Goring’s own account of her closet activities with one Lord Fife. Penelope remained on high alert as she sipped her drink. When Miss Barragan asked if they were to be married, Margaret simply replied that she could be rather convincing, and that by the end of the Hearts & Flowers ball, they would be announcing their engagement.
A very bold and rather suspicious statement, considering they were not even courting, Penelope thought. It sounded like a trap. At first, she wanted to ignore it. Surely there was another explanation, however unlikely. But since she had spared Colin Bridgerton from entrapment once; it was only fair to extend others the same courtesy. She would not be publishing her column until returning to London, so she had to act sooner.
Later at the ball, after hearing Lady Goring make a comment about wishing to tour the orangery, Penelope found herself hurrying there in front of the group. When she arrived, she promptly ran into an oblivious Lord Fife stood examining a small tree with far more focus than she would have guessed.
“You need to go. Now,” Penelope whispered urgently, without introduction.
Lord Fife turned to her slowly, raising a brow. “I did not realize this space was reserved.”
“What?”
“You are asking me to leave rather harshly. Am I not allowed to be here?”
“No, that is not—”
“Or are you meeting someone?” Fife looked around, letting out a low whistle. “Scandalous. As improper as he is, I did not think Bridgerton had it in him.”
Penelope inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again. “We do not have time. Trust me—you will thank me later.”
He tilted his head lightly, intrigued. “You had my curiosity. Now you have my attention.”
“Good. Will you listen to me? If you do not leave now, Miss Goring will make you her husband.”
He blinked, though he did not look nearly as surprised as Penelope had expected.
“Oh goodness. Are the rumors true?” Penelope asked, more nervously now.
“What rumors, exactly?”
“About your… closet escapades. With her.”
He let out a dry laugh, smoothing his jaw with one hand. “A closet? With an eligible young woman? That is quite the imagination.”
“You never touched her, then?” Penelope asked, stumbling slightly over the words, though they had come directly from Margaret herself.
“Of course not. Unless you count the time I picked up her glove from the ground and brushed my fingers against hers as I returned it.”
Penelope felt a strange warmth at that. Why the mere mention of his fingers brushing another woman’s hand should cause such a reaction baffled her—but there was no time to dwell on it.
“Well, if you do not wish to be her betrothed, go,” she urged again in a whisper.
“Why are you—”
Suddenly, a loud, dramatic gasp cut through their conversation.
“Penelope?!” The unmistakable voice of her mother came through. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Good Lord,” Penelope muttered under her breath, covering her face with both hands before looking up at her mother.
“I—”
“I needed some fresh air and got lost on my way back to the ballroom,” Fife cut in smoothly. “I stopped to ask Miss Featherington for directions.”
“Mm.” Portia pursed her lips, planting one hand on her hip while the other held a finger to her mouth. “A man asking for directions. How peculiar. Perhaps too peculiar to be true.”
“Mama, please. Lord Fife was only passing through.”
Portia measured them both with her eyes, tilting her head slightly to one side. “Then he should have taken the long way around the moment he saw an unaccompanied young lady, not approached her. You are an innocent girl, Penelope. Unknowing of the ways of a gentleman.”
“I assure you nothing untoward has occurred.” Lord Fife raised a brow, glancing between both women, and Penelope nodded in agreement.
“How can you deny what is plain to the eye?” Portia insisted. “This cannot go unseen.”
Penelope let out a disbelieving little laugh. “Yes, it can. It is nothing. And you are the only one who saw it—”
“Am I, now?” Portia smirked as a few horrifying gasps echoed behind her.
Miss Goring, Lady Goring, Lady Cowper, Lord Cowper, and Prudence stood there. Lord Jack Featherington was behind Portia as well, though he did not audibly gasp like the others. He looked miserable and, strangely enough, sympathetic toward Lord Fife. Soon Penelope would understand why.
“Two daughters caught compromised in the orangery in one night, Lady Featherington,” Lady Goring said with a forceful smile.
“This is quite the scandal,” Lord Cowper offered, sounding rather amused.
“Your family’s enthusiasm for citrus, in any shape or form, is remarkable, I suppose,” Lady Cowper added with a grin.
“What can I say? The color favors their complexion, and my girls are very desirable,” Portia replied with a far too satisfied grin, receiving the criticism as though it were a compliment. “The gentlemen cannot seem to keep away. And two lords, nonetheless.” She placed a hand to her head dramatically, pretending to be appalled by the situation.
Penelope furrowed her brows, her mouth falling open at Portia’s demeanor. She knew her mother, and she was positively relishing this. It was ironic that the most embarrassing moment of Penelope’s life was also the moment her mother seemed most proud of her.
She looked at Lord Fife, and he was calm. Irritatingly so. How in the world he was not alarmed by this entire scene, she could not comprehend.
Margaret looked as though she wanted to kill someone. Penelope was not sure whether it was her or Lord Fife. Probably both. She took a small step closer to him, and he noticed at once, shifting nearer as well.
“I could not agree more, Lady Featherington,” Fife said, clearing his throat. “Although I must say that pink looks rather lovely on Miss Penelope.”
Penelope could feel his gaze on her, though she kept looking straight ahead. She could not remember the last time anyone had complimented her, let alone a gentleman. It felt nice, especially after Colin had heavily implied he did not see her as a woman. Though she strongly suspected that Lord Fife’s comment had more to do with currying favor with her mother than with Penelope looking particularly lovely.
“Well, are you to marry the girl, then, Lord Fife?” Lord Cowper asked. “As a man of honor—”
“He is hers in honor, should she wish it,” Lady Goring cut in, giving Penelope a pointed look.
All eyes turned to Penelope, waiting for an answer. Margaret still looked murderous, and Lady Goring as though she would help hide the body. Jack still looked doomed. Lord and Lady Cowper looked positively elated, as if watching a play unfold before them. Prudence appeared stunned, while Portia’s eyes were openly defiant.
And when Penelope looked at Lord Fife, he only raised his brows slightly, his lips curving into the smallest smile. He did not seem nervous at all—and somehow, that was precisely what made Penelope nervous.
“I… I could not force him…” Penelope began, her voice unsteady.
“You would not be.”
Penelope turned to him again, and he still wore the same even expression. How inebriated could he be to not have any reaction to this at all?
She blinked, feeling the weight of every eye upon her. But one look at Prudence’s triumphant grin, and Penelope knew her answer. Being married to Lord Fife could not possibly be worse than enduring her sister’s reign of terror as the new Lady Featherington. Could it?
She decided she was willing to find out.
“I would be delighted to.” Penelope replied, trying to mask her defeated smile.
—
Penelope’s heart was nearly beating out of her chest when she returned to the ballroom with her hand hooked through the crook of Lord Fife’s arm. Not because his elbow brushed lightly against her bosom as they walked side by side—she was perfectly fine with that—but because of all the eyes that turned toward them the moment they stepped back inside.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked at last, breaking the silence between them.
Unable to help herself, Penelope let out a dry little laugh. “Is that all you have to say? We are to carry on as though our lives have not been completely upended beneath us?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Well, I have plenty to say. None of it I wish to discuss at this ball.”
“I see.” She drew in a breath and looked up at him. “A dance would be most welcome, my lord.”
Fife led them straight to the dance floor, and Penelope trembled slightly as he guided them into position.
“Do you not like to dance?”
“I do.” She cleared her throat. “I simply have not danced… recently.”
“Utterly asinine, if you ask me,” he replied with mock indignation. “On the part of the gentlemen, myself included. Not you, of course.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you doing this? Why did you tell my mother you were the one who came to me?”
“Me?” he countered as they began the first steps. “Why did you come to warn me about Miss Goring in the first place? Was this your plan all along?”
Penelope was taken aback, deeply offended. “Not in my wildest fantasies, Lord Fife,” she replied, stepping on his foot on purpose and throwing him off balance for a moment, though she was careful to make it appear a misstep. Or so she thought. “I do apologize. As I mentioned, it has been a while.” She added with mock sincerity.
“No offense taken, my lady,” he said smoothly, watching her reaction with far too much interest. “Why risk your reputation to save mine?”
“I did not think I was risking it,” she whispered sharply. “How difficult is it to leave when someone asks you to?”
“Oh, so now it is my fault?”
“Did you ever doubt it? I told you three or four times that you needed to go, and yet you lingered!”
“I only lingered because you did as well. I could not very well leave you there alone!”
“And now you never will,” she muttered.
He let out a short, amused laugh. “You could have said no.”
“I truly could not have. You do not know my mother,” Penelope said, then added under her breath, “Or my sister.”
A quieter expression crossed his face. “I am sorry it has happened this way. But for all that it is worth, I am not sorry that we are to be married.”
“You are not?”
“It pains me that you are so surprised someone would wish to marry you.”
“I am surprised that you, in particular, wish to marry me.”
“To be fair,” he said, his mouth twitching, “my options were between you and Miss Goring.”
She rolled her eyes. “Am I meant to feel flattered?”
“Not yet,” he replied, drawing her a little closer as the dance turned. “But I promise you will.”