Chapter Text
Her husband beamed at her, hand extended to assist her in stepping down from the carriage.
Penelope had chided him at length about grasping her waist to lift her and using the excuse to press her close to him. Just because Colin could carry her with ease—a marvel, as she had once thought herself so heavy that she would have been reluctant to ride a horse—did not mean that he should scandalise the ton by doing so whenever they arrived at a ball.
Colin was insistent that a man in love cared not for propriety. It was rather difficult to argue with that.
The days that Penelope had gone without notice upon entering a ballroom were long since past. It had been a gradual change, a dawning respect from the beau monde. No doubt Colin’s high opinion of her had swayed those who admired him.
Certainly, there was a marked difference in how people reacted to her appearance now that she wore what she preferred, silver-threaded ball gowns and everyday dresses in pale blues and soft pinks paired with minimal jewellery. She had embraced her hair instead of shying away from it, the curls no longer so rigidly powdered and pinned.
Penelope had become accustomed to accepting compliments without questioning the motive behind them.
The ballroom was decorated sumptuously, a profuse bouquet positioned at every corner. The fragrance of flowers and perfume was nearly overpowering.
Penelope raised a gloved hand in an attempt to surreptitiously cover her nose.
Colin laughed and leaned in to whisper, “We need not stay overlong.”
“Your sister will have new stories about the baby,” Penelope replied, her voice hushed.
Colin became somewhat starry-eyed, and she knew that there was no hope for an early departure. Their own good news had renewed his interest in Daphne’s children.
She waved him off with an affectionate smile and soon settled into her usual spot, beside Lady Danbury. Their acquaintance had blossomed into a friendship she treasured, especially since Eloise had become withdrawn of late, preoccupied with regular correspondence with a new friend who she would not impart much information about.
“Occasionally, I find myself wondering what Whistledown might have to say about it all,” Lady Danbury said and gestured with her cane at the crowded ballroom before them.
This evening was playing out much like the others that had come before it. There was a young lady who aspired to be like the former Miss Leeson—now Mrs Haversham, settled somewhere in the countryside with a husband altogether more humble than she had once aimed for. That gentleman was angling for a second wife now that his mourning period had come to its natural end, and that lady was quite sensible enough to realise that theirs would be a practical match.
“It has been nearly a year since she retired,” Penelope remarked and took a sip of lemonade. Punch would have been her choice, had she not received advice to avoid it in her current condition.
Lady Danbury regarded her with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “To write those articles in such detail, she must have been among us. Perhaps she remains a silent observer.”
“Or not so silent,” Penelope said with a sideways glance and an answering smile. “You speak often about Whistledown, Lady Danbury, and there could be no one more perceptive or well-informed than you. I think you are the likeliest candidate.”
Lady Danbury barked out a laugh. “Sound reasoning, my dear! Had it been my feat, to deceive the ton for years and rack up no small fortune—a shilling for every copy sold, was it not?—I would not have been able to keep it to myself! I am a proud woman and should like my accomplishments to be known.”
No small fortune indeed. The money garnered through Whistledown had ensured that they would live comfortably, with Colin having received an estate where they could raise their children.
From across the ballroom, she could see that Colin was moving through the crowd to reach her.
“It can be a frightening thing, to be known,” Penelope murmured while setting down her glass.
“Yet rewarding,” Lady Danbury replied, having perfectly understood her meaning.
Penelope smiled at the sight of her husband approaching, and that smile widened into a grin.
“Yes,” she said simply. “If you will excuse me.”
She accepted his outstretched hand, and they stepped out onto the dancefloor.
As always, Penelope would dance this set with Colin—and the next set with him too, and certainly a waltz if the band began to play it—and, in another half hour or so, they may find some hidden corner where they could clasp hands and discuss what had happened in the short time that they were apart.
And she would kiss him, her gloved hand winding into the strands of his hair and his arm about her waist, holding her close.
The music played on.