Chapter Text
The sound of Lady Danbury’s cane tapping against the polished wood floor was as sharp as the woman herself. Penelope Rutledge stood in the grand drawing room, her back straight, her hands clasped together tightly, but her heart pounding erratically. This was the next step, the one she knew she had to take. The air was heavy with the scent of leather-bound books and the faint aroma of tea, the latter brought in by a silent-footed maid who had promptly disappeared.
“You are not here for pleasantries,” Lady Danbury began, her tone brisk as she settled into her favorite armchair. Her sharp eyes raked over Penelope, taking in her meticulously chosen attire—a deep plum gown with a low neckline and subtle embroidery. Not the style of a widow’s mourning attire, but one that spoke of subtle rebellion.
Penelope inclined her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “No, I am not.”
“You wear the look of someone who has walked through fire and survived,” Lady Danbury said curtly. “It’s a familiar expression. I used to wear it myself.”
Penelope’s brows knit together. “You mean your marriage?”
“Precisely,” Lady Danbury said curtly. “My late husband was a tyrant. I endured, I survived, and thrived. So, tell me, did your marriage leave you weak or resolute?”
Penelope’s throat tightened, but she met Lady Danbury’s gaze steadily. “Resolute,” she said firmly. “And determined. I will protect my son from anything or anyone who may cause him harm.”
Lady Danbury’s lips curved into a small, approving smirk. “Good. I hate beating around the bush. Now, tell me, what exactly is it you plan to do about your mother?”
Penelope sighed, “my mother,” she repeated slowly. “How astute of you, Lady Danbury. I suppose you’ve heard the gossip already?”
“That she seeks to use you to position herself again in society, and no doubt, her other daughters as well?” Lady Danbury’s tone was cutting. “Oh, don’t act so coy, girl,” Lady Danbury snapped. “You came here with that glint in your eye. It is the same one I had when I decided to rid myself of my own tormentor. Your mother sold you off to that vile creature and is now attempting to auction you again, this time with the promise of power over your son’s Earldom. I’d wager my best cane that you have plans to end her schemes, and you want my help.”
Penelope’s head tilted slightly, acknowledging the truth of the statement. “You’re remarkably perceptive,” she finally said, her voice quiet but steady.
“I am remarkably experienced,” Lady Danbury countered. “And I see in you what I saw in myself all those years ago: a woman who has been underestimated, manipulated, and discarded. But you have claws, Penelope. You’re finally learning how to use them.”
Penelope’s chin lifted, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “You mistake me, Lady Danbury. I have always known how to wield my claws. One might even say they are as sharp as my quill.”
The older woman leaned back in her chair, a slow smile spreading across her face. “My, my. The Lady herself. I should have guessed. I always thought there was more to you than meets the eye.”
Penelope’s cheeks colored faintly, but her voice was steady. “You flatter me, Lady Danbury, but I fear my pen has been silent too long. Reviving it now would surely unmask me.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Danbury replied, shrewdley . “Your pen is not merely a weapon, it is an art. And the ton are starving for it. They may not know it, but they are desperate for your insight, your scandal, and your wit. Should the Queen command your return, you could rebuild your influence, shield your identity, and ensure Portia Featherington’s schemes crumble like stale biscuits. All while securing your son’s rightful inheritance. A trifecta of triumph, my dear.”
Penelope’s brows furrowed as she considered the idea. “The Queen? You think she would… involve herself?”
“The Queen has a fondness for intrigue, and she values loyalty,” Lady Danbury said firmly. “I can arrange a meeting. But you must convince her that you are as sharp and capable as you once were. Perhaps more so.”
Penelope hesitated, her voice softening. “And if she refuses?”
“Then we find another way,” Lady Danbury said briskly. “But I don’t expect her to refuse. You underestimate how much sway your little quill held over this city. The Queen will see its value, and so will you.”
A faint smile tugged at Penelope’s lips, though uncertainty still lingered in her eyes. “Very well. But I will need your guidance, Lady Danbury.”
“Oh, my dear,” Lady Danbury said, her smirk widening. “You’ll need far more than that. But I do love a good fight. Let us begin.”
The royal private salon was a stark contrast to the formality of the throne room which Penelope had only visited once, upon her debut. Its plush furnishings and warm sunlight filtering through sheer curtains creating an air of indolent elegance. Queen Charlotte lounged on a chaise, a goblet of wine resting delicately on a table nearby, her posture languid yet exuding an undeniable regality. Her towering coiffure, adorned with pearls and delicate ribbons, seemed almost as imperious as the Queen herself. The soft rustle of silk accompanied her every slight movement, while the faint scent of jasmine lingered in the warm air of the salon.
Penelope followed Lady Danbury’s confident lead, her heart pounding as they stepped onto the soft carpet. Brimsley, the Queen’s ever-present aide, stood nearby, his expression perfectly neutral yet somehow exuding quiet judgment.
“Your Majesty,” Lady Danbury said, offering a curt bow. Penelope gave a deep curtsy, lowering her head and holding her breath.
Queen Charlotte observed them with a sharp gaze, her fingers drumming lightly on the arm of her chaise. “Lady Danbury,” she said, her voice measured. “And Lady Rutledge. You have piqued my interest with this request for an audience. Let us see if it was worth my time.”
Lady Danbury rose gracefully. “Your Majesty, we bring forth a proposal that concerns the reputation of your court and the future of one of your loyal subjects.”
The Queen’s eyebrow arched. “Bold words. Proceed.”
Penelope glanced at Lady Danbury, who nodded subtly. Taking a deep breath, Penelope stepped forward. “Your Majesty, Years ago, for a short time, I was also known as Lady Whistledown.” The words left her lips with a mix of defiance and vulnerability, as though admitting to an unspoken crime and a hard-won victory all at once. Her heart raced, but she stood firm, knowing this revelation would either solidify her resolve or seal her fate.
"My writings often peeled back the veil of society, but my current troubles are more personal. There is a threat to my son’s inheritance. Both the regency of the Earldom of Gilsland and his claim to the Featherington Barony are being manipulated for selfish gain. I seek to protect his future and ensure both titles remain secure.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed; her expression unreadable. Brimsley’s stoic demeanor faltered for the briefest moment, his eyebrows lifting before he quickly resumed his composure.
“The elusive writer reveals herself,” the Queen mused, leaning slightly forward. “And what would you have me do with this knowledge, Lady Rutledge?”
Penelope’s voice steadied as she continued. “I seek your endorsement to resume my writings under the guise of Whistledown, Your Majesty. Together, we could use this voice to highlight the triumphs of the Crown, guide the ton with wit and discretion, expose those who deserve it and ensure the influence of your court remains unparalleled.”
The Queen’s lips curved into a faint smile. “An intriguing proposition. But I suspect there is more to this request.”
Lady Danbury stepped forward, her voice firm. “Indeed, Your Majesty. Lady Rutledge also seeks your intervention to secure the Featherington Barony for her son. He is the rightful heir as the firstborn son of a Featherington daughter, yet certain parties seek to manipulate this claim.”
The Queen leaned back in her chair, considering the request. “A barony, and a renewed Whistledown. You do not lack ambition, Lady Rutledge. However, the Crown does not look favorably upon consolidating titles without a clear line of succession. Your son is young and already holds a title; the barony’s future must be secured.”
Penelope’s breath caught, but she nodded. “I understand, Your Majesty. What would you require?”
Queen Charlotte’s gaze was piercing. “You must marry again, Lady Rutledge. A union that creates the possibility of another heir for the Featherington name and barony. Without this, I cannot grant your request.”
The words struck like a blow, but Penelope held her composure. Lady Danbury’s hand lightly brushed against hers, a silent gesture of support.
“I will comply,” Penelope said quietly, though her stomach churned at the thought.
“Very well,” the Queen said, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. “Brimsley, draft the announcement. The ton shall know that their Queen has found Lady Whistledown and commanded her back into service, for their benefit.”
Brimsley bowed and left the room with efficient precision.
“And as for the barony,” the Queen continued, “I will see that the necessary steps are taken to secure it for your son. Do not disappoint me, Lady Rutledge. Should your writings falter, or your compliance waver, you will find my favor just as elusive as you once were.”
Penelope curtsied deeply. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will not fail.”
“See that you do not,” the Queen replied, her gaze lingering on Penelope for a moment before shifting back to Lady Danbury. “And you, Lady Danbury, do keep her on the proper path. I trust you to ensure this endeavor does not unravel.”
Lady Danbury’s smirk was faint but unmistakable. “Your trust is well-placed, Your Majesty, though troublemakers are rarely the ones with the pen, are they?”
The audience concluded, Penelope followed Lady Danbury out of the throne room, her thoughts a whirlwind of determination and dread. The path forward was clear, but the cost had never felt so steep.
Lady Danbury’s cane tapped rhythmically against the polished floor as she and Penelope walked in silence, the echoes fading into the distance.
Penelope’s chest felt tight, each breath heavier than the last. The Queen’s words rang in her ears, and the bile of frustration and fear rose in her throat. She stopped abruptly, one hand clutching the wall for support.
“Oh, do stop looking like you’re about to faint,” Lady Danbury said, her tone sharp but not unkind. She turned back to Penelope, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied her. “You survived far worse than this, my girl.”
Penelope pressed her lips together, her voice shaking as she spoke. “Marry again? That is precisely what she wants. My mother is already...” She broke off, her hands curling into fists. “To think I am trading one cage for another.”
Lady Danbury’s expression softened ever so slightly. She stepped closer, her cane tapping lightly. “You are not your mother’s pawn, girl. Not anymore. You may despise the terms, but you control the game now.”
“And if I lose?” Penelope whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Then rewrite the rules,” Lady Danbury retorted, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “But for now, stop fretting over futures that may never come. Concentrate on what you do best, write. The ton is as rife with secrets as ever, and you’ll need all the wit and scandal you can muster if you’re to make good on this bargain. Especially with as visible as you now are... Lady Rutledge.”
Penelope straightened, taking one deep breath, then another. The tightness in her chest loosened, though the unease lingered. “You are right,” she said softly. “I need to focus.”
Lady Danbury’s cane tapped twice on the floor, a signal of approval. “Of course I’m right. Now, we have work to do. Gossip doesn’t collect itself.” She turned sharply, her brisk pace echoing through the hall as Penelope followed, her steps steadier now, her resolve beginning to harden.