No Words Needed

Grace

The season hadn't even officially started yet, and Penelope was already exhausted. Slowly, in the weeks before the Queen's presentation, families began moving back into their homes in the city. Some of the more eager members of the Ton, like the Westons, had even took to hosting small social events. The Weston Ball---if it could even be called that because as Penelope said, it was very small---was decidedly unentertaining. The only topic of conversation that she had made note of so far was everyone's disappointment that Whistledown would not be returning. This was made aware to the Ton in a final publication announcing her retirement. Many had called her a coward, others simply grateful to have seen the women put down her quill. A few claimed their own theories on who the masked writer was. A dying old woman, they said. A newly married lady. A new mother. A runaway coward was the most common. Penelope walked about the room, wincing slightly every time she heard the name. She nearly fell to her knees cringing when she heard that particular voice, however.

"Penelope Featherington! I was not expecting to see you here!" Cressida Cowper exclaimed with a faux politeness, her twin idiots in tow. Did these women have nothing better to do with their lives?

"Why ever not, Miss Cowper?" Penelope replied sweetly, smiling up at the young woman.

Cressida tried to hide her sneer, thinking she would be have to remind Penelope just how insignificant she was. "Well, I'm sure by now you heard what Mister Bridgerton said about you in Whistledown last year. What a pity. Oh, and what with all the rumors going on of your cousin and his escape to the Americas! I must say, your family is quite brave to show your faces in London again," she explained with mock concern. God, Penelope wanted to reach up and choke the woman with her gaudy orange necklace. She was so glad her own mother let her pick out her own fashions this year and save her from another season dressed as an overripe lemon.

Instead of saying all that, Penelope simply held her smile and said, "I wasn't aware you read Whistledown, Cressida. Did you also read what she published about Lord Trowbridge seeking a wife this year? This being your third, oh I'm sorry, fourth season into society, it sounds like a fated match to me. I think I even heard him say he wished for a spot on your dance card."

Both of the twin girls standing behind Cressida hid an unladylike giggle behind their hands. Cressida turned to glare at them, then Penelope. "I beg your pardon, you little---"

"I know it must sting to have been rejected by Lord Featherington last year, Miss Cowper," said a deep male voice, all too familiar to Penelope. She wasn't sure whether she should scream, laugh, or cry. "But I do hope you're not turning your anger towards Miss Penelope. She is by far the least deserving of it," he said with a tone that demanded objection.

"Colin!" Penelope exclaimed, jumping in the air a good two inches. A true feat for someone her height.

"Mister Bridgerton!" Cressida Cowper said with the same level of shock, her eyes growing wide with fear. It was any wonder why, with the absolutely murderous look Colin was shooting her.

"Ladies," he said, tipping his head to the three of them. "I'd love to say it was nice talking to you, but it really wasn't. Now if you'll excuse me, I was just about to formally apologize to Miss Featherington here for the foolish and untrue words I said about her last year. Penelope?" He asked, holding out his arm and dragging her away.

Penelope avoided his gaze for a few seconds until they were out of earshot. She then looked up at him to say, "You didn't have to rescue me, you know. I had it well in hand." She probably sounded a bit childish and pigheaded, but she didn't care.

"Of course you did," Colin agreed, smiling softly at her. Then his smiled turned a bit wicked. "But I wanted the chance to put Cressida in her place too. Look at her, she's still reeling." He nodded over their shoulders to see Cressida Cowper practically stomping her foot in frustration.