Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
The cool night breeze invaded the gardens where Lady Featherington's famous ball continued. The soft chirping of the crickets joined with the faint whispering of the crowd. Between clandestine, trivial murmurs and whispers of the citizens. Some looking for relaxation, enjoying the company of their loved ones. Others secretly gossiped. Maybe, they even criticized each other like it used to.
In the ton, there was nothing that was not known. Even those who were considered close could not be trusted. Every little comment was spread. It passed quickly from mouth to mouth.
But even despite the busy night, Penelope Featherington was among the crowd. She is known as the ugly one at the ball, with her peculiar and striking yellowish dresses, forced to wear by her mother. She walking desperately, looking for her faithful friend - or who used to be her most precious companion - among the guests.
Her voice, normally expressed in murmured and timid tones, came out with a certain firmness and pleading that surprised even the most clueless.
"Have you seen Eloise?" She hissed, resting her pale, small fingers on the shoulders of every person who crossed her path. Hoping that some response would be positive.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to notice the brunette's escape during the course of the ball.
"Eloise? Eloise Bridgerton?" She questioned again, while she walked through the garden. Her whitish hands held the sides of her dress, lifting it briefly to prevent her perfectly woven embroidery from rubbing against the floor, facilitating her mobility.
Or worse yet, that her heels would puncture the thin fabrics, causing an embarrassing, if not also - possible - serious accident.
"Has anyone seen Eloise Bridgerton?" She insisted urgently. She was sure that her friend couldn't be too far, it hadn't been long since after her argument about Lady Whistledown and her own identity. Eloise had to be close, or at least, she convinced herself of that.
Her heart was beating rapidly, pumping blood through her veins. Her pulse seemed to throb in her eardrums, making her deaf to the gossip of others.
Then, in the midst of the scandal, some voices in the distance stood out more than the others. Although, in reality, it was more boisterous laughter than words.
Among these, Penelope recognized Colin's. For her, being one of the most attentive and perceptive girls in the Ton, she could identify her childhood friend - platonic love - with a simple laugh.
The voice of the Bridgertons' third child, without a doubt, was very easy to distinguish. Perhaps, because the redhead spent hours secretly admiring the man. Like the artist, contemplating her favorite works. And discovering even the unnoticed details, those that no one else pays attetion to it.
But, such an act was not what made her stop short and completely forget about tracking Eloise, no. Of course not. A harmless merriment could be caused by some insignificant joke. If not, the next words that escaped Colin's masculine lips:
