Chapter Text
Penelope stood at the edge of the ballroom, surveying the room as the music swelled around her. She did not need to look to know she was being watched. The glances came in quick, assessing bursts, some curious, some speculative, all newly interested. Her gown was chosen with care, its violet color subdued yet striking, though she suspected it was not the dress that had made her the subject of such attention.
Word had traveled quickly. She had been seen with the Duke of Hastings.
Her mother’s reaction that afternoon had been swift and dramatic. Shock, followed by awe, followed by a dangerous kind of satisfaction. Penelope had been spared the worst of it only because Aunt Peggy had intervened, redirecting Portia’s enthusiasm before it could turn into outright strategizing. Even so, the gloating lingered now, subtle but unmistakable, as though Penelope were already a triumph to be claimed.
She had scarcely entered the room before being asked to dance.
Mr. Jameson had approached her with a stiffness that suggested nerves rather than confidence. Their exchange had been polite, awkward, and faintly endearing. He had trodden on her hem once and apologized twice for it, yet his attention was earnest, his interest unmistakable.
Penelope had smiled until her cheeks ached and reminded herself to breathe.
When the dance ended, she had barely taken a sip of lemonade before Lord Stanton appeared, requesting the next set. He was smoother, more practiced, his smile sharpened by intent. She accepted, because refusing would invite questions she did not wish to answer.
It did not escape her notice that neither gentleman would have looked twice at her a fortnight ago.
Now, she was someone worth knowing.
Not because she had changed so very much, but because the Duke of Hastings had looked at her.
Between dances, she retreated once more to the side of the room, allowing the noise to wash over her as she attempted to still the fluttering in her chest. The whispers persisted, though softer now, as though she had been recategorized rather than dismissed.
“Pen,” Eloise said suddenly, appearing at her side with a conspiratorial grin. “If this continues, I shall have to schedule appointments to see you.”
Penelope laughed, the sound lighter than she felt. “Do not be ridiculous.”
“I am not,” Eloise replied. “This is what being a debutante looks like, is it not? You dance, you smile, and half the room decides you have been replaced by a more interesting version of yourself.”
Penelope giggled despite herself. “If so, I find it a very odd custom.”
They were still smiling when Colin appeared.
He looked pleased, almost boyishly so, as though the evening were unfolding precisely as it ought. His gaze flicked from Eloise back to Penelope, lingering for a beat too long.
“My, Pen,” he said lightly, his tone warm and familiar. “You seem to be quite popular this evening.”
She smiled automatically.
“Strange, isn’t it?” The word landed sharper than he seemed to intend.
Penelope felt it all the same. She felt embarrassment creep up her neck and excuses herself to get a drink.
As she walked away, she heard Eloise's whispered berating. Pen decided she just needed a moment.
Across the ballroom, Simon had watched the exchange, though he could not hear what had been said. He saw only the way Penelope’s shoulders squared afterward, the faint tightness at the corner of her mouth. The sight stirred a familiar discomfort, sharpened by the memory of how he had stepped away from her earlier, retreating when confronted by Bridgerton and the Sharmas.
He did not wish to do that again.
After a moment’s consideration, he set his glass aside and made his way toward the refreshment table, his pace unhurried, deliberate. Penelope stood there alone, her back straight, her attention fixed on nothing in particular.
“No alcoves this evening,” he said lightly as he came to her side.
She looked up, startled, then smiled. “Not tonight,” she replied. “I am hiding in plain sight.”
They spoke for a moment about nothing at all, pleasantries traded easily, though Simon felt the quiet tension beneath it. At last, he drew a steadying breath and gestured toward the dance card in her hand.
“May I secure a dance?”
Color rose to her cheeks as she nodded and held up the card. Simon took it from her, wrote his name with care, then paused. For a brief moment, he considered adding another, his pen hovering just above the paper. Then, with visible restraint, he handed the card back to her.
He offered his arm, and she accepted.
As they took their places on the dance floor, Simon spoke again, more quietly. “I owe you an apology. For what happened at Hyde Park.”
She glanced at him, expression open. “I understand it was rather awkward,” she said simply.
“I should not have stepped away,” he continued. “I would like to make amends.”
Her lips curved into a small smile. "Your dancing will more than suffice."
Something eased in his chest at her easy forgiveness.
The music swelled, and they moved together easily, as though they had done so many times before. His height and her smaller frame might have suggested an awkward pairing, yet they fit with surprising harmony, their steps instinctive, unforced.
Lady Danbury observed them from across the room, a knowing smile touching her lips. Her gaze flicked briefly to Aunt Peggy, who raised an eyebrow in return before turning her attention back to the couple.
Others noticed as well, a few eligible young ladies watched with thinly veiled envy. Several gentlemen looked on with renewed interest, curiosity sharpening their expressions.
Eloise, though still wary for her friend, could not deny the pleasure of seeing Penelope smile so freely.
Beside her, Colin watched in quiet confusion, “Pen and Hastings seem rather familiar, do they not?”
Eloise said nothing as she did not take her eyes off of them.
Simon escorted Penelope from the dance floor when the music ended, his hand lingering at her elbow a moment longer than necessary. They exchanged a few quiet pleasantries before he inclined his head and excused himself in search of a stronger drink. Even as he stepped away, his gaze followed her.
Penelope danced twice more that evening, smiling when expected, laughing when required. By the time she found herself free again, her feet ached and the effort of being noticed had begun to wear thin. She retreated to the edge of the room, slipping back into stillness, allowing the noise and motion to pass around her while she caught her breath.
“Pen,” Colin said, approaching her with visible unease. “I wished to apologize. Eloise told me I had been insensitive earlier.”
She inclined her head. “I see.”
“I only meant,” he continued, fumbling slightly, “that you seem different this season. It has taken me by surprise, is all. I did not mean to offend you.”
Penelope studied him for a moment, then spoke carefully. “You are surprised because you never looked at me this way before.”
He frowned. “That is not true.”
“It is,” she said quietly. “You never saw me as a woman.”
His confusion deepened. “Pen, of course I did.”
“No,” she replied, still gentle. “You saw me as something else, familiar, safe. As someone who did not require thought.”
He opened his mouth, then hesitated.
“You once told me I did not count,” she continued. “You said ‘you are Pen, you do not count’. It was said in private, but that does not make it small.”
Colin went still.
“That is why this feels strange to you now,” she said. “Because to you, I was never meant to change.”
Silence settled between them.
“I think I should like some air,” Penelope said at last. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
She turned away before he could respond.
Simon watched her walk away from the exchange, this time with purpose in her stride. She spoke briefly with Miss Bridgerton before the two of them turned toward the garden, Penelope’s posture straight, her steps unhurried, as though she had made the choice deliberately.
Anthony, who had been entertaining Edwina while verbally sparring with Kate, had nonetheless kept one eye on Simon. He noticed the way Simon’s attention did not waver, the way his gaze followed Penelope with an intensity that sat uneasily in Anthony’s chest.
He followed Simon’s line of sight to the terrace doors just in time to see the deep purple of Penelope’s skirts disappear into the night.
The music swelled. Laughter rang out. Glasses chimed. The world carried on, unchanged.
Still, the Duke of Hastings did not look away.
Anthony lifted his glass, a faint frown settling over his features as a cold weight took hold in his chest.
Simon did not linger over anything he did not intend to claim.