Quinn, Julia - Romancing Mister Bridgerton With 2nd Epilogue

“I must confess, though,” Eloise said, reaching for another biscuit, “you and Colin did surprise me.”

“We surprised me as well,” Penelope admitted wryly.

“Not that I’m not delighted,” Eloise hastened to add. “There is no one I’d rather have as a sister. Well, aside from the ones I already have, of course. And if I’d ever dreamed the two of you were inclined in that direction, I’m sure I would have meddled horribly.”

“I know,” Penelope said, laughter forcing her lips up at the corners.

“Yes, well”—Eloise waved the comment away—“I’m not known for minding my own business.”

“What’s that on your fingers?” Penelope asked, leaning forward for a better look.

“What? That? Oh, nothing.” But she settled her hands in her lap nonetheless.

“It’s not nothing,” Penelope said. “Let me see. It looks like ink.”

“Well, of course it does. It is ink.”

“Then why didn’t you say so when I asked?”

“Because,” Eloise said pertly, “it’s none of your business.”

Penelope drew back in shock at Eloise’s sharp tone. “I’m terribly sorry,” she said stiffly. “I had no idea it was such a sensitive subject.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Eloise said quickly. “Don’t be silly. It’s just that I’m clumsy and I can’t write without getting ink all over my fingers. I suppose I could wear gloves, but then they’d be stained, and I’d be forever replacing them, and I can assure you that I have no wish to spend my entire allowance—meager as it is—on gloves.”

Penelope stared at her through her lengthy explanation, then asked, “What were you writing?”

“Nothing,” Eloise said dismissively. “Just letters.”

Penelope could tell from Eloise’s brisk tone that she didn’t particularly want to subject the topic to further exploration, but she was being so uncharacteristically evasive that Penelope couldn’t resist asking, “To whom?”

“The letters?”

“Yes,” Penelope replied, even though she thought that was rather obvious.

“Oh, no one.”

“Well, unless they’re a diary, they’re not to no one ,” Penelope said, impatience adding a short tinge to her voice.

Eloise gave her a vaguely affronted look. “You’re rather nosy today.”

“Only because you’re being so evasive.”

“They’re just to Francesca,” Eloise said with a little snort.

“Well, then, why didn’t you say so?”

Eloise crossed her arms. “Perhaps I didn’t appreciate your questioning me.”

Penelope’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Eloise had had anything even remotely approaching a row. “Eloise,” she said, her shock showing in her voice, “what is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“I know that’s not true.”

Eloise said nothing, just pursed her lips and glanced toward the window, a clear attempt to end the conversation.

“Are you angry with me?” Penelope persisted.

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“I don’t know, but it’s clear that you are.”

Eloise let out a little sigh. “I’m not angry.”

“Well, you’re some thing.”

“I’m just . . . I’m just . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I am. Restless, I suppose. Out of sorts.”

Penelope was silent as she digested that, then said quietly, “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” Eloise smiled wryly. “If there were, you can be sure I’d have already asked it of you.”

Penelope felt something that was almost a laugh rising within her. How like Eloise to make such a comment.

“I suppose it’s . . .” Eloise began, her chin lifting in thought. “No, never mind.”

“No,” Penelope said, reaching out and taking her friend’s hand. “Tell me.”

Eloise pulled her hand free and looked away. “You’ll think I’m silly.”

“Maybe,” Penelope said with a smile, “but you’ll still be my very closest friend.”

“Oh, Penelope, but I’m not,” Eloise said sadly. “I’m not worthy of it.”

“Eloise, don’t talk such madness. I’d have gone right-out insane trying to navigate London and society and the ton without you.”

Eloise smiled. “We did have fun, didn’t we?”

“Well, yes, when I was with you,” Penelope admitted. “The rest of the time I was bloody miserable.”

“Penelope! I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you curse before.”

Penelope gave her a sheepish smile. “It slipped out. And besides, I couldn’t possibly think of a better adjective to describe life for a wallflower among the ton .”

Eloise let out an unexpected chuckle. “Now, that’s a book I would like to read: A Wallflower Among the Ton .”

“Not unless you’re given to tragedies.”

“Oh, come, now, it couldn’t be a tragedy. It would have to be a romance. You’re getting your happy ending, after all.”

Penelope smiled. As strange as it was, she was getting her happy ending. Colin had been a lovely and attentive fiancé, at least for the three days that he’d been playing that role. And it couldn’t have been particularly easy; they’d been subject to more speculation and scrutiny than Penelope could have imagined.

She wasn’t surprised, though; when she (as Lady Whistledown) had written that the world would end as she knew it if a Featherington married a Bridgerton, she rather thought she’d been echoing a prevalent sentiment.

To say that the ton had been shocked by Penelope’s engagement would have been an understatement, indeed.

But much as Penelope liked to anticipate and reflect upon her upcoming marriage, she was still a bit disturbed about Eloise’s strange mood. “Eloise,” she said seriously, “I want you to tell me what has you so upset.”

Eloise sighed. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten about it.”

“I’ve learned tenacity from the master,” Penelope commented.

That made Eloise smile, but only for a moment. “I feel so disloyal,” she said.

“What have you done?”

“Oh, nothing.” She patted her heart. “It’s all inside. I—” She stopped, looked to the side, her eyes settling on the fringed corner of the carpet, but Penelope suspected that she didn’t see much of anything. At least nothing beyond what was rumbling about in her mind.

“I’m so happy for you,” Eloise said, the words tumbling forth in odd bursts, punctuated by awkward pauses. “And I honestly think I can really, truly say that I’m not jealous. But at the same time . . .”

Penelope waited for Eloise to collect her thoughts. Or maybe she was collecting her courage.

“At the same time,” she said, so softly that Penelope could barely hear her, “I suppose I always thought you’d be a spinster right along with me. I’ve chosen this life. I know that I have. I could have married.”

“I know,” Penelope said quietly.

“But I never did, because it never seemed right, and I didn’t want to settle for anything less than what my brothers and sister have. And now Colin, too,” she said, motioning toward Penelope.

Penelope didn’t mention that Colin had never said he loved her. It didn’t seem like the right time, or, frankly, the sort of thing she cared to share. Besides, even if he didn’t love her, she still thought he cared about her, and that was enough.

“I would never have wanted you not to marry,” Eloise explained, “I just never thought you would.” She closed her eyes, looking quite agonized. “That came out all wrong. I’ve insulted you terribly.”

“No, you haven’t,” Penelope said, meaning it. “I never thought I would marry, either.”