" No. We don't part as friends, Pen," Colin said firmly. "We don't part at all."

Penelope shivered slightly at his words, at the intensity with which he said them. So much of her wanted to believe him, believe that he meant it all, that a life with her was what he truly wanted.

But she could not. This had all happened within days. Why should she not be wary? And whatever days-long fascination he had for her did not compare to the decade-long fascination she had endured for him. If she had got herself past it, he certainly could.

But was she past it? Was she truly?

The way his words shook her seemed to make that feel like a lie. She forced a laugh. "Well, I'm afraid we must part for now."

"Why?" He drew her closer. "There's nothing I'd like more than to dance the next with you." His glib smile was back, his eyes losing their intensity. Now there was the Colin she was most familiar with.

"You are quite mad," she laughed, even as she narrowed her eyes at him. "Two dances, one after the other—"

"People do it all the time in the country."

"But not in London," she pointed out. "There are far too many people watching." Was that why he was being so very solicitous? Was he trying to start gossip about them? Lady Whistledown may be finished fleshing out society's foibles, but there were others who'd been trying to replicate her success for years. Most of the time, they simply dissected what she'd already written, attesting to its veracity or claiming there was a lack thereof. Now that she'd retired, they would have to pay even closer attention to everything she had spent years observing... or hiding.

And it wasn't as if she had anything to hide. Colin was friendly to her, much as he was to everyone. Still, Whistledown rarely, if ever, noted when they danced or even spent too many minutes together. Lady Whistledown had barely ever mentioned Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington in the same breath, except for the column where he loudly declared he'd never marry her — as if anyone would ever believe the reverse. But for him to now court scandal...

"You are right about that," he sighed, tucking her arm in his and leading her away from the dance floor. "We don't want anyone seeing anything illicit between us."

Perhaps he was being solicitous in truth. She didn't fool herself that he'd given up, not after everything that had happened, but he surely would not expose her to scandal. She knew Colin well enough that his sense of honor would not allow for that.

She thought he might take her back to Eloise, but instead he was bringing her toward her mother and Felicity. She tossed him a surprised glance.

He leaned toward her. "What better way to thwart gossip than to be sure I return you to the bosom of your loving family?" He smiled widely as they approached them. "Good evening, Miss Felicity," he said with a nod. "Mrs. Featherington," he bowed slightly lower, "I have very reluctantly returned your daughter to you."

"Why, Mr. Bridgerton!" Her mother fluttered her fan and tittered. "How very kind of you to bring us back our dear, old Penelope."

Penelope would like the "dear" part more if her mother hadn't also called her "old." But she expected nothing else. Her mother had made it very clear she wanted a Bridgerton brother for Felicity and the idea that this Bridgerton brother in particular was making his partiality for Penelope, misguided as it was, plain was probably not even a glimmer of a thought to her.

Once again, Penelope wondered what Portia Featherington might think if she were apprised of the true situation. But she was quite sure her mother would refuse to see it.

"Well, I would argue she's very dear," Colin said, turning to Penelope with an easy grin, not yet surrendering her arm. "But old? Never!"

Penelope couldn't help but feel a little mollified by that.

"So kind of you," her Mama went on. "You must have sensed my poor Felicity was desolate without her sister. But of course you did! You Bridgerton siblings are so very close to each other. My own daughters are also just... inseparable!"

As if to gainsay her, Felicity turned her head, pretending to be surprised to see her sister. "Ah, Penelope! There you are. Could you perhaps aid me in finding my dear Geoffrey's family? His sister is somewhere hereabouts," Felicity said, as if determined to remind their mother she was practically engaged.

"Felicity!" Her mother softened her tone with a little laugh. "Are you not even going to greet Mr. Bridgerton?"

"But of course," Felicity said with supreme disinterest. "Good evening, Mr. Bridgerton. Have you seen my fiance's sister, Miss Albansdale?"

"Fiance!" Mama laughed again, though it seemed more strained. "Need I remind you that you are not—"

"I think I spotted her over by the champagne," Colin supplied quickly.

"Excellent." And with that, Felicity was gone, much to her mother's chagrin.

"Such a social butterfly, my Felicity," her mother said, recovering. "She will make some man a very lovely hostess. But, you know, she spoke wrong, Mr. Albansdale has yet to declare—"

"Albansdale..." Colin tapped his chin, then smiled. "Is that Geoffrey Albansdale? I know him well. Capital fellow. What a lovely match you have secured for your daughter, Mrs. Featherington."

Penelope cast a sidelong glance his way. She very much doubted Colin would know Mr. Albansdale if he was sitting on top of him, but she supposed him helping to discourage her mother's sad attempts at matchmaking was best for all.

As for her mother, she seemed torn between thanking him for his compliments and denying the inevitable match once again, her mouth working soundlessly.

Before she could work out what to say, Colin went on, "As for myself, I'd like to secure your eldest daughter..."

Penelope pinched his wrist.

"...for that one last dance before supper," he finished, wincing slightly.

She let out a sigh, relieved that he was just teasing her rather than declaring himself to her mother, of all people. She still didn't know how the woman would react... apart from disbelief.

As it was, her mother just dumbly nodded her assent.

Colin finally took her arm from his, but kept her gloved hand, pressing a kiss on it before he bowed and walked away, a rather cocky swing to his gait.

Penelope stared after him, wondering what had him so satisfied.

"What awful luck," Mama groaned. "If only Felicity hadn't rushed off, he'd be dancing the supper set with her."

Penelope turned to her mother. "Mama, Colin didn't ask Felicity. He asked me."

"Aye, of course. Because your sister could not be had," she said, not even noticing Penelope's stricken glance. "Don't you think he seemed slightly jealous at the mention of Mr. Albansdale?"

Penelope held in a growl. "I think he seemed very little interested in—"

"If they danced the supper set, they could have dined together," her mother sighed. "That is a very significant mark of attention and interest."

It was, wasn't it? How many times had Lady Whistledown marked with which lady a gentleman danced the supper set? It was one of the most notable moments of the evening. It meant that they wished to spend more time with the lady in question.

She'd never danced a supper set.

She had once been, quite publicly, escorted into supper by Viscount Bridgerton at Aubrey Hall. It was actually the most triumphant moment of her life, as far as society was concerned. He was only doing it to be kind and perhaps to put Cressida Cowper's nose out of joint, but Penelope had been thrilled by it. She wasn't the only one. Kate had once confided that it was that very moment that she truly began falling in love with Anthony Bridgerton. Perhaps Penelope herself would have fallen for him if her heart had not long been taken by yet another Bridgerton performing an act of kindness.

Though Colin hadn't performed such a noted mark of favor, it was what he hadn't done. She still remembered that moment they first met, the agony she felt, waiting for his anger or perhaps his cruel remarks and mocking laughter. And then he laughed, but not at her.

She was barely even out at the time, but she'd been to enough events, thrust in with the younger girls and boys. Girls had never been kind to her, not even her mother and sisters, growing up. They didn't truly mean to be unkind. They were just so involved in their own lives that hers hardly mattered. They dismissed her looks, her wit, her very sensible advice on over-spending... They just plain dismissed her.

But that was nothing to how she was treated, out and about in society, once children stopped climbing trees and starting climbing the social ladder after their parents. And she was quite clearly reminded that she was on the bottom rung and always would be.

She remembered it so vividly, approaching a group of girls at a birthday party, while her very yellow dresses were still short, hopeful that she might find a friend among them. She hadn't found one among her sisters. Much like Mama, Prudence and Phillipa thought books to be both dull and dangerous all at once. They were certain excessive reading dulled a woman's beauty. True, she did have Felicity by that time, and she was always especially friendly. But she was an infant and was much more interested in pulling at Penelope's curls than discussing books. Even now, that was true. Felicity was always fussing with her hair and never wanted to talk about what Penelope wanted her to read.

It turned out, these girls had no desire to discuss books either. In their little pack, they interrogated her on who her father was, her mother's family, where she got "that dress." Penelope had been foolish enough to believe their interest in her was genuine, but they soon revealed that it was all a cruel ploy, that every word was being mocked. And that was even before Cressida Cowper, who seemed to live to torment her, came into play. Thank God for Eloise, and the other Bridgerton sisters, came along or she'd have thought all society girls were horrid.

And boys, or supposedly young men after a certain amount of schooling, were no better. Sometimes they were worse. At least the girls tried to pretend at civility. The boys had no qualms about telling her she was too fat or plain to be worth talking to. Even when she tried to join in when they spoke of books, they made it clear her thoughts were unwanted and of little to no value.

Was it any wonder that she expected Colin Bridgerton, third son of a very rich, well-liked and prestigious family, who she'd just blinded and knocked off his horse, to berate her, to mock her, to make it clear that Penelope Featherington (daughter of a near-impoverished gentleman who had married beneath him) was not the sort he associated with? He should laugh at the notion.

And he did laugh, but at himself. It was entirely her fault for not having her bonnet properly tied, to the point where it would fly in his decidedly handsome face and make him look clumsy when he was decidedly not, yet he laughed at himself, mocked himself, and not her.

After that confession from Kate, of Penelope's small part in her romance with Anthony, Penelope went over her first meeting with Colin decided she would have felt the same. If she witnessed Colin being sweet to another girl who'd ruined his ride, she would have loved him still. Because he was kind even after that. When Eloise first invited her to tea, he'd marveled that she had finally brought home a sensible friend, then teased her by threatening to steal Penelope away.

Very well, then. Colin Bridgerton had shown her marked favor, even if it was mostly in jest and with the object of annoying his sister.

Regardless, Penelope had never been favored so baldly. She'd never danced a supper set.

She narrowed her eyes, deciding that she now knew very well why Colin had sauntered away in high spirits. It surprised her that it had taken her so long to notice what his plan was.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it," her mother sighed. "We must do what we can with it, even if he will be dining with you..."

"And what does that mean?" Penelope snapped. She was annoyed enough with Colin without her mother adding to it.

"Oh, Penelope. You know I mean no ill. But he can gad about with you any time. It's high time Felicity had a turn with him."

Penelope rolled her eyes. "You speak as if he's some toy I've been keeping to myself."

"You have, in your own way. Don't think I miss the way the pair of you always end up talking at every event," her mother chided. "I daresay he's danced with you more than Felicity."

"Shouldn't that tell you that he's not interested in—"

"The least you could do is make the most of it, for your sister's sake. Sing her praises a little, commend her to him."

"Mama, I assure you, I always speak well of Felicity. In fact, I shall go find her now," Penelope said, quite finished with her mother at the present.

She'd lied, of course. She didn't find her sister. She found a small balcony overlooking the gardens. The Dartmore townhouse was large, but that did not stop her from feeling stifled, overheated, or perhaps just plain mad. She stared at the rosebushes below, wondering that she didn't set them afire with her glare.

She saw it so clearly now — Colin's solicitude, his securing her seat with him, escorting her about, fetching her lemonade, saying things to make her blush, insisting on dancing the first with her, then trying for another straight after, and now the supper set!

He was not exposing her to scandal. It was even worse. He was exposing her to... courtship.

That absolute fiend!

**************

Colin was quite satisfied with himself. Yes, he might have come on a bit too strongly at certain moments...

"We don't part at all."

God, what was he thinking? Poor Pen looked almost frightened at that.

He was supposed to keep things light tonight. No pressing proposals. Just simple wooing, perhaps a bit of flirting. He'd meant to be urbane, charming, make her feel properly courted.

Still, he hadn't failed completely at that. He'd made it quite clear to her mother that his intentions toward Pen were serious. He'd secured her supper set and her company for said supper, after all. Mrs. Featherington would have to be a simpleton indeed not to see his purpose in that.

Now, he only had to wait. He'd already decided he'd dance with no one else. He had to make his intentions clear to all. Dancing with the odd debutante would only muddy the waters. And it's not as if he wished to dance with any other girl. Really, now that he'd decided on Pen, it was very easy to stay clear of the odd flirtatious Miss or her determined Mama without feeling the least bit of guilt. He was practically an engaged man, after all.

He made it clear to all that he was not inclined to dance. Yes, there might be the odd disappointed pout, but he shrugged them off until he, luckily, found himself with a sister — Daphne, to be precise. He made his greetings before presenting his lamentations.

"Really, these ladies are relentless," he said as he sidled up to her. "You tell them you are not inclined to dance and it's all 'Why?' or 'Are you ill?' or 'Have you injured yourself?' It's exhausting!"

Daphne laughed. "Perhaps it's because they've already observed you dancing. With Penelope, was it not?" she asked with a sidelong glance, as if she didn't know for certain, the sly thing.

"Yes, it was. Of course it was," he said, lifting his chin. "I always dance with Pen when I have the chance."

"Obviously. But you usually squeeze another girl in to satisfy Mama that you've tried before you make your escape," Daphne observed. "Or are you escaping early?"

"I have no intention of escaping tonight. A man has to eat, does he not? I'm dancing the supper set," he said... as if he always did such a thing. He didn't. Suppers at balls were almost always late and cold and disappointing. But the Duke of Dartmore had a very good chef and the fare was usually quite appetizing — once a person got past the lectures, at least.

"Oh, the supper set," Daphne looked surprised. "And who is the lucky young lady?"

"Penelope, of course," he said, cringing a little, hoping she wouldn't try to make something out of it. Yes, he did want people to make note of his favor, but... Well, it was bad enough that Anthony, Ben, and Kate knew. Penelope had actually seemed relieved that it was Kate and not... Well, Pen hadn't said who she was afraid might also know. He'd thought it might be Mama, but perhaps it was Daphne.

Daphne knowing meant Mother might know. The pair of them were thick as thieves.

Daphne knowing might mean Lady Danbury would know. She did call on her most weeks.

Daphne had many other callers. She was a duchess, after all.

Daphne, at this moment, turned fully to him, eyes wide and smiling. "Ah, Penelope! How delightful!"

"It's not as if I've never sat by Penelope for supper before," he grumbled, deciding he would giver her nothing.

"Ah, but those were intimate suppers with the family," she said, "not something so public as..."

"Hastings!" Colin called out, spotting Simon among the throng. "I think your wife is begging for a dance."

"I am not," Daphne insisted. "I am quite content to converse rather than—"

"Does she now? And you'd claimed you'd rather not dance tonight," Simon drawled, drawing nearer, giving his wife as rather lusty smile before sliding a hand around her waist. "I certainly wouldn't mind."

God! Colin didn't want to see all that.

"Well, I would mind," Daphne said, blushing a bit. "These new slippers pinch awfully and—"

"And there's no better way to break them in than a dance. Off you go!" Colin gave Simon what he hoped was a significant glance. Yes, his loyalty was usually to Daph, but there had been times he'd stood with the Bridgerton men against a wall of women opposing them.

Once, when playing some game Eloise invented involving Shakespeare quotes, pitting the men against the women, there had been a very heated argument about Macbeth's witches and whether they said "bubble, bubble" or "double, double" before going on about "toil and trouble." And Simon had joined them on the "bubble" team. They were wrong, but at least they'd stood united. Perhaps this would be one of those times.

"I'm certain you shall glide about as gracefully as ever." Simon gave Colin a slight nod. "Come now, let us show them all how it's done," Simon said.

Daphne twisted back toward Colin as her husband led her away. "We will speak further," she said, quite ominously.

"Not if I can help it," Colin muttered through a false smile.

He didn't get to celebrate his victory for long, however. When the crowds parted as couples gathered for the Cotillion, he spied his mother and Lady Danbury across the floor, their heads bent close together. That couldn't be good.

He froze as his Mother lifted her gaze to him, then Lady Danbury as well. He willed his legs to move, but they refused. Any moment now they would start toward him and... give him a little smile and a wave as they passed.

That was odd.

He expected his own mother to greet him with more than a little waggle of her fingers. Hadn't Eloise said the pair of them waylaid her several times tonight alone? Why wasn't anyone waylaying him? Even Lady Danbury should at least come over to complain at him or...

What was he looking a gift horse in the mouth for? He should be relieved. In fact, he decided he was before remembering he had other women to escape. He managed to find the delicate balance between hiding from debutantes and their mothers and keeping an eye on the dances so he could collect Pen before the all-important supper set.

He spent some time in the library where Gregory was predictably losing at cards and wasted a bit more time listening to some Scottish viscount regaling others about his crop rotations, nodding and pretending interest, wondering when the damned waltz was coming. He was never one to wait upon a dance. They were usually something to get over with, but now...

Waltzing with Penelope would be a whole new experience now. He'd always been so respectfully focused on their conversations before. He'd never truly thought of what an illicit thrill it was to have his hand on her waist, her gloved hand in his, the ability to hold her against him, the tantalizing view from his vantage point. He was most eagerly looking forward to it.

Not that he would be disrespectful. Tonight was about wooing. And that meant no improper touching. Well, maybe not none at all. But there'd be no outright caressing. Or kissing. Or licking. Or biting that spot where her neck meets her shoulder and listening to her high-pitched gasps of... None of it, damn it all. He was going to seduce her respectfully. With a waltz and then supper, and then perhaps another dance, then dessert, and then turns about the room in full view of her mother, and then a chaperoned morning call.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that the rest of it would come after the wedding. Or perhaps after the engagement would be enough.

Or maybe just the next moment they had alone, he decided as he spied Penelope. He'd meant it when he told her she looked especially lovely tonight. That gown, with its certain shade of blue and its sparkly little overlay made her eyes and hair simply glow. As for the neckline... He'd do best not to dwell on that too long, especially as she was standing with Kate.

Kate must have decided to attend without Anthony, as he felt the same way about these Dartmore parties as Colin did — up until tonight, that is.

He'd been enjoying this one immensely. Perhaps it was all about having the right companion.

He decided to approach her early, since Kate was surely helping his cause. Even now, she was leaning toward Pen, whispering in her ear. Perhaps she was helping Penelope to see reason and accept his proposal as she ought to.

Whatever she was saying, Kate stopped as he neared them, smiling widely. "Ah, Colin. What perfect timing. I do believe the waltz is about to start."

"I do believe so as well," he said, giving Kate a little wink before turning to Penelope and holding out his hand. "Shall we?"

Pen gave him a wary look, but placed her hand in his, letting him lead her to the floor.

"Best of luck," he heard Kate call out.

"Thank you," he said, surprised when Penelope said the same.

He glanced at back at Kate, wondering which of them she had been talking to. Surely it was him...

*******************

"He's really as bad as his brother," Kate was saying. "I know he endeavors to be a bit more suave, something Anthony feels is beneath him somehow, but he's just as stubborn and relentless when he's denied something he wants."

"I'm so relieved you think so," Penelope sighed. After telling Kate her version of the last few days, with some bits left out for propriety, Kate seemed to agree that Penelope was perfectly reasonable to refuse Colin.

"And how delightful that you are making him work for it. I've never seen him put any sincere effort into courting a girl." Kate nodded. "It's high time he knew what it's like when things don't come so easily to him. I'm sure he'll value you all the more when he—"

"Kate, you mistake me," Penelope cut in. "I'm not making him work for it with the goal of him succeeding. I am quite determined that he should give it up."

"As you should be," Kate said with a sly smile. "That will show him that you are worth the effort."

Penelope sputtered, "I-I don't want to be worth the... I don't want him to court me at all!"

Kate leaned closer. "That's the spirit," she said on a whisper. "He's coming this way now. Just keep up the good work and he'll be at your door with flowers before you know it."

"Nay, that's the last thing I—"

"Ah, Colin," Kate said more loudly. "What perfect timing. I do believe the waltz is about to start."

Penelope glanced down, huffing in annoyance. Could Kate truly think she was trying to heighten Colin's efforts?

"I do believe so as well," she heard Colin say, glancing up to see him winking at Kate. "Shall we?"

Ah, so Kate was conspiring with him. That answered her question, she supposed. Kate was deliberately misunderstanding her.

She reluctantly let him cart her off as Kate wished her "Best of luck."

"Thanks," she said dully, annoyed that Colin said the same. At least she could console herself knowing Kate agreed that no reasonable woman would have accepted his proposals so far.

She sighed, looking off to the side as he led her in the dance, feeling quite put out. Why did everyone seem to be pushing her into this marriage? First her sister, now Kate. Even Benedict seemed to be under the impression Colin had some sort of marked preference for her, which was so ridiculous a thought that...

"What? No conversation?" Colin prodded. "I thought that was the chief advantage of a waltz, among other things."

"What good does talking to you do? You can't be dissuaded." She glanced up to find him glancing down... or staring. She gasped, annoyed that her hands were engaged in the dance and she could not slap them over her bodice in outrage. "Colin! Stop looking there," she hissed.

He lifted his eyes to hers... then to her forehead, his face a bit red. "I was just admiring your gown again. That shade of blue is truly fetching on you."

She decided to pretend she believed him. "You said that before. You don't have to repeat it."

"I think I should, since you don't seem to believe it," he said smoothly. "Perhaps I shall remind you until I'm as blue in the face as your stunning—"

"You're laying it on rather thick, you know."

"Very well. I might have briefly glanced elsewhere. It's rather hard not to with such a tempting display. But my attentions tonight will be entirely honorable. Starting... now!"

"You really are incorrigible," she said, wishing her blush was from anger.

He laughed. "As a gentleman, I will answer your insult with civility and call you... irresistible."

"Good Lord." She rolled her eyes. "Then I shall call you irritating. This supposed civility of yours is not fooling me."

"Shall I give it up, then?" He leaned down a bit. "If you'd rather I be improper, I could easily be persuaded—"

"I wish you would just stop," she hissed.

"Stop dancing?" He started to slow.

She pinched his shoulder to prod him back into motion. "You know very well I didn't mean that. Stop flirting. Stop acting as if you find me so... so..."

"Intoxicating?" He smiled. "It's only because my feelings have run away with me."

"Stop pretending you have feelings."

His smile dropped then. "I would, if you'd stop pretending as if you don't have feelings. You've tortured me long enough with your... indifference. There's an I word for you."

"Long enough? By my count, you've been tortured for a mere three days," she muttered. "My torture was much longer than that."

He smiled again. "Aha! So you admit it."

She paled, missing a step. "I have admitted nothing."

He pulled her closer then, keeping them in step with the other circling couples. "You have been tormented by your unrequited affection for me and now you wish to punish me with the same."

"I have not been... I never said I was tormented by..." She forced a laugh. "What nonsense. And I never said I had any unrequited..."

"You've never said it, but you felt it, didn't you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you trying to imply?"

He narrowed his as well. "What are you trying to deny? You've never held any affection for me? Not at all? Is that what you're trying to say?"

She lifted her chin. "I hold the same friendly regard for you that I have always have since the first day we—"

"That's not what I mean and you well know it."

Her feelings for Colin Bridgerton were her most closely-held secret, even older than Whistledown, something known to only her... or so she'd thought. And he expected her to admit to them, here in the middle of a crowded ballroom? Well... if that's what he wanted...

She dipped her head, as if trying to mind her steps, then lifted it, widening her eyes and striving to look adoring enough. "Oh, Colin. Perhaps I've just found it hard to believe that all my dreams have at last come true. How soon could we marry? Should we do it this very night? How many miles to Gretna Green?"

Colin missed a step then. "Er... three hundred, I think?"

"I'm certain we shall fly over them on the wings of love," she sighed. "I cannot wait until we travel together just everywhere. Keep in mind that I get ill on the seas, the shores, the mountains, the plains. It all makes me terrible dizzy and nauseated," she lied. She hadn't set foot on a ship in her life, but perhaps she had inherited her mother's maladies. One never knew. "But surely you can put up with it easily... with such devoted feelings as yours."

"I know what you're trying to do," Colin said with a withering look. "You think to dissuade me."

"What?" She blinked up at him. "My only thought is to love you. Most passionately!"

"Well, I rather like the sound of that," he drawled.

"Did I say passionately? No, that's too tame for the violence of my affections," she said, changing tacks. "I meant fanatically. You shall be mine and mine alone. So you cannot so much as look at another woman till the end of your days. Just me. Only me. Forever and ever and ever and–"

"It's not working." He smirked. "Because I'll take it, Pen, if you are now accepting—"

"I didn't say that," she cut in, grateful when the dance ended. "You are impossible!" She dropped her arms from him and stepped away.

"And you are..." He all too easily slipped her arm through his, following the throng heading into supper. "Give me a moment, I shall find one... Does it have to begin with an 'I'? Drat, this is hard!"

"What?"

"This game of yours. Still, I find it... invigorating." He laughed. "There. Told you I'd find one."

"I'm not playing any games. You are! And I, for one, shall no longer be party to it." She slipped her arm from his and lost herself among the others piling into the dining room. She just couldn't take it any longer. His little jokes, his teasing glances, his way of turning everything she said into some sort of flirty banter or little game. It was almost worse than his high-handed, masculine posturing. At least that she could answer with anger. This barrage of charm was more than she could possibly bear!

She glanced around, panicked, unable to find Eloise in the sea of other brunettes. If only El wasn't so averse to adorning her hair. A brightly colored feather or so would make her much easier to find. She spotted a young lady already seated, one with curls redder than hers, wondering if her own hair would make it easier for El to spot her. But would that happen before Colin pressed her into dining with him?

She glanced back to find Colin pushing his way through the crowd. She needed to find a seat and soon! She made her way to that red-haired lady she'd noted and called out, "Cousin!"

The young lady glanced up, surprised, as did the older man seated next to her.

"Sir, would you mind terribly if I sat with my dear cousin?" Penelope pleaded. "I haven't seen her in ages and—"

"Oh, no! Of course not." He stood quickly and bowed. "Pleasure dancing with you as always, Lady Douglass. Give the viscount my regards."

"The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Ferguson," the lady — an actual Lady, apparently — said with a curious glance at Penelope. "Thank you so much for allowing my dearest cousin... er..."

Penelope sighed in relief as the man held out the chair for her, glad this Lady Douglass had decided to play along. "Penelope Featherington," she said lowly as she took her seat.

"Yes, darling Cousin Penelope," Lady Douglass said with a little wink. "It really has been ages."

****************

All the apologies for how long it 's taken me to get back to this fic — and to get back to writing in general. My work, family, and personal life has been all-encompassing to the point where finding the time and headspace to write has been impossible. But things are about to settle down for me after the holidays (on the work front at least) and in the next two months, I will have much more time to dedicate to all of my stories.

If any of you reading this have read my originals, you might recognize the name Lady Douglass. I hope you enjoy the little cameo to come!