"My answer is no."

Colin was taken aback... figuratively, but also quite literally. His hand left the door he'd just now had a pretty firm hold on as she pushed at his chest. Penelope was stronger than she looked. He stumbled back onto the stony landing before he realized it was happening.

"I ask that you respect it," he heard before he was left staring at the door that had been slammed in his face... or not too far from it.

That was not quite as jarring as the fact that she'd refused him.

She'd also pushed him.

Penelope!

Colin turned and started down the steps or, more accurately, stumbled down them, nearly missing a few before correcting himself enough to land on the pavement upright. He spun back to stare at the door, thinking it would surely open again.

It didn't.

Have you even considered that I don't want to marry you?

He hadn't.

Because Penelope loved him.... didn't she? He'd suspected as much for years, enough that he was uncomfortable with the idea of it — up until the moment he had her writhing underneath him in a carriage, at which point it felt a bit more comforting. Perhaps comforting was not the word for it.

What he'd felt then was surrounded by it, tempted by it, by her, by the idea that it was not such a frightful thing to be loved by a woman who was intelligent and funny and kind and quite gratifyingly passionate. Why had he ever entertained fear of it? It should make him feel a thousand feet tall!

Not at the moment, of course. He felt as if he were standing in a hole, staring a mile up at her door in abject confusion. And could anyone blame him? She had rejected him.

So much had happened and it wasn't even lunchtime!

And that was without the Lady W aspect of it all, something he hadn't the capacity to even think of right now. No, he'd much rather dispense of her and think about the Penelope who'd moaned into his mouth when he kissed her, sighed into his neck when he touched her, the one who loved him... Or at least near enough to it that he thought proposing marriage would be an easy question for her to answer.

Then again, she had answered him easily, and repeatedly, hadn't she? Just not way he wanted.

"What does she mean by it?" Colin gasped.

It couldn't truly be a refusal. She must mean he needed to ask again. He had to admit that "Are you going to marry me or not?" was not the most brilliant proposal ever rendered. Perhaps she needed to be asked more nicely, with prettier words, perhaps with flowers or candies or with a ride home before lunch?

He turned to his coachman, realizing that last had been directed at him.

Usually the word "lunch" would send him off to wherever lunch was, but he couldn't decide whether eating lunch was something he wanted to do at the moment, alarming as that was!

Still, he didn't want to keep the man waiting, so he sent his driver home and wandered aimlessly... until he found himself in front of Number 5 Bruton Street.

Or perhaps it wasn't aimless. He'd been rejected and sent on his way by one of the two people in this world who never failed to make him feel welcome.

He hoped the other wouldn't fail him. A man needed his mother at his lowest moments. She would surely be a comfort... if she were there.

He found only Eloise in the drawing room and she informed him that Mother was not home yet, that she didn't know where she was nor when she'd be back, and that her plate of sandwiches was not meant to be shared, that last was rather emphatic.

On a normal day, he might argue for at least one, but he was none too eager to stay in the room with her — not after the things he'd just done to her dearest friend — so he took himself off.

"Well, wait! You needn't be so sore about it," Eloise called after him. "You can ring for more, you know."

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry," he said, trying not to meet her eyes as he turned back briefly. He did catch a glimpse of her then, and she looked quite alarmed.

"You can't mean that," she scoffed. "Are you ill?"

"No. I only have some urgent business with mother and must not be delayed a moment longer!"

"But I just told you. She's not here."

"Yes, but she will be eventually." He quickly made his way across the hall to the library before she tried to keep him further.

He actually was hungry. He'd had nothing today but an omelette, only two scones with jam, some sausages and potatoes, kippers on toast, plum cake, and some biscuits, which he usually wouldn't have until tea, but since Cook informed him they were still warm from the oven, he thought it only polite to have one or two... or six.

But he could hardly be distracted by food at a time like this, at least not much. No, he'd do best to wait in peace with his thoughts. At the very least, he'd have to find some way to tell Mother he'd not only proposed to Penelope, but bungled it terribly somehow.

But there was no peace to be had. When he closed the library door, he found Anthony was seated behind Mother's desk, ledgers spread open.

"What are you doing here?" Colin asked peevishly.

"Good afternoon to you, too," Anthony said, not looking up. "And I am attempting to make sense of Mother's accounts. Do you know Hyacinth is spending nearly as much at the milliner's as at the modiste? She insists that proper ladies have bonnets to match every dress, but when was the last time you saw her in a bonnet, Hmm?"

"I can't recall." Really, if Colin had no thought for food, he had even less for bonnets.

"Precisely. Not that this bonnet nonsense will break us, mind you, but I'm going to insist on seeing Hy in the dratted things at least once, even if she parades it about the front hall. Stubborn girl."

"She'll probably refuse," Colin sneered. "That's what they do. Every time you think you know what a girl's about, they... they just pull the rug out from under you. Or push you."

Anthony chuckled. "You sound rather embittered. Eloise not sharing biscuits again?"

"No," Colin muttered, pacing from one end to the other. "Well, yes, and it was sandwiches, but that's not... Where's Mother and when will she be back?"

"I doubt she'll back for hours yet. I've no choice but to wait. She's with Kate, perhaps at the milliner's. My dear wife's likely buying out all the lace caps in London. I swear she does it just to torture me."

"Torture," Colin muttered. "Is that what she's doing? I suppose I shouldn't blame her. Maybe I deserve it." He'd known she loved him, and he'd squandered it!

Anthony looked up then. "Good God, you're quite dramatic when you're hungry. Ring for something if you're so—"

"I'm not hungry!" Colin growled, then mumbled, "Well, I am, but that's not the problem."

Anthony put down his quill and sat back. "Would you stop pacing and tell me what the bloody problem is?"

"She loves me!" Colin burst out, stilling. "Damn it all, I know she does." He shook his head and resumed his pacing. "Why would she say no?"

"Something tells me we're not talking of biscuits," Anthony chuckled.

"Who could talk of biscuits at a time like this? I offered her marriage and she—"

"And we're obviously not talking of Eloise and her sandwiches." Anthony rose abruptly and moved to the door, shutting it before turning back to Colin, his brows drawn together. "Marriage? And who, might I ask, is this... her? Someone you barely know?"

"It's not like that," Colin sighed.

"No one's seen you out and about with anyone. Mother hasn't mentioned any young ladies, neither has Hyacinth, and if anyone should know—"

"Hyacinth doesn't know everything. This is not some sudden—"

"Well, if you have an interest in someone, then you should come to me first and foremost. I have the means to look into the matter, uncover motives that the other party might be hiding. As a family of some standing, these matters aren't to be taken lightly..."

Colin rolled his eyes and turned to the sideboard. If his brother was of a mind to deliver a sermon, he'd not rest until he'd done it. He'd need a whiskey for strength. And none of that London swill. He searched until he found a Scottish blend and poured two fingers... then three, before turning back to his brother, schooling his face into a mask of receptive contrition, nodding where necessary.

"...and I know very well that you've traveled, but there are some things one only gains by a keen observance of society. As far as marriage, matters of money are still first and foremost—"

"She doesn't need money," he said hopelessly. He was certain Lady Whistledown wanted for nothing. "Likely rich as Croesus," he muttered. "Marriage to the third son of a viscount is probably nothing to her. And she refused me, anyhow. Perhaps I shouldn't bother..."

"Wait, wait!" Anthony held up a hand. "This chit refused you?"

"Yes, as I've been trying to tell you—"

"But... you're a Bridgerton," Anthony sputtered.

"That didn't seem to matter, not to her."

"But that's ridiculous!"

Damn it, she was being ridiculous! How he wished he'd called on her later in the day. She was probably miffed that he discovered her secret and didn't react how she wished. Aye, that was it! This was just some stubborn nonsense of hers. If he'd proposed without all that, his mother might be planning a celebratory dinner right now.

Then again, would it have even happened if he hadn't discovered her secret? If he'd simply paid her a call as he'd planned, would he have kissed her senseless, mussed her pins until her hair flowed unbound in his hands, bared her rather glorious breasts?

He finished his whiskey and poured another.

"...then perhaps this is for the best," Anthony was droning in the background. "This girl of yours might be showing more sense than you are. If you consider the..."

Though he did like to consider himself a gentleman with no ulterior motives when directing his coachman to the Featherington house that morning, he had to be honest, if only with himself. With the previous morning in her sitting room and that maddening, confusing, damnable kiss...

After that, holding her hand last night at the Macclesfield Ball felt like an illicit thrill. He was lying to himself if he thought he was calling on her for a simple morning chat.

Just being in her sitting room again, he'd have been tempted to amend their kiss at the very least. She'd barely got a chance to kiss him back, after all. Hadn't he told her a kiss was for two people? Shouldn't she receive the complete kissing experience she'd asked for, if only for her own sake?

And he was lying to himself again. This wasn't for her sake. Hell, there was one moment, as he had his driver follow her hack, that he thought she might be calling on him and... Well, before he was disabused of that notion, the images that entered his mind were less than chaste.

Whistledown or no, it would have happened. It didn't matter if it happened in a carriage, a sitting room, or — as he envisioned in one mad moment — in a curtained alcove in the corner of Macclesfield's ballroom. There was something about his and Penelope's lips, and the joining of the two, that felt inevitable.

"...and furthermore, there is the question of housing. Your lodgings might do for a bachelor but not for a married man." Anthony was still on his pulpit. "And what of your travels? Do you plan to quit them entirely? There are any number of other things to settle before a boy your age—"

"My lodgings are adequate, my wife would gladly join me on my travels," Colin interrupted, "and when I say I mean to marry, I mean I will do it with or without your leave. I'm not a boy anymore."

"You're near enough. You are only one-and-thirty," Anthony said with a scoff. "There is no need to rush to the altar. How do you know this mystery woman would want to live out of trunks half the year?"

"I'm actually thirty-three, you were married four years at my age, and Penelope is no mystery. I've known her nearly all my life," Colin said loudly, before finishing on a mutter, "or I thought I did."

"Still, this rash behavior is no way to..." Anthony trailed off, then smiled suddenly. "Penelope?"

"Yes, like I said, she—"

"You didn't say! And you should have because... Well, that's different!" Anthony strode to him and snatched the tumbler from his hand. "What are you drinking that swill for? This calls for a brandy, at the least!" He started digging into the cabinet, then straightened. "No! Brandy is for toasting a horse race, not a marriage." He moved toward the bell pull. "This calls for champagne!"

Colin blocked him. "Anthony, there is no ma—"

"Mother loves the stuff. I bet she keeps it chilled."

"If you'd listen—"

"I don't even care if it's chilled. Hell, Mother would drink it flat and warm. She'll be overjoyed!"

"No, she won't," Colin growled, stopping his brother's hand from pulling the rope.

"But this is Penelope!" Anthony enthused. "You must know Mama's been after this for years. You sly devil! I remember you loudly declaring you'd never marry her."

"Well, that was—"

"I had to walk the poor girl home and watch her pretend not to be hurt. Rough stuff, that." Anthony shook his head. "We all despaired of you ever coming to your senses."

Colin started. "What? Did everyone—"

"But here you are, marrying Penelope." Anthony chuckled, nudging his shoulder. "So much for your declarations, eh?"

"I'm not marrying Penelope," Colin said loudly.

Anthony let out a hearty laugh. "Yes, very funny. You sound just like you did then."

"I'm not marrying her," Colin said through his teeth, "because she refused me!"

"I'd forgot that part." Anthony stilled, deflated, then slumped to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy, draining it and pouring another before turning back to Colin. "Why did she refuse you?"

Colin threw up his hands. "That's what I want to know!"

"That girl loves you!"

"You think so, too?" Colin had always thought she might before, but after today...

"Of course I do! Anyone who isn't half-blind sees it! I mean I knew since when... Well, when Kate told me," Anthony muttered. "But I always suspected even before that... in my own way."

Colin tossed himself onto the sofa in abject misery. "So why would she refuse me?"

"Hell if I know!" Anthony half-drained his second glass before taking the chair opposite Colin. "But maybe it was in the asking." He leaned back, tilted his head to study the ceiling. "My bachelor days might be in the past, but if I recall, ladies can be very particular about proposals. I consoled many an old chum after a rejection. Were you not sufficiently romantic about it?"

"Well... I suppose I wasn't romantic about it at all, but she has to marry me! It's for her own damned good."

Anthony sat up, then, his eyes narrowed. "And what does that mean?"

Colin had to choose his words carefully. He certainly couldn't tell Anthony, nor anyone, about Lady Whistledown. But that didn't mean he couldn't allude to it. "Let's just say that my marrying her could shield her from scandal."

"And what kind of scandal did you expose her to?"

"Why do you assume I—"

"I know you and I know Penelope and... Let's just say she's the more responsible of the two."

Colin was tempted to argue that. Spending over a decade running a scandal sheet was not responsible in the least. But he was certain Anthony was talking of more prurient things. And he was correct in thinking Colin had been the guiltier party. As willing as Penelope had been, he'd been the one who'd pushed things beyond the bounds of propriety in that carriage.

Anthony sighed. "Hell, I credit her influence alone with the fact that Eloise never ran away with a vagabond troupe of actors or some such—"

"I'd rather not talk of Eloise at the moment," Colin muttered. "She'd likely meet me with pistols at dawn if she knew..."

"If she knew what?"

"Very well, I kissed Penelope," Colin admitted, "quite a lot. And not just on her lips. And if that blasted carriage hadn't stopped, I'd have done more, damn it! Is that what you want to hear?"

"Not really." Anthony stared into his drink, his brows snapping together. "So you've compromised her."

"Not that anyone saw, but—"

"Well, that doesn't matter," his brother barked. "This is Penelope Featherington, not some tavern wench and you should have behaved yourself!"

"Like you did with Kate? You can't tell me that bee was the only incident—"

"Oh, very well." Anthony leaned back, his eyes a bit hazy. "I suppose I can sympathize. If I'd have known how it would be, I'd have compromised Kate sooner. Hell, if I could do it over, I'd have—"

"Anthony!" Colin sat up and snapped his fingers before his brother's face. "I need to know what to do now, not what you should have done before! That is hardly helpful." He shook his head. "Oh, never mind! I should have waited for Mother. She'd surely—"

"Oh, no! You're lucky I was here instead," Anthony said on a laugh.

"Yes, because your counsel has been so invaluable," Colin droned.

"I haven't even given my counsel yet. I'm getting there. But our mother... If she knew what you were about, she'd probably throw a party every day and night just to push the pair of you together."

"She would, wouldn't she?" Colin's eyes widened. "No, she would. She'd probably sit Pen right across from me and make all kinds of embarrassing—"

"Across, beside, locked in a closet... With Mother, it would be weeks of plotting, which will probably frighten poor Penelope right off. But you'll find no such machinations on my part. Just some damned good advice that I can sum up in four words."

Colin waited for those wise words.

Anthony took the time to sit up, straighten his cravat, then his vest, then dust what must be an imaginary speck off his shoulder, as if he were about to give a speech in the House of Lords, before he spoke. "Be firm with her," he finally said.

Colin stared at him. "That's it?"

"Does there need to be more?" Anthony stared at him as if he were a simpleton.

"But I did that."

"Obviously not well enough or we'd be toasting your nuptials right now. No, you need to be firm with them." He nudged his knee. "How do you think I got Kate?"

Colin shrugged. "Because you overreacted to a bee sting and it was witnessed and she had no choice but to—"

"Disregard that," Anthony said quickly. "Everyone tells it like that because they don't know the entire affair. I was very in control of the situation. See, Kate was trying to give me her blessing to marry her sister and I was about to shake or, dash it all, kiss some sense into her. I had been damned near ready to propose."

"You had?"

"Well, I... almost had. I was working my way up to it, or at least to kissing her more." He nodded to himself. "Yes, I'm sure I'd have got to the proposing bits soon enough after. Then that damnable bee came along and soured the moment and then Mrs. Featherington pops up to completely destroy it, along with our mother, and then... That's neither here nor there," he said with a wave. "See, Kate tried to act as if that blasted bee trapped us. She tried to cry off, but I did not allow it. I told her in no uncertain terms that we would marry. I told her what was what."

Colin narrowed his eyes. "Are you certain that's how it happened?"

"More or less."

"That doesn't sound like something that would work with Kate."

"But it did," Anthony insisted before waving his hand. "Very well. There might have been a bit of kissing to sweeten her up a little. She had some ridiculous notion that I didn't want her and... Well, I am an honest man. I couldn't let such lies go unanswered. I really had no choice but to..." He stood suddenly, then hastily headed for the door. "Blast it, is that woman not back yet?"

"Where are you going? You didn't even advise me!"

"Yes, I did!" Anthony stilled at the door "I told you to be firm with her, so do that."

"But I did that. I told her we were to marry! And it didn't work! She shut the door in my face. If you must know, she pushed me first!" Let's not forget that.

Anthony shook his head. "Hmm. Were you clear about wanting her? Ladies can be ridiculous about that sort of thing. I mean, even after we married, I told Kate I wanted her all the time, and showed her, but it took her months to believe it."

"Well, I think my actions made it clear. She should be in no doubt after this morning," Colin said before adding, "also yesterday afternoon."

"How much compromising have you been up to?" Anthony put up a hand. "Never mind that. I don't want to know. Did you tell her you want her?"

"I... assured her I don't behave as I did without offering marriage."

"Hmm. That's not quite the same. You might need to be more convincing. How did you ask?"

"I said, 'Are you going to marry me or not?'"

Anthony stared at him.

"And she chose not," Colin clarified.

"Hmm. First off, that does sound rather like a duty-bound proposal. But the real problem was how you worded it. 'Are you going to marry me... or not?'" Anthony leaned against the door, shaking his head. "Oh, Colin. You have so much to learn about women."

"I know it wasn't romantic, but..."

"You end with the words 'or not' and that's the last thing she hears. That's all she'll think about, reasons why not." Anthony started pacing, back and forth. "See, this is how their minds work. Women are constantly thinking things to death. Which is why you must be firm and decisive. 'You are going to marry me,' would have been best, then the last thing she hears is 'marry me,' so she's thinking about marriage. Hell, she'd probably start planning the wedding breakfast in her head. But 'or not...'" Anthony stilled and shook his head.

Colin pushed at him. "Oh, blast you! If you're not going to help..." He stilled. "You might have something there."

"Of course I do. Look, I can't say I completely understand the way a woman thinks, but—"

"Not that rot. The thing about... Kate not believing you want her. Because Penelope did insist I was joking at first, then said something or other about how I don't want to marry her, and then that I was only proposing because of duty or something like that."

"Because you weren't... firm... with... her," Anthony said emphatically.

"Well, I tried! If you were there, you'd have seen how impossible she is. Damn it, I barely got a word in!" He paced away. "God save us all from witty women! She kept talking circles around me until I barely knew what was what. But I won't let her get away with it this time!"

"See, now you're talking like a man," Anthony said proudly.

"I am a man! And I know my own mind!"

"That's the spirit!" Anthony slapped him on the back.

"If she thinks she can tell me what I want or don't want, then she has another think coming!"

"You tell her!"

Colin nodded firmly. "I'm going to march over there this minute and—"

"God, no! Don't do that," Anthony said loudly.

"But I—"

"You've had three whiskeys and you stole the rest of my brandy."

Colin looked down at the glass in his hand. "Ah, so I did."

"This is a delicate situation and must be approached rationally. You get yourself a good night's sleep."

"It's two o'clock in the afternoon."

"I mean tonight," Anthony said with a withering glance. "You can't go bombarding the girl more today. Do you want to muck it up further?"

"Of course not."

"Then you prepare your words — your very firm words — carefully and, with any luck, she won't talk any rings around you tomorrow."

Colin sighed. "Very well. But what should I—"

Anthony turned to the door suddenly. "Ah. I think I hear Kate." He turned back to Colin, gripping his shoulder. "Best of luck."

And then he was gone.

Colin didn't want to face his mother, nor anyone at the moment. He had too much to think about and would rather be alone. So he kept himself in the library until he heard Mother leave the hall before making his escape. And he'd nearly succeeded before practically plowing into Benedict at the door.

"Ah, Colin." His second-eldest brother smiled widely as he handed his hat and gloves to a footman. "I'd just been reminding myself to send you a note about it. This saves me the trouble."

"About what?"

"Tomorrow." Benedict smiled. "Shall we take my carriage or yours there?"

Colin tilted his head. "There to... what?"

"Rubens? Don't tell me you've forgotten." Benedict sighed. "We'd been planning to go for a month."

"Er... I'm dreadfully sorry." Colin had enough on his plate for tomorrow. "You'll have to send my regrets to... er..."

"To Rubens?" Benedict shook his head. "I don't think I can. The man's been dead for nearly two-hundred years."

"Oh. Yes. My... condolences then?" Colin tried.

"Very funny. The Rubens exhibition is only in town for another day and you must come with me. You're the only person in this family with a true appreciation of art. Didn't you say they fascinated you in Antwerp?"

Ah, the painter. Yes, he had some vague memory of him, also of planning this outing, but surely none of that mattered in light of what had transpired today. "Yes, but you see tomorrow... Can't Sophie..."

"God, that's the last thing Sophie wants to do. Apparently, calling her Rubenesque was the wrong thing to do, in her condition. In my defense, it was meant as a compliment." Benedict groaned. "Still, she's holed herself up with a stack of novels and says she doesn't want to see hide nor hair of me tomorrow. I don't blame her. I've been told I hover too much or some such nonsense," he finished with a wave of his hand. "Anyhow, tomorrow. I'll come collect you at two."

"Yes. Very well. Two," Colin said absently before finally wandering out the door.

He'd rather get out of it, but he didn't have the capacity to argue at the moment. And he had a long walk home, considering he'd sent his carriage back, something he only remembered after staring up and down Bruton Street for far too long before he realized it wasn't waiting.

He supposed he should be glad of the two mile walk to Bloomsbury. It gave him time to think, also to stop at Covent Garden where the The Piazza served a very good lunch, something he thought would quiet his mind. But he quite foolishly drank down three cups of coffee along with it, which sobered him up quite well but had him vibrating out of his skin until he ended up walking all the way back to Mayfair, all the while replaying this disastrous morning and wondering where he'd gone so wrong.

He found himself in front of her house again and quickly turned the other way. As tempted as he was to march in there and try a bit of that firmness right this second, he resisted, collecting himself in front of a florist's shop... which didn't help since the scent of roses everywhere only served to remind him of her, of the smell of her hair when it tumbled over his hands. He let himself breathe it in for a moment, reminding himself that this morning wasn't all disaster.

"See anything you fancy, sir?" The older woman said, half an eye on him as she cleaned up for the night. When the hell had it got so late?

"Yes, I think I do."

A few minutes later, Colin set down the indecently large bouquet on the Featherington doorstep. He'd bought out every red rose the florist had. If that didn't convince her...

Well, there was always tomorrow.

TBC

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

I wonder what Kate would think of Anthony's extremely wise advice that definitely won't backfire at all.

If you haven't read my original romance, The Lady Pursues, it's now in Paid Stories, but I promise it's worth it. Feel free to check it out or, if you want a freebie, my contemporary, Maybe It's Magic is free. It's some goofy, possibly magical, friends to lovers fun.

And catch me on Twitter @AWheelerRomance if you don't mind leftist snark, movie buff ramblings, and rants on fandom etiquette (don't even get me started on this fandom, y'all!)