Penelope had quite given up on napping. Eloise had urged her to rest before supper and Penelope had been dazed enough, after her time with Colin, to agree. Really, it would be best if she did. She shouldn't wish to yawn through dinner. And she had certainly exerted herself today, especially in comparison to her first three days here. Yet she found herself unable to stay still, let alone sleep.

Perhaps her body was restless after having had too much rest in the days before. Or perhaps it was all due to those moments with her husband after breakfast leaving her bewildered and prone to fidgeting. Not from the kissing, nor the flirting. Those had both been delightful — despite her sad attempts at the start — but they did leave her strangely unsettled, almost akin to the feeling of having an itch she couldn't reach.

She should feel very at ease. It had been a comfort to know that he did not truly wish to avoid being near her.

"I want it too much. That's the problem."

That's what Colin had said and she'd heartily disagreed that there was a problem at all. She wanted to be near him just as much, if not more. Yet he had this silly notion that she would be angry with him later, all because she'd been cross with him before.

And for what? He didn't even know and she certainly didn't remember. Whatever it was, it must have been some silly lovers' spat of little consequence.

God, but she wished she knew so she could properly dismiss his concerns and then perhaps spend as much time kissing him as she wished.

Really, she'd take knowing what her quarrel with Colin was over knowing the entire rest of her life at the present moment. There was also that mystery romance afoot and she'd been so distracted by her flirtation mission that she'd not even observed the couples in question during breakfast. So she still didn't quite know which Molly and Gert had been gossiping about. She only knew that one half was a Bridgerton.

She had decided it must be Eloise and Doctor Dorset or Benedict and Miss Edwina Sharma. Yet she'd observed no particular affection between either pairing this morning. An outlying possibility was Doctor Dorset and Francesca, but despite how wise she seemed for her years, she was but seventeen. Somewhere inside, she knew girls married younger, yet she could not see Violet Bridgerton, nor Anthony Bridgerton, allowing such a thing.

She heard a thump to her right and turned to the adjoining door. It must be Eloise, obviously not napping either. That was the other little mystery — whatever had happened between her and Eloise. Gert had known said quarrel existed, but not why.

In fact, if she was wishing, then perhaps she could just wish she knew everything, and now! Had she always been thus? Or was this curiosity killing her only because of her current state?

She groaned as she threw her covers off. It was torture. She'd rather blissfully know nothing than know just enough to tease her with all she didn't or couldn't know. Eloise was supposed to be her dearest friend, was she not? Perhaps she might finally take pity on her and give her just an inkling, just a jot of knowledge.

She very well might. She'd been very solicitous today, helping her to the sleighs and trying — yet failing — to partner her, sitting with her in church, then even sitting on the arm of her chair as she opened her presents and whispering very amusing commentary on each one... though Benedict's gift seemed to have given her pause. Penelope quite liked it, finally having a likeness of her husband, yet Eloise seemed strangely discomfited about it.

She rolled to her side and unrolled the sketch sitting on the nightstand. It really did capture Colin well. He was smiling but also with a furrowed brow, as if he was happy for now, but expected something to spoil it. Such a worrier, that husband of hers.

She heard another thump from beyond the adjoining door and decided, after two such noises, it would be rude if she didn't see what was what. Thankfully, the door was not locked, but what she saw, upon opening it, made her think it would be better if it had been.

Books were being tossed about willy-nilly and something inside her protested at the sight, at the tomes landing upon the floor, their spines sometimes crooked — and sometimes blessedly straight, but not enough to stop her from crying out...

"What on God's green earth are you doing to those poor books?"

Eloise stilled and thankfully, did not toss the book in her hand onto the growing pile. She lifted her chin. "I am changing the order of my personal library, as you see. I find it very relaxing in times of trouble."

"Well, I certainly don't." Penelope rushed in, picking up several from the floor. "Must you always make such a mess of your books, El? I've seen them left on tea trays and in the garden and the pages all bent and then you even write in them, which is—"

"That's what books are for, Pen," she said with a withering glance. "They are supposed to be well-loved, not treated like an antique vase. You're so precious about them, I'm surprised you don't handle yours with white gloves!"

"Wouldn't you, in my case? They are not easy to come by for me. Mama almost never lets me go to Hatchard's, let alone Hookams. She thinks girls with too many thoughts have ill luck attracting husbands."

Eloise snorted. "The next time she says that, I'd answer that it's only ill luck if one wants a husband without a thought in his—" Eloise stopped on a gasp. "Oh, my! Y-you knew all that."

"I did, didn't I?" Penelope went limp, the books dropping from her hands.

Eloise rushed to her, helping her to the bed. "At this time, perhaps there's something to be said for not having too many thoughts in one's head."

"No, this is good," Penelope choked out. "I want this."

"I'd believe you if you would breathe!" Eloise took a deep breath in, then out, gesturing for Penelope to follow.

She did, taking several deep breaths in and out before closing her eyes, trying to remember more. It all felt so close! She heard it, then — in her mind but so clear she had to open her eyes and look about to be certain no one else was in the room.

Penelope, put down that book at once! You shall confuse your thoughts.

A lady does not play, Penelope!

You are a meddlesome little wench!

How many times must I warn you to be wary of that window? Do you wish to appear like a befreckled beggar spending all day in the sun?

"I can almost hear this... voice in my head."

"Oh, God! That's not a good—"

"No, I promise I'm not going mad. It's like a memory plaguing me. I first heard it in my dreams, this strident tone... This shrewd-eyed woman who says my name as if always... irritated." She'd brushed that woman away, but perhaps she'd been too hasty. "I have this feeling it's... Is that my mother?" she asked, turning helplessly to Eloise.

Eloise stiffened. "You know we are not supposed to—"

"But I remember these... parts. These little moments my mind gives me sometimes, but it's never enough. Do you know what agony that is? It's like... like everyone around you knows everything and all they do is pat you on the head and tell you that you'll find out someday. Or... or like reading a book with missing pages and whole paragraphs covered over in black ink and then you turn the page and it crumbles and—"

"Enough!" Eloise shuddered. "Yes, I could see how that might be... agonizing. But for me to just tell you—"

"But telling me might help me remember myself!"

"Or it might make you remember things too soon!"

"What's wrong with that? I'd love to remember everything, and the sooner, the better," Penelope insisted.

"But then all this would be over! You and I would be back to..." Eloise trailed off, dropping herself back on the bed and covering her head with her hands. "Oh, God! I'm a horrible person."

"What? Of course you're not!"

"You don't know that," Eloise mumbled into her palms.

Penelope laid back on the bed as well. "Yes, I do. The minute I woke, yours was the first face I saw and I liked it immediately, even knowing nothing about you. I certainly wouldn't have felt that way if you weren't a good person."

Eloise turned to her. "That means almost nothing. Perhaps I simply have a kind face."

Penelope shook her head and laughed. "I wouldn't say that. You scrunch up your nose in disdain an awful lot. And that's not very kind."

Eloise pushed at her, but not very hard.

"But that doesn't mean you are not good," Penelope added.

Eloise frowned up at her canopy. "Perhaps I'm a good person who has horrible thoughts, and makes horrible choices at times."

Penelope laughed. "Isn't everyone?"

"It would be nice to see it that way." Eloise turned her head to her. "Sometimes people do things you don't understand and it's hard not to think... think that they were bad all along." Eloise sat up, suddenly. "But people amount to more than what they've done, don't they?"

Penelope sat up as well. "I suppose so. But I barely know what I've done, good or bad, so perhaps I'm not the one to ask."

Eloise stared at Penelope for a long time before she sighed, tucking her legs under her and turning fully to face Penelope. "I do understand the frustration, of being told what you can and cannot know. I've dealt with it my entire life. But what if I tell you things that... that you are not ready to hear?"

"About our quarrel?"

Eloise drew back. "What quarrel? I recall no—"

"I know we had one," Penelope broke in. "But I have no idea why. Please don't pretend it didn't happen, at the very least!"

Eloise glanced heavenward before meeting Penelope's eyes. "Yes. There was a quarrel. But it does not signify at this time."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means that it doesn't matter now. It means that I'd rather not spend what time we have together thinking about it. It means that I want to have a nice Christmas with my dearest friend without worrying about what happens later. It means that..." Eloise sighed again, heavily. "It means that you have every right to know all you wish, but that I don't want to be the person that has the... the responsibility of telling you."

Penelope sighed as well now. "I suppose I can understand it, not... not wanting to be the person bearing such a burden."

"No. It's not that I see it — or see you as a... a burden. If anything, I might burden you! I might get it wrong and muck you all up," Eloise said urgently. "There are things I don't know, things I... I wish I'd known, but did not..." She threw up her hands. "Pen, I don't know everything. I wish I did. Just on the whole, in life. But I don't."

Penelope knew the feeling all too well. "But you don't need to. You just need to know enough to tell me—" Penelope stopped herself at Eloise's near-panicked expression. "You don't even need to tell me anything outright. You just need to tell me if I've got it right."

"Meaning..."

"Well... You can tell me if what I am already remembering is true or not true."

Eloise seemed to consider it before saying carefully, "For example..."

"Well, that shrewd-eyed woman I keep seeing..." Penelope closed her eyes. "Is that, as I suspect, my mother?"

"Hmm... I suppose one could describe your mother as having shrewd eyes, also a rather shrewish manner. So that might be true." Eloise nudged her arm. "What else do you see?"

"She has red hair, darker than mine, and her eye-brows look perpetually disdainful and she purses her lips a lot."

"That's her, indeed," Eloise said quickly. "True!"

Penelope felt rather pleased that she'd got one right, opening her eyes and turning to Eloise. "So you said my mother liked bows and fripperies and that I did not..."

"That is also true, but I told you that one."

"But you see, after you told me, I remembered something else because of it; that she doesn't like me to have cream nor sugar in my tea until I've lost a stone or—"

"WHAT?" Eloise stood.

"Is that so bad?"

"It's awful! And there's worse! There was that week she had you eat nothing but leek broth and then it was boiled cabbage. I had to invite you to dinner as much as I could and practically force you to break her ridiculous edicts."

"Well... thank you for that?"

Eloise pointed a finger at her. "You said she'd stopped that, but I suppose that was another little—" Eloise shut her mouth quite suddenly, then squeezed her eyes shut. "I need to stop doing that." She took several deep breaths, then sat down again, tucking her feet under her. "True or false questions only, you!"

"Colin was rather cross about that tea business as well. He said it was cruel and he wouldn't allow it, especially not at Christmas."

Eloise snorted. "Of course Colin would say that. I wonder that he has any room for tea in his sugar."

"Anyhow, I'm sure that's all ended now that I'm married, has it not?" Penelope was starting to see why she'd married so young.

"I... I can't say," Eloise said, then said nothing else for what felt for too long.

The silence was too much and Penelope couldn't help asking, "Do you know so little about my married life because of our quarrel?"

Eloise turned sharply to her. "I thought you weren't going to make me talk about that."

"Very well, I won't. But couldn't you tell me if one thing I've remembered is true or false?"

Eloise considered it carefully. "I can't decide until I know what it is."

Penelope shook her head. "Perhaps I'd better not."

Eloise was silent again before groaning, "See, now you must or I shall wonder what it is."

"It might not be true," Penelope said hopefully. "It might have been no more than a dream."

"Aye, we'll see..."

Penelope closed her eyes, remembering the image. "I see you, your eyes fixed on me with such... disgust, saying, 'And what is your business, Pen?' And then I learned that we quarreled and—"

"From who? You never did say—"

"And I shall not. I... I don't think they meant to tell me."

"Damn that Colin!" Eloise stood again, pacing now. "I never thought he'd just blurt it out, considering we talked in confidence, or at least I thought—"

"It wasn't—"

"I suppose he did it so you didn't think too hard about your quarrel with him, tossing me right into the carriage's path!"

"So you know about my quarrel with Colin?" Penelope asked eagerly. "Because he didn't seem to know."

"No, I don't. But I'd wager he said some annoyingly glib thing. He does that a lot, likely so much he doesn't remember which obnoxious—"

"Truly, it wasn't him, I swear. I simply overheard something — and I shouldn't have been been eavesdropping in the first place — and then I asked about that thing, but then the... the person said this whole other thing and then I had to know..."

"What?" Eloise prodded.

"I shan't tell you who—"

"No, I mean what was the first thing?" Eloise sat on the bed again, fully facing Penelope now.

Penelope stared down, toying with the edge of her shift. "It was that there was something romantic going on and... Well, I was curious."

Eloise chuckled. "It was Molly, wasn't it? She's always going on about how romantic it is that Daph and Anthony make such cow eyes at their spouses, as if it doesn't sicken the rest of us."

"But it can't have been about them. They are already married. The person in question thought the... the pair in question would be married soon."

Eloise's eyes went wide. "Really! What precisely did they say?"

Penelope leaned forward, strangely eager to share it. "Well, one said they 'think it's romantic' and they bet they'd be 'married for certain before the week is out.' Then the other person disagreed. Then the first person said 'Do you see the way he looks at her?' and the second said it's 'nothing to how she looks at him' and thought it would end in heartache. But the first argued that 'he's so obviously in love with her' and then the second—"

"It was Molly, and Gert," Eloise said firmly.

"I shall not tell—"

"Doesn't matter. I can tell for myself." Eloise laughed. "Go on..."

"The second person said they shouldn't be talking about it."

"Obviously Gert.

Drat Eloise! She was far too clever. "Anyhow, the first said something about how it's fun to gossip... especially about the Bridgertons." Penelope put up a hand. "But I only mention that to say that at least one half of the couple in question must be a Bridgerton. And then the second said to stop eavesdropping and then I thought perhaps I should not be eavesdropping."

"I imagine that's not an easy thing for you," Eloise grunted.

Penelope tilted her head. "Is that so? Why? Am I a gossip?"

Eloise jolted then. "You... You have a penchant for gossip that I... I certainly don't share," she finished on a mumble. "Now what did they say next?"

"Well, if you dislike gossip, you might not want to hear—"

"Oh, very well. I also have a certain very small, absolutely minuscule, penchant for gossip. Nothing to others, obviously, but I'd still like to know."

Penelope couldn't help smiling as she went on. "Well, then the first person claimed it was 'not like I'm carrying tales to Lady Whistledown.' And then..." Penelope trailed off.

Eloise was staring at her strangely. "And then... what?"

"It's the funniest thing, but hearing that name made me feel... strange."

"Strange how?" Eloise prodded. "Guilty? Remorseful? Regretful?" she fired off.

"None of those," Penelope said. "It made me feel sort of... excited." Yet she'd quickly pushed the feeling away. "It felt like so... much, too much."

"Well, if it's too much, then we'd best not talk of Lady Whistledown," Eloise mumbled. "Anyway, what else did they say?"

"Nothing." Pen shook herself.

"Nothing?"

"They stopped gossiping and argued about chamber pots and who was to empty them and—"

"Aha!" Eloise seemed to shake herself as well. "So it was Molly and Gert!"

"Very well, yes! But I beg you not to blame them," Penelope pleaded. "They were just talking. I was the one eavesdropping!"

"I don't blame them. But I'd rather know their tendre for gossip than not. It might even prove useful to me." Eloise eyes gleamed a bit. "Just imagine how many tales they might have to tell about my brothers. With enough leverage, I could get them to take me to all sorts of places!" Eloise shook her head. "I'll save that for later. Anyhow, who were they talking about?"

"I don't know... for certain," Penelope hedged.

Eloise chuckled. "But you have your suspicions, don't you?"

"I certainly shouldn't speculate on suspicion alone."

"Oh, what rot. Even I am speculating and I don't care one jot who's romancing who," Eloise said with a grin.

"Very well, I have certain... speculations based upon who is eligible and who is a Bridgerton, but nothing I would say for certain."

Eloise tapped her chin. "Let me see. The unmarried and, hence, eligible Bridgertons are obviously Benedict and C... and... and... Francesca."

"And what of you?" Penelope asked, staring closely at her.

Eloise only laughed. "What of me?"

"Are you not unmarried and, hence, eligible?"

"I refuse that distinction, whatever Mother says," Eloise said firmly.

"So you have no wish to marry? Ever?"

Eloise shook her head. "I suppose I might, if Ton marriages were partnerships where the pair might indulge in scholarly pursuits and exchange ideas, improving their minds. But that is not what I've seen. I have no wish to be some spoiled little lordling's consort, where my worth is measured in birthing heirs and hosting tedious parties. And since those are the only marriages that I seem to be eligible for, I'd rather not partake," she finished with a shrug and a smile.

Poor Eloise! She thought her only choices were among the peerage, yet Mr. Dorset could give her just the sort of marriage she wanted. Penelope suddenly felt quite sad for her. She was putting on such a brave face about it, but all this talk must be upsetting her. In fact, Penelope was quite certain El's forbidden romance might be what was troubling her in the first place, making her tear down all her poor books. "Perhaps we shouldn't distract ourselves with idle gossip." Penelope stood. "It would be best to put these books back in order, don't you think?"

"Oh, I've quite lost interest in that. Let's just put them away whatever which way and be done." Eloise stood, picking up a pile and putting it back.

Penelope followed, confused. "But what about re-ordering them?"

Eloise put another pile on the shelves, and horizontally! "I only do such things in times of trouble and I feel significantly less troubled now." She turned to Penelope. "This was rather... nice."

"But what was troubling you before?" Penelope couldn't help but ask.

Eloise stiffened slightly. "Nothing of great concern. Perhaps it was just Christmas and all the... enforced merry-making. It gives me very little time to read."

"Or might it be something else?" Penelope prodded with a smile as she set the books to rights. "Or someone, making you so troubled?"

Eloise frowned heavily. "Yes, I might have been troubled before, but now I don't feel quite so—"

"An unrequited love, perhaps?"

Now Eloise turned to her, looking quite confused indeed. "Love?"

"Your family is so very kind, so very understanding." Penelope grasped her hand. "I'm certain they would have no objections if he is where your happiness lies."

"He? Happiness? Who?"

Penelope drew away. "Perhaps you do not trust me enough to tell me. Because of our quarrel."

"Pen, I do not know enough to tell you. In fact, I haven't the slightest clue what — or who — you're speaking of."

"Someone who would give you a marriage filled with scholarly pursuits and mind-improving ideas. Whatever disapproval you anticipate, I imagine it won't be so bad as all that. He is very well-respected."

"Very well..." Eloise threw up her hands. "Who is this well-respected paragon?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Penelope stared at her, waiting.

Eloise only stared back, also waiting, before bursting out, "Because, once again, I have no bloody clue who you are speaking of!"

"If you won't say it, then I will," Penelope finally answered. "Mr. Dorset."

"Mr. Dorset? Doctor Dorset?"

"He's the only eligible man in this house... that you are not related to, at least."

Eloise blinked at her, then suddenly burst out in laughter.

Penelope frowned, muttering, "Well, I thought it a reasonable deduction."

"Why? Just because we are both unmarried?" Eloise held her sides. "God, Pen!"

"Because he's a doctor and a scholar and—"

"And as old as the hills," Eloise said, still laughing. "Good Lord, he's as old as Anthony!"

"But he's handsome and affable," Penelope insisted, "and doesn't seem to think women are stupid."

"Look, he's a fine fellow," Eloise said, calming down a bit. "And I suppose I'd prefer a doctor over a little lordling, if I must be given the choice. But, as I have no interest in babies, why would I marry a doctor who is primarily concerned with the birthing of said babies?"

"But what if he's in love with you? They talked about how the man looked at—"

"I've never caught him looking at me. Have you?"

"Well... no."

"And the only conversations Doctor Dorset and I have had are about your health, and that one time he asked me where the billiards room was. I'd hardly say that constitutes a grand romance."

Penelope pursed her lips. "So... it must be Benedict and Miss Sharma?"

"What?" Eloise scoffed. "If Benedict was carrying some sort of tendre for anyone, he'd shout it from the rooftops or, at the very least, tell me when we have our nightly smo... smalltalk," Eloise finished awkwardly. "He's incapable of keeping secrets."

"Then what of Francesca?" Penelope tried. "Might she be interested in Mr. Dorset?"

Eloise rolled her eyes. "I highly doubt it. Like I said, he's ancient!"

"You said she was eligible and some girls might like older men."

"But she hasn't even been presented," Eloise said. "Trust me, Frannie is all that is proper. I've tried to influence her, but she takes her cues from Daph, unfortunately. She'd barely even look at a man before her presentation."

"Then there's no one else left." Penelope threw up her hands. "What other couple could Molly think is so desperately romantic that they'd be married by the end of the week?"

Eloise was silent for a while, then she sort of gasped.

"What?" Penelope prodded. "Who?"

Eloise seemed to collect herself. "It's obviously among the servants. You don't know them."

"But that doesn't count as gossiping about the Bridgert—"

"Yes, it does. What our staff does reflects upon us and... and scandalous romances under our roof feed into gossip, servant or not." Eloise took Penelope by the arm. "In fact, I know precisely who it is and I shall speak to the parties in question. Now shouldn't you be resting?" She steered her to the adjoining door.

"But will they be in trouble? I hate to think I—"

"Not at all." Eloise opened the door, pushing her through it. "I shall simply tell them to modify their behavior and all will be well. Thank you so very much for bringing it to my attention. And goodnight."

"But it's only two in the—" Penelope stopped, since she was talking to a closed door. She had half a mind to open it again, when she heard a throat clear behind her.

She turned to find a pretty maid with brown hair and a very nice smile holding one of her dresses — a dusty rose one.

"So sorry for the intrusion," she said, dipping slightly before moving toward Penelope. "I'd thought I'd best get started whether you were here or not. But I'm so glad you are. It will make this ever so much simpler." She took Penelope's hand, leading her to the larger area between the bed and dressing table. "Arms up now."

Penelope was slightly dazed, still looking back at the door. "I don't understand why—"

"No, you're right." The maid drew back, looking Penelope up and down and tapping her chin. "We'd best get your stays on first, if we want things accurate." She put the dress aside and moved to the wardrobe, pulling out the white, fitted garment before moving back to her. "There we are. Arms up?"

Penelope obeyed, not sure what else to do when faced with such an efficient person. "I still don't quite understand. What needs to be accurate?"

"Your alterations, of course," she said as if Penelope was silly for asking. The maid turned Penelope around to fasten the laces. "I've been looking through your frocks and, I must say, they sorely need it. Not that pretty green one, but the rest are so woefully out of fashion," she tutted.

"Well, then... That's very kind of you, er... Pardon me, but I don't know your name."

"Didn't Her Grace tell you I'd be coming?" She chuckled. "She'd said she would, but she's been a bit forgetful since Little Lady Belinda was born." She gestured for Penelope to put her arms up again and then lifted the dusty rose dress over them.

"So it was Daphne? Or... Her Grace?"

"Come now, you can call her what you wish. And yes. The poor dear is over-tired. Anyone would be. She refuses to hire a wet nurse, not that I blame her, but Little Lord Auggie is quite the terror as he is and he's been a bit jealous of his little sister." She laughed.

"I haven't met her yet. Nor you," Penelope hinted.

"Silly me! Babbling on when you've no clue who I am. I'm The Duchess' lady's maid, Miss Nolan." She dipped a slight curtsy. "Most still call me Rose, since I started as an upstairs maid. You can call me either. I'm not one for airs."

"It's very nice to meet you, Rose," Penelope said, muffled by the dress.

"Now, shall we?"

"Shall we what?"

"Her Grace thought I might tend to your mending."

"I didn't know I had mending."

"Oh, but you do. Someone just went about chopping off lace willy-nilly on nearly all your dresses, but that's nothing to the state of them on the whole. I'd be glad to aid you in some alterations as you've no lady's maid of your own with you. I've little enough to do as my mistress is out of her confinement dresses and trim as ever, the lucky lady. No alterations needed." She pulled the dress down and stepped back, assessing it. "Your poor little — or not so little — bosom. It's being strangled!"

"Oh, I'm... sorry?"

"Don't fret. It's nothing that can't be fixed."

"I suppose.... Perhaps I never got a proper trousseau? I'm beginning to think Colin... that is Mr. Bridgerton and I must have married in haste." She wondered if Rose might share a little something about that. She seemed quite chatty.

Rose stared at her a moment before blurting out, "Pins!" She rushed to the dressing table, then came back with a little box, putting several between her lips. "Don't you worry. I'm quite skilled at this. I haven't stuck a person yet."

Penelope sighed. Obviously Rose had also been told to tell her nothing, yet she was still so desperately curious about everything. She was almost ready to ask someone to turn her upside down and shake her until her memories fell back into place.

She didn't have much time to think about it as Rose kept turning her this way and that, pinning and tucking here and there, tutting all the way about her lovely figure, and her light that was, apparently, hiding under a bushel.

Something about that pricked at her mind.

Sometimes I think that mother of yours wants to keep you a child forever... hiding your light under a bushel...

The voice was disdainful, but she sensed it was also kind. Yet she couldn't place it.

"...and how lovely your eyes would look with a light blue satin, perhaps with a lace overlay," Rose was saying.

Penelope shook herself out of the memory, thinking that did sound rather nice, but she hadn't spied anything blue among her remaining frocks while Rose gave each the same treatment. By the end of their session, she'd seen dresses of cream, sage green, brown, and black — all pinned and tucked and tutted over.

"There now," Rose said merrily, carefully draping the black dress on top of the others. "It won't take more than a few adjustments and, I dare say, you will be in the first stare of fashion. I can get at least one ready for the morning, but not in time for supper, I'm afraid."

"No, that's perfectly fine. You are very kind to do this at all. I... I'm not sure if I have pocket money, but—"

"Oh, good gracious, no! I am paid very well. And I like to test my skills. These dresses shall be quite the challenge."

Penelope couldn't help but believe her as, when she'd caught herself in the mirror, every single frock looked more like a little girl's pinafore than a proper lady's dress. But Rose seemed to think she could make them all very elegant, indeed, and Penelope didn't think she was a maid to be gainsaid. "I thank you, all the same."

"You are very welcome. Now, before I take these with me, let's get you dressed for supper," Rose said briskly. "Are you certain you don't mind wearing the same gown as this morning?"

"Not at all, when the time comes." Penelope stretched now, noting that her arms and legs were a bit stiff and tired after all that. Perhaps that nap might be wise, after all.

"I rather think the time has come." Rose was holding out the green velvet dress.

"Surely it can't be supper time already." Penelope glanced at the window, noting the fading light. "Or perhaps it can."

"Time does fly," Rose said as she helped her into the dress. "I hope I can make your other frocks as lovely as this one. It truly does wonders for your figure and the contrast against your hair... It's absolutely irresistible!"

Penelope liked the sound of that, but quelled her smile. "I don't know about that. I was perfectly resistible this morning." Yes, he'd kissed her, but not nearly as much as he had the night before. And he claimed he wanted her "too much." But if that were so, then why did he leave her so... wanting? She wanted one, just one, uninterrupted kiss. The kind where neither stopped until they'd had their fill.

Rose said, leading her to the dressing table. "Ah, but with the right coiffure..."

"I'm not supposed to have my hair up."

"I shall take care with your injury. You will be dazzling, with your hair swept up on one side, a bit of scent, a bit of rouge, a bit of kohl on your eyelids, a bit of stain on your lips... You shall be like a whole new woman. And, trust me, no man will be able to resist."

Penelope laughed, thinking Rose obviously didn't know Colin very well but, still, it was all exciting enough that she no longer required a nap. "Do what you must," she said merrily.

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

Colin stared at the place-cards on the plates, noting that his was indeed next to Penelope's. Either they were set that way in the first place or Daphne, Fran, or Edwina had gotten there to change them before he...Well, maybe he wouldn't have. Or maybe he would have. Maybe he should change them back now. That would be the responsible—

"You!"

Colin started, turning to see Eloise in the dining room doorway. "Me?"

"What do you think you are doing?" Eloise marched toward him, then plucked up Penelope's place card.

"I could ask you the same thing," he growled, reaching to take it back.

"I am stopping your nonsense." Eloise held it away, poking at his chest with the other hand. "The pair of you already sat together at breakfast and now you're putting her next to you at supper? Have you even thought about how that looks? What sort of gossip you are inviting?"

Colin flushed and drew back, no longer reaching for the card. "I'll have you know that her card was here from the start. I was actually considering changing it!" It was true... sort of.

"Well, allow me to fix that." Eloise marched down and around the table before placing it on a plate near the foot, then plucked up another card, coming back to put it on the plate next to Colin. "There. Pen sits with me and you sit with Ben. That should fix it."

"Fix what?"

"Your mess, that's what!" Eloise folded her arms, giving him one of her "why are you such an idiot?" looks. And it was really unfair when she was the one being cryptic.

"And what mess is that?"

"So you don't know?" Eloise rolled her eyes. "I'd thought word might have gotten around, the way the maids gossip."

Colin quickly turned to the table, needlessly straightening his own place-card, hoping it hid his wide eyes and his pounding heart. Had they been seen? His mind frantically searched for reasons. He was removing something from her eye. She was faint and he caught her and their lips touched by complete accident. She was having trouble breathing and he assisted her.

Yes, that felt like it could be true. He had witnessed such a thing on his travels. Of course, it was someone who'd been drowning, and there was no excess water in the drawing room, damn it!

"... wrong idea and you need to stop," Eloise was saying.

Somehow, he'd missed everything preceding that. "Stop what?" Colin decided to brazen it out. "I've done nothing."

"I'm not saying you have, at least not on purpose!"

Colin let out a breath and turned to his sister. She must not know about the kissing. If she had, he suspected she'd give him more than some harsh words. "I'm sure whatever is being said is obviously exaggerated."

"It very well might be, but if you keep providing such gossip fodder, word might spread even further. I know you are only concerned for her welfare, but now that you know people are getting the wrong idea, you must stop."

"Stop what, precisely?" His relief had turned to annoyance. Yes, certain things might have happened privately, but he'd been extremely careful in public!

"First, you need to stop looking at her so much," Eloise said, ticking it off on a finger. "Second, you need to stop hovering over her," she said, ticking it off on her thumb. "Third, you need to tell Benedict to not give her inappropriate sketches... Oh, never mind. I'll do that. He's more likely to listen to me."

"Good, then. I... what?"

"Benedict gave her this ridiculously romantic looking sketch of you, and such a gift might make people think the pair of you were," here, she shuddered, "sweethearts."

"Did he?" Colin had thought Ben had made some sort of terrible caricature, as he'd done before, but this... It made him want to finally look at Ben's present to him.

"Fourth, you must stop belly-aching about what she eats."

Colin tilted his head. "Are people talking about that?"

"No, I just find it very irritating and I'd wager she does, too."

"She might not."

"Even if she doesn't, it's too... husbandly." Eloise held up her fourth finger. "And before you say it's because she still thinks you are her husband, I think she's got the idea, so you can stop playacting."

He felt even more annoyed now. None of this was an act to him. He was genuinely concerned about her. In fact, everything she'd listed was very benign and shouldn't be fodder for gossip at all.

But it would be, wouldn't it, if someone had seen the rest?

Damn it, he was still annoyed, as much as he'd been annoyed at Anthony when he'd said Colin's friendly gestures were being talked about. Was he supposed to act like Penelope was some distant acquaintance of his? Even if he was not pretending to be her husband, this idea that their innocent friendship was so scrutinized was offensive to him!

But how innocent was it last night, and this morning?

It didn't signify because no one knew about that — Well, apart from Benedict. Actually, perhaps it was for the best that they were sitting together. With Benedict's penchant for spilling secrets, Colin would have to make it perfectly clear that their talks today must remain strictly confidential.

"Very well. I will... curtail my perfectly reasonable behavior if it's causing ridiculous gossip for no good reason," he grunted, gesturing to Eloise. "What's the last finger for?"

Eloise stared at her hand. "Hmmm. I hadn't thought of that." She smiled then. "You get me books for Christmas. No bonnets, no hair clips, no shawls." She poked him in the chest with her smallest finger. "And no romance books! Sciences only!"

Colin found himself smiling a little bit, too. "So I didn't catch you reading several of those books 'by a lady' several times? Prizes and Prejudice or—"

"It's Pride and Prejudice." Eloise huffed. "It's not that I don't enjoy them. I just don't trust you to pick the good ones and not come home with Miss Butterworth and all her nonsense."

"I've caught you reading those, too," Colin pointed out with a grin.

"I'll have you know that was all in fun. Penelope and I made a game of reading passages without laughing, you see. Neither of us ever made it far. We just fell all over each other at that flowery nonsense."

Now he was imagining Penelope, her cheeks pink, laughing uproariously... except she wasn't falling all over Eloise, but him.

Dash it, El was right. He needed to stop.

It wasn't wasn't easy, though. When Pen came into supper, again in that lovely green thing, he could barely keep himself from looking at her "too much." Her hair was artfully twisted up on one side, then loose and flowing over her shoulder on the other. And her eyes stood out starkly, her darkened lashes fluttering. And her cheeks were pink, as if she was continually blushing, and her lips...

She'd been painted. He'd seen women with painted faces before, but it always looked so garish and exaggerated. Yet he liked it on her. Whatever had been done to Pen, it only highlighted what was already there. Ten feet down and across from her, yet he could see every expression on her face so damned clearly. El and Edwina were both at her sides, and he could see each time she hid a laugh or blushed or particularly enjoyed a bite or looked sort of... lost.

At moments like that, her eyes seemed to turn to him in a way that made him feel like he should rush to her and assure her of... something. Anything. Whatever she needed. But then she looked away and he thought it best that he not leap across the table, and land on the pile of creamed potatoes in front of her just to ask her what might be troubling her.

To be fair, he didn't spend all his time observing her. He did take some time to eat, and to swear his brother to secrecy about his earlier confessions, at which Ben seemed affronted.

"I didn't and wouldn't tell a soul. I might let loose when Anthony is hoarding good brandy or when something is particularly funny, but I would never jeopardize something like this."

"Something like... What does that mean?"

Ben had stared at him closely a moment before speaking. "This situation is far too delicate. Any slight movement could tear it to bits. So I shall not interfere."

Colin frowned. "Have you been talking to El?"

"Not much today. Why?"

"She thinks I need to stop looking at Pen or hovering over her or fussing about her," Colin grumbled. "She thinks it's causing gossip."

"Oh, that?" Benedict laughed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. It's just some maids speculating, not as if they know anything."

"So you know about that, too?"

Ben shrugged. "Of course. I know everything that goes on. It's exhausting. Anyhow, I shan't upset this delicate balance. Though I will say you should be more cautious the next time."

"The next time?"

"The next time you have her alone. Be sure to be somewhere with doors that lock, at least. The drawing room is far too open."

"I... I don't plan on having her alone."

Ben laughed. "And yet you will."

Colin wanted to inform his brother hotly that he certainly would not, but then Ben turned to Dorset, asking what books he had with depictions of muscles and sinew as he'd like to have a better grasp on how the body moves under the skin. It put Colin completely off the roast beef, so much that he had to help himself to the rest of the potatoes for sustenance, something that Hyacinth, on his other side, loudly protested until he was forced to push half onto her plate.

He didn't care much. He'd never been so happy to see supper end. He hadn't even been able to greet Penelope, with the way El and Edwina monopolized her. At one point, Edwina had whispered something to her that made her entire face as flushed as her cheeks. Surely, it wouldn't be gossip fodder to simply ask her what that was, or how she'd fared since this morning.

Yet, as he entered the drawing room, he was waylaid by Daphne. He'd been ready to protest, but then he found a baby in his arms and... Well, he nearly melted on the spot.

"I thought it was about time you and Belinda were acquainted," Daphne said softly, being sure he had a good hold on her before stepping back.

Colin might have once felt scared, holding a little one such as this, but Auggie had trained him. The little scamp wriggled around so much that Colin had found pain in muscles he didn't know he had after caring for him. But his little sister was a very tranquil sort of thing. Colin bounced her slightly, smelling her sweet scent and staring into her wide, curious eyes. "Belinda, is it? Very pleased to meet you."

Belinda had no answer, of course, but she did grasp the end of his cravat and put it in her mouth, which he found to be a ringing endorsement of his character.

He couldn't wait to sneak her biscuits, and hold her above his head, and let her stand on his boots while he stomped about as he did with her brother. There would be plenty of time for that. For now, he rather liked cuddling her small, helpless form as she stared at him as if he was a fascinating oddity.

"You look rather handsome, holding a baby."

He found the hairs on his neck standing up, and not just because Belinda was pulling even more forcefully on his cravat, but because it was Penelope who had said it.

He glanced up at her, then about, but was surprised to find Daphne wasn't there anymore. No one was. It was just the two of them and this baby in their little corner. Something about it felt so intimate.

Penelope moved closer, caressing Belinda's downy head before leaning forward, pressing her nose against it and breathing in her sweet scent. "An accessory such as this makes anyone look lovely, not that you need the help."

Colin felt himself blushing and he covered it with a laugh. "Well, I shall keep that in mind. Some men adorn themselves with fancy canes or hats—"

"Ah, but those rarely giggle when you tickle them." Penelope wriggled her fingers against Belinda's side, at which she let out a squeak and turned to Penelope, her eyes widening further — probably at the sight of her bright, red hair.

"Yes, this is a much more entertaining accessory," Colin agreed, laughing in earnest now as Belinda eagerly grasped at one of Penelope's curls. "Perhaps they shall be all the rage next season. Men, women... they shall show them off at every event."

"I shall have to borrow this one for all occasions," Penelope agreed on a laugh. "Or perhaps I shall keep this one," she said, trying to pull her hair free. "She seems unwilling to part from me."

"Belinda!" Daphne was suddenly there, opening her daughter's little fist. "She cannot be trusted around hair, particularly the curly sort. She just attacks it!" Daphne pulled her from Colin's arms, chiding her daughter. "She also has a fascination for jewelry and spectacles, the naughty little grabber!"

"I certainly don't mind," Penelope said. "It was the most adorable attack I've ever suffered."

"Well, I'm sure she appreciates that, but it's still time for her to go to bed. Say goodnight, Belinda," Daphne sang to the room at large.

Belinda, of course, only gurgled and nuzzled her mother's neck, but everyone agreed that she did it in such a way that she knew what "goodnight" meant. Eloise, of course, thought it was far too early for that, but was shushed by Francesca.

Penelope let out a rather loud yawn as Daphne walked away.

Colin turned to find her rolling her neck and then clasping her hands while stretching her arms in front of her. He quickly looked away, but not before he saw how the movement pressed her breasts together. "Tired?" he choked out or, rather, squeaked before making the mistake of looking at her again.

"Not quite yet," she said, meeting his eyes with her darkly lined orbs, her berry-stained lips quirking into a half smile. "I find myself... restless," she finished with more breath than speech.

His knees didn't buckle, but they would have if he hadn't stiffened, pulling himself to his full height, also pulling his gaze away. "Perhaps some warm milk from the kitchens," he groaned.

"I was thinking of something more... stimulating to send me to bed."

Good God! How was he supposed to protect her from gossip if she kept talking like that? Was she trying to kill him?

"I had the perfect book picked out," she went on.

He found himself un-clenching. God, what an idiot he was. Pen was an innocent. It was his own degenerate mind that kept turning her perfectly wholesome words into filth!

"Unfortunately, I left it in the library, on the table," she sighed, as if it were some far away place. "I'm far too tired to—"

"I'll get it," he volunteered eagerly, turning back to her.

"Oh, would you?" She blinked up at him, her lashes fluttering... in gratitude, obviously. The fact that he felt stirred by such a thing was his own fault.

"Of course!" He rushed off, quite proud of himself, taking steps to end this night innocently. Nothing scandalous or gossip foddery about it. He would simply collect her book and present it to her. Easy enough.

Or not.

He stilled and stared at the tall table in the center of the room. It was always covered in books as no one ever wanted to return their choices to the shelves, apparently. How was he to know which she wanted?

He was holding up a tome on the meaning of flowers and another of Omar Kayyam's poetry when he heard the door close behind him.

He turned, his eyes widening at the sight of Penelope turning the key in the lock.