"There are none so blind as those who will not see," Eloise said as she paced past Colin, back to the bed.

"What?" Colin wheezed, hunched over with his arms — very belatedly — protecting his belly.

"It's a saying that was haunting me this morning. It was Swift... or was it Heywood?" El shook her head as she plucked up one of the letters still scattered on the bed. "Doesn't matter which. What matters is that it felt quite true for me." She dropped it and picked up another. "I didn't want to see it, so I didn't... even when I did. Do you see what I mean?"

"No. And you must forgive me." Colin grunted peevishly. "You see, I just took an unexpected blow to the stomach — and just after breakfast — with no warning. I was not expecting such violence in my own home or I would have blocked—"

"I'm glad you did not." She shrugged. "You deserved it."

Colin actually couldn't deny that, from what he knew of his behavior these last days. But Eloise didn't know all that.

Then again, Eloise must know at least some of it — hence the violence. He straightened, reminding himself to be on his guard. He'd like to think he'd gotten stronger, harder, especially on this last voyage. He'd even done a little training in the boxing ring before leaving to be certain he could fight off the odd cutpurse. But a man doesn't expect that kind of attack at home from his own sister.

Yes. That was why it hurt. He just didn't see it coming. No other reason.

"I never saw it, not even when it was right under my nose," Eloise was saying, now examining another letter, "and now I see it's been going on for longer than I might have ever suspected."

"What?"

She whirled on him, crumpling a letter in her fist. "Your vile seduction of Penelope!"

"What?"

"You keep saying 'what'," she hissed, tossing it at him. "Do you think it's fooling me? Do you think it's supporting your defense of supposed obliviousness? Well, it isn't. Not anymore. I know too much."

"Vile seduction," Colin repeated, his lip curling at the accusation. "What do you know about that? I haven't even... What a preposterous..." He sputtered. "Where would you even get such an idea as..." He took a step away from her at her very withering, practically shriveling, look. He bent to pick up the wrinkled letter, smoothing it out for what felt like too long a time before he glanced up, finally asking, "Ben said something, didn't he?"

El just shrugged. "Ben is awful at keeping secrets."

"Yes, he really is the worst sort of confidante. Even when he tries to whisper a secret, he does it so loudly that it might as well be a shout," Colin said, forcing a laugh and hoping to lighten the air.

"Indeed. So I really thought I'd get more out of him," Eloise went on, not sounding any lighter as she paced back to the bed. "But the most I got from him was that he thinks a few kisses aren't enough to get outraged about. Speaking of that..." She turned back swiftly, but Colin was ready for her this time, thrusting his arm up to block her blow. Eloise pulled her arm back, shaking out her wrist. "That hurt!"

"Then stop trying to hit me," he growled.

"Then stop stopping me," she growled back. "I think you're past due for it, what with how long you've been seducing my dearest friend!"

"I thought Penelope wasn't your dearest friend anymore!"

"No!" She poked a finger at the air between them. "This has nothing to do with that." She started pacing again, back and forth, bed to wall, and so fast he felt almost dizzy. "You see, at first, I thought it was just Mama trying to make misguided matches... which I wholly disagree with! That was bad enough, but then there's you playing into it. God! Or maybe you were orchestrating the whole thing like the vile seducer you so obviously are!"

"Here now, I am no seducer," Colin protested, "vile or otherwise!"

Eloise scoffed loudly. "How do you work that out? You've been writing to her and kissing her and—"

"But the fact remains that I have not seduced Penelope!"

"Oh, yes, you have. Seducing a person doesn't have to mean visiting the whole... farm, you know!" Eloise held up a hand. "And yes. I now know what you meant now. I read an entire book on animal husbandry. It was actually disgusting, but very helpful, so thank you for that." She shook her head again. "But that's beside the point. Seduction is more than that awful nonsense. Seduction is the act of leading an innocent astray and you've quite enthusiastically done that!"

"My intentions are honorable," Colin protested.

"So you intend to marry her?" Eloise demanded.

"Of course I do," he said firmly. He might have only decided so this morning, but that didn't make him any less determined.

"And how is that honorable?"

"What?" Colin was ready to pull at his hair now. "That's the very definition of honorable intentions!"

"That's society's definition of honorable intentions, which is extremely narrow," Eloise said hotly. "Honorable means more than marrying some poor chit because you have led her astray. It means having honor, it means being trustworthy, it means not leading her astray into a pretend marriage and kissing her at every possible—"

"I do have honor! I'll have you know I'd have kissed Penelope a hell of a lot more if I had none!"

Eloise curled her hand into a fist. "It's as if you are begging me to hit you again," she marveled, staring at it.

He backed away, not wishing to hurt her again, but also not wishing to be hurt himself. "So we are in agreement. Penelope must not be led astray any longer."

"I think you and I have very different definitions of agreeme—"

"She needs to know," Colin cut in.

Eloise only stared blankly at him. "Know what, precisely?"

"Everything she doesn't know," Colin sighed. "You have letters that she wrote. Her words, more than anyone else's, could help her to remember—"

"No." Eloise shook her her head. "She's not to be told things. Wasn't that one of the rules? That might hurt more than hel—"

"But it won't. I have thought upon it all morning and have finally decided—"

"You are not the only one that gets to decide," El broke in.

"I know that! Why do you think I'm still in here with you despite your violent tendencies?" Colin asked in a rush, taking her by the shoulders. "I know you care for her as much as I do. As the two who know her best—"

"I mean that Penelope decides what she wants to know," Eloise said, shrugging him off. "And until she is well enough to truly decide—"

"But she wants to know! She's been begging to know! And she must be well enough now. Doctor Dorset said the swelling had gone down. Perhaps that means she's ready to—"

"I can't just hand over those letters when we don't even know what—"

"She read my letters. She said she never felt faint."

"And what information do your letters have?" Eloise stumbled to the bed, picking one up. "Yes, this one tells her all about the soft sand in Cypress. Very informative." She picked up another. "And this one goes into great detail about spanima... skanima..."

"Spanakopita," Colin supplied. "It's a pastry with spinach and—"

"Once again, I do not want to hear about it if it's not on my plate," Eloise cut in rudely before picking up another letter. "This one talks about the waters in Sardinia and how the blue is so like Penelope's eyes that..." She trailed off, dropping the letter. "This is just sickening."

"Penelope didn't seem to mind," he muttered lowly.

"She must have minded," Eloise scoffed. "I'd wager this nonsense is why she stopped speaking to you in the first place."

Colin shook his head. "I thought that, too. But she'd actually left most of them unopened until this morning," Colin muttered. "I still haven't the faintest idea why she was angry with me before."

Eloise rolled her eyes. "Anyhow, you said before that Penelope's memories are supposed to come to her naturally, not be fed to her."

"But don't you see? Her memories cannot come naturally," Colin insisted, "not without help, for God's sake! And not while she doesn't know what's what. Which is why her letters to you will help her remember without... without... without..." Without us having to tell her!

It was a horrible, cowardly thought, but there it was!

He couldn't fathom telling her that these last two days — God, had it only been two days? So much had changed that it felt like months! — had been a lie. He couldn't bear to be the means of hurting her, of dimming the sparkle in her eyes, of her thinking that all they'd shared had been based on a lie.

Because it hadn't been! The lie felt too damned much like the truth. That moment when she proclaimed he was her husband, he barely even blinked before agreeing. Even after everyone started in on him, asked him what the hell he was doing, he didn't feel sorry for having done it. Because it felt so...

Eloise was snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Without what?" she asked when she finally had his attention again. "Without pain?" Eloise stilled and squeezed her eyes shut. "There's going to be pain, no matter what, Colin, when she knows."

"I think we can take it," he said, only half-believing it. Because as much as the truth might hurt them all, it was still the truth.

Eloise squeezed her eyes shut. "But can she?"

"I just told you that she did well enough with my letters. I think one of her own will get her closer to remembering," he insisted, wondering why El kept shaking her head when this was the answer. "Look..." He stalked off to Eloise's room. "I'm not saying to give her your letters, just her own. We can even look at them first to be certain there's nothing too difficult to—"

"No," Eloise said, and quite loudly. "All of it will be too difficult."

"But she needs this." He held up one of the pamphlets, the very ones he vowed never to read. "For God's sake, she thought she was Lady Whistledown herself." He turned to Eloise, laughing.

Except Eloise wasn't laughing. She stood in the doorway between the rooms, looking like she might be sick at any moment. "That's... That's not something to accuse someone of lightly."

"I wasn't accusing. I was just giving an example of—"

"Well, good then. Because one needs evidence before going about saying things like that," El said shakily. "Let's leave it alone."

Colin stared more closely at his sister now. Her hands were still, but fidgeting at her sides. It was one of Eloise's classic tells.

And then she moved to the bed, trying to shuffle the Whistledowns together. "Let's put these away too. They aren't helping anything," she said stiffly before yanking the pamphlet from Colin's hand.

He backed away as she stuffed them back into the box, shoving it under the bed. He shook his head. "No."

Eloise straightened. "No what?"

"Penelope is not Lady Whistledown."

"I never said she was," Eloise said in a rush.

"But you turned pale as a ghost the moment I said—"

"Even if she was, it would not be something she needs to know."

"Good. Because it's not true," Colin said, not even believing himself.

"Precisely."

Colin stumbled backward.

"Oh, God!" Eloise rushed to take his arm, leading him to the window seat. "Sit down!"

He did, barely conscious of doing it, still shaking his head. "No. There's no possible way..."

"Just stay here," she said. "I'll be back."

Colin barely heard the door close over the noise in his head. It sounded like waves crashing, over and over, as the implications set in. He had actively avoided reading that cursed pamphlet for several reasons...

The first had been the way that old harridan wrote about Penelope. While he did sometimes suspect Eloise might be behind it, and Eloise was certainly clever and opinionated enough, he'd never thought she'd write of Penelope in such a way.

El also tried to get out of balls and parties too much to be the person who wrote about every single one. He'd actually thought it could be Cressida Cowper, except he'd heard her insults and they were never clever at all.

His second reason he'd never read was because he found her descriptions of him a bit embarrassing, as if he were nothing but some empty-headed charmer. Really, until his mother handed him that issue the morning he was sneaking out to elope with Marina, he'd barely read a word. After... God, just the thought of his stupidity made Lady Whistledown no more than a reminder of what had nearly been his greatest folly.

By the time Eloise was exposed as a "political radical," he'd long since considered Lady Whistledown a nosy old shrew and not worth a second thought. But now...

He stood, moving slowly to the bed, reaching under for that box, then pulling his hand back as if it would bite him.

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. Not Penelope. Not sweet, self-effacing, always willing to listen...

Was that why she was always willing to listen?

The thought made him feel almost ill. But he reached under, pulling out the box, ignoring his dread.

He spilled them out on the bed again. There were far more of these than there were of his letters. It would take a half-dozen beds to spread them out. He didn't quite know where to start, so he shut his eyes, blindly reaching for one.

"Stop!" he heard.

He turned to the door to find El, awkwardly pulling it open with a bottle and a glass tucked under one arm.

"I nicked this from Anthony's study. I figured you'd need it." She shut the door, sighing and moving to her dressing table. "This isn't the sort of news one can take without a drink... or five?" She poured him a generous glass before holding it out.

"What is it?" he asked before realizing he didn't care, knocking back half the glass.

"Rum. He doesn't like it much, so I think he's least likely to care if it's missing."

He'd actually developed a bit of a taste for rum. It was popular among sailors, who claimed it prevented scurvy and preserved food and all number of things. Maybe it did, but he always suspected it was just the cheapest way to keep a fleet of men from going mad.

He hoped it worked for him now.

He drank down the rest before he spoke again. "So it's true, then."

Eloise only took his glass to pour him another, slightly less generous helping. "I wish I had this when I found out."

"You don't need it now?"

"God, no! I think I learned my lesson after Christmas Eve," Eloise groaned. "I had the very devil of a headache when I was forced out of bed and into church yesterday morning."

"How was that all yesterday?" he breathed, taking the glass again. "It feels like a week ago."

"A lot has happened. More than we usually have to contend with over a holiday."

"So are you saying Penelope is Lady–"

"I didn't say that," Eloise cut in.

"So she isn't?" He tried hopefully.

"I didn't say that either," she said, dashing his hopes.

He took the window seat again, still feeling unsteady. "When did you find out?"

"The night of her family's ball. She said something, some bit of gossip about... God, I don't even remember about who now. But it sparked something and, before I knew it, I had torn her room apart, looking for proof."

"And what proof did you find?"

"Money. Hidden under the floorboards."

"How is that proof of—"

"A lot of money," she clarified.

He nodded, staring into his drink. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Why would I tell you or anyone? I was quite ready to take her secret to my grave, along with my vow never to speak to her again," Eloise muttered. "I never meant to let it slip like this."

"You didn't, not really."

"Well, my face did, apparently." She paced to the bed before turning back to him. "It's hard, isn't it? Reconciling Pen — our Pen — with that woman," she said, almost to herself. "She's always been kind, caring, interested in whatever you have to say..." Her face darkened with a scowl. "Then you think that maybe that's why. She never cared at all. She just wanted to be close to us to know our secrets, to share our secrets and—"

"No, that's... that's not Penelope," he said, even though he'd had the same horrifying thought a moment ago.

"But what if it is?" She sat on her bed, staring at the pile of pamphlets. "What if she only befriended me to be close enough to know our family's—"

"But it couldn't be. The pair of you were friends long before that woman started her scribblings."

"Yes, I know. I've considered that as well." She frowned heavily. "It would have been an easy answer, though, wouldn't it?" She sighed, facing him again. "So you see now, why I didn't want her to read her letters? All the ones I have here are since we... fell out. I left them unopened when she sent them. I even considered burning them."

"So you haven't read them?"

"I have now. I did it after her fall, on the second day she laid in that bed, unmoving. I just... I suppose I wanted to hear her voice again in case I never... Well, you know how we all felt then."

He nodded. It had been a scary time.

"The way she writes," Eloise went on, "reading her words is almost like hearing her voice and I found it comforting at the time."

He nodded again. "Yes, when she wrote to me, it always felt like... like she was right there."

"I hear her in Whistledown, when I read it now. I probably would have heard it before, if I'd only paid attention to what she said. I think I was always so much more concerned with being heard. I never really listened."

"So this was why you two fell out?"

Eloise only nodded back.

"Because of what she wrote about you?"

"It wasn't only that. I told myself that's why I was angry at the time. I told myself I was angry about what she wrote about Marina. I told myself that she was never my friend in the first place. But, the more I think about it, the more I feel it's because she had this secret, this massive secret, and she didn't want to tell me. God, she told Madame Delacroix and not me, her supposed best—"

"Madame Delacroix? The modiste? She knows?"

"I actually thought she was Lady Whistledown, several times actually. Penelope explained it all in her letters. I suppose she thought if she told me everything — how it started, how she did it— that I would trust her again," Eloise said softly.

"And do you?"

Eloise sucked in a deep breath. "I can't answer that. But it was nice, finally having all the answers I'd been searching for for over a... God, I truly spent more than year trying to find her. Madame Delacroix had been one of my bigger suspects, considering all a modiste hears as she pins and drapes. It was only when Theo told me about the dresses that I again—"

"Who's Theo?" Colin broke in.

"That's not important," Eloise said, though Colin noted her slight blush. "Anyhow, Delacroix was half the answer. She was helping her get the issues to the printer, sewing them into dresses."

"So all this time, Madame—"

"Nay, it was not the whole time. I learned that once I finally read her letters. Apparently, she started out delivering them herself, hiring hacks in the middle of the night and—"

Colin stood. "What?"

"Yes, she'd disguise herself as a maid, put on an Irish accent and—"

"How would that protect her?"

Eloise shrugged. "Apparently, it didn't. Since Madame Delacroix found her out and then she had to—"

"I don't mean from being found out! I mean from all manner of thieves and reckless men out to... God, I can't even say it!"

"You do realize Penelope was never carried off by highwaymen," Eloise said with a withering glance.

"I don't care! A young lady does not run about, unchaperoned, at night, in hacks—"

"Why does that matter so much?"

"You would say that," he said, pacing now. "After your own reckless antics!"

"Ugh! You sound like Anthony!" Eloise stood and moved to the window seat. "Stop doing that!"

"God, at least you took a proper family carriage and a servant to your little rallies, though you've never said which servant—"

"Nor will I. I'm much better at keeping secrets than Ben... though that doesn't apply to this last hour," she finished on a mumble as she pulled a metal case from beneath the cushions.

"How long was she running about by herself?"

"I don't know. A year?" El said, also pulling out a book of matches now.

"What? That reckless, ridiculous..."

"Could you please stop harping on about what carriage she used?"

"She didn't even use a proper carriage! She hired hacks!"

"You are getting angry about the wrong thing." Eloise opened the window, then lit one her nasty little sticks. "Penelope is Lady Whistledown! How she did it doesn't matter as much as that she did it! Lord, I wish I'd hired hacks for my little adventures. I might have avoided that nasty business with the Queen."

Colin stilled and stared at his sister now. "What?"

"You're going to need to find another word soon. You've used that one up," she said, blowing a stream of smoke out the window.

"Must you smoke your awful little cigars now?"

"They're papelates," she said, taking another pull. "And I find them wonderfully relaxing. Anyway, go over there, if it bothers you so much." She waved vaguely toward the bed.

"I can't. It's covered in... Lady Whistledown," he said, shaking his head as he stared at the pamphlets littering the bed before turning back to his sister. "I still can't believe it. I wish I never—"

"Then forget it," Eloise said, tapping a finger on her little cigar... or papelate, letting the ash fall out the window. "Penelope did. I wish I could."

"I still don't understand. How did this start? How did Madame Delacroix get involved? What does the Queen, of all people, have to do with any of this?"

Eloise let out a long sigh, taking another pull from her papelate. "If you truly want to know all of that, you will have to do what no Bridgerton, barring Ben, has ever done."

He waited for her to elaborate. "Which is?"

"Sit down and listen. To me."

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

Penelope had been a bit miffed, having been shoved unceremoniously out her door and practically into the snow. But it was hard to be miffed for long, especially in the company of Benedict Bridgerton, who was so full of merriment that it was hard not to join him in it.

Once she had on a warmer cape from Daphne (her own was hung in the front hall and considered too flimsy for the snow) and her new mittens, she felt warm enough to venture out.

And Penelope did enjoy her time in the snow, even if she spent the first half of it waiting and watching, thinking Eloise and Colin — perhaps especially Colin — would come stomping through the snow to join her at some point. He had promised to protect her, after all.

Gregory did his best, though, taking it upon himself to shield her from the worst of Hyacinth's snow missiles when the snowball war started in earnest. And Benedict was her partner on three rides down what was either Suicide Hill or Death Mountain (Hyacinth and Gregory never did come to a consensus on the name), which was great fun.

It was all very enjoyable and she reflected that this must be something she'd always loved. She had vague memories that told her that was odd of her, that one should never enjoy being cold or wet or, God forbid, both. But then she looked at the glorious chaos around her, every Bridgerton — or Hastings in the case of Auggie and Simon, who built his son a little mountain to climb, or Sharma in the case of Edwina and Mary, who stayed with Violet, but got in a snow missile or two of their own — was having a grand old time.

She wondered what her own family would be like, among them. She still only saw the shrewd eyed woman as... Well, she was almost like a spectre, hovering over her as she poured her tea, chose her meal, enjoyed things too much. Always there, always disapproving, always pushed eagerly away, as if letting her hover too long meant she'd never leave.

She stared ahead at Violet Bridgerton as they all trudged in, bade to rest before they dressed for supper, noting how she laughed while settling Gregory and Hyacinth's arguments, with what delight she received all of her children as they buzzed about her like bees around the Queen. It made her feel so strangely melancholy.

She couldn't imagine why. Was she missing her own mother? Was there more to her than a shrewd face and a disapproving eye? Or was that very shrewd face and disapproving eye what made her long for the sort of mother that laughed, teased, and delighted in the company of her children?

Or perhaps she was just very, very tired.

When she arrived in her room, she had some vague ideas about those letters Eloise had, about whether they would hold the answers to all things, including her mother. Or maybe she could take a closer look at the letters she'd read today. She'd opened her door, expecting to see them still laid out on her bed, but they were gone.

Well, not gone. They were neatly stacked on the nightstand. One of the maids she'd met yesterday — the efficient one, not the chatty one — was there. She must have done that. She'd also turned the covers down and Penelope found herself efficiently undressed and tucked into bed before she could protest that she was not tired at all.

And then she was asleep before she could protest further.

She didn't dream of her mother, perhaps resisting her even then. She dreamt of Colin. She danced with him again. This time, they were dancing in the snow. It fell on and around them, glittering and perfect and lovely.

Yet she was watching it, as if the Penelope dancing with him was not her, but some other girl.

That girl was delighted to be dancing with him. Delighted as she met his eyes. Yet his gaze was so serious.

"I will always look after you, Penelope," he said. "You are special to me."

"As are you... to me," the girl said back soberly. She meant it.

The Penelope that watched wanted to believe that he meant it as well, but she found herself looking away from him, looking at the men staring at them on the edge of the snowy dance floor, their lips tilting in smiles that were not so much amused as leering, as if on the verge of asking a question...

Penelope, watching now, begged the other one not to find the answer...

Yet the scene melted away in a flash of gold and snowflakes into another.

The girl was tucking herself behind a statue while a group of men — men including Colin — laughed at her very name.

"You courting the girl, Bridgerton?" one of the leering, laughing men asked.

"Ah. Are you..."

"... mad?" Penelope shot up, breathing the word, staring around her at the semi-darkened room.

She heard laughter even now and wondered if she was going mad herself, or if she was still in the dream with those leering, laughing men.

She shook off the dream, telling herself it was only that and nothing more, but she heard laughter again.

It wasn't men... or not all men. She heard a male laugh, but also a very distinctive, familiar feminine giggle and snort as she threw off the covers.

She stood, groggily approaching the adjoining door. It was coming from there. "Eloise?" She tried the door. The knob turned at first and even creaked inward before it pushed her back, shutting her out.

"Penelope?" she heard, the voice devoid of laughter now. "You can't come in. I'm... I'm indisposed."

"Oh, I... I'm sorry to hear that. Will you be coming down to supper or—"

"I... I haven't decided," Eloise said haltingly. "I might prefer my own company tonight."

Yet Penelope heard another voice in the room, muffled, but certainly male. "Who is—"

There was a soft knock at the other door.

"Come in," she called out absently.

Rose sauntered in, a dusty rose-colored dress over her arm. "I'm so glad you're awake. I'd finished with this, but was can't be quite sure about the fit until we've had it on you."

Penelope gave one more confused glance at the adjoining door before she decided to leave it alone. Eloise was likely smoking with Benedict again. She didn't approve of the habit. She'd caught her several times last... She shook her head as another memory came. Eloise was sitting on one of the swings beyond the Bridgerton back gate, in the mist of night, staring at her as if confused until Penelope let out a sob, at which she rushed to her, folding her in her arms...

Yet another memory. But what? Why had she been crying? And why did the memory fill her with a vague sense of shame rather than sadness?

"Come along now," Rose prodded, holding the dress up. "I suspect this color will be lovely on you."

She shook the feeling away, forcing a smile. It was becoming frustrating, having these little glances that were just never enough. It was as if she was reading a book with most of the pages missing. Maybe Colin was right about Eloise's letters being some kind of solution. Perhaps that's where he'd been all afternoon, diligently searching for them...

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

Colin had never been so drunk in his life. Even the night before Anthony's bungled nuptials, he'd had the presence of mind to fall on the odd sofa or chair. But now, here he was, stuck on Eloise's floor with no mind to get up.

He hadn't truly tried, though. Now that he had the rum bottle down here with him, he saw little reason to rise and fill his glass. And he had something to read. "Did you read this one?"

"I've read them all," Eloise sighed, "several times. Will you stop pulling them out of order just when I've put them back in again?"

"But it's rather funny... 'Cressida Cowper's hair'," he read, "'an array of curls and braids so ornate that even the pigeons might find it too intimidating to nest in...'" He laughed, then remembered he was supposed to be very angry about this sort of thing.

El certainly was.

But it was very hard to be angry when drunk... also while reading something so very silly. "She was like this in her letters, you know. Always with the wordplay and the like. I bet, if I read this last season, I'd have known," Colin said, hoping he came off much more serious.

"Yes, well, if I'd have listened with even half-an-ear, I'd have known," El countered. "But it's best not to talk about that."

"I thought you said you liked finally having me to talk to about all that."

"No. I said it was a relief to finally talk to someone about this. I didn't mean I wanted it to be you."

"Oh, well, sorry to be here," Colin pouted.

"No! I don't mean..." Eloise sighed and dropped her pile of pamphlets. "I'm not saying I wanted it not to be you. I just never imagined telling anyone, including you. Ever. Because I don't like thinking about it. Because whenever I think about thinking about it, I'm tempted to take that bottle of rum and drink half of it."

"Too late," Colin said on a slight giggle, holding up the now half-empty bottle.

"You're drinking too much," she said, lighting another one of her disgusting little sticks.

"And you're smoking too many of those... pampelamos? Pamphlets?"

"Papelates," she corrected. "Though I suppose my pamphlet habit is also concerning." El dropped herself to the window seat again, blowing a long stream into the cold winter air. "I bet you miss the days when I was just reading about the rights of women instead of the writings of Whistledown."

"I thought you weren't thinking about that. Why are you putting the Whistledowns in order anyway?"

"I don't know. It's something I once had control over," Eloise said, "until you dumped them all over the room. I've never been very careful about such things. Penelope tells me time and again to take more care with my books. I don't know why I bother with... those." She stilled, frowning heavily. "Throw them all about, if you like." Yet she winced when Colin started to pull one from the pile she'd placed down.

Colin carefully divided the stack, then even more carefully plucked the one already in his grasp from it, before reciting, "'Dearest Reader... It has been said that competition is an opportunity for us to rise and stand ready before our greatest of challenges...'" He stopped. "Why is it that I can't hear this in Penelope's voice?" He shook his head. "I swear, most of the time, I imagine some sharp-voiced governess type, even a nanny, at times. Do you remember that one, before Hyacinth drove her to insanity. I heard she went to a nunnery in The Alps. I imagine her spinning madly in the mountains of—"

"I also struggle with what voice I hear. And yes. That possibly madly-spinning nunnery nanny voice is often a contender," Eloise said. "Read on..."

"I thought you didn't want to think of—"

"Yes, well, I have a very changeable temper and sometimes I like something to occupy me as I smoke."

Colin shrugged and read on, "...'Well, if what this author hears this morning is true, then a great challenge concerning this season's diamond has been set forth, indeed! Any suitor wishing to gain an audience with Miss Edwina Sharma must first tame the rather prickly spinster of a beast, otherwise known as her sis...'" He stopped again, laughing. "Is that what she was bragging about?"

Eloise turned to him sharply. "Who? Pen?"

"No, Kate. She was going on about how Whistledown singled her out. Said it made her feel like quite a fearsome, formidable thing, and certainly not to be trifled with."

"Didn't work for Anthony." Eloise snorted out a laugh. "I think he trifled with her even more after that little challenge. But yes. Kate certainly bragged about it. Even to me. Said she got four words, while I had only a mere two: political radical."

"I'd bet Kate was trying to buck you up, after everything."

"Yes, yes, I know. Kate even said that being considered a political radical was a brave thing," Eloise's tone turned somber, "like I was carrying on the legacy of those who cared to make things better. And I wanted to feel that way, but... You know, when it all came out, all I could think, looking in Mother's eyes, was that I was never going to fit into this world, her world, the one she wanted so badly for me to be a part of."

Colin tilted his head. "Is that really such a bad thing?"

"God, you sound like Ben. It must be the drinking. You should stop." She leaned over and grasped for his bottle.

Colin held it away. "No, I mean it. Yes, Mama and Daphne might fit into this world their way, all neat and tidy, but why is that the only way? Hell, Ben makes his own way and... Well, even me. I make my own way... by going away, mostly."

"Yes, Ben has his art. You have your travels. But what do I have?" Eloise demanded.

"You," Colin began carefully, "have to find your way. Maybe only you can find it." Such a stupidly simple thing to say, yet it felt right.

"And what if I have no idea what that is? God, Penelope — shy, retiring Penelope — found her way and I, who pretends to be so bold and brave, haven't the slightest idea."

"You sound almost... jealous."

"I certainly am not." Eloise sat up straighter, tossing her pamplemousse far out the window.

"You sound like you might maybe might be," Colin muttered. "But I'm drunk, so what do I know?"

"Yes, very well, there might be some small amount of jealousy there," Eloise said, pacing back to the bed. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"Not really," Colin said.

"Well, I'm sure she'd love to hear it! Pen shouted that very thing at me and her eyes were so hard and so..." Eloise rested her fists on the bed, leaning hard on it. "The things we said to each other that night... I don't know if we can ever..." She drew in a shaky breath. "How can we ever...You see now?" She suddenly whirled on Colin. "Do you see why I almost preferred..." She shook her head. "God, I hate saying it."

"What?" Colin prodded.

"I can't..." Eloise shook her head again. "See, for me there are two Penelopes. One of them is my dearest friend, the one who always somehow finds a way to cheer me up when I'm at my lowest. She's the one who I've always counted upon to not only listen to my rantings, but also bring me back down to earth when I'm ranting my way into a dither. She's sweet and loyal and caring. Or that's what I always thought."

"Yes, that's my Penelope, too! But she... That's a lot of things to be," Colin moaned.

"But then there's the other one. The other has secrets," El went on. "She doesn't just have secrets, she deals in secrets, she exposes secrets. And I... God, no matter how I try, I don't know her. I can't know her, with her double lives and her duplicity and her deception... I seem to be stuck on D words."

"Dither?" Colin suggested. "You seem to be ranting your way into one now. Like Pen says you do."

Eloise waved him off. "Anyhow, I can't reconcile her with my Penelope." She glanced up at Colin then, her eyes watering. "And it felt easier, dealing with a Penelope who didn't have a secret at all. It's like I had my Penelope back again, however long it would last." She swiped under her eyes. "And I know she's going to remember and... it's like I'll have lost her all over again. And I know that's selfish, but I just wanted her back."

"It is selfish," Colin said. "Because we don't have her back, not if she's not herself. All of herself. Even the parts we don't... we don't quite understand. They're all Penelope."

"They're not the one I know," Eloise sniffed.

"But they're the ones you can get to know. Because you can have her back!" Colin got to his knees then. "It's like that thing you said before." He crawled his way closer to her. "You are in Purgatory, but you get to choose... heaven or hell. You don't need to lose her."

Eloise shook her head. "It's not that simple."

"It can be, for you. You just have to decide if you accept her as she is. For me, it's so complimented... No... Communicated?"

"I think you mean complicated." Eloise grasped his bottle, tucking it beside her on the window seat. "Why don't I hold onto this for a—"

Colin grasped for it. "Wait, I need that to think."

"Try thinking without it for a moment. Bet you can't."

Now she was taunting him? "Bet I can." He stood, only stumbling and swaying a few times before his legs could stay still. "I can give a full disposition... No. A dissication?"

Eloise snorted. "You mean a disserta—"

"A speech, damn it." He cleared his throat. "See, for me there are three Penelopes. There's that one before. Then there's this other one we're not talking about," he waved his hand about, "even though we keep talking about her. Then there's this new one who's just so..."

There was something about this Penelope, the way she stared at him, so unguarded. He'd seen that look in her eyes at other times, but then he'd think he must have imagined it with how quickly she'd look away. It was always gone before he could decide how he felt about it.

"I can't stop thinking about her," he sighed. "I can't stop looking at her. It just takes everything I got in me not to grasp her and—"

"Oh, good Lord," Eloise groaned loudly. "I have no interest in your antics with the third Penelope, thank you very much."

"Very well, I won't tell you about it. But you'll have to resign yourself to it. She will be my wife."

Eloise scoffed loudly. "After all this, you still want to—"

"After all this, I am even more determined," he said firmly, or as firmly as one could while still sort of swaying on his feet. "Someone needs to protect her."

"Ah, yes. Because we weak little things all so desperately need your vaunted male protection."

"Glad you agree," he said, ignoring her disgusted look. "Anyway, like I was saying, I have three Penelopes and I don't even know if one of them will want me, in the end."

"And yet you insist she'll marry you?"

"I'd rather be in your shoes," he said, ignoring that, too. He'd work out how he'd make this marriage happen later. "She wanted her friendship with you. She didn't even want it with me. And at least you know what it was that ended it. I still have no idea why she wanted to end our friendship, which I didn't even want! And... And..." He snapped his fingers. "I bet, if me or Benedict or Anthony called you a political radical, you'd be wearing it about like a badge of honor." Colin let out a wheezing laugh.

Eloise pursed her lips, not denying it, though she stood and handed him back the bottle. "Have it back. You might talk less if you drink more."

"Well, wouldn't you be? I see no reason to not be a bit proud of it. You did something."

"I listened to some speeches," Eloise corrected, her voice a drone. "Penelope did something."

"Aye, that she did. Though I doubt she thinks of herself as a political radical. She's more like a... wordsmith." He stared as Eloise started putting the scattered pamphlets in order again. So many pamphlets.

"She is not political at all," Eloise was saying, perhaps seething. "She was never political enough! If I were Whistledown, I'd... I'd..."

"You're sounding jealous again."

"And you're sounding drunk... still!"

"It's natural to be jealous. God, the idea that she was praising my letters when she was the one who holds the entire ton in her thrall... Maybe I'm just a little jealous, too." Every letter he wrote to her or to anyone, every entry in his journal, it didn't compare to this! If she'd known what she'd done, she'd not have praised him so.

"Jealousy, I'll grant you— a very little bit of jealousy, mind you." She tossed down the papers again. "But can you not grant me more reason than that? She hurt me in ways I'd have never hurt her. I'd have never written such a thing about Penelope, if the tables were turned."

"Not even to protect her?" Eloise hadn't let him read Penelope's letters, though she felt the Whistledown issues were fair game after the cat was out of the proverbial bag, but she had given him Penelope's defense of her actions and... He did try not to let his current feelings for Penelope cloud his judgment, but he couldn't help saying, "It could have been worse."

"What? How much worse could it be than—"

"You said that Penelope said that a wise person told her that 'The one thing a lady would do is wear something she knows makes her look ugly'," Colin repeated.

"Yes, it's likely why Penelope said such awful things about herself," Eloise grumbled. "To cast suspicion away from her."

"Or it's why she exposed you as attending political rallies," Colin said, taking a long draw from his bottle, "to cast the Queen's suspicion away from you. You said yourself the Queen threatened to ruin you."

"Then she ruined me instead," Eloise growled. "Mother and Anthony were absolutely incensed."

"Mother and Anthony pretended to be incensed, but they were hardly surprised. Yes, they might have some qualms about how you pranced yourself about and how very unchaperoned you were, but even they knew that you'd end up at one rally or another sooner or later," Colin prodded. "As for you, how did it harm you? Benedict told me about your time at the Diamond Ball. You'd rather spend your energy avoiding suitors than attracting them. Hell, I'd wager you'd rather be considered a dangerous political radical than not, just to scare them away."

"That doesn't mean I wasn't ruined in the eyes of—"

"But you weren't. I'd wager a thousand pounds on it," Colin went on. "Next season, you'll have any number of supposed intellectuals begging to partner you at the first quadrille."

"I'll have you know that Mama already tossed one of those my way and he was an insufferable—"

"No, if Lady Whistledown wanted to truly ruin you in the eyes of society," Colin continued, "she'd have mentioned that Theo chap, but she didn't."

"I don't know why I even told you about him. My only hope is that you're drunk enough to forget that I was such... such a fool as to think—"

"No. No!" Colin gripped her hand, then, quite earnestly. "El, you were not a fool. You merely believed yourself in love." God, those were her words to him... once. Pen was, he'd always thought, a woman of few words, so the ones she chose to say mattered that much more to him. They were stronger than even the many words of Lady Whistledown. Because he could hear them, even now. He could repeat them as if not a day had gone by. "A wise young woman once told me, 'one should never apologize for that. One finds oneself in such an incredible position and... one should declare it assuredly, fervently... loudly.'" A warmth spread inside him at the words. He'd thought she'd been talking of him and Marina, but now... Was it possible she truly did...

"Love?" Eloise screwed her nose up in disgust, quite ruining his moment. "Look, Theo was intelligent and seemed to care what I thought, but I wouldn't call it love. And whatever he felt for me, it obviously stopped the moment I didn't let him kiss me and suddenly I was just... no different from all the other ladies, which was no surprise so..." She screwed her eyes shut then.

Colin struggled to his feet then. "El..."

"No, I do not want a hug," she insisted.

"Well, I'm giving you one anyway," he said, bearing down on her.

"I'm not crying," she said haltingly, burying her head in his cravat, "not really. And I'm not hugging you back."

"I know," Colin cooed, rubbing her back.

"I'm only letting you hug me," she sniffled, "because it's not every day a man says you were only dipping your toe into his waters..."

"I'm sure you did no such thing."

"...because of the unearned advantages of your birth."

Colin shook his head and pulled away. "All that because you didn't kiss him?"

"No. It was more than that. I... I said it was a mistake for us to meet and... that I could not live with myself if he was the one to face the consequences and he... Well, then he said all that, so he obviously didn't believe me."

"He sounds like he's got bullocks for a head."

Eloise let out a watery laugh.

Colin frowned. "I don't see why you were so mad at Penelope for telling you to stop seeing him."

Eloise pushed him away. "Because she told me people were talking about Theo and I, but no one knew but her... and perhaps one other person, who certainly wouldn't talk. And yes Theo might be a bollocks-head, but perhaps I would like to have come to that conclusion on my own, without being led there and lied to."

"But would you have seen that without–"

"In fact, I'd have liked to have uncovered Whistledown without her working against me," Eloise went on, "and I was nearly there! But she was heading me off at every pass, using what I found, what I told her, to hide her tracks. Do you have any idea what it's like to dedicate yourself to something only to have someone you trusted, someone you loved, be the very person setting herself against you, deceiving you?"

Colin rolled his eyes so hard, he felt a bit dizzy "No, I suppose I — the man who was nearly tricked into marrying a woman carrying not one, but as we now know two, children from another man — could never imagine such a thing."

"So you forgive her for Marina, then?" Eloise stared at him hard. "You agree with what she did?"

He actually hadn't thought about it until now. His drunken state had not yet allowed that thought in. But now that he did... He sat down again, rather hard, his rum spilling over his hand as he hit the floor. He couldn't say he agreed, but...

"Would you do the same if the tables were turned?" Eloise prodded.

"I don't know. But let's imagine Penelope had a sizable dowry and—"

"She doesn't," Eloise cut in. "Her Papa left them with nothing. And there wasn't much even before that."

He drew in a shaky breath. "Poor Penelope."

"Lord! Don't get weepy now. It's bad enough I must contend with Ben when he gets all... maudlin. At least he gets me more papelates to make up for it."

"I'm not buying your papyruses. That's a dirty habit."

"Then you don't get to cry on me."

Colin nodded. That seemed fair enough. He'd rather not cry, anyhow.

"Go on, then," El said. "Let's imagine Pen has some ridiculously large dowry."

"Well, if she did, and some disreputable fortune hunter—"

"Then again, these days she has Whistledown money. But she can't precisely advertise that to people, I'd wager."

"El, I'm trying to imagine here!"

"Very well." She sighed, pulling out her tin again. "Drat! All gone!"

"Good," he said. "So Penelope is set upon by fortune hunters and one of them is pretending to be in love with her and got her thinking she's in love with him... God, I'm getting angry just thinking about it," he growled. "And then if he tried to get her to elope? I certainly wouldn't allow it. I'd tell her that he is deceiving her," Colin said hotly, "that he doesn't truly love her."

"And how would you know that?" Eloise laughed, obviously having a bit of fun with this scenario now. "Why should she believe you?"

"Well, I don't know. Penelope tried to tell me the same about Marina. I did try to thank her later, but I wouldn't hear of it at the time, so–"

"Just a moment." Eloise put up a hand. "Penelope told you that Marina didn't love you? How would she know that?"

"Pen waylaid me during our engagement dinner. She said Marina loved another, that she'd seen their letters. I was such a fool. I didn't believe her at the time, and then Marina interrupted us and drew me away so..." He shook his head.

"Penelope never told me any of that in her letters." Eloise frowned heavily. "This is just the sort of thing I might have helped with. She made up this story of some maid that was with child, but if she'd told me that this maid was the very girl beguiling my own brother..."

"What would you have done?" Colin prodded now. Because he still didn't know quite how to deal with Penelope's imaginary suitor.

"Well, I'd have found some way to stop it all," Eloise said.

"Yes, but how?"

"I don't know," Eloise burst out. "I'd find some other way than... than what she did, I'm certain of it." She turned to Colin now. "Would you tell Lady Whistledown? Even knowing it would ruin this chap?"

"I don't care about him!" Colin said hotly. "He's deceiving Penelope!"

"But what if he had very good reasons to–"

"There is no reason good enough to trick someone, to deceive someone into a lifelong vow based upon a lie!"

He suddenly realized that he'd never allowed himself to be angry about Marina. She had made it clear she didn't love him, but he'd not been angry about it. He'd felt humiliated, yes. He'd felt foolish at his own stupidity. He'd sworn off women, hadn't he? But underneath it all, there had still been mostly pity for her, for the situation that drove her to deceive him. But now, thinking of some cur deceiving Penelope, whatever the reason... He saw red.

"Oh, it doesn't compare, anyhow," Eloise said, waving a hand. "Not like a man can be expecting twins. And men can't be ruined the way women can."

"Oh, they can be. I'd ruin him but good! I'd knock the blighter flat out and toss her over my shoulder and take her to Gretna myself if I have to!" Colin's eyes widened. "Say, that's not a half bad idea, now that I—"

There was a knock on the door.

"Oh, thank God," Eloise groaned loudly before calling out, "I don't care who it is. Come in!"

Benedict poked his head in. "I've been informed you were sick."

"Who said that?" She asked, rushing to drag him in and close the door. "Also, have you got a smoke on you?"

"No. I was just going up to change for supper when Penelope caught me on the stairs. She seemed startled. She thought I was in here with you, but that you were indisposed."

"If anyone's indisposed, it's Colin," Eloise snorted. "I'm mostly irritated."

Colin started to stand, his eyes widening. "Supper, eh?"

"Not in your condition." Eloise pushed him back down. "Mama would smell the rum on you once you hit the stairs."

"Oh, dear," Ben tutted. "So that's what he's been doing."

"That and going quite mad." She leaned down to Colin, hissing, "You, keep mum about the... thing. And don't leave this room," she added more loudly as she straightened and turned to Ben. "You, don't let him leave this room. I'll hold you personally responsible if he goes drunkenly hauling Penelope off to Gretna Green. I'll be back."

"Where are you going?" Colin moaned. "I'm not done imagining—"

"Yes, you are. I'm going to Ben's room for more smokes." She marched to the door.

Ben called after her. "They're in the—"

El turned back at the door. "I know where they are. Where do you think half of them go?" she quipped before shutting it.