Penelope opened her eyes, gasping and blinking at the canopy above her, marveling at the silence in the darkened room. Having gone to sleep with so many people seeing her off, she had rather expected to have the same sight upon waking.

Now that she remembered, she'd awakened several times today to find only one person near.

The first time, it had been her mother-in-law — or Violet. She'd said to call her Violet. She had best remember that. At the time, she'd had no need to remember it, as the woman had been quite intent upon some sewing work or other, and hadn't noted Penelope was awake before she drifted to sleep again.

Another time, she woke to find Colin. She couldn't remember what she'd said, but he'd softly said, "No. Never," and it must have pleased her because she sank back into nothingness with a smile she could feel.

Somewhere in that nothingness, somethings came.

Now that she knew her name, it seemed it was echoing in her head, repeated by so many voices. There was a shrewd-eyed woman saying it with an air of annoyance. But then there was Violet, saying her name in delight and opening her arms. She liked that better. She also saw Colin, in a jaunty hat and coat, calling her Pen with surprise and just a little bit of delight, then Colin staring at her intently, saying "I will always look after you, Penelope." There was a warmth in her at the words, but also a strange sort of... dread.

Or perhaps the dread was attendant upon the next thing she saw or... heard. It was him saying her name again, but not to her, while laughing, and not kindly. "Penelope Featherington?" It seems there was more, but she couldn't hear it or perhaps her mind was hiding it from her as Colin soon dissolved into Eloise, but not as she'd seen her this morning. Her eyes were blazing and her arms were stiff at her sides. "And what is your business, Pen?"

That was what woke her, gasping. She held her eyes open, loathe to close them again if that was what might greet her. Everyone had looked at her so kindly since she'd first opened her eyes. She didn't like to imagine being looked at in any other way. She was sure her life before couldn't have been all goodness and light. Somewhere in those memories that had not been obscured, she knew that no one's life was perfect. Yet there was part of her that felt her life before — perhaps before she married — was not worth remembering... or at least not remembering fondly. Perhaps there was a reason she was less than eager to reclaim it.

And there might be a time she'd have to face that. But not now. She wasn't ready.

"Pen?" she heard.

She turned her head, only wincing a little at the pain, to find Eloise. Her eyes weren't angry, at least, but they weren't dancing in relief or awash with emotion as they'd been before. She actually looked conflicted, as if she weren't sure who she was looking at.

She supposed that went for the both of them.

"It's near five o'clock at night. You've slept a lot since the morning."

"Good evening, then," she choked out over the dust in her throat.

Eloise gestured to the night table, and the glass and pitcher there. "Would you like—"

"Yes, please," Penelope cut in eagerly. She pushed herself up, only faltering a little, which felt like some sort of progress. She took the glass from Eloise and drank half greedily, then stopped herself, remembering how everyone seemed to think she'd make herself sick. She started to reluctantly hand the glass back.

Eloise shook her head. "Oh, go on. If you've not cast up your accounts by now, I think you're safe."

"I can't remember when I've ever been so thirsty," she said after another gulp, then laughed. "I suppose that's to be expected, though, considering..."

"Have you... remembered anything more?"

Penelope looked away, distressed at what she had remembered in that state between sleeping and waking. Yet, was she actually remembering or were those dreams or, for the last bits, little nightmares?

"No, don't be troubled," Eloise said quickly. "I don't want you to... I mean, no one is pressing you to remember everything at once."

"Thank you," she said, relieved, letting her believe that was the cause of her unrest. If it had been real, if they had quarreled over some kind of business or other, she suspected neither of them wanted to remember it at the moment. "There is one thing I remember or... I think so." Penelope stared into her now-empty glass. "Featherington," she said after a moment. "That's my surname." She blinked in confusion. "Or it was before. Is that correct?"

Eloise looked down, nodding. "You were born Penelope Featherington."

"Oh." She frowned. "Why don't I like it?"

Eloise glanced up again, laughing slightly. "I don't know. Too many syllables?"

Penelope chuckled as well. "Perhaps. There's eight of them. You are lucky to only contend with... six."

"I am blessed, indeed," Eloise said with a wry smile.

"Perhaps the John Smiths of the world like their names best," Penelope said.

Eloise laughed louder, then.

Penelope sat up, eyeing her friend — her best friend, she reminded herself — fully now. "You look quite lovely."

"Ah, see we're actually dressing for dinner this evening." Eloise gestured down at her dark blue gown with an air of disinterest. "I, for one, cannot abide changing gowns all the day, but even I thought it apropos. It's Christmas Eve and we must celebrate you rising from the... well..."

"It would be more apropos if I'd waited until Easter to... arise, then."

"I suppose so," Eloise said, tilting her head. "Also Heaven forbid! We'd have all gone quite mad."

They both laughed, then. Something about laughing with Eloise did her good, despite the slight pain in her head that came with it.

Eloise sobered slightly. "We were all hoping you might wake soon, and even come down to dinner, but only if you're feeling up to—"

"Can I?" Penelope broke in eagerly, sitting up straighter.

"And, apparently, you are up to it." Eloise said, smiling and shaking her head. "Good, then. Colin will be relieved. He's been acting as if you shall surely starve to death. I wonder that he hasn't broken in with half the larder by now."

At that, the door opened and, though Penelope wouldn't object to Colin marching in with any portion of the larder, even just on his own, it wasn't him. It was the girl. Hyacinth.

"Is she awake? Is she coming down to dinner?" Hyacinth bounded onto the bed. "Please say you will. It'll be so much merrier as we are really celebrating you... also Christmas, but we shouldn't be half so jolly if you were still abed!"

Eloise came around the other side of the bed, pulling Hyacinth away. "Yes, she's coming down, but not if you bounce about until she falls to the floor. Really, Hy!"

"Well, it's exciting!" Hyacinth danced about the room. "I'd hate to think of Pen having a sad little tray of broth in here while the rest of us make merry. We'd have been forced to bring the party up here, I'd wager, and it would make a terrible mess of your bed. Crumbs everywhere!" Hyacinth had danced her way to the wardrobe now, pulling out something green. "Oh, this would look lovely on you!"

"Are you mad?" Eloise put it back quickly, before Penelope had even seen it properly. "Do you think the pair of us are qualified to get Penelope into a gown without mucking up her head?"

Hyacinth seemed to consider it. "Should we call a maid?"

"Please don't." Penelope fussed with her covers. "I wouldn't like to be a bother, not on Christmas."

"You are right!" Hyacinth said. "Not about the bothering bits. I'm sure no one would mind. But if we had to go about making a fuss and calling them up, it would spoil the surprise!" She pulled out something pink and tossed it to Eloise. "Here, El. You put a dressing gown on her. I shall go downstairs and put on my saddest face and tell the rest of them that Penelope is sound asleep!" She clapped her hands. "Oh, what fun!"

Eloise sighed as Hyacinth bounded out of the room. "Well, I doubt anyone's expecting you to come in full dinner attire, anyhow." She held the robe open. "Can you stand?"

"Of course!" Penelope was so eager to be out of bed, she thought she might dance. Of course, that was just a thought. Her limbs were still weak and it took a lot to stay upright while Eloise helped her into the pink damask robe with the rather large bow at the closure that seemed to have some trouble staying closed, at least when she sat — which she did, eagerly, as soon as she could.

She still felt a bit weak. Not enough that she would admit it, lest she be kept to this bed, but she was grateful when Eloise helped her into a pair of slippers, also with bows. She'd noted that her white nightgown, though otherwise plain, also contained several bows — one on each shoulder and several along the hem.

"Do I like bows?" she found herself asking. "It seems like I must, but... Well, it doesn't feel like I... Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm asking too much, aren't I?"

"Well, I doubt something as inconsequential as ribbons and bows will tax your mind into apoplexy." Eloise secured the second slipper, then stared up at her, considering. "You... tolerate bows. It's really your mother that likes them, also all other kinds of frippery that you can hardly—" She stopped. "Oh, God, now I'm saying too much."

"My mother..." She frowned. "Why can't I bring her face to mind?" The only person she could see, even thinking the word mother, was Violet. She really did seem like such a lovely mother, and perhaps that was why.

"Pen, please don't push yourself to remember. I don't want you making this harder for yourself." Eloise rolled her eyes. "You're about to experience supper with everyone in this house. I'm not certain that won't send you screaming back to bed."

"No chance of that," Penelope said quickly. "I'm so eager to be out of this bed, I'd likely run screaming into the snow first." She stared toward the darkened window, seeing flakes dancing downward. "Snow. How lovely. I hadn't noticed it before."

"Well, you always liked... Drat! I need to stop that."

"But that's not too much to know, surely. I like snow. Who does not?"

"Lots of idiots, I'm sure," Eloise said with a lift of her chin. "Snow's the best possible weather. One can curl up with a book inside so pleasantly, but also venture out and not have to contend with too many other people."

"So we both like it? Is that one of the reasons we're such great friends?"

"We are... We were... Look, I cannot be party to you filling your head so much it bursts," Eloise huffed. "You really must stop nosing!"

Penelope grinned. She couldn't help it. "My head is in no danger of bursting from such small things. Bows are tolerated. Snow is more than tolerated. Pink is..." She glanced down at her robe. "My favorite?"

Eloise twisted her lips. "I wouldn't say it's your favorite. But you certainly prefer it to yellow or orange or really anything citrus-like in— Oooh!" She noted Penelope's grin, then lightly slapped at her arm. "Stop doing that."

Hyacinth reentered then, and much more quietly than before, hissing, "No one suspects a thing! So we must be quick and quiet!"

Penelope started to stand. "Well, then..."

"Don't!"

"You'll fall over!"

"Shh!" Penelope put a hand up. "I thought we were being quiet!"

"You'll learn fairly quickly," Eloise said, coming to one side of her, "that silence doesn't last long in this house, no matter how we try."

Hyacinth took the other. "Not for me. I was quiet for a half-hour once. Anthony told me I'd won the game and everything."

"Yes, and what do you think the object of the game was?" Eloise snorted. "Getting you to be quiet."

"What? That's not..." Hyacinth huffed. "Well, I'm never playing that one again."

Penelope glanced at the dressing table and its mirror on the other side of the room. "Are you sure I look well enough to—"

"You look lovely," Hyacinth insisted. "Your hair's all nice and curly from your bath. I'm quite jealous. I've got to put up with curling papers almost every night. Let's just bring some of it over your shoulder and—"

"Mind her wound," Eloise growled. "Just smooth this bit and—"

"I'm not even touching her wound!"

"Well, if you keep pulling at her hair—"

"I'm very gently combing through it! You're the one with rough hands. I still remember the agony from that one time Mama had you brush my—"

"You squirmed about too much. I was perfectly—"

"I'm sure I look fine," Penelope lied. She wasn't sure. She actually still had very little idea of what she looked like, apart from red-headed, a bit rounded and, now that she was standing in the presence of the other two, quite short. "I'm actually far too hungry to care how I look."

"Oh, God! Yes, of course." Eloise took her left arm.

"I don't know how you're even standing," Hyacinth said, taking the other. "I missed breakfast once and near-fainted!"

"Hogwash! You swooned into a chair and demanded biscuits. Really, you're as bad as Colin."

Just hearing his name had Penelope tossing a longing glance back at that mirror, caring perhaps just a little how she looked, but they were carting her out the door before she could suggest it. He was her husband, anyhow. She was sure he'd seen her looking worse than... than whatever she imagined she looked like right now.

They both quieted as they helped her make her way down the hall past all the other rooms. She glanced around when they came in sight of the very ornate staircase, thinking it must be a rather grand house. Yet she didn't feel intimidated as if, perhaps, she was quite accustomed to grandeur. Had she grown up in such a manner or had she been married into it long enough that it no longer cowed her? How long could she have possibly been married?

She still couldn't get any sort of clear idea of her life before and, she realized with horror, she wasn't even quite sure how old she was. She knew she wasn't meant to ask questions, but perhaps in a roundabout way... "How old are you, Hyacinth?"

"Me? I'm eleven years, three months, and sixteen days old," the girl answered easily, as if she had kept very careful note on a daily basis.

"My, I thought you must be fourteen, at least," Penelope exclaimed. "You're so tall!"

Hyacinth laughed slightly as they started down the stairs. "I'm working very hard on it. I shall be the tallest in the family. Perhaps not taller than Colin, but taller than all my sisters. I'm taller than Eloise now."

"Barely," Eloise snorted.

"You're certainly taller than me," Penelope said. "So is... everyone, I suppose. But so is Eloise and we are the same age, aren't we?"

"Let me see... Eloise just turned eighteen in the Autumn, but you were eighteen in the spring, weren't you? So..."

"Penelope," Eloise said in a warning tone. "I thought you were going to stop nosing."

"My head is nowhere near to bursting," she said lightly. "And I hardly think knowing my age is more than I can handle. So I am eighteen and... married." She faltered as her foot hit the landing. Wasn't that awful young? She supposed she couldn't know for sure, but surely eighteen was—

"This is too much for you," Eloise said, steadying her.

"No, it's not. I can surely—"

"What the devil is going on here?"

They all turned to the side of the staircase they'd just descended, staring at Colin, stopped at the top and looking quite alarmed.

"Colin, don't be so loud," Hyacinth hissed. "You're ruining the surprise!"

"Yes, it was a surprise," he grumbled as he came down. "Here, I went to look in on Pen before supper and you've woke her up and rousted her out of bed and are now towing her down the stairs like—"

"Yes, that was the surprise," Hyacinth said with a roll of her eyes. "I was fibbing before. She's quite eager to join us for dinner."

"I-it's true. I-I am," Penelope stuttered, barely able to get those words out as he descended upon them. Not that he didn't look handsome before — to her, at least. But seeing him taken out of those wrinkled clothes and put into a deep blue dinner jacket made him a sight to behold. His face was not shaven, but his hair was slicked back at the sides, yet fell in silky curls over his forehead. He looked absolutely delectable. How must she look in comparison? How she wished she'd become acquainted with a mirror before this!

"Well, you..." He stopped before them on the landing, dipping his head to meet her eyes. "Are you sure, Pen?"

"Really, Colin!" Eloise protested. "Is she to be confined to those four walls indefinitely?"

"I didn't say that," he muttered, scowling at Eloise. "I'm only concerned that she doesn't overexert herself." His gaze softened as it met hers. "Are you quite certain you—"

"You, of all people, should want her at supper." Eloise shooed at him. "Now, leave us to it. We have one more set of stairs."

"She's done enough stairs already."

"No, I can do this," Penelope insisted. "I'm quite determined to— Oh!"

She found herself plucked from between Hyacinth and Eloise before she could say another word. She could barely do more than grip his shoulders before he strode down the remaining stairs, one arm at her back and the other under her knees.

"Must you insist on doing everything?" Eloise called after them. "We had this well in hand."

Penelope hardly heard her as she clung to him. "I must be too heavy for—"

"I assure you, you're not," he said, not breaking his stride at.

Fair enough. If Mrs. Harris could cart her around, surely Colin could with his massive shoulders and arms, firm under her hands and fairly bursting under his coat. But still... "I can walk. Surely there's no need—"

"There's every need," he said over her. "I won't have you tiring yourself out so that you fall asleep in your chair before you've had a proper meal. Do you even know what you've eaten these last days?"

"I don't. But I also don't know most things," she couldn't help but point out.

"Broth. Broth and water and laudanum. Those are the only things that have passed your lips and I won't stand for it another—"

"Oh, Penelope!"

"Penelope!"

"Is she awake after all?"

It seemed they'd reached the dining room. She wasn't completely certain, nor sure who'd said what as Colin stopped, her eyes still on his, his eyes on her lips. The spell was only broken by Hyacinth, rushing past them, sliding to a kneeling position and holding out her arms.

"Surprise!"

Penelope turned to the rest, all milling about the long table.

"I knew she was fibbing," Gregory said.

Francesca swatted at him. "She was only trying to surprise us."

Violet clapped her hands. "And what a wonderful surprise it is!"

"Indeed!" Kate Bridgerton rushed forward. "Penelope! We are so glad you've joined us. We certainly hoped you might." She stared hard at Colin, saying through her teeth. "Could you put her down, please? I'm having a hard enough time with him as it is."

Penelope wasn't sure what that was about, but the hand Colin had under her knees loosened and she found her legs sliding to the floor. He still had a grip on her waist, but that also let up as Kate pulled her away.

"Well, this changes everything," Kate said. "Make way for Penelope, my Dear..."

Penelope found herself propelled to the end of the long table, Anthony Bridgerton himself vacating his seat at the head the one to the left of it as Kate seated her there. Even with what little she knew, this felt strange. "I couldn't possibly—"

"Nonsense. You are our guest of honor tonight and you must sit in a place of honor."

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

Colin started for the seat at Penelope's right when Kate nudged him aside, taking the chair for herself, gesturing to the one next to her, whispering, "What did we discuss?"

Yes, they'd had quite a discussion several hours before this and he still felt a bit miffed about it.

It had actually started out pleasant. He and Kate had not had one of their teas since his return, for obvious reasons. As much as he was loathe to leave Penelope's side, Edwina insisted she'd like to sit with her and read to escape the chaos everywhere else. He could hear some of that chaos downstairs, even in the relative quiet of Kate's sitting room.

"Feel better?" she'd asked after he took his first sip of her superior tea.

"I suppose, a little," he'd said. He'd forgotten how soothing the notes of ginger and cardamom could be. After the anxiety of the last three days, it was almost better than liquor. Her sitting room also had a certain calming quality — the jewel tones and rich fabrics, perhaps, should have felt decadent, but they felt more comforting than anything else. There was also something comforting about Kate.

"I think everyone's been a bit hard on you today," she said gently. "I certainly don't want to add to it."

He stared at her over the rim, prodding. "But..."

Kate shrugged. "That's all."

He let out a long breath. "Thank you."

"However..."

"Knew it," he sighed.

Kate shook her head. "No. Never mind. I'm determined not to meddle, no matter what your brother—" She stopped herself, lifting her cup. "Let us just enjoy this."

"Well, how can I do that now?" He set his cup down. "What's Anthony—"

"Think no more of it. My meddling is what brought Penelope here in the first place and I am determined to interfere no more."

"Your invitation didn't lead to her fall." He knew very well what did, even if he hadn't found the words to say it to anyone. Really, he didn't want to say it to anyone but Penelope, but only when she was ready to hear it.

"Eloise was so miserable, so unlike herself since the summer, that I thought, if there was a chance they might reconcile..." She trailed off, tearing up.

"Kate, please don't—"

"Don't mind me," she said, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. "I'd probably be turning into a puddle over everything, even without all this. Doctor Dorset said it's quite natural. But it does get exhausting." She took a deep breath, fanning her face. "Yesterday, your brother swatted a spider and I wept over it like a mother in mourning. You should have seen him, the poor dear, trying to prod it to life again. And he can't stand spiders." She sniffled. "It's just... its little web was... was only half-done and..."

"Yes, while we're speaking of my brother," Colin broke in before she started crying again. "Didn't you say he was... doing something? Or was it saying something?" He searched the ceiling. "It wasn't about spiders, but I can't recall what it was about."

"Because I didn't say," Kate said with a knowing glance, drying up, "because I am not going to meddle. And if your mother cannot get me to meddle, you certainly can't."

"My mother is a very good sort of meddler."

"Not in all cases," Kate said, laughing now. "Need I remind you that she and Lady Danbury nearly had your brother marrying my sister?"

"Yes, but they also meddled with Daphne and Simon and look how wonderfully that turned out! Sometimes meddling is good," he said eagerly. "What if Perseus had decided not to meddle? Gorgons and giants would have run rampant! Innocent girls would have been gobbled up by sea monsters all over the place."

Kate rolled her eyes. "Your brother is none of those things. And I actually agree with some of his concerns. I just think his solutions will do more harm than good."

"I'm not saying he is, but bad things can happen when people don't meddle. That's all I'm saying." Colin sat up straighter. "And his solutions? What solutions? And what concerns?" he asked in a rush. "I thought he told me all of them this morning!"

Kate shook her head. "Why don't you have a pastry?" She held up a plate. "This one has peas, potatoes, and onions and a nice blend of imported spices that I personally—"

"Kate, it's not meddling just to keep someone informed," Colin insisted. "One might argue that it's even more meddlesome to keep important information from those who need it most, you know."

She regarded him shrewdly. "You're wilier than you get credit for." She pushed the plate toward him. "Very well. I will tell you. But will you please eat? I think you'll like these. It's half the reason I invited you."

He wasn't on a hunger strike, however Ben teased him about it. But he supposed he did have some perverse, half-formed idea that he shouldn't eat until Penelope did, as if it was somehow helping. But considering she was still asleep... He took a bite of the pastry. "Oh... Good God!" He took another.

"See?"

"What was the other half?" he said around a mouthful.

"Hmm?"

He swallowed. "You said this was half of why you—"

"Oh, that. Well... meddling," she mumbled into her tea. "But I was determined to resist it as long as I could."

"You did your best. But haven't you suffered enough?"

"Yes, yes," she sighed. "So then... Obviously, Anthony laid out some of his concerns this morning. But after lunch, he and I..." She colored slightly. "Among other things, we had a discussion and he thinks your behavior needs to be—"

Colin put up a hand. "Look, I understand now. I was obviously a bit thoughtless with Penelope at times and people tend to talk and, once we are back in London, I will be more—"

"It's not just London. Your behavior here has been noted as well. Anthony thinks the amount of time you spend with Penelope is — and I'm not saying this is what I think — excessive."

"Yes, he said that. But she was unconscious for days and I couldn't leave her until—"

"Yes, and she's well now or, at least, on the mend. So the danger has passed. But then to find you back in that room... If it had been your brother who'd come upon you—"

"Mother left me there with her," Colin pointed out. "If she has no objections, I'm sure Anthony shouldn't—"

"Your mother and brother think quite... differently on the matter," Kate finished carefully.

"I'd wager Mother has the right of it. What does she say?"

"She says, among other things, that you can be of great value in helping Penelope through this, to say the least, uncertain time."

He sat up straighter, lifting his chin. "Precisely so. I am her friend and Anthony just doesn't understand it. How many women has he ever been friends with?" He gestured to her vaguely. "Present company excluded, of course."

"You are quite right that Anthony doesn't quite... understand. But he sees more than you think. And, if you are not careful, he will be sure that you see less of Penelope than you wish."

"What? But she is my friend! She needs—"

"She's your friend who, at the moment, thinks she is your wife."

"Very well. I'll admit that was an... unfortunate accident." Even saying those words sounded wrong. It didn't feel unfortunate. It felt... Well, he'd rather she think him her husband than some near-stranger. He could help her much more in his current position. Couldn't he? "But, like Mother said, I can be of great value to her now. Who better to aid her in... gently remembering who she was than someone who knows her as well as I do?"

"One might suggest Eloise," she said, sitting back, "but that situation is rather fraught at this time." She frowned heavily. "I still don't know what they quarreled about, but Eloise seemed adamant that she had no wish to associate with her."

"With Pen? What reason could anyone possibly have for that? She's... She's Pen."

"I rather hoped you might know, but since Penelope was not talking to you either—"

"Yes, but that couldn't be related to..." He trailed off, then frowned as well. "Unless it was. Could it have had to do with... me?"

"Only Eloise could tell you that."

"Do you think I should ask—"

"I think nothing. I suggest nothing. I am not meddling. I am merely informing." Kate cleared her throat, taking another sip of her tea. "In that vein, it's only fair to inform you that Anthony thinks the two of you should not be alone. He thinks your interactions with her should be chaperoned at all times."

Colin's eyes widened. His face would burst. He was certain of it. It was so damnably hot! His cravat was... undone, he realized. But perhaps his jacket... He wasn't wearing one. "Surely, he doesn't think I would take advantage of—"

"I am not saying that," Kate said quickly. "And neither is your brother. He's said himself that you're more of a flirt than a rake."

He supposed he was definitely no rake, to say the least, but he also couldn't say he was much of a flirt... not since Marina. The closest he'd come to flirting was cajoling Cressida Cowper into surrendering her false ruby necklace, and he'd only done that because Penelope hadn't been wearing one.

He'd rather she had. He'd much rather have flirted with... Not that he'd have needed to flirt with Pen. Pen would have immediately surrendered her necklace, had he told her he needed it. They had a sort of unspoken trust that needed no such pretense.

"I don't even flirt with Penelope. We might banter, joke, laugh and smile, perhaps compliment each other, but—"

"That's not flirting at all," Kate drawled. Colin detected a note of sarcasm, but didn't address it, as she went on. "Anyhow, Anthony's concern is not even so much about the possible scandal, but for Penelope, herself, that you not give her false hope that might only lead to heartache. I've argued that, considering Penelope thinks you her husband at the moment, that is rather moot. But he's hoping, once she gets her mind back in order, that she will understand you were only trying to help, and not toying with her affections by being so marked in your attentions toward her."

"I would never toy with Penelope! And my attentions are not... improper in any way."

"I agree that they've not been improper, but they've certainly been marked and need to be less obvious to all. I'm doing my part to help. I've told your brother that it's all rather Puritanical, this English notion that all activities between young men and women need to be under the eye of some watchdog of a chaperon, that not every grasp of a hand is a scandalous gesture. I might have trained Edwina to live in such a world, but that does not mean I agree with it."

"Precisely," he agreed quickly. "Not all interactions should be construed in such a way, just because two people happen to be unattached doesn't mean..." He trailed off, a voice coming to him, unbidden...

The way you were dancing with her looked rather... interesting.

It sounded like Fife. No one else he knew had such an oily tone. The man could make a church bazaar sound like a bacchanal. He did remember Fife being with him at Mondrich's, but what was he talking about? If it was Cressida, he hoped he disabused him of the notion that his dancing with her held any interest.

"In any case," Kate went on, "I've assured Anthony that his concerns should not be answered with such stringent measures as he suggests as long as he does not see things that concern him." She tilted her head, catching his eyes. "Do you understand me?"

"I think I do," Colin said with a nod. And Colin really thought he did.

So he was not to flirt with Pen. Very easy to do, considering he certainly never had. And, apparently, he was not to be so free with her. While he certainly agreed about restricting himself in London and under the watchful eyes of The Ton, he didn't think that should apply here, in the country and among family, where they might be at ease with each other. But if Anthony was going to kick up a fuss, he would be careful under his eye, at the very least.

But now he couldn't even sit near her?

He gazed at Penelope now across the corner of the table. She stared back at him, also looking a bit confused as she claimed her chair at the head of the table, while he took the seat next to Kate. Wasn't he meant to be her husband? Shouldn't they be seated together at a family dinner? This mess would certainly confuse her more.

He leaned toward Kate. "Surely, just sitting by her is not so concerning."

"After you waltzed in with her in your arms, it is, at least for your brother," Kate hissed. "Believe it or not, I am trying to help."

Damn it, he supposed she was. And, if he sat at Pen's left, he would be directly across from Anthony, who would likely be scrutinizing his every move. Colin grumbled, but he settled into the chair he'd been forced into, not exactly happy about it. He did smile a bit when Gregory and Hyacinth came forth with a paper crown, fighting just a little over who placed it on Penelope's head.

She'd seemed delighted at that, even as she blushed. "All this fuss. Surely, I don't warrant—"

"But you do!"

That's what he wanted to say. But someone else said it first. Even worse, it was Dorset.

Colin narrowed his eyes as Anthony moved down and let Dorset take his seat to Penelope's right.

"I am so happy to see you up and about," that supposed doctor went on.

Yes, so they all were. He wasn't the only one. Still, now that Anthony was seated across from him, he held in his protests.

With Penelope at the head of the table and the rest of them lining either side, that left the foot, usually the viscountess' seat, empty.

Benedict took it, raising his glass. "I think this calls for a toast!"

"Hear, hear!" Simon tapped his glass with his fork several times, signaling them all to be silent.

Colin began to stand, but Kate kicked his ankle, at which he sat abruptly.

"You really need to be less obvious," she said lowly, smiling stiffly as she unfolded her napkin.

And now he couldn't make a toast to her either?

"To one of the hardest heads in England," Benedict said jovially, lifting his glass to Pen, "apart from this one, of course." He then turned to Eloise, who looked like she wanted to lift her glass over his head, but she only gave him a sneer, then turned to raise her glass to Penelope, with a smile that faltered.

What had they fought about?

Damn it. He didn't care right now. Once the food started coming up from the kitchens, placed festively down the middle of the long table, he only cared about one thing — Penelope's plate being filled.

Though Pen did look quite delighted at the bounty now being uncovered, her smile faded when a tray was placed before her.

It contained a bowl of broth, what looked like bits of bread soaked in milk, two poached eggs and — he supposed this was supposed to be some sort of treat — blancmange.

Dorset leaned toward her, though it was loud enough for Colin to hear. "I am sorry to say it, but I do not believe, after these last days, that having rich foods, after having so little for so long, will do you good."

"I... I suppose you are right," Penelope sighed.

"But I think, if these foods agree with you, perhaps you can also try—"

"No, this shall certainly agree with me." She glanced over her tray, smiling as if it contained a veritable feast. "I cannot wait!"

Colin grumbled under his breath, even as they all bowed their heads and gave their thanks. Though he did perhaps see that Penelope, after having little more than broth for days, might not be equal to pheasant and lard-roasted potatoes, he would be much more thankful if she could have a bit more than what amounted to invalid food.

Still, he watched her eat every bite, barely remembering to eat from his own plate until he found Anthony glaring at him, pointing at him with his own fork.

Tea with Kate wasn't the end of it. Anthony had also pulled him aside today, lecturing him on the importance of healthful eating and hygienic practices. And though Colin had taken pains to clean his teeth these last days, it was sometimes all he could stand before he was back at Pen's side. He might have also shooed his valet off more often than not. He cleaned the important bits, but when it came to things such as shaving and fully bathing and changing his clothes, he hadn't the patience.

Tonight, he had bathed and dressed and even let his valet trim the hair over his ears, but he still couldn't find it in him to sit still for a shave. He'd barely survived the never-ending tying of his cravat before he'd dismissed the man so he could look in on Pen.

Then there had been no Pen. He might have panicked briefly before he realized this was his brother's house and there was a snowstorm outside and, perhaps, Penelope hadn't been carried off by brigands in the night.

No, his sisters were the culprits. And he supposed he should be glad of it. She did seem much happier down here, surrounded by well-wishers and wearing a paper crown, than she had been upstairs. And sitting where he was, he could at least hear her laughs and see her smiles and delight in her breasts gently sloping out of her nightgown as she leaned over... No. No. He did not delight in that.

In fact, that was something no one should be seeing in the first place. Really, this nightgown was no different than the others he'd seen her in these last days, but it... rested a bit differently on her when she was not laying down and tucked tightly into a blanket up to her chin. The robe should have been helping, but it had come undone, its bow hanging to the side uselessly. He supposed the bow was not necessary to the closure, but still...

Colin leaned into Kate, while Anthony was distracted with his food. "Her robe," he hissed.

"What?" Kate hissed back.

"It's unbuttoned or... hooked or something."

"And?"

"Someone needs to fix it for her. Perhaps you."

"No need for that. It's quite warm in here. I've taken off my shawl already."

Yes, he did agree it was quite warm in here. Someone needed to bank the fire. Surely, it wasn't cold enough for such a blaze as this. He was boiling! "But that is not my concern," he said out of the side of his mouth. "Must I say it?"

Kate's eyes slid to Penelope, then back at him, rolling quite heavily as she whispered, "Really, Colin? Her nightgown is no more revealing than any other gown at this table."

While he was obviously not going to look at his sisters for comparison, nor Kate, considering who was across from at the moment, he did glance at Edwina, who was next to Anthony — very quickly — and her neckline was a bit lower. Still, it was different on Penelope because she was... exceptionally generously formed. And it was much easier for him to ignore her generous form when it was not so... generously displayed.

"But if you just told her—"

"I am not going to embarrass Penelope. You are the only one here with such a problem."

"What problem?" Anthony asked, eyes narrowed.

"Nothing," Colin grumbled. "Just too much on my plate."

"Can't recall when that's ever been a problem for you," Anthony snorted.

"It wouldn't be if he kept his eyes on his food," Kate said, turning to him with one of her smiles — the one that patently said he was being an idiot. He knew that one quite well by now. Probably not as well as Anthony, or even Benedict, but it was galling.

Much like back at the inn, Colin started to wonder if the problem was him. Perhaps Kate was right. Perhaps Penelope looked perfectly decent and he was being an absolute prig... or was he a lecher? No, he wasn't that. Of course he wasn't. He was only concerned that she not be leered at.

He glanced down the table and no one else seemed to be perturbed. Ben was actually looking at him, smirking slightly. He'd be more annoyed at that if he didn't note Gregory's eyes, the little blighter, venturing downward a time or two as he gazed at Penelope. He glared at his younger brother until he finally noticed and looked down, his ears red.

He also glared at Dorset, since he was closest to Penelope, but he was not looking there. He was looking at the side of her head, actually, saying something about a poultice that he was considering.

Colin was the one who should be embarrassed. He and possibly Greg. No one else was ogling her because she dared display in some small way what God, in all his mysterious wisdom, gave her. He was going to stop it... any moment now.

Kate kicked him under the table again. "Eyes."

He didn't thank her, but thought he probably should. He should also be grateful he was seated next to her, rather than Ben, something that was made clear when Kate stood, suggesting the ladies retire to the drawing room. Benedict was immediately at his side as Anthony led the rest of them to the study.

"Something the matter?"

"No," he lied.

"Are you certain? I was all the way at the other end of the table, but I could see something was bothering you," he said, not sounding sympathetic in the least. Ben nudged Gregory as they took their seats. "Do you have any idea what was bothering him?"

"I don't know." Gregory ignored them and moved to Anthony, grinning. "Do I get a brandy?"

Colin rather wanted to tell Ben that Greg's wandering eyes certainly bothered him, but the lad seemed to have forgotten his transgressions, likely thrilled just to be allowed in the study with the men.

"No, you don't," Anthony said as he began pouring his contraband brandy for the rest, obviously feeling generous.

"But it's Christmas!" Gregory whined.

"Very well. You get a watered-down ratafia."

"That's for girls!"

"Would you rather join the girls?"

"No," Greg pouted.

Anthony tilted his head. "Would you like it better if I put it in a brandy glass?"

Gregory's face lit up. "Yes, please!"

Colin was glad someone was happy. He still felt restless. "Wouldn't it be better if we were in the drawing room?" he asked.

"God, no," Anthony said. "One whiff of a cheroot will have Kate putting her head out the window, even in this weather."

"For Daphne, it was eggs," Simon supplied. "Then at the end, it's the only thing she wanted to eat. I didn't have a proper breakfast for the first and last months, not with Auggie nor Belinda."

"Isn't that funny?" Dorset said. "I had a midwife tell me of a similar case with a Countess who had the same problem with pickled herring. Hated it at the start, wanted nothing else at the end."

"Yes, hilarious," Colin said absently. "Well, I don't want a cheroot, so I'll just be in there with the... the dessert," he finished awkwardly, handing his brandy to Ben.

"Dessert? Is that the draw in the drawing room?" Benedict said lowly. "I suppose it must be. You were eyeing Penelope's... blancmange all through supper."

Colin leaned in, hissing. "That's not funny! And I was not."

"I know you weren't. You were eyeing something else entirely. But I decided to put it more delicately for you," Ben said, clinking both glasses in his hands together. "Enjoy your... dessert."

"That's not funny either. And of course the draw is dessert," he insisted. "I've always thought the ladies had the better end of it, after dinner, whatever Eloise has to say about it. They get the first pick of the pies and cakes, don't they? I'm much more drawn to biscuits than brandy."

"Is biscuits the new slang? You are quite a bit younger. Your lot must have words for them I couldn't even—"

"I'll thank you not to talk of Penelope in such a manner."

"Now, now. I mean no disrespect to Penelope. She's blameless in light of your lascivious looks."

"They weren't... I'll have you know my motivations are nothing close to lascivious. That dinner was a crime against food. I want to go slip her something before Dorset—"

"Slip her something? Oh, Colin!" He devolved into laughs. "You make this far too easy!"

"Having you been nipping my powders again?"

"Nipping?!" Ben wheezed, turning nearly purple at that. "Oh, God. Stop! I can't—"

"What are you two laughing about?" Anthony asked.

"I'm not laughing," Colin growled. "Ben's obviously made himself too merry." Colin took his brandy back.

"Yes, obviously." Benedict cleared his throat and sobered slightly. "Anyway, Colin was just leaving. He thinks the view in the drawing room will give him a better sight of the... snowy hills," he choked out, holding in another laugh.

"You know, Benedict is a very fitting name for you," he said before stalking out. "Snowy hills," he muttered as he crossed the front hall. He certainly didn't want to see any snowy hills. In fact, he hoped that robe of hers had been fastened by now.

It had been, he saw, his eyes finding her as soon as he entered. She was sitting on the sofa near the fire between Edwina and Hyacinth, who had her large book of German children's tales open. Whichever one Hy was telling her, she looked delighted by it. He pouted slightly, noting that she hadn't even noticed him.

Eloise did, rushing to him, then surprising him mightily by kissing his cheek. "Mistletoe," she said.

He glanced up at the dangling sprig, at which Eloise plucked the brandy glass from his hand, the little sneak.

"Merry Christmas," she said, before scampering off with it.

"Darling." His mother joined him as well, saying, "Ah, mistletoe!" before also pecking his cheek, either not noting or deciding to ignore El's little maneuver. "Are the gentlemen finished already?"

"Er... no. I left them early as I'd rather have... er... dessert." God, he couldn't even say the word now without feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.

His mother peered at him slightly, grinning, but was then called back to the card table by Frannie and Lady Mary.

Daphne caught him then, strolling by with a plate. "Oh, Colin, take some of these and save me from myself." She stuffed a petit four into his mouth, then also kissed his cheek.

"Mush errrybody do zzah?" he asked around a mouth of raspberry and sponge cake.

"Yes, if you continue to stand under the mistletoe." Daphne regarded him, cocking her head. "Stand there long enough and someone else might be tempted." She nodded her head to the sofa. "Shall I call her over?"

"I'm not... I wasn't standing there so... Oh, never mind!" He dipped his head and made for the sideboard, scrubbing at his cheek. Happily, it was piled with platters, plates and three tiered dessert stands. They actually looked quite full still. He piled his plate, actually avoiding the biscuits, for once — also the cream puffs.

Kate appeared next to him. "I hope you've recovered by now."

"I was never afflicted in the first place. I was simply concerned as any good friend would be at... at another friend being... possibly chilled."

"Is that so?" Kate drawled, sounding unconvinced. "Then you must be less obvious in your... concern, if that's what you want to call it, unless you want your brother hiring some elderly companion from the village. He has several reputable names from the vicar. He'd actually looked into it for Eloise before I talked him out of it."

"He can hire all the reputable old ladies he likes," Colin grumbled. "I have nothing to hide and no reason to object."

"Oh, shall I inform him you support the endeavor?"

"No, please don't do that," he said, turning to her, nearly dropping a mince pie before he stopped it, then quickly stuffed it into his mouth so he need not answer further.

"Very well, I won't," Kate said, with a slight smile, "but do be careful."

It seemed like people had been either teasing him about or scrutinizing his friendship with Penelope all day and he certainly didn't want some stranger adding to it. Mrs. Harris was enough trouble, always chortling and calling Pen his "little lady." God, now he knew why.

Had he truly been so marked in his attentions, as Kate put it?

Mrs. Harris thought he was married to her, Anthony thought he was carelessly flirting with her, Ben seemed to think he was leering at her with lascivious intent, even if he was half-teasing, and Kate... Well, Kate hadn't said much about what she herself thought, but she seemed to share at least some of Anthony's concerns and she had kicked him twice. And now even Daphne, who was usually above such nonsense, was torturing him.

There was nothing else for it. He would have to avoid Penelope as much as possible. He stared out the window at the — blast it — snowy hills.

"Colin!"

He turned away, only to find Penelope on the sofa, and alone now. "Pen!" He rushed to her, then just as quickly stopped himself, nearly losing another little mince pie.

Now, is that avoiding her?

He approached her at a reasonable pace, holding the pie out as he sat... a reasonable distance across from her, practically half-on the opposite arm. "For you," he said grandly, glad the pie was only a little bit crushed at the edges.

"Oh, how very..." She smiled widely, taking it, then dropping her smile. "You know, I'm not hungry."

He gaped at her. "How can that possibly be true?"

"Doctor Dorset says it's very common after eating so little for days."

"Still, just one tiny mince pie..."

"I'm... Well, I'm actually not fond of mince pies." She dropped it onto the plate before her eyes widened and she smiled again. "Oh! I just remembered that!"

He couldn't quite share in her joy. Because it was Christmas and the idea of someone refusing a mince pie seemed almost criminal. He sat a bit closer, holding the plate under her nose now. This was urgent. "But you must have one. If you have mince pie on all twelve days of Christmas," he said in a rush, "it's good luck for the year." He frowned. "Then again, the first day is tomorrow."

"Then perhaps I shall have one tomorrow, if you insist." She laughed and pushed the plate away a little.

"I think I must," he said.

She tilted her head quizzically. "Although, if this superstition is indeed true, it can't have completely ruined my luck."

"Whatever can you mean?"

"I must have done something lucky enough to counter my lack of mince pies, don't you think? I mean, I might have hurt my head in this last year." She smiled. "But I also married you."

He stared at her, his body going so limp, he nearly dropped the plate before he caught himself.

"We must be newlyweds, considering I am but eighteen, mustn't we?"

He had nothing to say to that, except, "Lucky? Marrying me?" He let out an awkward laugh.

"But I forgot. I'm not meant to be asking things." She frowned. "It is rather frustrating, how little I know, but I can't help having this sense that being with you, with your family, I'm... I'm happier than when I'm not."

Colin still couldn't think of how to answer that. Pen had always been merry when he'd seen her, their journey here notwithstanding. He never thought of her as being anything but happy. But he wasn't blind. He did know that not everyone treated Pen well. Cressida's behavior alone was a nightmare, and that was only with what he'd seen. He didn't doubt she was even more abominably rude other times. And while he respected Penelope's family, El had intimated that her mother and sisters were not always kind.

"If it were in my control, you'd be happy all the time," he said in a low voice, leaning just a bit closer.

"Perhaps it is. Perhaps you should stay by my side indefinitely," she said with a little smile, just the barest tilt at the corner of her lips.

"It might be for the best," he breathed, mesmerized by that tilt, finding himself leaning closer still...

"Fret not, Ladies! We have returned!"

Colin started, leaning back as far as he could. He slid his eyes to the door, grateful no one was looking their way because it seemed he'd been close to... Dear God, he'd actually wanted to... Not that he would have, but he might have...

No. He would have.

In fact, he had been inches away from kissing Penelope Featherington in front of his entire family.