Anthony and Ben do their best version of good cop/bad cop.

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

"Colin, what in God's name are you playing at?"

"Well, what's he to do? The doctor did say we aren't meant to contradict..."

"But surely there has to be a limit to how wrong..."

"We shouldn't be discussing this here. Penelope needs..."

"Yes. This is so very wrong!"

"Would you all kindly take this elsewhere? I shall not have..."

The voices in the room blended into a dull roar.

"You. Study. Now." Colin picked Anthony's voice from the rest just before a hand clamped on his arm.

He reluctantly released Penelope's hand, lest he pull her prone form from the bed, as Anthony fairly dragged him past his family, out the door, through the hall, and down the stairs.

He let himself be dragged along as he wondered... What was he playing at?

He only knew that the last time Penelope had looked at him, on that painful and seemingly never-ending last stretch of their journey, she'd not done so for long, always turning stiffly away or avoiding him every time he tried to catch her eye.

But this morning, her eyes had followed him everywhere. He knew because he could hardly keep his own from devouring them, starved for them. He didn't want her eyes closed now, but if she needed more rest, then damn it, she'd have it. But he didn't have to like it!

"Well?" Anthony prodded as he pulled him into his study. He'd begun to shut the door, but Benedict sailed in before he could.

"Yes, I also have several questions," Benedict said blandly. "First, is it past eleven yet?"

"What?" Anthony snapped, pulling out his pocket watch. "No. It's barely half-ten. And what does that have to do with—"

"I suppose that's close enough," Ben said as he moved to the sideboard and poured three glasses. "I do make an effort to resist such libations before lunch, but these are desperate times." He handed one off to Anthony, who took it absently. He started to pass Colin the third, but Anthony snatched it before he could.

"What nonsense, Anthony barked. "I've seen you take the hair of the dog many times after a night of—"

"This isn't hair of the dog. I've been sober as a judge this week. We all have. I think it's high time that ended." Ben clinked his glass to Anthony's before snatching back the one meant for Colin. "I mean, if we are going to have this conversation..." He dangled the glass in front of Colin.

Colin pushed it away. "I don't want a whiskey. I want to go back upstairs and—"

"And what?" Anthony demanded, taking the glass again. "Tell Penelope you're the King of Prussia now?"

"To be fair, he didn't tell her anything," Ben supplied, leaning on the desk and sipping at his own tumbler.

Yes! That was true. He didn't actually put the idea in her head and wasn't to blame for...

"But if I recall," Ben went on, "he certainly didn't correct her, did he?"

"Indeed, he did not." Anthony speared him with a glance. He looked like he also wanted to point, but with a glass in each hand, he could only sort of wave. "He seemed to confirm it."

Damn it. That was also true. But if they knew how it had been for him, for three days, her eyes closed to him... He hadn't been able to rest or even eat properly, not until he saw them open again.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to eat, not until she did.

"Well?" Anthony prodded again.

"She didn't get to eat," Colin said dully. "We should have made certain she did before she slept again."

"Colin, that does not answer my—"

"Well, it's true!" Colin insisted. "I would have made certain of it myself if I hadn't been kept from her this morning."

"I beg your pardon," Anthony said, sounding like he was doing anything but that, "but were you expecting to be present for her bath?"

Benedict choked slightly on his drink.

Colin dipped his head, feeling his face heat. "I'm not saying I... I... I just think there were more important things than a bath, considering what we had just realized."

"And I disagree," Anthony said, pacing now with a glass in each fist. "Penelope needed some time on her own—"

"But she wasn't on her—"

"—and Dorset needed to consider how we should proceed, considering—"

"Dorset is no expert on maladies of the mind," Colin grumbled. "He said so himself!"

"Well, he's a sight closer than any of us are," Anthony countered, "and he's a good friend of mine, so you can stop bellyaching about him."

"Good friend, is he now?" Colin scoffed. "Ben told me you seemed quite annoyed that Kate invited him in the first place, said he was a calculating covetous cur."

Anthony turned on Benedict, who only shrugged. "People really need to stop telling me secrets. I think I've demonstrated quite well that I'm not adept at keeping them."

"Well, then you could at least do us all the courtesy of forgetting them," Anthony growled.

"How could I? The alliteration made it impossible. Calculating covetous cur," Benedict repeated. "Had the damned words in my head every time I looked at the poor fellow!"

"Well... That was only at first," Anthony muttered, thankfully emptying one of the glasses he held before waving it about. "Do you even realize how fortunate we are to have a doctor in our midst at a time like this? And I challenge any man to contend with another touching his wife's stomach and asking her about whether she felt... tenderness."

"Then I'd think you'd understand how I feel," Colin said hotly, "with the way he kept groping Penelope's limbs!"

"No." Anthony waved him off some more. "The situations are entirely different as he was quite obviously assessing her injuries—"

"But did he have to do it twice?" Colin demanded.

"— and I can't believe I must even say this," Anthony said over him, "but Penelope is not your wife!"

"Well, not according to her," Benedict said on a chuckle.

"This is not funny, Ben." Anthony shook his head. "Where did she get such an idea anyhow?"

"I'd wager Mrs. Harris," Benedict said, considering it. "That woman talks more than she thinks. She's not known for her attentive listening skills either." He wrinkled his nose. "She keeps calling me Bernard even though I've corrected her thrice. Then again, it could very well be this one." Ben lifted his empty glass toward Colin. "Possibly from the fact that he sits in that chair of his day and night, clutching her hand and staring at her like a lost soul." Ben tilted his head. "Then again she slept through most of that."

Colin wanted to deny it. Not the part about him staring at her and clutching her hand as that was rather hard to deny, but the rest... "Not my chair," he muttered. "Everyone sits in that chair."

"When you let them," Benedict said. "I think I tried to feed her only once and you pushed me out of it and—"

"You were doing it wrong! And while we are on the matter, I should go to the kitchens and be certain they—"

"God, Colin! We just had breakfast." Anthony finally tipped back the other glass, slamming it onto his desk. "Just because you can think of nothing but filling your belly doesn't mean it's the most important—"

"He hasn't filled his belly," Benedict cut in. "I doubt he's eaten enough to keep a mouse alive since her fall. I'd wager that new chef of yours is pulling his hair out as we speak."

Anthony turned to Colin, aghast. "Is that true?"

"Aye, perhaps my appetite has been a bit light. I'm often that way when I have other things to do and places to go and all that," Colin muttered.

"Since when?" Benedict snorted. "I've seen you take two turkey legs for a half-hour carriage ride."

Anthony's expression softened. "I do understand the temptation, you know, to neglect yourself when someone you care about is... unwell." He straightened and moved to the bell pull. "But it's highly impractical, so you shall stop your nonsense and eat something. Right here where I can see it."

"I'm doing just fine. Anyway, what I eat doesn't signify. Not when she's not had even broth since last night." He should know. He'd been the one to feed it to her, despite Eloise's protests that she was doing very well on her own, not even acknowledging that she was far too impatient, tipping the spoon so abruptly that half the broth ran down Penelope's neck and into her hair.

He'd wondered if El seemed to be of the notion that if she performed her nursing duties more quickly somehow, Penelope would wake even sooner.

She had given over eventually, allowing Colin to take the spoon and slowly and carefully tilt the broth past Pen's lips, waiting for her unconscious swallow before dabbing at the corners of her mouth, then starting again... slowly.

Each time, as in the days before, they both leaned forward as her throat worked, wondering if, this time, the sensation would rouse her. He knew, without even discussing it, that the both he and El, above anyone, wanted to be there when that happened, almost jockeying for the position of being the first face she saw.

He wasn't sure which one of them she'd seen first this morning and he didn't particularly care. They'd both won the moment her eyes opened.

And then, when he finally saw them, wide and staring down at him and his undignified self sprawled on the floor, he didn't want them out of his sight.

And though he didn't enjoy his mother teasing him, he could hardly blame her as he'd been having such obvious trouble looking away.

"Rolls, fruit, cheese, some biscuits," he heard Anthony muttering from the doorway. "Dash it all, we might as well take lunch in here now, so..."

"I told you, I'm not hungry," Colin sighed.

"Hush, you! So perhaps some sandwiches as well... ham, roast beef, salmon," Anthony said, still rattling off food to Footman John. "Are any of those pastries left from breakfast? I certainly wouldn't mind some more of those cheese ones."

"Aye, sir. We've had a fair glut of leftover food all week for some reason," John's eyes slid to Colin a moment. "Chef Antonin is starting to wonder if something is amiss."

Anthony's eyes slid to Colin as well, looking quite stern. "He shall not wonder anymore. Will he?"

Colin just shrugged and tossed up his hands. Did he really account for that much of his family's collective eating? He supposed he'd never thought him failing to clear his plate would result in such panic in the kitchens. Yet none of it tempted him, even though the words cheese and pastry together would usually send him downstairs to see if he could be of some help in hurrying along the trays, it did little to move him now.

He did feel a mild frisson of guilt. He quite liked Chef Antonin's work and wouldn't like to think of the man turning in his hat in a fit of pique. He supposed he might suffer through a pastry or two.

"Now, that's done!" Anthony shut the door and turned to Colin. "As for you, I think it's high time you explained your..." He stopped at a knock behind him. But he no sooner opened the door than he said, "No," then shut it again.

"Who was—"

There was another knock.

Anthony turned and opened the door slightly. "We are having a discussion. It does not include you. I shall tell you when it does," he said before shutting it yet again.

Colin heard a loud, huffing sort of growl from the other side. It was one he knew well. He was actually surprised she'd held off this long. He was grateful Anthony hadn't allowed her in even though, deep down, he knew Eloise had as much right to be interrogating him as Anthony, and probably more.

"Now, I understand," Anthony began, pacing to the sideboard and starting to pour another whiskey before seeming to abandon it, "that a person might make some odd choices when concerned about someone. And I commend you for your attentions to Penelope during her difficulties. I myself, as we know, was in a similar situation and I quite regret not... Well, it was hard for me to see..." He finally turned back. "Look, the situation was different. Kate was not my fiancée at the time, however much I wished it, and I had no right to impose upon her with my... attentions." He cleared his throat. "What I'm trying to say... is that..."

"Really, Brother," Benedict sighed loudly. "I doubt you have any idea of what you are trying to say. So why don't I say it?"

"No, I know very well what I want to say and that is... that... er..." Anthony hemmed and hawed a bit, even toyed with the whiskey before abandoning it again, turning back to Colin. "Though I have turned a blind... Or perhaps not blind, but an understanding eye due to the worry attendant upon her situation, I think the amount of time you have spent at Penelope's bedside is notably excessive..."

"See, now I think the same thing," Ben said, taking a seat beside Colin on the sofa.

"...and must be curtailed."

"Oh, never mind, I actually don't," Ben put in.

"Look, I understand that you have a certain fondness for Penelope," Anthony went on. "I, myself, have often appreciated her and her... tempering influence upon Eloise. Kate has also impressed upon me the value of their friendship. Dash it, I am fond of her as well. But I now understand you care for her in an especially..."

Ben leaned forward now. "Yes?"

"... brotherly way," Anthony finished.

"So close," Ben hissed.

"What?" Colin stood now, staring at Anthony, then at Benedict. "I am not her brother!"

"Indeed you are not," Anthony said.

"No one said you were," Ben added. "No need to get upset."

"Thank you," Colin breathed, taking his seat again. It was bad enough that Penelope had said it... and twice, really. Obviously, this last time was a mistake and he was very relieved it was corrected, but her little joke about it at The Holly Bush had also irked him. Couldn't a man and a woman be friendly without it being made out like they were... were...

"Which is precisely why your behavior involving Penelope needs to change," Anthony said.

Colin stood again. "But I've only been trying to help!"

"And how does allowing her to think you're her husband help?" his eldest brother demanded.

Colin sat down again. "It was... just a moment of..."

"But I am not only speaking of the events of this visit. There are other pressing matters that—"

There was another series of knocks at the door.

Anthony strode to it, unlocking and opening it again. "I told you not yet. And if you keep... Oh! Please proceed..." He opened the door wider as Footman John strode in again, now laden with a heavy tray.

"Finally!" a voice rasped.

Anthony closed the door again on a slight yelp, then opened it again a little, whispering out the crack, "Are you hurt?"

"No, but I am annoyed."

"Well, so am I!" Anthony shot back. "I told you I would let you know when you—"

"Why am I left out here? Is it because I am a woman? Am I so unworthy of being included in your vaunted male conversations?"

Colin knew who it was speaking, even without the diatribe.

"You are left out there," Anthony hissed, "because you do not know how to have conversations without turning them into arguments."

"Oh, is that so? Simply because I do not allow you all to say whatever you like without challenging..."

Colin still couldn't help but think Eloise should be in this room, as difficult as she made things.

Even if her friendship with Penelope wasn't what it once was, she was one of the two people in this house whose life would be most changed without Penelope in it. In a sense, more than his. Their friendship had been, if not longer than his with Penelope, more intimate. It wasn't as if Pen had spent nights giggling in Colin's bedroom when she visited... not that he would ever expect such a... It wasn't as if he'd thought of... Really, female friendships were different!

But that didn't mean his friendship with Penelope was lesser!

Anthony must have succeeded in chasing Eloise off because John was able to leave the room without her sidling past him. Still, Anthony locked the door again before turning back to Colin. "As I was saying, there has been some discussion of certain past behaviors that have been witnessed and might give the impression, however mistaken, of a particular—"

"God, Ant! We'll be in here for ages before you get to the point," Ben said with a roll of his eyes.

"You touch that girl entirely too much," Anthony burst out.

Colin scoffed loudly. "Because I have been helping with her care while—"

"I'm not talking about that. I'm saying, on the whole, you are far too free with her and we worry that, especially after all this, you will take even less care and that people will begin to talk."

"I see," Colin said, feeling a bit annoyed now. Not just because Penelope had said something similar at the inn. The idea of his friendship with Penelope being talked of by strangers was bad enough, but to think of his own brothers, without him in the room... "Have the two of you been discussing this at length?"

"Oh, not just us," Ben said, strolling over to fill a plate.

Colin's eyes widened. "Who else is—"

"There has been some talk among all of us," Ben said lightly, "at the meals you are rarely present for, you know. Personally, I think—"

"Is that so?" Colin scoffed. "You've all been talking about me while I have been sitting there sick with worry about my... my..."

"Care to finish that?" Ben asked. "What exactly is Penelope to—"

"I didn't think much of it at first," Anthony said over him, "having only witnessed a couple of dances myself, but then I also saw her fleeing from you in the gardens — in tears, mind you. Adding that to other incidents witnessed by—"

Colin stood. "What? When was that?"

"The night of her family's ball. I couldn't fathom what it was about, but then you told me of that Jack Featherington scoundrel, so I later decided that must be what upset her."

Certainly, Penelope had been upset by the news, but she'd not cried! Unless that was later, perhaps having more to do with Eloise than him. Hadn't they stopped speaking after that night?

"But then," Anthony went on, "I hear of you bellyaching about her ignoring your letters, so I must wonder what you might have done or said to—"

Colin whirled on Ben. "I told you that in confidence!"

"Yes! And I wish people would stop doing that," Ben sighed. "A couple of whiskeys and I'm like a toppled pitcher." He pointed at Anthony. "Did you know our brother used to have his valet spray lily scents on his pillows, back before he and Kate finally—"

"Benedict!" Anthony gasped.

"See? I can't help it." Benedict shrugged.

"Anyhow, I did nothing to upset Penelope!" Colin said heatedly. "If anything, it was probably El who'd upset her, considering—"

"Here now! Let's not bring El into without her here to defend herself," Ben said quickly.

"Oh, you always take her part," Colin growled. "Well, I refuse to defend my friendship with Penelope to the pair of you. Have either of you ever had a lady as a friend?"

"I consider Kate my very best friend," Anthony said, all puffed up.

Ben chuckled. "I think we know quite well that I've had many—"

"A lady friend that one does not tup with," Colin said with a withering glare.

"Very well. Perhaps not," Anthony said, considering it. "And I understand you are still a... a..."

"Green young lad in the first blush of his youth?" Benedict suggested.

"Oh, shove off, Ben!" Colin groaned. "And very well. Yes, I am. I've no wish to deny it!" He actually did.

It was not the sort of thing a man liked other men knowing, especially not his brothers who, while they might be of an age with each other, were much older than he. It was one of the very reasons he'd refused their offers of taking him to brothels after he'd finished at Eton. It didn't feel like they were his peers. He felt like a schoolboy being marched in beside them.

He'd rather thought he'd take care of that business on his own, perhaps on his tour. But the experience with Marina had left him feeling so foolish that he couldn't imagine any woman looking at him with true desire. And, really, was there anything like true desire to be found in a brothel? He knew such things didn't bother most men, but he'd always rather hoped his first time sharing a bed with a woman would be borne of mutual want. He didn't want it to be a hasty transaction where he left coins on her dresser in exchange for her pretense that she desired him.

There had been a woman in Italy on his second tour, a buxom older woman who caressed the lapels of his leather coat and untied his cravat and told him he shouldn't hide his beautiful neck and asked him if he'd like her help into and out of more clothing. But considering she'd just sold him that particular coat, he suspected it was all part of the sale and didn't partake. He did leave her a bit of extra coin, though, for her compliments. They did make him walk a bit more confidently in his new clothes, feeling like a man of the world.

But no. He was no closer to being a worldly man when he finished his second tour, at least not according to his brothers' definition of the word, than when he departed for his first.

And, at the moment, that seemed quite a good thing — or at least in proving he wasn't some seasoned roué who could not be trusted with an innocent like Penelope Featherington. He'd trust himself with her above anyone!

Yes, he might have noticed she was in possession of breasts on occasion and that they were not... ungenerous, but that was mainly in the vein of concern for her as a gently bred lady, that her form not be ogled by other less scrupulous men.

"Really, my friendship with Penelope is beyond reproach," Colin said firmly. "A more innocent, wholesome thing cannot be found in all the—"

"Colin, I'm not accusing you of lustful intent," Anthony said impatiently.

"And I'm starting to wonder if you know what that is," Ben added.

"I know very well what it is," Colin groaned. "I'm not stupid." It was, where Penelope was concerned, a thing to be avoided.

"But your behavior with Penelope," Anthony said, "however innocent you may see it to be, has not been beyond reproach. Any time the pair of you are at an event, you are seen whispering together."

"Is it a crime to converse with a—"

"And standing far too close," Anthony added.

"Who is saying that?"

"Well, Hyacinth, for one, says you stare at her quite a bit, talking of the pair of you at my..." Anthony hedged. "...well, my wedding at the palace."

"The wrong one, not the right one," Ben supplied.

"I think that was implied," Anthony grunted. "And speaking of Edwina, at that ridiculous show-pony party with her suitors, she said she'd noted that the two of you talked at length, you gazing at her quite intently and caressing her arm... above the glove, mind you."

"Well, I shall inform Miss Sharma that she is wrong in her—"

"Oh, she meant no ill," Anthony said with a wave of his hand. "She said it as if she had some notion the pair of you were sweethearts, and we quickly assured her that was not the case."

"Not all of us did," Ben put in.

"Yet the way you behave," Anthony went on, "I can see how she made such a mistake."

"I see," Colin said stiffly, feeling quite bombarded now. "Have all of you just sat about all this time, just gossiping over my friendship with Pen like a pack of Whistledowns?"

"You make it sound worse than it is. Yes, there has been discussion, but we were all in agreement that you not be confronted with this unless and until the current danger had passed." Anthony nodded. "But now that you mention Lady Whistledown, there is the matter of what she wrote, something that certainly makes it even more imperative that care needs to be taken, lest she savage the poor girl more."

Colin sat again, horrified. "What? Is that woman writing of our friendship as well?" Was that why Penelope had seemed so adamant that it needed to end? "I barely ever look at that rag of a—"

"No, not of you," Ben assured him. "Some gentleman — if he can even be called such — was heard saying Penelope was not worthy of courting or some other rot."

Colin stood again. "Who?" Penelope had said — or perhaps just alluded to — some talk during their lunch at the inn. She'd never said which filthy bastard had the nerve to speak of her. She even tried to claim no one had said anything, apart from Cressida, and he couldn't very well duel her. But this rotten blighter... "I'll have my satisfaction out of his damnable hide! I'll see him at dawn and—"

"She didn't say who and, whoever he was, I don't think anyone thought he was speaking of dishonor. It was more sort of the..." Anthony shrugged. "Well, some people tend to dismiss Penelope and it seemed no more than that. Nothing to be overly worried about, at least."

"Well, that's... that's not much better. Penelope doesn't deserve to be dismissed any more than she deserves to be dishonored," Colin finished on a grumble, sinking to the sofa again. God, who was it? He felt there was something there, something that was just out of his grasp, a voice laughing...

Penelope Featherington? Are you mad?

Had he drunk with the bastard at Mondrich's? He'd had too much to drink to remember, but something was nagging at the back of his mind.

"And let's not leave out you grasping her hand and hauling her from a ballroom containing all of your friends, family, acquaintances and, lest we forget," Anthony added pointedly, "the Queen! I might have been a bit distracted that night, but—"

"I did not—"

"You can't deny that one, Brother," Benedict supplied. "Mother and I saw it ourselves."

"I'm not denying it, though hauling is a bit of an excessive way of putting it," Colin grumbled. "But there was no cause for alarm. Even Lady Featherington herself agreed once I—"

"Lady Featherington?"

"She came upon us in the drawing room," Colin said sheepishly, "along with... er... Lord Featherington."

Anthony glanced heavenward, tossing up his hands. "Oh, God! Colin, do you even realize that you being discovered during a ball," here, he held up a finger, "in the family's private quarters," then another, "with the daughter of the house," then yet another, "by her own mother—"

"I think we've got it. Keep that up and you're going to run out of fingers," Ben said with a sigh.

"But it was only to unmask Jack Featherington," Colin protested. "Can you imagine the scandal that he was about to expose their family to?"

"Forgive me if, at the moment," Anthony fairly growled, "I'm a bit more preoccupied by the scandal you were about to expose their family to!"

He dropped his head into his hands. Dear God, they were right. They were all right. Penelope had even tried to tell him, with all she'd said at the inn. He'd been far too focused on his own hurt then. He saw her concern with propriety as no more than some excuse to hide the anger she kept claiming she didn't feel, but perhaps she had cause to be concerned.

Laid out like this, his crimes seemed numerous indeed.

"Lady Featherington could have, well within her rights," Anthony added, "demanded you marry Penelope at first light. And I would have marched you to the altar myself."

Colin could see it now... Penelope, still in her yellow and gold ballgown, perhaps with her hair in mild disarray, standing in a near empty church as the dawn crept in, blinking up at him with worry.

He'd like to think he could have reassured her that all would be well, but how reassuring could he be when his behavior had got them there in the first place? His reckless, thoughtless, irresponsible...

He felt Ben's hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. "Perhaps we can stop berating Colin for what might have been? Has there been any word from Lady Featherington now? I rather thought she'd have been on our doorstep days ago."

"Nothing yet," Anthony waved a hand, "The roads from London are still less than passable, which I'm rather grateful for. I think we might all concur that Portia Featherington would not aid the situation."

Colin couldn't help but agree. As much as he cared for her family, it was more for Penelope's sake than their own. And he really couldn't imagine Portia or Prudence Featherington gently nursing Penelope or being a calming presence for her.

"And there is some point in bringing up the past," Anthony went on, pouring himself another drink, "as combined with your liberties with her now, perhaps someone might see something not so easily dismissed. And whatever difficulties she will face after her injury, I think we are all in agreement that Penelope becoming a target of gossip is the last thing she needs. But now, for you to claim to be her husband—"

"But I didn't claim it," Colin protested. "I only..."

"She claimed it, mistakenly. But you confirmed it," Anthony pointed out.

But what else was he to do, staring into those blasted blue eyes, but agree with whatever she said?

He'd always known her eyes had been blue, but had they always been that blue? That almost impossible Sardinian sea blue? He'd made such a comparison the first time he saw those clear, blue waters, but he hadn't fully realized how apt it was until she was blinking up at him, her eyes soft and curious.

The reason for the curiosity was made plain later and, he supposed, the softness as well. She had no idea who he was or that, days before, she had insisted that their friendship was over.

And now... Well, it was different. And, mad as it was, he didn't particularly care how that happened. If it meant she thought him her husband, then he'd take it. He'd take what he could get.

Still, he didn't think Anthony and Benedict would accept that as an excuse, especially not Anthony. He was still staring at him as if he was somehow the worst reprobate to ever taint his study, even when it was Benedict who was now pouring himself a third whiskey before lunch!

Colin took a deep breath, trying to gather his desperate thoughts into something resembling a proper excuse. "Doctor Dorset said that we were to let her find things in her own time, in her own way. Did he not?"

"Oh, and do you suddenly set such store by what Doctor Dorset says?" This was from the doorway, now opened on Eloise, who stomped in, dangling a key in Anthony's face.

Anthony gaped at her. "Is that one of my master keys?"

"Yes. And you're not having it back," she said, shockingly, dropping it down her bodice before, also shockingly, taking Benedict's tumbler. There wasn't much there, but she tossed the contents down her throat. But no one blinked at that. Oh, no! Everyone was somehow still staring at him, of all people!

"Look, we are all there for the same meeting," Colin said with what he thought was more patience than they deserved. "Dorset said we were not to go about just contradicting her... her... her perceptions and allow her to gently—"

"Didn't you once refer to Mr. Dorset as a half-baked crack who didn't even deserve to call himself a doctor?" Eloise demanded.

Colin stood. "He was the one who said Penelope might come back to us... wrong somehow!" We must be prepared that she might not be as she was, the man had said. Colin had found it unforgivable at the time and he was no less incensed at the idea now. "To suggest such a thing was wholly—"

"I think it was a low-rate quack, actually, and useless as well," Mr. Dorset himself supplied, now also joining them. "And what I said was not to spoon-feed her information that might confuse her, nor to be careless in contradicting her perceptions. I never meant she could not be gently corrected."

"Well, then you... you should have made that clearer," Colin sputtered.

"You'll have to forgive me for not being perfectly clear at six in the morning while confronted with the first case of amnesia I have ever witnessed."

"But you said it could happen!" Colin said, pointing at him. "So you should have—"

"What? Suddenly gained a year of study in a field that is not my own before she woke?" Dorset shook his head. "I've studied obstetrics. This is far afield for me. I shall have to see what libraries there might be in the vicinity if the roads to London are still—"

"You will go nowhere," Colin said hotly, "until Penelope is healed."

"Here I thought I was useless." Dorset speared Colin with a glare before taking the freshly-poured tumbler from Anthony's hand. "Is this gin?"

"Whiskey," Anthony supplied dully.

"Thank God. Can't abide gin," Dorset said before gulping it down.

Colin stood, slowly clapping his hands several times. "Yes, I was obviously mistaken. He is surely a medical professional at the top of his field!"

"Oh, stop it, Colin!" It was Simon now, sailing into the room and moving right to the sideboard. "You've had it out for Dorset since he said she might not speak."

"Yes!" Colin pointed at Dorset now. "Because he said that and... and she did. So he is obviously—"

"Doctors are meant to prepare us for the worst. Can we not be grateful that the worst is not the case we face?" Simon picked through the decanters before turning to Anthony. "Is this all you have? Far too early for whiskey."

"Is everyone to invade this room now?" Anthony cleared his throat and moved to his desk. "I don't know what the lot of you expect at half-past ten in the morning but I don't—"

"It's past eleven now and I'm certain you've got some French brandy squirreled away, at the very least," Simon said, now pulling open the cupboards under the bookshelves.

Anthony puffed out his chest."I assure you, as an English patriot, if you are looking for contraband items in my—"

"There's a false bottom to that shelf there," Benedict said. "Just tap on the wainscoting."

Anthony growled, "Ben!"

"Really, the war is all but over now. Surely, a bit of brandy won't hurt our chances against Napoleon," Kate sighed, now also joining the fray and sitting by Colin. "I'd have one, myself, if I could."

Anthony's expression changed immediately as he moved to her other side, crowding Colin toward the arm. "Are you feeling better? Didn't I tell you that no one blamed you in the least?"

"I know that. But it's been hard not to feel that way," Kate said haltingly. "It was I who invited her against Eloise's—"

"Kate, I have long since told you that you are not the one to blame," Eloise said, glaring into Ben's empty glass. "Might I have another?"

"No," Benedict said, plucking it from her hand, before lowering his voice, "we can talk about it later, though."

Colin stared at El, now glaring at the carpet. He didn't have to wonder who she thought was to blame. There'd been an uneasy detente between them while waiting for Penelope to wake, but he knew it was coming to an end. He was only left to wonder if she would confront him, here and now, in front of everyone, or wait until they were alone. For all the time they'd spent at Pen's bedside, she had yet to start the fight he knew was coming.

He knew it was yet another one of those good fights, however he would not fight back. He was ready to take it, whatever she had to say.

"It is winter," Anthony was saying. "Anyone could take a fall on icy steps at any time. Perhaps we could blame me for not having them scattered with sand before—"

"Oh, no!" Kate protested. "The snows had only just started. How were you to know—"

"How is anyone ever to know? A person could torture themselves endlessly, thinking of what tiny thing might have been different, even though doing so changes nothing. Trust me, Darling, I have lived the moment you were injured a thousand ways, all of them easier upon you than what you suffered if I had only—"

"Do not bring that up," Kate hissed. "Haven't we agreed that the past doesn't matter? All is well now."

"Which is precisely my point," Anthony said on a chuckle.

Colin did feel tempted to point out that Anthony hadn't been of the opinion that the past didn't matter when it came to laying out Colin's crimes against propriety, but considering those crimes, he knew he hadn't a leg to stand on.

Kate pushed at Anthony's shoulder. "I like you best when you are wrong. You are quite insufferable when you are right!"

"Well, it's a fine thing that happens so rarely, then." Anthony placed a hand on her knee, rubbing lightly as he held her gaze.

There was something about the gesture that seemed so intimate to Colin — not in a prurient way, just that it seemed like something between them and them alone, as if they had some knowledge the rest of the world hadn't cottoned on to. He felt strange being near it, as if he should take himself away.

But there were no other places to sit in this now-crowded room. Francesca, Edwina, and Mary had now joined them as well, milling about with the others and picking at the food and making light conversation about Chef Antonin's vol-au-vents. It was a fair change from the somber mood that this supposed party had been defined by in the last three days. He didn't blame everyone for being jolly now that she would live. Yet he couldn't quite join them, not just yet.

A person could torture themselves endlessly, thinking of what tiny thing might have been different, even though doing so changes nothing.

Yes, that was true and right and probably very practical and all that nonsense. But that didn't mean that he could forgive himself. Not until Penelope was herself again.

He noted that El's somber demeanor had not changed much either.

"You shouldn't be worrying yourself," Anthony was murmuring, pulling Kate close. "Why don't you have some lunch?"

"I would, but there seemed to be some confusion among the servants on where lunch is being served," Kate said archly, nodding at the hutch now surrounded by people filling plates and, lacking those, napkins.

"God, I didn't even think. I only wanted Colin to eat something. I didn't want to bring the whole lot of them in here."

"Well, I think we can dispense with a formal lunch today anyhow." Kate turned to Colin. "And have you eaten, Colin?"

"No, he hasn't," Anthony said, narrowing his eyes. "Didn't I specifically say that you should eat? You're no good to anyone if you're wandering about, half-starved and without proper sleep. I insist you—"

"Oh, Anthony," Kate cut in. "I'm sure he's just been distracted. I'm sure Colin doesn't mean to—"

"Oh, yes, he does! He's very stubborn about it and it stops now."

"You see, Kate, it seems Colin is on some sort of hunger strike," Ben said, without being asked, of course. "He will not touch a bite until his wife does."

"You're not funny," Colin growled at Benedict, pulling a roll from his plate and biting into it. He turned to Anthony. "Happy?" he said over his mouthful.

"I'd be happier if we weren't in this mess to begin with." Anthony leaned behind Kate to poke at Colin's side. "Do you realize that we are all now going to have to play-act as if you and Penelope are married until... Well, until... God, I don't even know how long we must maintain this farce."

Colin nodded, ready to make amends for his crimes. "That shall not be necessary. I shall correct Penelope as soon as she wakes. I shall tell her, very gently, that she was mistaken in—"

"I would strongly advise against that," Doctor Dorset said. Obviously, the blighter had been listening in. He turned to Anthony and Kate. "I'm not saying that I know precisely what to do in a situation like this, having never been confronted with anything this mad..."

He really was the absolute worst...

"...but there seemed to something about Colin here that comforted her. Even in her agitation and confusion, she seemed quite relaxed and content with this idea of him as her husband. And while that may not be true, perhaps his presence as a sort of... trusted conduit or guide into this new reality of hers is the best thing for her at the moment. She needs someone to depend upon."

Then again, the man did have certain insights.

El seemed to disagree, frowning heavily at him. "So Colin, of all people, is the person Penelope should depend upon to recover her own life?"

Colin's head shot up at that. "Of all people?" Yes, he might have been careless with Penelope at times. That was now becoming plain. But that didn't mean he didn't care.

"I'm simply saying that, if anyone knows Penelope..." Here, she trailed off. "Never mind," she said, glaring at the floor again. "Perhaps it's better that it's not..." She shook her head and quite suddenly rushed from the room.

Colin followed after a moment, quite ready to protest that he knew Penelope just as well and his friendship with her was, while different, no less important than Eloise's, damn it!

And considering he wanted that friendship back a sight more than Eloise had before all this happened, he had every right to be the person Penelope depended upon and...

But Eloise was nowhere to found when he entered the front hall. He stared around, trying to imagine where she might have gone. But did he really want to find her? He knew what would happen when he did and, as much as this fight had been brewing between them, he was exhausted at the thought of it.

He was exhausted on the whole. Also hungry.

He stared down at the roll still clutched in his hand.

You're no good to anyone if you're wandering about, half-starved and without proper sleep.

It wasn't even buttered, which he'd usually consider criminal, but he stuffed it in anyhow. Anthony was right, blast him. He was no good to Penelope if he was clouded with hunger and lack of sleep.

He bounded up the staircase, thinking he couldn't do anything about the latter just yet. Even pausing as he passed his room, he knew he was still far too restless. Even if he could sleep, he didn't want to, not until he saw her again. And he finally could now, with everyone else otherwise occupied...

Apart from his mother, apparently. She was sitting by the bed, her embroidery in hand, staring quite intently as she worked, not even noting him as he walked in.

"Mother?"

"Ah, Colin!" She started slightly, tucking her needle in at the top of her hoop. "I've been so caught up in this. It's been days since I've been able to do it properly." His mother reached out her hand. He rushed to take it. "Not that I've had much to do but wait, with you having things so... so well in hand here," Mother finished, softening her voice as she squeezed his hand. "Yet it's been so hard to lose myself in my little works when other concerns seemed more pressing. Anyhow, it's nice to go about things again, without worrying."

He squeezed his mother's hand back before releasing it, then stood there, not sure what to do with himself. He wished he had some sort of business to go about.

They both stared at Penelope, still asleep. She'd shifted to her side now, but he could see her chest rising and falling steadily under the blankets. She didn't seem in any danger of waking, but they kept their voices low all the same.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

His mother held up her work. "Daffodils. I always see them as a herald of spring. They're such a lovely little splash of yellow. They are quite a challenge, though. Not as hard to work with as roses, mind you, but much more challenging than tulips. I'd meant this as a pillow for Daphne's sitting room, but I doubt she'd mind if I gave it to Penelope, in the end. It's so very sunny. So very yellow. It feels like it's meant for her."

Colin couldn't help but agree. If anyone was sunshine, if anyone was yellow, it was Penelope. "It's almost too quiet up here now."

"I sent Gregory and Hyacinth out to make snow angels with Auggie," his mother replied, "so Daphne might have a nap with Belinda."

It took him a moment to remember who Belinda was, which made him feel awful. He'd been so looking forward to greeting his first niece since Daphne had written him of her arrival. And she'd promised he might meet her sooner if he had the heart to give up his sunny Mediterranean island which, Daphne assured him she was quite jealous of. He'd actually considered coming home early, even before the storm.

He'd never thought himself the sort of person to be so eager to hold the nearest baby. When Hy had been born, he'd thought her quite unapologetically loud all the time and, when he had the occasion to hold her, sticky-fingered and awfully rude, with her tendency to pull at his hair for no reason. But the first time he'd cradled Auggie...

Well, perhaps he was just older by then, but he'd felt quite at peace. Even when the lad tried to stick his fingers in his nose and tug roughly at his hair, something about his wide, curious eyes and sweet smell made the whole thing charming. He'd taken the opportunity to hold him whenever possible and he'd surely enjoy Belinda just as much. But from the moment he'd arrived at Aubrey Hall, he'd been so caught up, he'd not greeted his new niece properly. He would correct that soon.

"Shouldn't you be taking lunch with the others?" he asked now.

"I'll have something in a moment. I'm sure poor Anthony has enough people crowding into his study without me." His mother chuckled. "Once I saw he was taking you there, I knew the rest would soon follow. I've sometimes wondered how this family can even be counted as refined members of society when we more closely resemble pack animals. We do tend to gather and, I suspect," here, she glanced up at Colin, "attack?"

Colin laughed now. "I'm not sure I would call it that. Anthony wasn't so bad."

"What a relief," she said, though she hadn't sounded alarmed in the first place. "I'm sure you know it all, anyhow, whatever Anthony might have had to say."

"I suppose I know now," Colin said, trying not to sound too put out when he had no right. As much as he disliked his friendship with Penelope being examined in such a way, he now knew that it bore a closer look than he'd given it thus far — at least as far as his behavior was concerned. "I gather everyone has discussed my comings and goings and doings—"

"Not unkindly, Darling. But there have been some talks and concerns were raised. But I see no cause to beat you about the brow."

Colin rather wondered why she was so easy on him, or even putting up with his presence in this very room. The way Anthony had talked, it seemed what was best for him was to avoid Penelope at all costs, lest he expose her to even more scandal.

Mother plucked up her needle again, holding up her hoop. "I often consider needlework a lovely little way to occupy the hours, but it's been so very hard to concentrate on anything with... well..."

"I understand," he said. Not that he had much to occupy his hours, not when he was home. He had no hobbies, he supposed, except when traveling. There, he had his maps, his letters and, later, his journals. The journals were quite a new venture. Really, they were more rightly just another set of letters — but ones with no answer. Or perhaps a continuation of the very letters that had not been answered, more rightly.

Sometimes, it was easiest to imagine he was writing to her. It was the only way he could write freely. He never worried if what he said was too fanciful, too flowery, too... foolish.

So damned foolish, now that he thought of it. Yet he'd not given it any sort of thought before, fool that he was.

He should not have been writing to Pen. He should not have been touching her so damned much. He certainly should not have hauled her from a ballroom in front of half the people they both knew, including his mother...

Hadn't Benedict said that Mother had seen that, too? Why had she never taken him to task over it? What must she think of him now?

Nothing unkind, he knew. That simply wasn't who his mother was. She'd likely give him the benefit of the doubt if he shot someone in the middle of Mayfair.

"Mother... With Penelope, I... Well, I just didn't imagine my actions being noted or... even notable. What you've seen was—"

"I know you very well, Dear. There's no need to explain yourself to me. Now that certain things have been brought to your attention, I trust that you will... act in whatever way is best."

He rather thought that meant he should take himself off right now, but then she stood, packing up her embroidery.

"I'll leave you to tend to Penelope while I have some lunch. But Darling," she turned back to him, cupping his cheek. "Do tend to yourself as well."

"I will," he promised vaguely as she left. He was doing perfectly well. He ate, didn't he? An entire roll. Really, he was rather surprised she wasn't concerned at leaving him with Penelope, but grateful for it all the same as she quit the room.

He took his chair again, looking Penelope over. Her breaths were still deep and even, her brow soft and undisturbed. One hand was tucked under her cheek, but the other was just laying there, half off the bed. He reached for it, wondering if he should tuck it under the covers instead, then stopped himself.

But with no one here to see, it felt silly not to take her hand as he'd done these last days, so he did.

Before all this and, he supposed, those few moments in the carriage, he hadn't touched her hands ungloved since they were children. And he'd obviously never thought of the feel of them then, since it was usually while they were playing and everyone's hands were covered in dirt or sweat or sweets. But as she'd lain there for days, he couldn't help holding them, squeezing them, even studying them.

They were so small and soft, except a bit of coarseness between the fingers that might hold her quill. She must be as diligent in writing to everyone as she was to him... at least before this year.

He can't believe he'd dared to be bitter about it.

Hadn't Penelope already said her mother disapproved of his letters? Perhaps Lady Featherington hadn't forbade her writing to him as he'd hoped, grasping for anything that meant Pen dearly wished to answer him, but couldn't. But now he realized that Pen knew, as he had not, that she shouldn't.

Dear God, Anthony hadn't even touched upon the letters. Colin hoped he didn't. He'd rather not have another hour in that study being told what a foolish, careless man he'd... No.

Surely he didn't deserve to be called such a thing.

He was a boy. A foolish, careless, reckless boy, thinking himself so above the very rules that had governed the interactions of young men and women for ages. All he thought of in those moments of missteps — if he could even be credited with thought — was his own gratification in the way Pen made him feel about himself.

He shouldn't even be holding her hand now, sliding his fingers between hers and teasing those little calluses with his thumb. He really shouldn't. He actually didn't deserve to. Yet he couldn't help it.

The last words she'd said to him had been so cold and indifferent and now he knew why. Now he knew that she was trying to open his eyes to the follies he'd refused to face. Perhaps she'd have had hundreds of potential husbands if he hadn't been monopolizing her time and her smiles and her words and her ways of making a man feel like he was so much better and bigger than he was.

He'd been not only foolish, but selfish with her.

Now she thought him her husband. Not only that, but the sort of husband who deserved to be called sweet and wonderful and constant and stared at with soft, melting eyes and, damn him, he'd let her think it because... because... Dash it all, it was better than what he'd been staring at before!

Those last moments in the carriage, he'd been staring at a life where he and Penelope acted as indifferent acquaintances. And he hated it. He could argue all he wanted about Doctor Dorset's orders about not contradicting her, but all he'd felt in that moment when she'd called him her husband was this strange relief because it was better for him.

But was it better for her?

She'd come to mend her friendship with Eloise, not him. That's what she'd sai.

He loosened his grip, starting to pull his hand away when Penelope's fingers tightened on it.

"Colin?" Her eyes opened slightly, her brow furrowing. "Are you leaving?"

He felt his hand clasping hers back, his entire body stiffening and straightening in the chair, as he watched her brows ease, her eyes close again.

His own eyes softened. "No. Never."