December 21st, 1814

Colin had suspected Penelope might be surprised at his appearance. He was surprised himself. He hadn't planned to be in a carriage directly after getting out of a hackney that came from a cargo ship, but he did expect her to say something more than his name.

"Miss Penelope," he heard from inside. "Now, don't be goin' off without your—" There was a gasp and he glanced past Pen to the woman frozen on the steps, a reticule dropping from her hand.

"Ah! Good morning, Mrs. Varley. Allow me." He retrieved the little purse and started to hand it back.

But the woman shook her head. "It's Miss Penelope's."

"Oh! Then here you are, Pen."

Penelope took it blindly, still saying nothing.

"Are you off to Aubrey Hall as well, sir?" Mrs. Varley asked hesitantly.

"I'd not planned to be, but my luck with the Mediterranean weather seems to have taken a turn. I was torn between coming home or being washed out to sea. Considering I'd not had a chance to buy gifts for my family yet, I might be facing a storm there as well." He laughed.

Mrs. Varley laughed as well. Penelope did not. Nor had she said a word still.

He pulled a half-crown from his pocket and pressed it into the woman's hand. "I wish you a happy Christmas, Mrs. Varley."

She looked surprised, then askance. "So I take it I shouldn't be tellin' her ladyship about your presence. Is that it?"

He stared at her, confused. Then his eyes widened. Did she think he was bribing her? "Oh, no! Do tell her. I shouldn't like her to worry. Miss Featherington will be quite safe on the journey. Our coachman, footman, and myself shall all draw our best weapons, should it come to it."

Mrs. Varley stared a moment before she gave him a reluctant laugh, putting his coin in her pocket. "I can imagine what your best weapon is. Ye've a charm about you and make no mistake. You just be careful how you wield it."

He laughed. "I'm not quite certain if that was a cut or a compliment."

"Take it as y' like, along with my wishes for a very merry Christmas indeed, sir." She squeezed Pen's shoulder and leaned down. "Safe journey. I'll not tell Lady Featherington, all the same," she whispered loudly before taking herself back inside.

"Is there a reason your mother might not wish to know I'm traveling with you?" he asked, feeling quite merry now. Mrs. Varley seemed to have confirmed his suspicions as to why his letters had gone unanswered. Not that he was happy Lady Featherington had halted their correspondence, but it was better than the alternative. He'd just known that Pen wouldn't be silent with him if she could help it... even if she was quite silent now. She hadn't answered, after all.

He decided not to press her. It was quite early in the morning and, though he'd been up for hours, she'd likely need some time before she'd be ready to speak properly. Yet he couldn't stand the silence, talking to fill it as he helped her over the slick sidewalk.

"I suppose you weren't expecting me. I'd wager my family isn't either. I'd been prepared to stay on Cyprus until after the new year, but storms were expected and it seemed advisable not to be stranded on a remote island. I quite liked reading The Tempest, but I shouldn't like to have lived it." He laughed, noting that she did not join him. He didn't blame her. It wasn't that funny anyway. "Well... you see... my ship had not come back my way yet, so I was lucky to gain passage with some cargo. It was rather like that time I spent traveling with the cows. Do you remember? My final leg of the first journey to Greece, it was. This time, it was a bit more unsettling as it was goats. One can sleep well enough through the mooing of cows, but the bleating, and even screaming, of goats is much less conducive to a good night's rest."

He laughed again. She did not. Again.

"Ah, the coachman hasn't yet pulled down the step, busy helping the footmen secure the trunks, I imagine." Colin wasn't certain of that, as he hadn't looked. He was too busy attempting to search Pen's face for answers. He could simply assume it was as Mrs. Varley implied, but the longer she stayed silent, the less certain he was. Could she be angry with him?

That had been the other likelihood he'd pondered, though he liked it least. Eloise had been no help, having told him when they'd last been at Aubrey Hall that "she had no idea how Penelope regarded him, one way or another, and it was not her job to find out." So whatever Pen might have told El, she'd obviously sworn her to secrecy. Pen was no help now, with her head bent and her cloak shielding her face. He reminded himself that she must be tired.

"I would... do it myself if I knew how. Perhaps that's something I should learn? When traveling, it's either boats, carts, horses, or mules. Not many carriages to be had. I've become quite self-sufficient. Though I don't know how useful my new skills are here at home. Campfires, climbing, and tent-raising only go so far in London. Tying my own cravat would be most useful here, but I'm still helpless at that, so... Oh! I'd be remiss if I didn't apologize for my appearance."

Penelope finally looked up at him, then downward... rather slowly, her eyes wide and her breath coming out in rapid, visible puffs. He supposed he looked a bit alarming. His breeches and boots weren't out of the ordinary, but his leather coat and gloves were not quite the fashion in these parts. Still, his lack of waistcoat and bare neck must be the most shocking part.

She was staring in a daze, poor thing. She must be absolutely exhausted.

"Apparently, Greg's stolen my valet while I've been away, but do not worry. I shall steal him back when we arrive at Aubrey Hall. I'm sure they will all be surprised. Pleasantly, I hope. Perhaps not Greg, though," he finished on an awkward laugh.

Penelope opened her mouth several times, but nothing came out. He glanced into the carriage, trying to find something else to fill the silence.

"Dash it, I see they've only got one footwarmer and fur," he said in a lower voice. "I shan't send them back for more. I'm inconveniencing everyone already. Mrs. O'Hara — our London cook, you know — is putting together another hamper of food, now that I'm here. And that's more than enough. My appearance was not anticipated, after all. I'd meant to dress in something more proper, but I thought it best not to delay the journey. It is six hours, more if we stop, which I know we must. Luckily, my trunk was already packed and at the ready so I needn't trouble anyone. And I'm really most comfortable as I am, except... Oh, allow me!"

He handed her up after the coachman had dropped the step, relieved that she'd stirred herself enough to move, then clambered in and onto the bench beside her. The other was a bit crowded with a hamper of food and a large fur.

"It's quite warm in here, really. I thought I'd feel frozen after the warmth of the Mediterranean, but I find the cold more refreshing than not. Don't you?" She still made no reply. "Of course not. You've been here all winter. Or at least I hope you have or my letters have surely gone astray... Ah, never mind my letters. It's far too early to talk about that."

Probably, it was far too early to talk this much. Had he ever talked this much? Had anyone? Yet he couldn't stop...

"It might be a bit close in there. Just a chaise and four. They've got the larger carriages at Aubrey, I suppose. Just the... one door. But as it's just the pair of us, we can make do, I'd wager."

He quieted himself for a bit, stopping his knee from bouncing. He didn't know why he felt so nervous. He had been anxious, to begin with, when he'd first been told the carriage was taking Pen to Aubrey Hall, not knowing if his company would be welcome. But it seemed clear now that Lady Featherington had been the cause all along, as he should have known.

That night, the last night he saw Pen, Lady Featherington had looked alarmed when she'd come upon them alone in the drawing room. Though he quickly showed his true reason for dragging Penelope off, he did later think of how it must have looked. Even he had to admit it might seem suspicious, especially after Fife also seemed to get the wrong idea from only their dance. It was obvious some of the people of The Ton were either entirely too suspicious or perhaps simply not evolved enough to understand a friendship like his and Pen's.

He didn't even blame Lady Featherington for stopping Pen's replies. Still, he hoped Pen would quickly tell him that was the case. He'd actually imagined, upon stopping her from slipping on the ice, she'd be delighted to see him, telling him how she'd wished she could have written, how her mother had forbade it and then, now that they had a very long carriage ride ahead of them, eagerly bid him to tell her all about it himself.

Pen had never greeted him with anything but a smile and an endearing little shout of his name. She had said his name, at least, but it hadn't been a happy little shout. Then again, he reminded himself, it was early and cold. She'd surely be more like herself once they started on the journey.

As of now, she was stiff and silent beside him. Perhaps she was nervous being alone with him — not because she thought she was in any danger from him. Surely, Pen knew him better than that. But she might be anxious about it being against her mother's wishes. "Pen, if you fear your mother—"

"Here you are, sir." Footman John, who was making the journey up top with the coachman, appeared with a second hamper of food.

"Oh, thanks, John. Allow me," he said placing it on the opposite bench. "Have you and George any need of food or fur or anything?"

"We've had our breakfast, thanks, sir. And we've got our own fur and footwarmers. But if you need—"

"God, no! The pair of us are situated quite well, aren't we, Pen?"

"Yes," she said, "thank you," but not to him.

He was glad she finally said something. He'd begun to think her lips had been frozen together. Now, they were smiling at John and he felt a rush of annoyance, since she had yet to smile at him.

That was one of the nice things about seeing Pen after a long time apart, how she always seemed excited to see him and talk to him, even more so than his family. It had been especially pleasant on his return last season. She'd actually been the first face he saw properly as he entered the blue drawing room. She'd said his name, first in surprise and then pleasure.

He'd tried to drum up some sort of quip about her greeting him with more enthusiasm than his own family, but really, it was just nice to see her there and all he could say was, "Glad to see things have not changed."

Once his family noticed him, they were enthusiastic in their embraces, even Eloise. But when he turned to Pen and her wide smile, he found himself catching his breath. He couldn't find a quip then either. There was something about Pen that was a comfort. It was not just her cleverness or her kindness or her sweet smile. In her letters, she'd painted such lively pictures of London in his absence that when he thought of home, he thought of her more than anyone. He certainly wouldn't be telling his mother that, but there it was.

Down to her fussy mass of curls and her dress of pink and, of course, yellow, she was just as he'd left her. He saw her arms open slightly as she took a step toward him and he felt himself soften at the idea of embracing her as he had his family. They'd never hugged before and he wondered what it would be like to hug someone so small and soft. He imagined he could tuck her right under his chin.

Of course, that was the moment Greg and Hy bounded past her and she quickly sort of... folded, looking down and clasping her hands together as his family teased him about his tan and his slight beard. She did not, thankfully. She even said he looked distinguished, something that had him considering keeping the beard and maybe growing it.

But he reconsidered once his mother informed him it was considered rather unfashionable and people might gawk a bit. After trekking and climbing and swimming his way through Greece, he no longer cared much about fashion nor the state of his appearance, but he shouldn't like to be gawked at. He'd started shaving himself, even on his travels.

But now he wished he hadn't. He wouldn't mind being told he looked distinguished again. He also wouldn't mind her smiling at him again... or at all. But as soon as John closed the door, her smile dropped and her gaze went to the window.

He frowned as well. It was as he feared. She was angry with him. And he could not imagine why. Their friendship had grown so much closer in the last year and so much more important to him. He imagined he could tell her anything, things he couldn't tell his brothers and sisters lest they laugh at him, nor his mother lest she try to fix it... probably by tossing debutantes at him.

But Penelope was different. She was willing to entertain dreams and fancies and set crushing reality aside, at least sometimes, in their talks. He'd meant it when he'd told her she was special to him and he was sure she'd meant it when she'd said it back. She'd even called him astonishing.

After all that, he just expected... more. When he'd sent off his first batch of letters from Sardinia, his letter to her been the longest, filled with observations and ponderings and descriptions of the sights he'd seen — descriptions that he thought might be embarrassingly flowery if he were writing to anyone else. But not Penelope. She seemed to delight in words that Eloise had once met with, "If I wanted to read five tedious passages about a landscape, I'd turn to Mrs. Radcliffe."

Pen never found such details tedious in their previous letters. She'd even answer each description by comparing the sights of London. Though I've seen few lush, verdant hillsides, Mama did commission a new gown for me that is quite rich in vegetation. I've never imagined a person could be adorned with so much fruit. I imagine the birds shall find me quite appetizing.

Last season, he'd had glimpses of what a wit she could be, tempered by her natural shyness. But her letters were even more free and so very funny. He'd wondered what London wonders she would contrast with the turquoise waters of Sardinia he'd described in his first letter, awaiting her response, he confessed, with more anticipation than anyone else's. The anticipation only grew when he heard from his entire family, yet had nothing from her... over and over.

He was getting nothing from her still. Even if her mother had forbidden she write, it didn't explain why she was so cold to him now. He chanced another glance at her, almost ready to ask, even beg her to finally end his torment. But she was leaning against the window, her eyes closed.

His own eyes narrowed slightly as he caught a flutter of her lashes. Was she pretending to sleep?

He leaned back, crossing his arms and staring out his own window.

It seemed he now knew which of his suspicions as to why his letters were ignored was true. But he wouldn't confront her on it just now. They had six hours ahead, not including lunch and other necessary stops, and he'd not spend them arguing... yet.

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

Penelope had once traveled in a post chaise with Phillipa and Prudence from London for a visit to their aunt in Kent. Father had been in Warwickshire dealing with estate business. Mama was meant to travel with them, but had suddenly become victim to a violent dyspepsia before they were to leave, something Penelope was certain had quite a lot more to do with Mama and Aunt Maria's mutual disdain than with digestion.

The visit was not so bad without the pair of them sending barbs back and forth at every meal. It was bit awkward the way Aunt Maria always asked them about their days, attributing all good things to her "dear baby brother" and all bad things to "that awful woman who tricked him into marriage," but even that was easy enough to navigate with some careful changes of subjects and her Uncle Harris, a vicar with a kind but quiet way about him, always ready with platitudes about judging not, loving thine enemy, giving him bread or bringing his donkey back to him and other such biblical edicts.

It was the journey home that was the worst, as Prudence and Phillipa never packed lightly and they had spent all their pin money on presents, for themselves, of course. In the end, between the post coach's own burden and their trunks, bags and boxes, Penelope had ended up squashed between her own trunk and Phillipa's on the seat opposite them as her sisters bickered about who was to blame, addressing her attempts to intervene by going in on her size as the true culprit crowding the carriage until Penelope wished she could sit up with the coachman.

Penelope had always thought that the most uncomfortable carriage ride a person had ever endured.

Until today.

First, Colin had been sprung upon her far long before she'd even considered how to act or what to say. Consequently, she did nothing. She considered smiling and pretending, but she found herself nearly frozen, only moving when he prodded her to do so.

She also said nothing. And she rather wished he would do the same. His babbling had only made her more nervous and more painfully aware that she still couldn't think of anything to say.

Then there was his clothing. His very fitted clothing.

He claimed he was comfortable, but how could that be when everything he wore was now so... molded to him? When had he gotten so blasted brawny? If she'd not seen his face, she might have mistaken him for a woodsman. Was he unable to find a tailor on his travels? Apparently not, nor a valet, which she could have guessed without him saying so, the way his neck was bared to her. Also part of his chest which, with just a bit of hair visible, had her gaping. She was certain she'd made him uncomfortable, staring so long, her mouth opening and closing like an indecisive fish until he handed her into the carriage.

After some niceties with Footman John, she was grateful when the carriage started moving, the sound of wheels on stone replacing the heavy silence between them. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the window, thinking her best course of action would be to sleep... or at least pretend to.

And now, here she was, having spent an hour, at least, pretending to be asleep and wishing it would become true, cradling her reticule in her crossed arms and crowding herself against the window because he was simply everywhere. Had he gotten taller as well as brawnier? It shouldn't be possible, but it seemed his legs were all over the place, one knee up against the door when it closed, the other actually pressing against her own, no matter how she pasted herself to the other side.

She swore she could feel the heat of his thigh against hers even with her thick, woolen dress, and four petticoats between them. Then there was the footwarmer in the middle of the carriage floor. Must it make their feet so... warm?

"You're breathing far too fast to be asleep," she heard him say, his voice stiff.

"Well, I was trying to," she said, closing her eyes again and hoping he'd take that as a hint.

"At least you're finally talking to me," he muttered.

"I... talked before."

"You mean when you said my name, then nothing else for an hour, not even a 'good morning'? I'd hardly count that as conversation."

She could see how that might look, but what else was she to do when suddenly confronted with hours in the company of the man who'd so casually broke her heart?

"You haven't smiled once all morning when, usually, you'd—"

"I did so smile!"

"You smiled at John!"

"And what's the matter with that? John is a very nice footman," she said primly. "Eloise says he's her favorite."

"You haven't smiled at me."

She turned to him, holding out her hand, a stiff smile on her face.

He grasped her fingers, looking confused.

She bowed her head. "Good morning, Mister Bridgerton."

He dropped her hand with a quickness. "Mister..."

"I'm sorry I cannot offer you a proper curtsy in here." She sat up straighter, facing the front. "But I wish you a good morning nonetheless."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I'm afraid it's far too early for anything more clever. But perhaps I can contrive something better, if you insist."

"Have you been reading too much Whistledown?"

She tried not to turn her head to him. "Whatever can you mean?" She forced a scoff. "Never tell me you read Whistledown." She'd never heard him mention it and, really, she assumed most gentlemen did not. But had he read it after that night? Did he know? If he did, then he shouldn't wonder why she was so disinclined to smile at him.

"You seem awfully pert. Since I imagine you haven't been in Eloise's company, I can only assume that old harridan is to blame."

If he only knew. "I shall take that as a compliment, Mr. Bridgerton."

"So that is how it is? Very well, Miss Featherington."

She closed her eyes again, wondering at his gall, anyhow. Did he truly expect her to smile at him? After the way he'd treated her? Then again he didn't know that she knew. He probably didn't even consider what he said. It was quite likely nothing of note to him as she imagined he talked that way about her all the time.

"Penelope? Oh, she's just my spinster friend and she always will be... a spinster, that is. Not much about her worth marrying, but she's a very comforting little thing, isn't she? She'll always be there, ready to smile at me and assure me I'm marvelous."

She would not fall into that trap again, not now that she was finally wise to him! He could find someone else to greet him like a happy little lapdog. She was sure there were plenty of girls who would vie for such an honor.

She glanced out the window, noting that the roads felt smoother. From the hills giving way to buildings, they must be in Hampstead. She closed her eyes trying to let the now gentler rocking of the carriage calm her. It must have worked because, when she opened her eyes again, jarred awake by a sudden bounce, the view looked entirely different.

"Where are we?" she rasped, rubbing her eyes.

"Elstree," Colin said.

"How long—"

"Three hours, at least. It's nearly noon. We did stop for certain necessities while you slept. I thought of waking you, but it seems you needed sleep more. I can ask them to stop again if you—"

"No. Thank you," she said, pressing her forehead to the cold glass, wondering how she'd slept so long. She'd had more sleep than she'd expected last night. Then again, considering what she'd expected was to be up all night, it was likely little enough indeed.

"Just as well. We'll be stopping for lunch soon enough. There's a nice inn here called The Holly Bush. Very good lamb stew," he said stiffly. "You can refresh yourself while the horses rest."

"Yes. Refresh myself. That would be nice." She chanced a glance his way and saw he was scowling out the other window.

She narrowed her eyes. Was he somehow angry with her? If he was, he had no right to be, especially not with the way he'd been talking her ear off, acting as if nothing had changed, pretending to be oh-so-solicitous, taunting her with his open shirt and tight breeches and, now she saw, red leather gloves clenching against his knee. What might they feel like clenching her knee?

She shivered just a little.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice softer.

"No."

"The way you're huffing, I thought you might be."

"Well, I am not."

"Those gloves don't look very warm."

"They don't bother me."

"I can move the footwarmer nearer to you," he said. "And there's a fur on the other bench."

"I can see that. But, I assure you, I am not cold in the least."

"It would be no trouble to—"

"I am actually quite warm," she said with finality.

She'd never thought Colin Bridgerton could annoy her. Before, she'd always found everything he said or did charming. Perhaps that was because he'd never been anything but kind to her. But that was then. Now she was starting to see what Eloise meant when she called him "almost insufferable."

"Why must he always insist on being cheerful," she would complain, "as if mocking me when I am not?"

Of course, he wasn't being cheerful to her now. But he was pretending to be so very concerned for her comfort and she'd rather he'd stop.

"It is rather close in here." This dress also felt far too snug, now that she'd been sitting so long. She hadn't worn it for two years, at least. As she'd had little cause to travel long distances in the winter, usually lighter dresses would do.

How she wished she was wearing one now.

"I don't think there's much we can do about that, unless we were to put the food on the back, but... No. We can't do that," Colin said, sounding rather horrified. "It might fall into the road."

"Perhaps if we were to arrange things a bit," she suggested, "so that you are over there, we might both find some relief."

"There's two hampers over there," he pointed out peevishly.

"We can easily put one next to me and the other beside you."

"If you insist..." He straightened, grunting as he bumped his head on the carriage roof.

"Perhaps I can—"

"No, I've got it." He then made a fuss about picking up a hamper and turning, as if it were some impossible maneuver.

"Really, I can move if it's too much trouble," she sighed.

"No. I know you get ill if you ride backwards."

She felt her gaze softening, surprised he remembered that. The last time she'd been in a carriage with him, she'd been thirteen. Then again, she had cast up her accounts on his boot so perhaps it was just memorable for that disaster rather than him being solicitous again.

He'd finally put the second hamper near her and sat down, rubbing his head and frowning at her, as if it were somehow her fault that he insisted on lumbering about like a large beast in a small space. He could have allowed her to help. Still, she didn't wish to appear ungrateful.

"Thank you," she said, trying for a smile, unsure if she succeeded.

"Why don't you take the fur in case—"

"Once again, I am still too warm for—"

"Fine, then." He tossed it on top of the basket next to her. "It's there if you want it," he said, frowning at her. She didn't believe Colin had ever frowned directly at her before. Then again, she was sure the same was true for her. People change.

She really wished he had chosen the spot near the other window, rather than sitting directly across from her. It was almost no better than having him pressed against her side, the way his long legs were still crowding hers and the way the neck of his shirt now gaped as he lounged, showing her a bit more of his chest and that sprinkling of hair upon it than she'd seen before. She'd never seen hair on a man's chest outside of paintings, and even that was rare. It was mostly the villains who looked that way, not the handsome, young heroes. She was sure it was very unfashionable and she had no wish to look at such a thing. Surely she could stop... any moment now...

Her eyes widened as she took in his arms. When had he removed his coat? She'd seen him without a jacket before, but his arms had never looked as if they were about to burst from their confines.

"Your cheeks do look rather... warm."

She tore her eyes upward. "Because it's hot. Didn't I say it was rather hot?" She cast her gaze to the window. "I'm certain I did."

"Shall I open it?

"That will surely be too much." Though she was tempted do it, then perhaps stick her head out and into the wind while panting like a dog for some unknown reason.

And very well! She knew what she'd be panting about. It was her most shameful secret, that feeling that plagued her when he stood too close or when his fingers brushed her bare skin or when he licked his lips or... Really, since the age of fourteen, there was barely anything he did that didn't make her feel that way. There wasn't much she could do to stop it... not here, at least.

At the very least, she could stop suffocating. She pushed her hood back, then pulled at the ties of her cloak, squirming a bit to pull it out from behind her. She sighed in relief when she finally tossed it on top of the fur, but then felt hair tickling her forehead. She must already look an absolute fright. She pulled her useless gloves off and began unpinning her braid.

"What are you doing?"

She shifted her eyes to Colin, who was suddenly staring at her as if petrified. Surely her hair couldn't be that bad.

"It was all falling out."

He stared all around the carriage, everywhere but at her. "Well, now it's falling out more."

"I'm taking it down, you see," she said as if speaking to a child, "so I can repair it before lunch."

"That's what the inn is for."

"I'm not walking into The Holly Hock looking like a slattern."

"It's The Holly Bush." His eyes were now fixed upon the ceiling.

"It's only some hair out of place. Yours doesn't look so tidy, either!" With the rest of him, she'd hardly noticed his hair until now, longer and curling on top, falling into his eyes in a rather tantalizing...

"No, I mean you... you shouldn't do that while people are eating."

"You're not eating," she pointed out.

Colin brought his eyes back to hers with a huff, then pulled open the hamper next to him, taking out a large nutty bun and biting off almost half of it. "Now I am," he said over his full mouth.

Really, with how the sight of his chest overheated her before, she'd nearly forgot to be angry. She was almost glad he'd reminded her. And he was much less likely to overheat her with half a sticky bun in his mouth. "I am hardly near enough for my hair to get into your food."

"It's the principle of the thing," he said, still muffled.

"I thought we were stopping for lunch any moment."

He swallowed. "Since when have I limited my eating to only meal times?"

She ignored him, pulling out her braid and brushing through her curls with her fingers. She wondered if they could have lunch at separate tables.

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If there's anything I love as much as friends-to-lovers, it's friends-to-bickering-married-couple-before-they-are-even-anything-close-to-married-to-lovers.