11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Eloise

Eloise had never had such a week in all her life. Ava had emailed into the office early on Monday morning to say she was taking the week as holiday, and Eloise had hardly dared to breathe when the email came back from her supervisor.

Ava swallowed hard and opened the message.

'ok,' it read.

"Yes!" Ava threw her arm over Eloise's shoulder and squeezed her into her side. "We're free," she said. "What do you want to do today?"

They went everywhere. Colin was entirely too busy courting Penelope to attend to them—indeed, Eloise was sure he had quite forgotten she existed. Pen, she spoke to in brief moments. It seemed the two were doomed to lose their privacy. Colin scarcely let Pen out of his sight now, which left Eloise with an excellent excuse to spend time with Ava.

So she just sent Penelope the odd look and smile, and Pen's answering smile was almost a glow. Perhaps Colin was starting to deserve her, after all. If he kept this up, that was.

Eloise did not permit herself any guilt, and she certainly wouldn't complain that Pen suddenly had no time for her. She would ensure later that Colin remembered how to share. For now, she threw herself into every activity Ava suggested. They rode the London Eye and Eloise goggled at the expanse of the London skyline. They descended into the London Dungeons, and Eloise giggled at some of their attempts at historical dress (and to hide her nerves in the darkest corners of this history). They ate at fantastical restaurants, trying every item on the menu, until Eloise was certain she would be sick if she tried another bite.

Sunday rolled around entirely too quickly, and the week's excitement muted with the knowledge Ava would certainly have to return to work tomorrow. Eloise tried not to think about that. She tried not to think that their time together was halfway over. Instead, she swung their twined hands between their bodies as they wandered the halls of the Natural History museum, losing her breath as they stepped through a doorway and she found herself in a sliver of home.

Eloise blinked around at the fashions she had grown up surrounded by, encased behind glass. A memory hit her of standing on that pedestal in the modiste as Madame Delacroix bustled around her to Mama's every command, and she wondered with a pang in her chest what the modiste would have to say about all this. Thinking of her reminded Eloise of Benedict, sitting across from her with a lopsided grin, and all at once, she missed him so much it hurt.

"Mama would hate this dress," Eloise found herself saying, and suddenly she could not stop talking of home.

She told Ava all about the ballgowns; the measurements and fabric requirements, the feathers and the jewellery and how every nuance of an outfit would be analysed. They passed a child's outfit which reminded her vividly of a young Gregory, scrapping with Hyacinth on the lawns of Aubrey Hall, and Eloise swallowed hard as she trailed her fingers over the glass.

She wondered what they were doing now, so many years ago. She remembered their tiny fists and their red faces, their temper tantrums and their sticky fingers as they slowly learned to be people. Eloise pressed her entire palm to the glass, a breath catching in her chest. Her little siblings; each was a colossal pain in her backside. She wondered if they missed her like she missed them, and swallowed the guilt which burst inside her when she realised she had not missed them until this moment.

"I can never be a mother," she admitted in a whisper. She thought of Daphne's Augie, her tiny vulnerable nephew, and her mouth went dry. "I could never teach a child the ways of society, not when I cannot fathom the rules myself. I could never lead a daughter into debut. I do not think I should ever like such a burden."

Ava's fingers brushed the back of Eloise's hand. "You don't have to be anything you don't want to be."

"I do not dislike children," Eloise said, unable to keep these thoughts to herself for a moment longer. She had never dared say such a thing in front of Mama, for fear of her taking the wrong idea. "Babies are indeed terrifying, but children?" She turned to give Ava an absent smile, aware she was babbling. Indeed, she did not want to stop—was that not what Ava was always saying? Here, Eloise did not have to censor her thoughts. "Children have truly inquisitive minds," Eloise said. "When Hyacinth was small, I remember she would never be sated with just one bedtime story. She used to sneak into my room and demand I read to her until she could no longer keep her eyes open. I would get into terrible trouble with her nanny for it, but I could never turn her away."

She paused next at a display of hunting rifles hung on the wall, and she shivered. She dropped her gaze, trying not to think about that glimpse of Father's body which still chased her nightmares, always always echoed by Mama's screams that night she brought Hyacinth into the world.

Another reason Eloise could never face the idea of having her own children.

"Perhaps we should move on," she said, attempting to shake off the melancholy which had come over her. One more week and she would be home—after so long away, the thought was starting to chafe less. Especially with Colin so busy, Eloise itched to talk to Benedict. She wondered what he would have to say about this adventure.

"We must visit the art gallery," she decided. Her smile faltered. "Maybe I will go myself, tomorrow." When you have returned to your life.

Ava hooked an arm through Eloise's and smiled brightly. That almost-dimple calmed Eloise's heart like nothing else could, and she pressed a quick kiss to Ava's cheek.

Ava leaned in closer. "I think I'm all museum-ed out for the day, if you want to go back home?"

Eloise slipped her arm around Ava's waist. Part of her was still in utter disbelief that she was permitted to do such a thing. Nobody seemed to even bat an eye. "Colin said he was taking Penelope out to dinner this evening," she remembered.

"He did, indeed," Ava said, her gaze slipping towards Eloise's lips. "We'll have the place to ourselves."

"I like the way you think." Eloise's voice roughened. She swayed a little, then recalled herself—she was still in a public place, and there were still some cultural taboos in this era. "Shall we go?"

Ava led the way through the enormous rooms full of information. Eloise was certain she could never learn all there was to know, even if she stayed here for the rest of her days. Her mind was sated, however. This week had been packed with information and answers, and Eloise found she could not remember even a fraction of the things she'd learned, though the thought did not make her uneasy. She had been here; she had been permitted to see things she had never dreamed were even possible. Even if she forgot everything tomorrow, she had still stood in this place of learning, surrounded by girls and women who were just as hungry as she was.

She was not alone. She was not odd, or wrong, or broken.

She walked with Ava back through London, their hands pressed together, and the melancholy she'd felt just a half hour before seemed a world away right now. Next week, she would return home. She would embrace her family and watch Anthony marry the love of his life (and Colin would surely follow shortly after). She would tolerate Mama's meddling, and she would sit with Benedict on the swings in the back gardens. She would listen without complaint to Hyacinth's practise, and perhaps cajole her into reading one of Eloise's favourite books just so they can discuss it, and she would tell her all the secrets they weren't supposed to know, so she would know just as Eloise did, that she were as capable as any man.

But before all of that, Eloise planned to make out with Ava until they both forgot their own names.

Colin

The most important week of Colin's life was almost done. Today was the week's anniversary of his and Penelope's promise to each other—he had one last chance to fully convince her he was worthy of her hand. This evening, she would choose: she would accept him, or she would turn him down and they would resolve to remain friends.

The idea was incomprehensible. He'd spent every day this week at her side, watching her eyes sparkle when he brought her flowers (Ava's flat had long since run out of vases. The latest bunch of tulips were displayed within a mug). Her laugh was the melody which his heart beat to, and her lips haunted his dreams.

He was a mess, and the thought of not spending his life with Penelope Featherington had become abhorrent.

As they approached the restaurant—he'd changed his mind on the location five times before settling on this one—Colin's hands trembled at his sides. His chest felt entirely too tight. Penelope seemed calm. Her face was upturned to the lamplight as she took in the menu pasted to the window outside the restaurant. The yellow glow cast her in an unfavourable light, but somehow she was still utter perfection. Her green dress was light and summery, fluttering around her knees in the slight breeze, and her hair fell loose around her shoulders.

Colin longed to just press himself to her side. To stand a little closer. To take her hand, or run his fingers through her hair.

Who was he kidding? He ached to kiss her, truly. He had held himself at arm's length all week, determined to play the gentleman this time. He could not fail this attempt to win her hand; nothing had ever been so important. He could not lose his head, or he might lose her.

So, though it hurt beyond any pain he'd ever known, Colin stood at Penelope's side, and he did not touch her. He did not brush his hand against the skin of her arm, so close to his side. He simply bathed in her presence, watching her keen eyes scan the menu and her lips press together out of indecision.

"It looks wonderful, Colin," she said eventually, stepping back and looking up at him with those sparkling eyes. Tonight, they seemed almost black, deep and dark as the ocean at night.

"One day, I shall show you the sea," he said.

She smiled faintly. "That would be nice," she said. "Shall we sit down?"

"After you." He pulled the door open and stood back, watching her walk past and forcing his twitching fingers to remain where they were, even as he ached to reach for her. He let his eyes linger on the swell of her backside as she passed him. His throat dried.

He caught himself. Looked up. Straightened his jacket, and followed her inside.

He was a gentleman. Only a true gentleman deserved to be with Penelope; if he failed at this, if she did not accept him tonight, he would certainly perish.

The lighting inside was dim; candles glowed on each circular table, and the rich smell of cooking filled the air. Low conversation muffled behind a calm melody playing into the room, the soft words of the singer barely comprehensible. When the waiter indicated their table, Colin rushed to pull Penelope's chair out for her.

She sat down, brushed her hands over her skirts, and took a moment before she looked up at him with a slightly wobbly smile.

"This place is nice," she said.

Colin swallowed. "It is. You look beautiful."

Penelope nodded, dropping her gaze to the table. "Thank you," she said. Her hands trembled just slightly as they reached for the menu. Then she stopped. Her careful, calm expression shattered, and suddenly she seemed just as nervous as he did.

"I do not think I can take this," she said, sitting back in her chair and swallowing hard. "I suppose it would be proper to wait until after the meal, but this tension is awful. You have been very gentlemanly this week, far more than I expected, but you can stop the charade now. You are forgiven."

"I—" Colin's throat was dry as a bone. His eyes were trapped on the length of her throat where she had swallowed. Her sudden show of nerves had tossed him from stability. "I do not understand."

"You can stop pretending you want to marry me now," Penelope said, lifting her gaze and looking him in the face. She had fixed her expression again; there was a tremor to her lip, but otherwise her face was set with confidence and a self-control which made Colin tremble to look at.

Pretending, she had said. The word was lodged in his mind forever.

Penelope continued, her voice holding steady. "Your forwardness at the club has been repaired. You have given it a good attempt, and I commend you, but I cannot pretend any longer. I will not hold you to your word, Colin Bridgerton. This is not us. This is not who we are to each other."

"Pretending? Penelope, I do want to marry you." Colin's words were scarcely more than a whisper at this point. Where had he gone wrong that she could not see the truth in his pursuit? Had he chosen the wrong flowers, said the wrong words?

Penelope smiled, and it was wrong. Her lips were twisted up all wrong; the sparkle in her eyes was dead. "Colin," she said, a sigh in the word. "I know you. I know you almost as well as I know myself. I know you do not want this. You do not want me."

Colin's hands had commenced their shaking. He felt sick. His stomach was a twisting, writhing mass, and he burned under his collar, as if he had a fever.

"What did I do wrong?" He could scarcely breathe. The air in here was too close. He clung to the edge of the table with a white-knuckled grip. "Whatever it was, I apologise. I beg your forgiveness, Pen. I should have done more. Larger bouquets—you deserve an entire florist, Penelope. You deserve the entire world, and I have only glimpses to offer you."

"Colin." Penelope's whisper verged on horrified, and he wondered what she must see in him now. Clearly, his past regressions were too prominent.

"I have failed you," he said on a ragged breath. "I have taken you for granted for far too long, and I know I am not good enough for you. I know it." His eyes burned. Christ, he was on the verge of tears, but he could not stop. "I swear to you, if you give me another chance, I will do better. I will be more attentive. I will be better. I will deserve you, Penelope."

"You are wrong," Penelope cried, her voice cutting through his speech and silencing him. "You have been a perfect gentleman. You have gone above and beyond anything I deserve. I will not have you tether yourself to me because of some spontaneous burst of passion. I know, Colin. I know you kissed me that night because the energy in the place was high and you were taken aback by my scandalous attire. It is not me that you want."

"Of course it is." Colin could not fathom the words coming from Penelope's mouth. "Whyever would I kiss you if I did not want you?"

A burst of cold struck him. He let his hands fall. "Wait. Is that why you kissed me?" he asked. "A fit of passion? You were struck by the energy of the place and my scandalous attire?"

Penelope flushed. "I—not exactly." She rubbed her hands across her face before setting one in front of her on the table.

Colin lunged for it, grasping her hand in both of his. "Then why should you expect it of me?" he asked. "Penelope. I kissed you that night because I wanted nothing more in the entire world. I wanted to kiss you. I have wanted to kiss you in every heartbeat since. It has been the greatest torment, keeping myself from touching you this week. Keeping myself from drawing you into my arms. Everything you do is intoxicating."

Penelope's lips parted. A soft gasp came from her chest. The deep blue pools of her eyes held him prisoner. "But…"

"Your eyes are spellbinding," Colin breathed. "Do you even know the colours they can turn? Right now they are midnight blue, dark as the sky just before the stars emerge. When you smile, they are cobalt; when you laugh, they are cornflowers. I could watch them for an eternity, and I swear they would never show me the same shade twice. And they see everything. I adore your eyes. I adore the way you see this world—Penelope, I was lost here until you showed me how to see. You are incredible. Your mind, your smile, your heart… Pen, I love you. So much. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you."

Her gorgeous, glorious eyes swum with sudden tears, and Colin's grip on her hand faltered enough for her to pull herself free.

"You do not know me," Penelope said in a broken whisper. She dragged a hand across her eyes and shook her head. Suddenly, she could no longer look him in the eye. "I am so much more than what I show the world."

"I realise—"

"You do not." Penelope squeezed her eyes closed. "Please, let me finish."

"There is nothing you can say which will change my mind."

Penelope laughed, a hollow, broken laugh which was so unlike her that Colin recoiled. Pen drew in a deep breath, looked him in the eye and said, "I am Lady Whistledown."