Part 19 (1/2)

”Eloise,” he said, her name coming out really as nothing more than a sigh.

”Don't try to make excuses now.”

”I wasn't.”

”That's even worse!” She stalked to the door. ”You should be on your hands and knees, begging me for forgiveness.”

He hadn't thought he had it in him to smile, but somehow that did it for him. ”Now, that doesn't really seem in keeping with my character, does it?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound that came out was not precisely English. All she managed was something along the lines of, ”Ooooooooh,” in an extremely irate voice, and then she stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Colin slouched into a chair, wondering when she'd realize that she'd left him in her own bedchamber.

The irony was, he reflected, possibly the only bright spot in an otherwise miserable day.

CHAPTER 10.

Dear Reader-.

It is with a surprisingly sentimental heart that I write these words. After eleven years of chronicling the lives and times of the beau monde, This Author is putting down her pen.

Although Lady Danbury's challenge was surely the catalyst for the retirement, in truth the blame cannot be placed (entirely) upon that countess's shoulders. The column has grown wearisome of late, less fulfilling to write, and perhaps less entertaining to read. This Author needs a change. It is not so difficult to fathom. Eleven years is a long time.

And in truth, the recent renewal of interest in This Author's ident.i.ty has grown disturbing. Friends are turning against friends, brothers against sisters, all in the futile attempt to solve an unsolvable secret. Furthermore, the sleuthing of the ton has grown downright dangerous. Last week it was Lady Blackwood's twisted ankle, this week's injury apparently belongs to Hyacinth Bridgerton, who was slightly hurt at Sat.u.r.day's soirie held at the London home of Lord and Lady Riverdale. (It has not escaped This Author's notice that Lord Riverdale is Lady Danbury's nephew.) Miss Hyacinth must have suspected someone in attendance, because she sustained her injuries while falling into the library after the door was opened while she had her ear pressed up to the wood.

Listening at doors, chasing down delivery boys-and these are only the tidbits that have reached This Authors ears! What has London Society come to? This Author a.s.sures you, Dear Reader, that she never once listened at a door in all eleven years of her career. All gossip in this column was come by fairly, with no tools or tricks other than keen eyes and ears.

I bid you au revoir, London! It has been a pleasure to serve you.

It was, not surprisingly, the talk of the Macclesfield ball.

”Lady Whistledown has retired!”

”Can you believe it?”

”What will I read with my breakfast?”

”How will I know what happened if I miss a party?”

”We'll never find out who she is now!”

”Lady Whistledown has retired!”

One woman fainted, nearly cracking her head against the side of a table as she slumped gracelessly to the floor. Apparently, she had not read that morning's column and thus heard the news for the first time right there at the Macclesfield ball. She was revived by smelling salts but then quickly swooned again.

”She's a faker,” Hyacinth Bridgerton muttered to Felicity Featherington as they stood in a small group with the Dowager Lady Bridgerton and Penelope. Penelope was officially attending as Felicity's chaperone due to their mother's decision to remain home with an upset stomach.

”The first faint was real,” Hyacinth explained. ”Anyone could tell that by the clumsy way she fell. But this ...” Her hand flicked toward the lady on the floor with a gesture of disgust. ”No one swoons like a ballet dancer. Not even ballet dancers.”

Penelope had overheard the entire conversation, as Hyacinth was directly to her left, and so she murmured, ”Have you ever swooned?” all the while keeping her eyes on the unfortunate woman, who was now coming awake with a delicate fluttering of eyelashes as the smelling salts were once again wafted under her nose.

”Absolutely not!” Hyacinth replied, with no small measure of pride. ”Swoons are for the tenderhearted and foolish,” she added. ”And if Lady Whistledown were still writing, mark my words, she would say the exact same thing in her next column.”

”Alas, there are no words to mark anymore,” Felicity answered with a sad sigh.

Lady Bridgerton agreed. ”It's the end of an era,” she said. ”I feel quite bereft without her.”

”Well, it's not as if we've had to go more than eighteen hours without her yet,” Penelope felt compelled to point out. ”We did receive a column this morning. What is there yet to feel bereft about?”

”It's the principle of it,” Lady Bridgerton said with a sigh. ”If this were an ordinary Monday, I would know that I'd receive a new report on Wednesday. But now ...”

Felicity actually sniffled. ”Now we're lost,” she said.

Penelope turned to her sister in disbelief. ”Surely you're being a little melodramatic.”

Felicity's overblown shrug was worthy of the stage. ”Am I? Am I?”

Hyacinth gave her a sympathetic pat on the back. ”I don't think you are, Felicity. I feel precisely the same way.”

”It's only a gossip column,” Penelope said, looking around for any sign of sanity in her companions. Surely they realized that the world was not drawing to a close just because Lady Whistledown had decided to end her career.

”You're right, of course,” said Lady Bridgerton, jutting her chin out and pursing her lips in a manner that was probably supposed to convey an air of practicality. ”Thank you for being the voice of reason for our little party.” But then she seemed to deflate slightly, and she said, ”But I must admit, I'd grown rather used to having her around. Whoever she is.”

Penelope decided it was well past time to change the topic. ”Where is Eloise this evening?”

”Ill, I'm afraid. A headache,” Lady Bridgerton said, small frowns of worry creasing her otherwise unlined face. ”She hasn't been feeling the thing for almost a week now. I'm starting to grow concerned about her.”

Penelope had been staring rather aimlessly at a sconce on the wall, but her attention was immediately brought back to Lady Bridgerton. ”It's nothing serious, I hope?”

”It's nothing serious,” Hyacinth answered, before her mother could even open her mouth. ”Eloise never gets sick.”

”Which is precisely why I'm worried,” Lady Bridgerton said. ”She hasn't been eating very well.”

”That's not true,” Hyacinth said. ”Just this afternoon Wickham brought up a very heavy tray. Scones and eggs and I think I smelled gammon steak.” She gave an arch look to no one in particular. ”And when Eloise left the tray out in the hall it was completely empty.”

Hyacinth Bridgerton, Penelope decided, had a surprisingly good eye for detail.

”She's been in a bad mood,” Hyacinth continued, ”since she quarreled with Colin.”

”She quarreled with Colin?” Penelope asked, an awful feeling beginning to roil her stomach. ”When?”

”Sometime last week,” Hyacinth said.

WHEN? Penelope wanted to scream, but surely it would look odd if she demanded an exact day. Was it Friday? Was it?

Penelope would always remember that her first, and most probably only, kiss had occurred on a Friday.