Part 34 (1/2)

”I don't think anyone is going to listen to Anthony's toast now,” Violet said, glancing about the room. The buzz of activity was relentless. Errant newssheets still floated in the air, and all about them, people were slipping on the ones that had already landed on the floor. The hum of the whispers was constant and almost grating, and Colin felt like the top of his skull was going to blow off.

He had to get away. Now. Or at least as soon as possible.

His head was screaming and he felt too hot in his own skin. It was almost like pa.s.sion, except this wasn't pa.s.sion, it was fury, and it was outrage, and it was this awful, black feeling that he'd been betrayed by the one person who should have stood by him without question.

It was strange. He knew that Penelope was the one with the secret, the one with the most to lose. This was about her, not him; he knew that, intellectually, at least. But somehow that had ceased to matter. They were a team now, and she had acted without him.

She had no right to put herself in such a precarious position without consulting him first. He was her husband, or would be, and it was his G.o.d-given duty to protect her whether she desired it or not.

”Colin?” his mother was saying. ”Are you well? You look a bit odd.”

”Make the toast,” he said, turning to Anthony. ”Penelope isn't feeling well, and I need to take her home.”

”You're not feeling well?” Eloise asked Penelope. ”What's wrong? You didn't say anything.”

To Penelope's credit, she managed a rather credible, ”A bit of a headache, I'm afraid.”

”Yes, yes, Anthony,” Violet said, ”do go ahead and make the toast now so that Colin and Penelope may have their dance.

She really can't leave until you do.”

Anthony nodded his agreement, then motioned for Colin and Penelope to follow him to the front of the ballroom. A trumpeter let out a loud squawk on his horn, signaling the partygoers to be quiet. They all obeyed, probably because they a.s.sumed the ensuing announcement would be about Lady Whistledown.

”Ladies and gentlemen,” Anthony said loudly, accepting a flute of champagne from a footman. ”I know that you are all intrigued by Lady Whistledown's recent intrusion into our party, but I must entreat you all to remember our purpose for gathering here tonight.”

It should have been a perfect moment, Colin thought dispa.s.sionately. It was to have been Penelope's night of triumph, her night to s.h.i.+ne, to show the world how beautiful and lovely and smart she really was.

It was his night to make his intentions well and truly public, to make sure that everyone knew that he had chosen her, and just as importantly, that she had chosen him.

And all he wanted to do was take her by the shoulders and shake her until he ran out of strength. She was jeopardizing everything. She was putting her very future at risk.

”As the head of the Bridgerton family,” Anthony continued, ”it gives me great joy whenever one of my siblings chooses a bride. Or groom,” he added with a smile, nodding toward Daphne and Simon.

Colin looked down at Penelope. She was standing very straight and very still in her dress of ice-blue satin. She wasn't smiling, which must have looked odd to the hundreds of people staring at her. But maybe they would just think she was nervous. There were hundreds of people staring at her, after all. Anyone would be nervous.

Although if one was standing right next to her, as Colin was, one could see the panic in her eyes, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing grew faster and more erratic.

She was scared.

Good. She should be scared. Scared of what could happen to her if her secret came out. Scared of what would happen to her once they had a chance to talk.

”Therefore,” Anthony concluded, ”it gives me great pleasure to lift my gla.s.s in a toast to my brother Colin, and his soon-to-be bride, Penelope Featherington. To Colin and Penelope!”

Colin looked down at his hand and realized that someone had placed a gla.s.s of champagne in it. He lifted his gla.s.s, started to raise it to his lips, then thought the better of it and touched it to Penelope's mouth instead. The crowd cheered wildly, and he watched as she took a sip, and then another and another, forced to keep drinking until he removed the gla.s.s, which he did not do until she was finished.

Then he realized that his childish display of power had left him without a drink, which he badly needed, so he plucked Penelope's gla.s.s from her hand and downed it in a single gulp.

The crowd cheered even harder.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, ”We're going to dance now. We're going to dance until the rest of the party joins us and we're no longer the center of attention. And then you and I will slip outside. And then we will talk.”

Her chin moved in a barely perceptible nod.

He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor, placing his other hand at her waist as the orchestra began the first strains of a waltz.

”Colin,” she whispered, ”I didn't mean for this to happen.”

He affixed a smile on his face. This was supposed to be bis first official dance with his intended, after all. ”Not now,” he ordered.

”But-”

”In ten minutes, I will have a great deal to say to you, but for right now, we are simply going to dance.”

”I just wanted to say-”

His hand tightened around hers in a gesture of unmistakable warning. She pursed her lips and looked at his face for the briefest of moments, then looked away.

”I should be smiling,” she whispered, still not looking at him.

”Then smile.”

”You should be smiling.”

”You're right,” he said. ”I should.”

But he didn't.

Penelope felt like frowning. She felt like crying, in all honesty, but somehow she managed to nudge her lips up at the corners. The entire world was watching her-her entire world, at least-and she knew they were examining her every move, cataloguing each expression that crossed her face.

Years she'd spent, feeling like she was invisible and hating it. And now she'd have given anything for a few brief moments of anonymity again.

No, not anything. She wouldn't have given up Colin. If having him meant that she would spend the rest of her life under close scrutiny from the ton, it would be worth it. And if having to endure his anger and disdain at a time like this was to be a part of marriage as well, then that would be worth it, too.

She'd known that he would be furious with her for publis.h.i.+ng one last column. Her hands had been shaking as she'd rewritten the words, and she'd been terrified the entire time she'd been at St. Bride's Church (as well as the ride to and from), sure that he was going to jump out at her at any moment, calling off the wedding because he couldn't bear to be married to Lady Whistledown.

But she'd done it anyway.

She knew he thought she was making a mistake, but she simply could not allow Cressida Twombley to take the credit for her life's work. But was it so much to ask that Colin at least make the attempt to see it all from her point of view? It would have been hard enough allowing anyone to pretend to be Lady Whistledown, but Cressida was unbearable. Penelope had worked too hard and endured too much at Cressida's hands.

Plus, she knew that Colin would never jilt her once then-engagement became public. That was part of the reason she'd specifically instructed her publisher to have the papers delivered on Monday to the Mottram ball. Well, that and the fact that it seemed terribly wrong to do it at her own engagement ball, especially when Colin was so opposed to the idea.

d.a.m.n Mr. Lacey! He'd surely done this to maximize circulation and exposure. He knew enough about society from reading Whistledown to know that a Bridgerton engagement ball would be the most coveted invitation of the season. Why this should matter, she didn't know, since increasing interest in Whistledown would not lead to more money in his pocket; Whistledown was well and truly through, and neither Penelope nor Mr. Lacey would receive another pound from its publication.

Unless...

Penelope frowned and sighed. Mr. Lacey must be hoping that she would change her mind.

Colin's hand tightened at her waist, and she looked back up. His eyes were on hers, startlingly green even in the candlelight.

Or maybe it was just that she knew they were so green. She probably would have thought them emerald in the dark.