Chapter Text
Penelope lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She had hardly slept a wink all night. The events of the previous night replayed in her mind over and over, torturing her to no end.
How she had made a fool of herself, how she had carelessly ripped her dress for the whole ballroom to see. Cressida, of course, had a front-row seat to her shame and made no qualms about hiding that she found the whole scene quite hilarious.
Penelope huffed loudly as she pictured Cressida’s smug face and pulled the bedclothes back over her head. She had never been so mortified in her life.
Not only had she been humiliated in front of Cressida, but Colin had seen it all. He did not laugh— not to her face, of course. But she wondered if he went home and laughed with his brothers. She knew that Eloise would have some dry remark. Perhaps they laughed at her together.
“Penelope, get out of this bed at once,” Portia hissed, ripping the quilts from her body.
“Mama!” she squealed in protest as the cold morning air hit her.
“Ladies do not laze around in their bed all day like pigs in a sty!” she retorted, and opened the curtains, the daylight piercing the room almost as harshly as her curt tone. “Ladies are up and dressed—ready to entertain eligible gentlemen!”
“I’m sorry?” she asked, pulling her arms across her body to shield herself from her mother’s piercing gaze. “Did you have one too many sherries last night, Mama? Did you not happen to notice the abhorrent humiliation I faced in front of the entire ton? How they laughed at me? There will certainly be no suitors.”
Portia rolled her eyes and turned to sneer at Penelope’s wardrobe. She ripped open the doors and began rifling through it, disappearing out of sight until she was nothing but a condescending voice hiding behind a wooden door.
“They may laugh now, Penelope, but soon all will be forgotten. You know as well as I do that there will be some scandal unveiled by Lady Whistledown soon enough.”
Penelope grunted as Portia pulled a bright yellow dress from the back of her wardrobe.
“I feel not even Lady Whistledown could save me from such humiliation, Mama.”
Both the scandal and the dress.
“This self-pity will not do,” Portia said with a tut. “Perhaps your good friend Mr. Bridgerton will call on you today. You should look nice for him.”
Penelope sighed and rolled her eyes. “He will not call on me. And even if he should, I do not wish to speak to him.”
Portia stopped dead in her tracks.
“Yes, you have made that quite clear. The man wrote to you all summer and you did not respond once.” Her face turned contemplative. “The art of the chase is quite thrilling, but you must make amends before he loses interest.”
“Interest?” Penelope retorted with a scoff. “I assure you, Colin is not interested in me. Nor is he chasing me.”
Portia’s eyes flashed to the window. “Then why does he approach the house now? And with a bouquet!” she asked, her face lighting up into a sly and cunning smile. One Penelope had come to recognise. One she had come to dread: her scheming face.
“What?” she yelled, hauling herself out of bed.
“Get dressed!” Portia told her excitedly as she scurried toward the door. “Varley, prepare tea!” she squawked. “And biscuits!”
Penelope turned to look at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes and face remained red and puffy from crying, her hair retained knots that she worried would never come undone.
But Penelope was too angry not to be brave. Yes, if she were to face him again, she would do so with strength. With a Lady Whistledown–type confidence that she had used last night as they reunited.
Colin would want to apologise, this much she knew. She knew him well enough to know that he would feel guilty and feel the need to make amends as he always did when he felt he had done someone a disservice. It was in his very nature to be kind—or so she had always thought.
In their silence, their distance, she had found a new Colin: a man who lured her into falsehoods, a man who would laugh at her, who was disgusted by the very idea of courting her.
Penelope knew, and often reminded herself throughout their friendship, that he could never love her or see her as anything more than a friend. But hearing it so plainly from his lips had broken her heart in ways she had never imagined possible. It was why, she had decided, that she would let him go. She would not put herself through such heartbreak again. She would close the door to her heart forever.
Penelope dressed and styled her own hair to the best of her ability, ready to face her heartbreak once more.
When she had finally made her way down to the drawing room in a dress of her own choosing, she saw him. And the sight of him knocked the breath from her chest.
Colin stood by the fireplace, holding a very large bunch of yellow daisies. He was dashing, he was handsome, and he was very nervous.
He stood still. Rigid. And Penelope noted he had lost the bounce in his feet he typically displayed as he would greet her. Glee, she had attributed it to. But it was gone. His eyes stared into hers, and for the briefest moment, she noticed him look her over—her dress, her hair. It was then that he smiled a small smile.
“P—Miss Penelope.” He bowed, the eyes of Portia Featherington never leaving him.
Neither said anything for a moment. Penelope was not sure what she could say in front of her mother, nor what he would dare to say in front of her. Their interactions had always been somewhat private, out of earshot, with an exception to Eloise, but she was never one for propriety.
Portia cleared her throat and shot Penelope a warning glance, her eyes wide and her mouth taut.
Penelope sighed and smiled politely, motioning to the flowers. “Are these for me?”
“Indeed they are!” he said eagerly and handed them to her. She sniffed them gently, her eyes still not meeting his.
His eyes, however, had not left her since she descended the staircase.
“We must put them into water,” Portia grinned and called for Varley, instructing her to put them in their best vase to rest at the window.
“Most kind of you, Mr Bridgerton,” Penelope said politely, trying her best to appear ladylike for her mama. She was aware she was being studied and hoped to give her nothing to complain about later.
“I’d hoped you’d like them—daisies—seeing as you wore them in your hair, on a clasp, last season,” he offered. “And in a pattern on a dress, too, if I remember correctly.”
Both Penelope and Portia were stunned.
“I did?”
He nodded. “Yes. I also hoped you would accept them as a token of my most heartfelt apology. It appears I have not been the gentleman my mother raised me to be, and I am most ashamed. Most ashamed and most sorry. I hold you and your friendship in the highest esteem, and I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Penelope swallowed, turning away from his gaze. His eyes—the longing and the self-loathing she could see within them—tortured her. How long had he rehearsed this speech? He was sorry, it was plain to see—perhaps not sorry he had said what he did, but sorry that he had hurt her.
It was the Colin she knew, but the Colin she must put behind her.
“Of course she will forgive you! Won’t you, Penelope?” Portia beamed.
Portia had no idea, of course, what he was apologising for, nor did she care. And Penelope knew she was in for a barrage of questions as soon as the front door shut behind him.
She wondered if she told her mother truly what he had said—would she still be demanding an acceptance of his apology? Would she be angry at his lack of care for her reputation?
Penelope found it hard to believe that Portia could ever be angry at the Bridgertons, at least to their face. Their position in society was her greatest envy.
Penelope looked at Colin, his gaze hopeful. She knew he was waiting to hear her forgiveness from her own lips, but she could not quite bring herself around to it. To truly forgive him for hurting her could be only for one reason and one reason only: love. To forgive him was to love him, and her heart ached.
“All is forgotten, Mr Bridgerton,” she assured him.
His brow furrowed, clearly displeased with her reply. He was good with words, when he hoped to be. In their correspondence, Colin had used a wide vocabulary—an impressive one.
His use of words was so precise, so good at finding exactly the right one. He was also good at using his own words to dodge and evade questions, just as she was doing now. Penelope knew for definite that Colin had noticed. She had not said she had forgiven him.
“But have y—” he began.
“The events of last night were quite out of your control, were they not? How were you to know that my clumsiness is quite so catastrophic that I may cause such a scene and a spectacle?” Penelope smiled, eyeing her mother in hopes that the conversation would go right over her head. “You saw me safely to my carriage, and I returned home safe and well. Your gentlemanly duty was quite fulfilled, thus you need not owe me an apology.”
Colin studied her for a moment, his eyes flashing to Portia and back again.
“Then it was my duty as your friend, in which I have failed. You deserved my support—unreservedly and publicly. I should have challenged those who found amusement in your very name, I should have been your champion and your greatest defender. Instead, I admit the events of the night and the alcohol that I had consumed made me quite unlike myself. For that, I am truly and most deeply sorry.”
Penelope sighed as she met his gaze. And despite her mother all but flapping around in the corner, Penelope found it all to be rather intimate. He had found just the right words, like he was speaking in code, reaching out to her heart while her mother stood there in the very room.
“I accept your apology, Mr Bridgerton,” she told him, finally.
“Excellent.” Portia clapped her hands together in glee. “Will you be staying for tea, Mr Bridgerton? I can have Cook whip up your favourite biscuits?”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Featherington, but I’d rather hoped that Miss Penelope might accompany me out to the market this morning. With your permission, and with a chaperone, of course?” Colin smiled his most charming smile. “There are some books on display that I thought Miss Penelope might enjoy.”
Penelope rolled her eyes, but secretly she could not help but be excited. Excited at the prospect of spending time with him, speaking after months of no contact—and of books, no less! It was something she had dreamed of often in her girlhood fantasies, but a dark cloud was cast overhead now, and the realities of adulthood woke her up from such longing. There would be no fairy-tale ending here.
Penelope knew the idea of her being on his arm so publicly was too good for her mama to resist. And Colin knew it, too.
“Chaperoned, of course! I see no reason why not.” Portia smiled.
“Excellent.” Colin grinned and rocked on his heels. “I have arrived with a lady’s maid from Bridgerton House. She awaits outside.”
“You wish to go now?” Penelope gawked.
“No time like the present,” he said in a sing-song voice. “Thank you for your time and trust, Lady Featherington. Penelope will be returned home within the hour. I bid you good day.”
Penelope watched in amusement as Portia was speechless in her reply. It was clear that she was hoping to chaperone, to spy and whisper controlling words alongside her. But Colin was a Bridgerton—he was cunning by nature.
Varley handed Penelope a shawl and basket and smiled in shared amusement at Portia’s stunned face. They left the house swiftly, like gazelles escaping the lion’s den.
Colin appeared to relax as they hit the pavement, and a young maid dressed in the signature Bridgerton colours smiled as they approached her.
“Mr Bridgerton, how glad I am to see you have company,” the maid said and bowed slightly.
“Pen,” he said, the familiar nickname felt unusual from his lips after all their formalities in her mothers drawing room. “This is Sophie, she will be your chaperone, but she has promised to give us a wide berth. Isn’t that right, Sophie?”
“Indeed.” She smiled in return. “You will not even know I am here.”
Penelope smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Pleased to meet you, Sophie. I thought I knew all the maids of Bridgerton house…”
“I am a new hire for miss Francesca as it is her debut this season,” she replied. “She is quite busy today with dowager viscountess Bridgerton so I am un needed.”
“Yes.” Colin grinned, quite pleased with himself. “Now, shall we go?”
They walked on ahead to the market across the square, Sophie keeping ten steps behind them, with much descretion.
“Did you like them?” Colin asked. “The flowers?”
“Yes.” Penelope told him as they rounded the corner to the bustle of people. She moved in closer so that they may continue their conversation. And she looked at him, really looked at him for the first time since his return.
He seemed different, bigger somehow — older and a little more cautious. A little more serious. He was dressed well, but their was a less than clean cut to him, still fresh from Italy. He had a slight stubble against his jaw and his hair was longer, there was a curl to it she had never noticed before.
“I have always liked yellow daisies, though now I grow rather tired of the colour.” She told him as they made their way toward the stalls. “I grow tired of a lot of things, like my mama for example. You have caused quite a scene this morning and I dare say she will get the wrong idea. You have whipped her up into a frenzy.”
“And what scene have I caused?” He mused and watched in fascination as she passed over the stalls, their contents uninteresting to her.
“This,” she waved infront of him. “Your calling on me with flowers and accompanying me out on a stroll. It is all very… public.”
He smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry if I have caused you hardship with your mother, but you were quite set in your opinion that I am embarrassed by you. And I am quite determined to show you otherwise. I thought it time we bring our friendship out of the shadows.”
“Oh.” Was all she could say, and then once more when they came upon a writing stall. They sold all manner of quills and paper and Penelope hesitated as she took a look. With the new season afoot, Lady Whistledown should need a new quill.
“Would a new quill please the lady? I have the finest silver tips, imported from France. One for the price of six shillings.” The man grinned
“Six shillings for a silver tip?!” Penelope exclaimed, aghast.
“From France.” He added as though it were an explanation.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, was it made by Napoleon himself? I may be a Lady, good sir, but I am no twit. Everyone knows silver rips through paper thinner than a 6 ply. I will take two of your gold for 3 shillings and nothing more.”
The man laughed loudly. “Five.”
“Four.” She propositioned. “My final offer.”
“Deal.” He said and handed them over.
Penelope smiled widely and Colin reached over to pay, looking quite amused at the scene before him. She bid the saleman good day and walked ahead.
Colin chased after her with a smirk. “Penelope Featherington, I am most impressed, you drive a hard bargain!”
She chuckled and smoothed out her dress. “I learned from the best, watching you haggle with Eloise over the last biscuit many times at Bridgerton house.”
“Me?” He smirked innocently. “Haggling over a biscuit? I should think not.”
“I do not know if you had noticed, Colin, but you are indeed.. a gannet.” She returned.
He laughed loudly. “I admit, it has been said.”
She smiled politely as others turned to look at them, his boyish laughter causing attention. She continued on through the stalls and he followed beside her.
“Pen, I am entrigued.” Colin said thoughtfully beside her. “We have passed stalls of flowers and scarves and pretty hats, all things that young ladies would take interest in and yet you are drawn to writing instruments. A topic you seem most knowledgable in.”
Penelope grew nervous, worried that she had given something away, become too comfortable. “Knowledge comes with practice and as I recall you and I wrote a great many letters last year. I learned quickly that gold is best.”
“And now you need new quils because you had found a new… correspondent in my absence?” He enquired. “I do not mean to pry, only, I know nothing of your life since I have been away.”
Penelope laughed without humor. “I assure you, I am not in correspondence with anyone, except, that is, myself. I enjoy writing,” she shrugged, “it helps me process thoughts and feelings. Once I have written everything down I feel somehow, lighter.”
He looked taken aback, running his hand through his hair — something he always did when he was thinking carefully about what to say next.
“I, too, know the feeling. I keep a journal,” he admitted shyly. “I always have, but took to it more seriously this year while travelling. Since I did not have you as pen pal this year to write to, which was completely all my fault of course, I journaled my trip.”
“I did not know you kept a journal,” she replied. Something in her stomach flipped as she wondered its contents, his inner most thoughts.
“Ah, so I still have some air of mystery about me then. Here was me thinking you may know everything there was to know. Like my being a gannet for example,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes. “I do know much about you after knowing you for half my life, but I am sure there is much I don’t know, nor that many do. There is much more to you than biscuits and a charming smile, Colin.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, his face lost its rogueish smile, he softened, almost blushed. “Thank you, Penelope. That is very kind of you to say.”
“Yes, I suppose I never could hold a grudge.” She teased with a smile.
Colin closed the distance between them and reached out to touch her arm gently. “Of which I am glad. I had noticed you know. You have said it is forgotten, you have accepted my apology, but you have not said that you forgive me. Will you, Pen? Will you forgive me?”
Colin looked at her with pleading eyes, her heart ached and everything in her body and soul wanted to give him what he wanted. When he looked at her like that, she would have given him anything. “Were you ever punished as a child?”
Colin tilted his head in confusion. “Sorry?”
“I mean no offence to your parents of course,” she said with a smile. “It is only that, I think you should get away with murder if you so wished.”
Colin laughed loudly. It amazed her, she had never made him laugh like that before. Not since they were children.
“If that is what it takes to earn your forgiveness Pen, then send your enemies my way and I shall slay them all.”
She smiled widely, falling into their natural rythm. “I have no enemies as such, but have always longed to see Cressida’s head on a stick.”
“Penelope!” Colin laughed, running a hand through his hair. His boyish grin turned into a sly smile. “What an outrageous thing to say!”
They smiled at one another for a moment longer than typically polite.
“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, Pen?” Colin continued, his eyes searched hers, hoping to find a softness there.
“I’m not sure.” She told him, “Perhaps I’d like to revel in your apparent misery for a little while longer.”
But when she looked at him, she could not refuse him. She loved him, she had always loved him and she always would. This was plain fact, as much as her eyes were blue. There was no escaping it. Penelope hated that she had forgiven him so quickly, but it still hurt. Because he would never love her in return.
“I have been most miserable without you, Pen.” He continued.
She sighed. “Alright, I suppose I shall put you out of your misery and forgive you.”
“A relief indeed.” He grinned. “You look rather lovely again today, your new wardrobe is most becoming.”
Penelope rolled her eyes and continued on through the market. “I have already forgiven you Colin, you need not resort to flattery.”
“One day I will tell you how lovely you are and you will believe it. You must, for it is true,” he said solemnly.
Penelope’s heart raced, but she tried to pay it no mind.
“Oh you know me, more books than beauty. It is why we are here is it not?” Penelope shrugged heading toward the book stall.
“Er…” Colin was dumbfounded as he followed.
The stall was over flowing, books piled high on the front, a wagon to the side and some even sat on the pavement. Some were brand new, but some were old and worn. Penelope traced her hand over them in amazement.
She landed on a copy of Gullivars Travels, it was worn and tatty, but she could not resist picking it up.
“A fine choice.” Colin commented.
“I do love tales of adventure.” She smiled. “But then you already know that about me don’t you?Why else would I have written to you last year?”
He smiled widely and picked up a book of his own. “Why indeed? Not my charming personality perhaps? Or my dashing good looks?”
Penelope laughed. “No.”
“My mother tells me I am very charming,” he said in mock despair.
“Thats be because it is her job.” Penelope rolled her eyes and reached for another book. Titled Emma by Jane Austen.
“Romance.” Colin smiled. “Eloise would be most disappointed.”
“It is about a woman, written by a woman. She may not disapprove so much.” She shrugged and then studied the books blank cover. “It does not convey anything but a name in the title, how would you know it was a book of romance unless you have read it yourself?”
Colin chuckled. “My mother enjoys Jane Austen’s works. I caught her trying to sneak a few in my luggage before I left for Cyprus.”
“Cyprus?” Penelope asked, “Why I thought you were in Italy?”
“Italy was my last stop.” He smiled in return. “You never did read my letters then.”
“Of course Colin Bridgerton just pops into Italy on his way home.” Penelope sighed. “I do envy you, you know. Your travels, your freedom. If I were a man I dare say I’d be Phineas Fog and travel the world in 80 days.”
“It does feed the soul,” he agreed. “Then why not do it, Pen? Why not travel the world? Seeing your haggling back there I’m sure you’d do quite well.”
“I could I suppose, if I had a husband that would allow me to do so.”
“Oh?” His eyebrows raised in surprise.
Penelope sighed. “I am a woman, Colin and an undesirable one at that. I cannot just do whatever my heart desires because I am bound to the confines of society.”
“Society is wrong.” Colin slammed a book shut and Penelope could swear he was angry. “Why should you not have adventure and romance in your life if that is what you so desire. It is what you deserve.”
Penelope felt a lump rise in her throat, pushing it down took effort. “I do not expect romance or even for a man to love me, I simply long to be free to be who I am. Free of my mama and that house. An unmarried woman answers to everyone, but a married woman answers to no one but her husband.”
Colin paused, looking at her in wonder. “How profound…”
Penelope shrugged. “If one finds the right man who would allow a woman to be who she wishes to be then life would be much more enjoyable indeed.”
“You wish for a husband, Pen?” Colin asked, his eyes stared intently into hers. “This would bring you the freedom— the happiness that you desire?”
“Yes.” She admitted as she exhaled. She found that admitting out loud for the first time brought levity. “But as well you know I do not have a line of suitors knocking down my door. Even if the opportunity presented its self I cannot do it. I cannot speak to… men.”
Colin cocked an eyebrow. “I am a man, you speak to me.”
“You are my friend you do not count,” she said simply.
Before Colin could respond the stall owner poked her head out to greet them. “One shilling per book I thank you.”
Colin paid for Penelope’s and turned to smile at her. “Your happiness is very important to me Pen, I told you I will look after you, so I will aid you in your bid for freedom. I will help you find a husband.”
She laughed. “With anything but a miracle from God himself I deem that an impossible task. How do you propose we do that?”
Colin grinned and took her arm in his as they continued through the market. “You took a great first step in changing your wardrobe. Now the outside matches the inside.” Colin cleared his throat. “Now you must simply be out. Talk to others, dance, enjoy yourself.”
“As apposed to hanging to the wall like a giant lemon?” Penelope asked.
Colin laughed and touched her hand that rest on his arm. Even through her gloves she could feel his heat. It was the closest she had ever been to him, other than a dance. And he was smiling, laughing and caring. She knew it was wrong, but she loved every minute of this. She could spend her life as a spinster if only for this.
“I will help you. I am a man after all I can show you what appeals to gentlemen.” His eyes lowered slightly. “In the most appropriate means of course, through conversation? Perhaps some flirting?”
“Flirting?” Penelope said exhasperated. “Colin I could never flirt with you. I would be far too embarrassed.”
“Pity,” he sighed, a smile danced across his lips. “You are witty and quite barburous, I dare say it would be a sight to behold.”
“Yes I am sure you would find it very amusing.” She rolled her eyes. “I would not know how to flirt.”
“Lucky for you I am a professional.” He winked down at her and she blushed.
“Yes I am aware of your reputation.” She smiled. “You really want to help me, Colin?”
“I told you, you are special to me and I meant it. I wish nothing but happiness for you, Penelope, after all you have been through. And all that you have helped me through. I wish to help you find the life you want.”
“Thank you.”
“Mr Bridgerton!” A familiar voice shrilled. Penelope felt a chill run down her spine at the sound, like nails down a blackboard.
Cressida sauntered toward them, slowly inching her way in front of Penelope, eclipsing her with her long dangly figure. “How nice to see you have returned. Did you enjoy your time abroad?”
“I did,” Colin said curtly. “As a matter of fact I was just discussing that with Miss Penelope here whom I was much looking forward to seeing upon my return.”
Colin reached around Cressida for Penelope’s hand and brought her to his side, placing her arm back through his. As Penelope stood beside him, Cressida somehow seemed smaller.
“We are old friends who have been apart for far too long and have much to catch up on. So, we must bid you good day.” Colin smiled his most charming smile and led Penelope away, leaving Cressida behind them, her face a picture of shock.
“She really does put the cow in Cowper does she not?” Colin whispered.
Penelope threw her head back and laughed. She was sure she had never loved him more.
“Pen,” he said gently when their laughter had subsided. “I believe this is the longest we have spent in each others company, just you and I. And I must say, well, I am enjoying myself immensely.”
“As am I.” She smiled. She truly was. She could never remember a better morning spent.
“Perhaps we can do this again? I could call on you again tomorrow? Or perhaps you could come to Bridgerton house for tea? Later this afternoon perhaps?” He asked excitedly. “We could make our battle plans for the marriage mart. Start with our courting lessons.”
“Erm, I do not think courting lessons in your drawing room infront of your sisters and your mama would be very appropriate, Colin.”
“Right.” He nodded and sighed. “Then come up the back stairs and we can sit in my mother’s drawing room. You’ve used it before with Eloise, yes? No one will see you.”
“Colin, you wish me to sneak into your house, alone, in broad daylight? Are you trying to ruin me?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Of course not!” he snipped. “It is only my family afterall. No one would be ruined. But I would certainly be chastised by my mother.”
“I’m not sure Colin,” she said, her heart hammered in her chest.
“I promised your mama I’d have you back within the hour, but I do not wish to let you go.” He said sweetly, his cheeks flashed red. “What I mean to say is that yours is the only company I enjoy at the moment; Antony is attached to Kate at the mouth, Benedict is a sour puss and wishes to do nothing but drink, Eloise is, well, Eloise, Francessca is busy making her debut, and Greg and Hy are best enjoyed in tiny doses.”
“What about your gentleman friends?” she challenged.
“Since my transgression at your mamas ball I no longer call them friends,” he told her solemnly. “So, will you come to the house today? Around 2?”
“Alright. But this had better be the greatest lesson ever if my reputation is to be at stake.” She glared up at him. “Will you walk me home then?”
He nodded and they slipped out of the market and back toward her house.
“What of Sophie?” Penelope asked. “Can she not hear us?”
“No,” he said. “But even if she could, she is the good kind, she would not tell.”
“Fine. I accept your invitation to tea.” Penelope said, a smile danced on the corner of her mouth. “Society be damned.”
“Thats the spirit!” he cheered.
“I will not come hungry as I’m sure you will have already eaten everything before I arrive.” She smiled widely.
“I am willing to share. You are a lady after all and I must uphold my gentlemanly duty as host to see you well fed and watered.” He said with a mock bow.
“You are so self righteous.” Penelope chuckled.
“I am a Bridgerton, its in our blood.”He shrugged.
Penelope smiled and enjoyed the sun on her face as she strolled with her arm in his. “And may we permitted to speak of other things during our lessons? I do long to hear about Cyrpus”
“You do?” He mused. “You may be the only one, my family rolls their eyes whenever I am to mention it.”
“I do.” She admitted dreamily. “Did you see the Tombs of Kings? Or the House of Dionaysus? Was it quite wonderful? And Colin, tell me of the food! I long to hear it.”
Colin laughed and smiled widely. “How I have missed you, Pen. I will tell you everything you should wish to know later, if I keep you any longer I fear your mother may come out looking for you herself.”
They found themselves at her front door and were quiet for a moment. Penelope felt a slight nervousness as Sophie turned her back to them and waited across the street.
“Until later, then, Colin.” She smiled, retrieving her arm from his.
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I look forward to it.”
They bowed their goodbyes with the biggest of smiles before she headed up the stairs and through her front door. When the door was closed she caught her breath. What an interesting morning, indeed.