“Oh!”
It was a feminine “oh,” and without looking up, Benedict somehow knew that he was about to experience one of life’s most awkward moments. Heart filled with dread, he lifted his head and turned toward the front door. There, framed perfectly in the open doorway, was Penelope Featherington, her lips parted with shock, her eyes filled with heartbreak.
And in that moment, Benedict realized what he’d probably been too stupid (and stupidly male) to notice: Penelope Featherington was in love with his brother.
Colin cleared his throat. “Penelope,” he squeaked, his voice sounding as if he’d regressed ten years and gone straight back to puberty, “uh... good to see you.” He looked to his brothers to leap in and save him, but neither chose to intervene.
Benedict winced. It was one of those moments that simply could not be saved.
“I didn’t know you were there,” Colin said lamely.
“Obviously not,” Penelope said, but her words lacked an edge.
Colin swallowed painfully. “Were you visiting Eloise?”
She nodded. “I was invited.”
“I’m sure you were!” he said quickly. “Of course you were. You’re a great friend of the family.”
Silence. Horrible, awkward silence.
“As if you would come uninvited,” Colin mumbled.
Penelope said nothing. She tried to smile, but she obviously couldn’t quite manage it. Finally, just when Benedict thought she would brush by them all and flee down the street, she looked straight at Colin and said, “I never asked you to marry me.”
Colin’s cheeks turned a deeper red than Benedict would have thought humanly possible. Colin opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
It was the first—and quite possibly would be the only— moment of Benedict’s recollection for which his younger brother was at a complete loss for words.
“And I never—” Penelope added, swallowing convulsively when the words came out a bit tortured and broken. “I never said to anyone that I wanted you to ask me.”
“Penelope,” Colin finally managed, “I’m so sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said.
“No,” Colin insisted, “I do. I hurt your feelings, and—”
“You didn’t know I was there.”
“But nevertheless—”
“You are not going to marry me,” she said hollowly. “There is nothing wrong with that. I am not going to marry your brother Benedict.”
Benedict had been trying not to look, but he snapped to attention at that.
“It doesn’t hurt his feeling when I announce that I am not going to marry him.” She turned to Benedict, her brown eyes focusing on his. “Does it, Mr. Bridgerton?”
“Of course not,” Benedict answered quickly.
“It’s settled, then,” she said tightly. “No feelings were hurt. Now then, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I should like to go home.”
Benedict, Anthony, and Colin patted as if drops in the Red Sea as she made her way down the steps.
“Don’t you have a maid?” Colin asked.
She shook her head. “I live just around the corner.”
“I know, but—”
“I’ll escort you,” Anthony said smoothly.
“That’s really not necessary, my lord.”
“Humor me,” he said.
She nodded, and the two of them took off down the street.
Benedict and Colin watched their retreating forms in silence for a full thirty seconds before Benedict turned to his brother and said, “That was very well done of you.”
“I didn’t know she was there!”
“Obviously,” Benedict drawled.
“Don’t. I feel terrible enough already.”
“As well you should.”
“Oh, and you have never inadvertently hurt a woman’s feelings before?” Colin’s voice was defensive, just defensive enough so that Benedict knew he felt like an utter heel inside.
Benedict was saved from having to reply by the arrival of his mother, standing at the top of the steps, framed in the doorway much the same way Penelope had been just a few minutes earlier.
“Has your brother arrived yet?” Violet asked.
Benedict jerked his head toward the corner. “He is escorting Miss Featherington home.”
“Oh. Well, that’s very thoughtful of him. I—Where are you going, Colin?”
Colin paused briefly but didn’t even turn his head as he grunted, “I need a drink.”
“It’s a bit early for—” She stopped mid-sentence when Benedict laid his hand on her arm.
“Let him go,” he said.
She opened her mouth as if to protest, then changed her mind and merely nodded. “I’d hoped to gather the family for an announcement,” she said with a sigh, “but I suppose that can wait. In the meantime, why don’t you join me for tea?”
Benedict glanced at the clock in the hall. “Isn’t it a bit late for tea?”
“Skip the tea then,” she said with a shrug. “I was merely looking for an excuse to speak with you.”
Benedict managed a weak smile. He wasn’t in the mood to converse with his mother. To be frank, he wasn’t in the mood to converse with any person, a fact to which anyone with whom he’d recently crossed paths would surely attest.
“It’s nothing serious,” Violet said. “Heavens, you look as if you’re ready to go to the gallows.”