Wooing Lady Whistledown - A Bridgerton Story

Chapter 4: Loose Stones & Stumbles

"Are you even listening to our guests?!"

Portia's venomous whisper forced the return of Penelope's mind to the situation at hand. The dam of her mental refuge had burst at the intrusion, and she found herself back in the drawing room at the rented home in Bath. She was seated, still, on a little brown settee, identical to the one her sisters shared and next to her mother, seated so rigidly that she seemed to be hovering over a navy chair.

At Portia's less-than-subtle reprimand, Penelope sat up a bit straighter, flashing an apologetic smile to the two men seated with the Featherington women.

The Twining brothers had arrived in Bath several weeks ago on business, and had spent much of the last few days in the Featherington house. Branwell, the eldest Mr. Twining, had apparently (Penelope had her doubts about this part of the story) seen Phillipa in town on a walk and, smitten immediately, cast aside propriety in the attempt to speak with her so quickly he tripped over a loose stone and fell at her feet, with only a small cut and a bruised ego to show for it. Phillipa is said to have stifled her laughter just in time to save the poor man from self-imposed exile, helping him up and tending to the 'monstrous head wound' that had looked much more like a scratch when Penelope saw it.

Regardless of what unimpressive truths lay beneath Phillipa's grand retelling of the story, the elder Mr. Twining had been so grateful for Phillipa's help (said help consisting of dragging him back to the Featherington house and asking Penelope to ask a maid to fetch a wet cloth) that he had returned every day since. After the first few visits, Portia had stopped insisting that Prudence and Penelope socialize as well, leaving Phillipa and Branwell to their own devices as she pretended not to listen in on their daily conversations, hoping that if she prayed enough times outside the drawing room that Branwell might propose.

But today, Penelope had been called to the drawing room once again along with Prudence to meet Mr. Twining's younger brother, Patrick, who had come along with his brother on Branwell's daily visit.

Penelope, realizing her mother expected her to say something, cleared her throat.

"So, Patrick, do you also work in textiles?" she asked, only realizing she had blundered when an almost imperceptible giggle escaped Prudence's mouth and her mother's smile grew cold. Even Branwell raised his eyebrow, realizing the youngest Featherington had not been paying attention to the conversation at all.

Patrick laughed in spite of himself and smiled good-naturedly.

"Yes, Miss Featherington. As I was saying-- actually as I have been saying for a good quarter of an hour now, I am working under my brother to help manage the factory in Manchester."

Penelope felt her face turn red, internally groaning at the image of the redness in her face being made even brighter by her dress, which reminded her of a week-old lemon custard.

"Please excuse me, Mr. Twining, I must not have slept well, I cannot seem to keep my mind on any one task today for very long. It was not a defect of your story but rather of my manners." Penelope said quickly, several words getting stuck in her throat.

"Well I should say not, I rather thought my story quite interesting, all the excruciating details of textile production laid out in perfect detail. Would you like me to repeat it, since you seem to have floated off somewhere the first time? I'll add even more detail about factory life to entice you to listen." Patrick's joke somehow managed to poke fun of Penelope while simultaneously easing her humiliation, her mother distracted by her own seemingly genuine laughter.

"Somehow, Mr. Twining, I do not think you adding more details to your honorable profession of questionable conversational value would do much to aid in your storytelling, hm?" Penelope's volley was half in jest, half punishment for his laughter at her expense.