Remembrance

The Queen's Summons

The Featherington estate basked in a tranquil silence, a rare commodity in the bustling world of the ton. Penelope relished these precious moments, curled up in her favorite armchair, a well-worn book cradled in her hands. The gentle scratching of her quill against parchment was the only sound that graced the drawing room, a soothing symphony to her ears.

A sharp rap at the door disrupted the peaceful reverie, and Penelope's head snapped up, her brows furrowed in confusion. Briarly, the ever diligent butler, announced the arrival of a guest, his voice laced with a hint of reverence that piqued Penelope's curiosity.

As the door swung open, Penelope felt the air leave her lungs in a sharp gasp. Before her stood a regal figure, clad in the unmistakable livery of the Queen's household - a lady-in-waiting, no less. Penelope hastily rose to her feet, executing a deep curtsy as propriety demanded.

"My lady." She murmured, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

The lady-in-waiting, her posture as rigid as a soldier's, extended a sealed envelope adorned with the royal crest. "Miss Featherington, it is I, Lady Catherine Campbell who serves closely to her Majesty. I bear an invitation from her Majesty, the Queen, requesting your presence at the palace."

Penelope's fingers trembled as she accepted the missive, her mind whirling with a thousand questions. It was highly unusual for such an esteemed messenger to deliver a simple invitation. Her gaze flickered to Lady Campbell, silently imploring an explanation.

A knowing smile graced the woman's lips. "Her majesty holds you in the highest regard, Miss Featherington. Not only are you the emerald of the season, but the Queen finds your company most engaging. She truly delights in your conversations."

A warm flush crept up Penelope's cheeks at the unexpected praise, even as a tendril of dread coiled in her belly. The Queen's relentless pursuit of Lady Whistledown's identity was no secret, and Penelope couldn't help but wonder if this invitation harbored ulterior motives.

With trembling fingers, she broke the royal seal and scanned the summons. Her breath caught in her throat – the audience was scheduled for that very day, a mere two hours hence.

"But... so soon?" Penelope stammered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Lady Campbell's expression remained impassive. "Hence my personal delivery, Miss Featherington. The Queen wishes to afford you ample time to prepare yourself."

Penelope's mind raced, a whirlwind of anticipation and trepidation. She managed a feeble nod, her throat constricted with emotion.

Sensing her dismissal, Lady Campbell executed a graceful nod. "We shall await your arrival at the palace." With those parting words, she swept from the room, leaving Penelope to contend with the maelstrom of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her.

—--

Penelope Featherington's bedchambers buzzed with a flurry of activity, the usual tranquility shattered by the weight of the Queen's summons. Penelope's maid, ever efficient, wasted no time in drawing a bath and laying out one of her finest gowns, fit for an audience with royalty itself.

Within the hour, Penelope emerged from her chambers, a vision of elegance and poise. Her gown, a delicate shade of periwinkle, hugged her curves in all the right places, while the intricate embroidery along the neckline and hem added a touch of understated opulence.

As she descended the stairs, her heart fluttered at the sight that greeted her in the foyer. There, framed by the open doors, stood her beloved Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, his presence commanding as ever in his impeccable attire.