Murder In The Ton

Bloody Ball

TW alert!

If Penelope knew what her last column's consequences were, she would never have made that witty remark about Her Queen. But alas she did. So now Penelope found herself in the grand ballroom along with the other members of the ton

Penelope Featherington, ever the dutiful observer, found herself amidst the splendour, her eyes ever watchful for the snippets of gossip that would feed the voracious need of her alter ego, Lady Whistledown.

Penelope had entered the ballroom with a measured grace, adorned in a soft green gown modest yet striking, a reflection of her status as a woman now labelled a spinster. Though she had shed the more flamboyant colours of her youth, the gown bore an elegance that quietly commanded attention. Her fiery hair was arranged in a simple yet elegant style.

Spotting Eloise Bridgerton near the refreshment table, Penelope made her way toward her friend, a smile tugged at her lips. Eloise, as always, was a breath of fresh air—unconventional, sharp-witted, and refreshingly honest.

“Penelope,” Eloise greeted her warmly, though Penelope could see the concern lurking in her eyes. “I feared you might not attend since Prudence gave birth.”

“Miss such an opportunity for observation? I wouldn’t dream of it,” Penelope replied lightly. "And Mama is with her. And I have Aunt Margaret staying with me too."

Eloise’s gaze softened. “I know this can’t be easy for you, Pen. But you’ve handled it all with such grace.” Referring to what had happened.

Penelope merely smiled, “One must persevere, Eloise. Besides, it’s not as though I’m entirely without allies.”

“Indeed,” Eloise agreed, her eyes flicking briefly toward the other side of the room. “Speaking of which, have you heard the news? Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson are here tonight.” she whisper-yelled.

"They are?"

Eloise hummed, her curiosity piqued. “Perhaps he is here on a case. Or perhaps he simply wishes to observe the ton in its natural habitat. Either way, I imagine his presence will cause quite a stir.”

Penelope knew this was going to be a long night for her.

After a time, she drifted away from Eloise, her thoughts turning to a matter of greater importance. Penelope had taken it upon herself to highlight the scandals surrounding older, wealthy men in her recent columns, thereby creating an atmosphere of suspicion and distaste that would deter matches where the older men could not tear apart the young ladies' souls. It was a small victory, one that even Cressida might never know she owed to Penelope, but a victory nonetheless.

That was the reason why Penelope wrote about Cressida in her last column. She had actually wanted to criticize Lady Cowper for the choice of gown. It was even visible to Pen that Cressida was uncomfortable. The older woman even went as far as throwing Cressida onto the old widowed Duke of Clairhale.

Anyways.

But tonight, the usual thrill of gathering material for her column was overpowered by a gnawing anxiety. The arrival of Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson, famed detectives of unprecedented reputation, set her nerves on edge. The Queen had summoned them, it was obvious to the redhead. And while the people thought that the gentlemen were here to find themselves, wives.

But Penelope's instincts screamed that it had to do with her. And her last remark about the Queen. If anyone could uncover her identity, it was Sherlock Holmes.

As she moved about the room, careful to keep her expression neutral, she discreetly observed the man who could bring her carefully constructed world crashing down. He was tall, with a lean yet commanding presence that set him apart from the other gentlemen. His eyes, she noticed were a piercing bluish-grey, missed nothing it seemed. Though his expression was one of detached curiosity, there was an intensity in his gaze that unsettled her. He was unlike any man she had ever encountered, and the thought of him turning that gaze upon her filled her with both fear and a curious sense of intrigue.