Chapter Text
Dearest Gentlereader,
This season has certainly brought about the most unforseen of events. This Author has been most delighted at the recent turbulance, as I am sure have all of you.
Miss Penelope Featherington, with her formerly garish gowns and tongue-tied nature, has undeniably surprised us all with her boldness this season. But perhaps, indeed, such boldness is but a show of desperation unbecoming of a young lady. After all, enlisting the help of an eligible bachelor in finding a husband and then securing a proposal from the very same gentleman is a tale fit for storybooks, indeed. Though perhaps, believes this Author, a fairy tale shall remain within its literary confines, for Mister Colin Bridgerton's wandering gaze has turned elsewhere once more, and in his wake, Miss Featherington is sure to not turn one head in her direction any longer.
A splendid gown and reckless heart a wife not make. It seems as though the insipid wallflower has wilted at long last.
Lady Whistledown, May 1815
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It is another betrayal in a long, long line of perfidy, that finally makes it all come to a stop. One that, try as she might, Penelope cannot convince herself to resent.
She has never held out much hope for herself, never beyond carefully confined childish dreams of love. She has never relied on anyone but herself, either – to write, to publish, to wake up every day and still be grateful for the air she is allowed to breathe.
How easy it is, truly, to get swept up in a life that was never meant to be her own. She believed herself to have given up on those foolish notions years ago – that the life she has chosen for herself is worth the sacrifices, the pain, the knowledge that had she wanted anything else, no one could have given it to her.
Truly, Whistledown may have been a choice, but it wasn’t as if Penelope had options. No gentleman would ever look her way, sweep her up into his arms and lead her to the dance floor and show everybody in the ton that she can be desired. She was always destined to watch from the sidelines as curious gazes softened into adoring ones.
Whistledown is all she’s ever had. The only voice she will ever be given. And she has known this, always, yet as soon as someone had given her that forsaken hope, she had driven herself to ruin.
True ruin, this time. Because she had been so sure that no gentleman would ever see her – truly see her – and now…now, irrevocably, she has tied her own noose.
Lord Debling may never have grown to love her, may have left her alone for years in an empty house, but he’d have been devoted, he’d have been kind, and he’d have given Penelope the voice she had always believed herself to never receive.
She should have tried harder. She should not have been swept up in Colin Bridgerton’s orbit, because Penelope has never been helpless, has never had anyone but herself, and it was her mistake to believe that she should extend her hand toward something so far out of her reach.
She is well and truly alone now, with no one to blame but herself. No Eloise to turn to when she just cannot breathe, no Lord Debling to save her from the cruelty of her mother.
And certainly, no Colin Bridgerton to love her.
Penelope does not fault Eloise for revealing the truth. She does not fault Eloise for her hatred and resentment. Nor does she fault Colin for it. Penelope knew, always, that she could not marry Colin with Whistledown between them. She simply hadn’t realised that marrying Colin may one day actually be a prospect.
Eloise was just protecting her brother. Penelope admires that, their bond – she wishes she hadn’t been so caught up in grandeur about love that she’d have seen sense and made haste herself.
Sincerely, Penelope thought that nothing could have possibly hurt more than losing Eloise. And now she wishes, desperately, that Colin had never asked her for that dance.
It has barely been six days. Six days since Eloise revealed to her brother the truth. Six days since Colin sought her out, with fire in his eyes, vitriol on his lips, ruin at her feet.
And she does not fault him. She never could.
Whistledown is all she has. Yet she wishes she could cut that part of herself out, bury it, forsake it.
No gentleman will ever want her now. Not after Lord Debling’s departure, and especially not after a broken-off engagement.
She will never escape her mother. She will never find love. She will never reconcile with Eloise.
Penelope Featherington is well and truly ruined.
And now, the only voice she’s ever had – she cannot do it. She simply cannot do it anymore.
How bitter, truly, for her biggest accomplishment to bring about her grandest demise. How ironic, for her legacy to bring about her own ruin.
Her mother hasn’t looked at her in days. Penelope hasn’t even seen her, let alone spoken to her. The Featherington household is deathly silent while her mother is away, no doubt trying to do anything at all to prevent Penelope’s ruin bringing down the entire family.
And Penelope – not for the first time, she wishes to just run.
Days she’d spent as a child, sitting on the windowsill and simply dreaming about running, so far along until her mother would never, ever find her again.
She should have run. As soon as Eloise found out the truth, as soon as Colin renounced her for all of the ton to hear, Penelope Featherington should have taken her hard-earned money and run.
It is too late now, though, isn’t it? Her feet are bound. She is trapped. She will spend the rest of her life with a mother who resents her, not a single friend to turn to.
And Whistledown – the only thing that could keep her sanity intact – she simply…
Penelope cannot do it anymore.
Her own legacy has brought her and others nothing but ruin. She has nothing and nobody to turn to. Whistledown will not last forever – especially now that there are two more people who are aware of it. Two people who surely resent her, and she cannot fault them for it.
Not too far off into the future, the ton will know. And Penelope will be stuck, with no one by her side, awaiting the Queen’s final judgement.
A single tear runs down her cheek. She’s staring out of the window, but nothing registers.
Penelope is trapped. She knows that sooner rather than later, it will all come to an end.
Eloise resents her, Colin hates her, Lord Debling will certainly never marry her now and her mother will spend the rest of their lives together making it a living Hell for her.
Perhaps…perhaps it is time to be brave, Penelope thinks. To do what is just. Because sooner or later, it will all be over.
Slowly, she backs away from the window and takes a deep breath.
If this is the last time she may ever have a voice, she will walk with her head high and call out for all to hear.