She reached a particularly wet patch and moved like a skater on the grass, singing (softly, of course; she hadn't changed so much from the night before that she actually wanted someone to hear her singing in public), "Something moooore," as she slid forward.
Which was, of course (since it was fairly well established— in her own mind, at least—that she had the worst timing in the history of civilization), right when she heard a male voice call out her name.
She skidded to a halt and gave fervent thanks that she caught her balance at the very last moment instead of landing on her bottom on the wet and messy grass.
It was, of course, him.wColin!" she said in a slightly embarrassed voice, holding still as she waited for him to reach her side.wWhat a surprise."
He looked like he was trying not to smile."Were you dancing?"wDancing?" she echoed.wIt looked like you were dancing."wOh. No." She swallowed guiltily, because even though she wasn't technically lying, it felt as if she were.wOf course not."
His eyes crinkled slightly at the comers. "Pity, then. I would have felt compelled to partner you, and I've never danced inBerkeley Square."
If he'd said the same to her just two days earlier, she would have laughed at his joke and let him be the witty and charming one. But she must have heard Lady Danbury's voice at the back of her head again, because she suddenly decided she didn't want to be the same old Penelope Featherington.
She decided to join in the fun.
She smiled a smile she didn't think she'd even known how to smile. It was wicked and she was mysterious, and she knew it wasn't all in her head because Colin's eyes widened markedly as she murmured, "That's a shame. It's ratherenjoyable."wPenelope Featherington," he drawled, "I thought yousaid you weren't dancing."
She shrugged."I lied."wIf that's the case," he said, "then surelythis must be my dance."
Penelope's insides suddenly felt very queer. This was why she shouldn't let whispers from Lady Danbury go to her head. She might manage daring and charm for a fleeting moment, but she had no idea how to follow through.
Unlike Colin, obviously, who was grinning devilishly as he held his arms out in perfect waltz position.wColin," she gasped, "we're in Berkeley Square!"wI know. I just finished telling you I've never danced here, don'tyou recall?"wBut—"
Colin crossed his arms. 'Tsk. Tsk. You can't issue a dare like that and then try to weasel out of it.
Besides, dancing in Berkeley Square seems like the sort of thing a person ought to do at least once in his life, wouldn't you agree?"wAnyone might see,"she whispered urgently.
He shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he was rather entertained by her reaction."I don't care. Do you?"
Her cheeks grew pink, then red, and it seemed to take her a great deal of effort to form the words, "People will think you are courting me."
He watched her closely, not understanding why she was disturbed. Who cared if people thought they were courting? The rumor would soon be proven false, and they'd have a good laugh at society's expense. It was on the tip of his tongue to say, Hang society, but he held silent. There was something lurking deep in the brown depths of her eyes, some emotion he couldn't even begin to identify.
An emotion he suspected he'd never even felt.
And he realized that the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Penelope Featherington. She was his sister's best friend, and moreover, she was, plain and simple, a very nice girl.
He frowned. He supposed he shouldn't be calling her a girl anymore. At eight-and-twenty she was no more a girl than he was still a boy at three-and-thirty.
Finally, with great care and what he hoped was a good dose of sensitivity, he asked, "Is there a reason why we should worry if people think we are courting?"
She closed her eyes, and for a moment Colin actually thought she might be in pain. When she opened them, her gaze was almost bittersweet. "It would be very funny, actually," she said."At first."
He said nothing, just waited for her to continue.wBut eventually it would become apparent that we are not actually courting, and it would..."She stopped, swallowed, and Colin realized that she was not as composed on the inside as she hoped to appear.wIt would be assumed," she continued, "that you were the one to break things off,because—well, it just would be."
He didn't argue with her. He knew that herwords were true.
She let out a sad-sounding exhale. "I don't want to subject myself to that. Even Lady Whistledown would probably write about it. How could she not? It would be far too juicy a piece of gossip for her to resist."wI'm sorry, Penelope," Colin said. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for,but it still seemed like the right thing to say.
She acknowledged him with a tiny nod. "I know I shouldn't care what other people say, but I do."
He found himself turning slightly away as he considered her words. Or maybe he was considering the tone of her voice. Or maybe both.
He'd always thought of himself as somewhat above society. Not really outside of it, precisely, since he certainly moved within it and usually enjoyed himself quite a bit. But he'd always assumed that his happiness did not depend upon the opinions of others.
But maybe he wasn't thinking about this the right way. It was easy to assume that you didn't care about the opinions of others when those opinions were consistently favorable. Would he be so quick to dismiss the rest of society if they treated him the waythey treated Penelope?
She'd never been ostracized, never been made the subject of scandal. She just hadn't been ... popular.
Oh, people were polite, and the Bridgertons had all befriended her, but most of Colin's memories of Penelope involved her standing at the perimeter of a ballroom, trying to look anywhere but at the dancing couples, clearly pretending that she really didn't want to dance. That was usuallywhen he went over and asked her himself. She always looked grateful for the request, but also a little bit embarrassed, because they both knew he was doing it at least a little bit because he felt sorry for her.