Chapter Text
“I didn’t know you were interested in art.”
“Oh!” Startled by the sudden question in the previously unoccupied room, Penelope dropped the loose sheets of paper in her hands, sending them drifting to the floor. “Benedict, you surprised me; I didn’t hear you come in. I was just admiring these sketches, they’re very good don’t you think?”
“Thank you, I had thought they were rather stilted actually. It’s so hard to capture the human form without a model to work from.” A small furrow formed between his brows, but he smiled warmly at her.
“Oh my, I didn’t realise they were yours. But of course they are, there aren’t any other artists in residence are there? How silly of me.” Her hands twisted awkwardly in front of her as the words tumbled out of her mouth, trying to cover her blunder. It was often so difficult to talk to people, even the Bridgertons, who were her favourite family in the world.
“No need to apologise; it’s nice to hear an unbiased opinion of them.” He bent to pick up one of the fallen sheets and studied it for a moment before laying it back on the table. “See the way the shaping of the arm here looks out of proportion?” he said, gesturing to one of his drawings.
“Yes, I see what you mean now that you point it out. It’s still much better than anything I could have attempted. Look at how you’ve captured such a mischievous expression in this one,” Penelope replied, pointing to a charcoal sketch of Hyacinth.
“Which precisely proves my point; that one was done from life. Although Hyacinth is not a very patient model– she can’t bear to sit still for long. Most of my family have grown tired of posing for me actually,” he lamented.
“I’ll pose for you, if you like.” The words were out of her mouth almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to offer her services as a model. Penelope felt most comfortable blending into the background and she certainly wasn’t used to being the object of someone’s focus. But now that she had offered, she found she didn't regret it. How could she when Benedict looked so happy at the prospect?
“Would you really? Are you sure you wouldn’t mind sitting still for that long?”
“Not at all! I enjoy simply sitting and thinking sometimes. Besides, I’ve never had my likeness taken before.” While her sisters had their portraits taken upon their debut, Penelope’s mother felt that her third daughter wasn’t worthy of such an expense.
“Wonderful!” Benedict said, clapping his hands together. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”
No more than fifteen minutes later Penelope found herself seated on a stone bench in the rose garden just outside the library. The sun was pleasantly warm, but her delicate skin was shaded by the pergola behind her. Benedict had posed her in various different seated positions, standing back and assessing the arrangement each time before striding forward and making another adjustment. He had finally settled on a slightly reclined pose against the arm of the bench, a shawl draped artfully across her skirt and a single bloom plucked from one of the nearby rose bushes in her hand. She felt slightly silly and self conscious at first but she soon found herself relaxing as she allowed her thoughts to wander.
It was rather pleasant to have time alone to daydream during what had been an invigorating summer stay at Aubrey Hall. It was the first time she had been allowed to come without the rest of her family. She adored spending so much time with Eloise, and of course, Colin. He was home from a recent tour and for once Penelope felt that she had nearly enough of him to be satisfied. They saw one another frequently, as Colin had a way of finding her in hidden corners when the laughter and noise became too much.
She was as much in love with him as ever, even though it was clear he didn’t feel the same way. But it was still lovely that he sought her out, telling her tales of his travels and exchanging humorous observations about the foibles of his family. Kate often saw fit to seat them together at dinner as she knew that Penelope felt comfortable in Colin’s company and would be able to converse with him easily.
The Bridgerton brood could be fairly dismissive of Colin’s tales but Penelope found she could question him about them for hours on end. She found it fascinating to hear about the different cultures across the globe and how something as simple and commonplace as grass could be soft delicate blades in one country and sharp spikes in another. He described landscapes of rugged mountains and long sandy coastlines drenched in the Mediterranean sun. She could picture serene sunrises through his eyes, the land before him slowly waking from sleepy mauve to rich umber and verdant green.
Her mother often warned her that men do not like curious women. “It is unladylike to be so well read, Penelope. Gentlemen find it most unappealing, I assure you.” However, as she also believed that bright yellow was a becoming colour on her third daughter, Penelope had good reason to question her mother’s opinions on the matter- assurances or not. Colin, for example, had never once looked at her aghast when she mentioned something she had read. They had enjoyed many spirited discussions during the summer, made all the more fulfilling due to both parties having some previous knowledge on the subject.
It made her love for him all the more bittersweet. He was so much more than a handsome face with charming manners. If he were not, she was sure it would be much easier for her to put him out of mind, allowing the rational side of her brain to dispel a shallow, insignificant love. But knowing he fulfilled her mentally made her love him all the more. Yet she knew he would never be hers. Men like Colin simply did not marry women like Penelope.
Benedict began to pack up his supplies and Penelope sighed as she returned her focus to her surroundings. Her afternoon as a model had been quite enjoyable and she gladly agreed to Benedict’s request that she sit for him the next day. With her thoughts occupied with Colin, the hours had passed quickly.
“Where did you disappear to this afternoon? I looked for you after my riding lesson,” Eloise quizzed her as she poured a cup of tea each for them, paying more attention to Penelope than the hot liquid as some sloshed onto the saucer.
“In the rose garden with Benedict. I was sitting for a few sketches for him.” Taking her tea, she moved toward a seat near the fireplace, Eloise hot on her heels.
“Rather you than me, it’s even more tedious than my riding lessons. Tell me, why is it that women must ride side-saddle?” Eloise complained as she stirred her tea frantically, her agitation showing in the rapid movement of her hand. Penelope discreetly slid a few more inches along their shared settee to avoid any rogue splashes staining her dress.
“It really is the most unnatural way to sit, with your spine all twisted and your weight distributed only on one side of the animal. If I attempt anything faster than a gentle trot I am in danger of sliding right out of my seat. It takes all the fun out of a ride if you can’t race.”
Eloise rarely required verbal responses when she was in a full flow rant so Penelope was free to take up her embroidery, only adding some murmurs of agreement every now and then. She did in fact agree with Eloise that it was silly that women were expected to ride side-saddle when it was hardly the most practical way to ride. However, she had quite enjoyed her afternoon of peace while she sat for Benedict, and if Eloise had a reason to be otherwise occupied then who was she to argue?
Colin thought the separation of the sexes a rather archaic tradition, but he did enjoy the company of his elder brothers. Tonight however, he felt rather impatient to join the ladies in the drawing room. He hadn’t seen Penelope all afternoon and it was irritating. He sought her in all her usual hiding places (for he knew as well as she that his family could be rather too much at times.) But she wasn’t tucked in the library writing at the desk overlooking the gardens or reading in her favourite leather chair. He hadn’t found her sitting dreamily on the painted bench near the lake. He had even asked a maid if she had retired upstairs to her bedchamber, as inappropriate as that inquiry had been. He refused to consider why he was so eager for her company, telling himself that he merely wished to show her a book he had found on Grecian statues, knowing she had interest in the subject. But truthfully, he knew that he simply missed her company.
“Don’t concern yourself, Anthony. She was pleased to do it and I thanked her profusely. I would never take advantage of Penelope’s kindness.”
Colin’s attention was piqued at the sound of Penelope’s name. “What is that you’re saying, Benedict?”
“Oh, only that I found a perfect model in Penelope Featherington. I wish to submit my portfolio to the Academy when we return to London so I plan to devote myself to drawing and painting–”
Colin interrupted Benedict’s soliloquy impatiently. “Penelope! Is that wise?”
Benedict furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why would it not be? Have you seen how lovely her features are? I could hardly decide whether to sketch her wide eyes or delicate mouth first. And her hair! When it is down around her shoulders–”
“You asked her to let her hair down for you?!” Colin asked, horrified. “It's completely improper.”
“Now, now Colin,” Anthony said in his most condescending tone. “I see nothing wrong with Benedict’s artistic pursuits.”
“Indeed. I am required to produce work in the classical style and there is not a woman in the Ton with a form more suited to my vision.”
Colin clamped his teeth together to keep from shouting at his brother for even thinking about Penelope’s form, let alone discussing it.
“And Penelope is so patient, not like the rest of you rascals. She follows my instructions and sits quietly. I adore her company.”
“Of course you do,” Colin replied heatedly. “What gentleman wouldn’t enjoy her company? But that does not give you the right to jeopardise her reputation.”
“Colin, Penelope is like a sister to me. And she was chaperoned the entire time.” A faint glimmer of mischief appeared in Benedict’s eyes. “Unless you feel that is inadequate protection for her?”
Anthony raised his hand to interrupt what was sure to be an impassioned explanation from Colin. “I believe the chaperone Penelope provided was more than adequate, Benedict. Now, I believe it's time for us to join the ladies,” Anthony decided, draining the last of his glass of brandy and striding toward the drawing room.
Colin followed his elder brothers and when he saw Penelope sitting demurely by the fire with her embroidery, he knew that he couldn’t simply let the matter drop. His brothers seemed content to ignore how tempting Penelope was and leave the matter to fate. She was far too sweet for her own good and she required his protection. Even as his gut roiled with concern, she glanced up and met his gaze with such an adorable little smile that it was difficult to resist kissing it away. If he, as her dearest friend, struggled to restrain such ungentlemanly impulses, it was inconceivable that she would be safe from the advances of others. Newly firm in his resolve, he took the seat beside her and admired her needlework, feeling much better now that he had decided on a course of action.