Penelope Featherington Quotes

My mother is convinced that yellow is a happy color and that a happy girl would get a husband. -Penelope Featherington

No words for the passion. No words for the need. No words for the sheer epiphany of the moment. And so, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday afternoon, in the heart of Mayfair, in a quiet drawing room on Mount Street, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington. And it was glorious.

Unrequited love was never easy, but at least Penelope Featherington was used to it.

Just be quiet and accept the praise.

And so, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday afternoon, in the heart of Mayfair, in a quiet drawing room on Mount Street, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington.

But if he had indeed blushed-and his cheeks did feel a touch warm-neither of his brothers saw it, because they didn't say anything, and if there was anything in life as certain as, say, the sun rising in the east,it was that a Bridgerton never passed up the opportunity to tease and torment another Bridgerton. "She's been talking about Penelope Featherington nonstop," Colin said with a scowl. "I tell you, I've known the girl since we were both in short pants. Er, since I was in short pants, at least. She was in..." He scowled some more, because both his brothers were laughing at him. "She was in whatever it is that young girls wear." "Frocks?" Anthony supplied helpfully. "Petticoats?" was Benedict's suggestion. "The point is," Colin said forcefully, "that I have known her forever, and I can assure you I am not likely to fall in love with her." Anthony turned to Benedict and said, "They'll be married within a year.Mark my words." Colin crossed his arms. "Anthony!" "Maybe two," Benedict said. "He's young yet." "Unlike you," Colin retorted. "Why am I besiged by Mother, I wonder? Good God, you're thirty-one-" "Thirty," Benedict snapped. "Regardless, one would think you'd be getting the brunt of it.

Alaycılık gerçek duyguların yüzeye çıkmasını engelleyen tek şeydir ve inan bana o duygularla yüzleşmek istemezsin.

What can I do for you, Mother?" he asked. "And don't say 'Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.' Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process." "I wasn't going to ask anything of the sort," Violet replied. "I was going to ask you to dance with Prudence Featherington." "Have Mercy, Mother," he moaned. "She's even worse." "I'm not asking you to marry the chit," she said. "Just dance with her." Benedict fought a groan. Prudence Featherington, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he'd seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. "I'll tell you what," he wheedled. "I'll dance with Penelope Featherington if you keep Prudence at bay." "That'll do," his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Benedict with the sinking sensation that she'd wanted him to dance with Penelope all along. "She's over there by the lemonade table," Violet said, "dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing.The color is good for her,but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume,I can't imagine." "You obviously haven't seen the mermaid," Benedict murmured. She swatted him lightly on the arm. "No poking fun at the guests." "But they make it so easy.

Miss Featherington!' Lady D boomed. 'You haven't told me who you suspect.' 'No, Penelope,' Colin said, a rather smirky smile on his face, 'you haven't.' Penelope's first instinct was to mumble something under her breath and hope that Lady Danbury's age had left her hard enough of hearing that she would assume that any lack of understanding was the fault of her own ears and not Penelope's lips. But even without glancing to her side, she could feel Colin's presence, sense his quirky, cocky grin egging her on, and she found herself standing a little straighter, with her chin perched just a little higher than usual. He made her more confident, more daring. He made her more...herself. Or at least the herself she wished she could be.

A mãe sempre dissera que, quando uma mulher estava bem-vestida, se sentia bem.

No, I'm not going to forget it, I've spent my life forgetting things, not saying them, never telling anyone what I really want.

Queria que ela adorasse aquilo, que o amasse e que soubesse, quando se deitassem nos braços um do outro, suados e exaustos, que pertencia a ele. Porque ele já sabia que pertencia a ela.

Talvez aquilo fosse a definição do amor, afinal. Querer uma pessoa, precisar dela e a adorar até mesmo nos momentos de fúria, quando se tinha vontade de amarrá-la à cama só para que ela não saísse e causasse ainda mais problemas.

Lady Whistledown always had all the latest on-dits, and unlike other columnists, she wasn’t hesitant about using people’s full names. Having decided last week, for example, that Kate didn’t look good in yellow, she wrote, clear as day: “The color yellow makes the dark-haired Miss Katharine Sheffield look like a singed daffodil.” Kate hadn’t minded the insult. She’d heard it said on more than one occasion that one could not consider oneself “arrived” until one had been insulted by Lady Whistledown. Even Edwina, who was a huge social success by anyone’s measure, had been jealous that Kate had been singled out for an insult. And even though Kate didn’t particularly want to be in London for a season, she figured that if she had to participate in the social whirl, she might as well not be a complete and utter failure. If getting insulted in a gossip column was to be her only sign of success, well then, so be it. Kate would take her triumphs where she may. Now when Penelope Featherington bragged about being likened to an overripe citrus fruit in her tangerine satin, Kate could wave her arm and sigh with great drama, “Yes, well, I am a singed daffodil.

And so, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday afternoon, in the heart of Mayfair, in a quiet drawing room on Mount Street, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington. And it was glorious.

Benedict!” Damn. He’d nearly made a clean escape. He looked up to see his mother hurrying toward him. She was dressed in some sort of Elizabethan costume. He supposed she was meant to be a character in one of Shakespeare’s plays, but for the life of him, he had no idea which. “What can I do for you, Mother?” he asked. “And don’t say ‘Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.’ Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process.” “I wasn’t going to ask anything of the sort,” Violet replied. “I was going to ask you to dance with Prudence Featherington.” “Have mercy, Mother,” he moaned. “She’s even worse.” “I’m not asking you to marry the chit,” she said. “Just dance with her.” Benedict fought a groan. Prudence Featherington, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he’d seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. “I’ll tell you what,” he wheedled. “I’ll dance with Penelope Featherington if you keep Prudence at bay.” “That’ll do,” his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Benedict with the sinking sensation that she’d wanted him to dance with Penelope all along. “She’s over there by the lemonade table,” Violet said, “dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing. The color is good for her, but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume, I can’t imagine.” “You obviously haven’t seen the mermaid,” Benedict murmured. She swatted him lightly on the arm. “No poking fun at the guests.” “But they make it so easy.” She shot him a look of warning before saying, “I’m off to find your sister.” “Which one?” “One of the ones who isn’t married,” Violet said pertly.

Benedict advanced immediately, lunging and attacking, but Colin had always been particularly fleet of foot, and he retreated carefully, meeting Benedict’s attack with an expert parry. “You’re in a bloody bad mood today,” Colin said, lunging forward and just nearly catching Benedict on the shoulder. Benedict stepped out of his way, lifting his blade to block the attack. “Yes, well, I had a bad”— he advanced again, his foil stretched straight forward—“ day.” Colin sidestepped his attack neatly. “Nice riposte,” he said, touching his forehead with the handle of his foil in a mock salute. “Shut up and fence,” Benedict snapped. Colin chuckled and advanced, swishing his blade this way and that, keeping Benedict on the retreat. “It must be a woman,” he said. Benedict blocked Colin’s attack and quickly began his own advance. “None of your damned business.” “It’s a woman,” Colin said, smirking. Benedict lunged forward, the tip of his foil catching Colin on the collarbone. “Point,” he grunted. Colin gave a curt nod. “Touch for you.” They walked back to the center of the room. “Are you ready?” he asked. Benedict nodded. “En garde. Fence!” This time Colin was the first to take the attack. “If you need some advice about women . . .” he said, driving Benedict back to the corner. Benedict raised his foil, blocking Colin’s attack with enough force to send his younger brother stumbling backward. “If I need advice about women,” he returned, “the last person I’d go to would be you.” “You wound me,” Colin said, regaining his balance. “No,” Benedict drawled. “That’s what the safety tip is for.” “I certainly have a better record with women than you.” “Oh really?” Benedict said sarcastically. He stuck his nose in the air, and in a fair imitation of Colin said, “‘ I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!’” Colin winced. “You,” Benedict said, “shouldn’t be giving advice to anyone.” “I didn’t know she was there.” Benedict lunged forward, just barely missing Colin’s shoulder. “That’s no excuse. You were in public, in broad daylight. Even if she hadn’t been there, someone would have heard and the bloody thing would have ended up in Whistledown.” Colin met his lunge with a parry, then riposted with blinding speed, catching Benedict neatly in the belly. “My touch,” he grunted. Benedict gave him a nod, acknowledging the point. “I was foolish,” Colin said as they walked back to the center of the room. “You, on the other hand, are stupid.” “What the hell does that mean?” Colin sighed as he pushed up his mask. “Why don’t you just do us all a favor and marry the girl?

On the sixth of April, in the year 1812—precisely two days before her sixteenth birthday—Penelope Featherington fell in love.

And in that moment, Benedict realized what he’d probably been too stupid (and stupidly male) to notice: Penelope Featherington was in love with his brother.

Miss Sheffield,” he said smoothly, “I hope you will excuse us as I escort Miss Featherington in to dinner.” “But you can’t escort her in!” Cressida blurted out. Bridgerton gave her an icy stare. “I’m sorry,” he said in a voice that said he was anything but. “Had I included you in the conversation?” Cressida shrank back, obviously mortified by her outburst. Still, it was beyond irregular for him to escort Penelope. As the man of the house, it was his duty to escort the highest-ranking woman. Kate wasn’t sure who that happened to be this evening, but it certainly wasn’t Penelope, whose father had been a mere mister. Bridgerton offered Penelope his arm, turning his back on Cressida in the process. “I do hate a bully, don’t you?” he murmured.