"And how are you finding your stay at the Bridgerton's, Lydia?" Penelope asks me as we wander through town, our maids trailing a couple of feet behind us. Eloise's arm is linked through my own. She'd been eager to formally introduce me to her dearest friend Penelope Featherington, whose yellow dress could be spotted from thousands of miles away.

"It is livelier than I am used to," I admit, though my smile indicates I do not mind it. I'd grown so used to being alone back in Devonshire that it was nice having others around; it kept my mind off of things. "But a nice change of scenery."

"I'm sure," Penelope smiles thoughtfully. "Well, if you ever need to escape, I am just across the street."

"Noted." I wink at her, causing Eloise to playfully smack my arm with her gloved hand, "I'm only kidding, El."

"And you're participating in this season, then?" Penelope questions, keeping the conversation going. Though we only met a few minutes ago, I've already decided I like the girl; she seemed kind and considerate but not fake like some of the other girls in the Ton seems to be. I'm sure we will be fast friends.

"I will be attending the balls, yes," I say, not answering her question exactly. Girls in mourning don't make debuts into society, and though that's what my uncle wished for me, I couldn't do it. Violet understood, of course, reassuring me that I did not need to formally debut to attend such events. "But only to help dear Eloise."

"Oh hush," The brunette on my arm rolls her eyes. "Can you believe Daphne presented me a list of recommendations for a successful season? Private advice regarding the top ten ways in which to entrap a man. I'm telling you, this season has barely begun, and I already feel touched in the head." Penelope laughs, stepping away from us both to eye the stall of quills nearby. "Another quill? You do get through them at an extraordinary rate."

"I have been busy with my correspondence." The red-headed girl shrugs, her gaze drawn to her change purse, her tone almost nervous. It sounds as if there is more to it, something she isn't saying. Though, I do not know the girl well enough to question her out loud.

"To the new heir? Is he here yet?"

"No." She hands the man her change before linking her arm through Eloise's, "I only mean, Colin has been keeping me informed of his adventures in Greece."

"In fairness, I have stopped reading his letters. He rambles, does he not, Lydia?"

"He is certainly no Lady Whistledown," I shrug, thinking over the many letters I've received. Colin is no writer; I'll give him that; still, I always appreciated hearing from him.

"No," Eloise agrees, "but then again, Colin has, in fact, been somewhere, unlike her."

"I thought you admired Whistledown?" I question, stopping to look at a stand of paints, the pastel colours catching my eye. I hadn't painted since arriving at the Bridgerton's, and I missed the feeling of the brush in my hands, under my control. "Were you not grateful for her interruption during your presentation to the queen?"

"I was delighted by the diversion, to be sure." I grab some change out of my purse, handing it to the man. "But I sat with her paper all morning, and in truth, all she does is repeat what she hears."

"Someone must report the gossip. Does she not have a way with words?" Penelope questions.

"Yes, but what is she saying with those words?" Eloise argues, linking her arm through mine again once I've purchased my paints, "Truly, I did not mind Whistledown's silence the last ten months, as it finally gave me some time to read a few articles of substance." Eloise clears her throat before reciting. "My own sex, I hope, will excuse me if I treat them like rational creatures instead of flattering their fascinating graces. Wollstonecraft."

"Rather haughty."

"Imagine if Whistledown wrote like this instead of simply turning our eye to every newly-minted debutante. Perhaps then we might find our respite from the tedious sequence of tea parties and balls." Eloise rambles as Penelope, and I share a glance. I've always admired Eloise's passion for things, though sometimes, I am in awe of how long it takes her to come up for air during her rambling.

When she finally does quit her rambling, we're nearly back to our respective estates, where we must begin getting ready for tonight's ball. The very first of the season. "And there is no one you've got your eye on, Lydia?"

"I've barely been here a week; I've hardly met anyone," I say to Penelope with a laugh, noticing her eager attempt to change the topic of conversation off of the controversial writer and back over to me.

"Only a week? It's felt much longer." Eloise questions, her tone teasing. I playfully shove her, causing her to hold her hands up in defence, "I'm only kidding, Lyds. You know I love having you around. We all do."

I laugh at her words. Because that could not be further from the truth. Sure, Hyacinth and Gregory loved having someone to judge their silly competitions, and Francesca loved having someone to teach her new songs on the pianoforte, but it was clear they didn't all love having me around. "I doubt you all do."

"Are you joking?" Eloise quirks her brow at me, confused, "I promise you Anthony is always this high strong. He's just in a weird mood lately. It's got nothing to do with you."

"I was not referring to Anthony." Penelope quirks her brow at me; Eloise shakes her head, confused. "Have you not noticed the way Benedict barely speaks when I'm around? He can hardly look at me."

Saying the words takes a weight off my shoulders. I hadn't brought it up to anyone how awkward things felt with the second eldest, Bridgerton, the playful, teasing man who'd grow serious whenever I was around.

"I suppose I haven't," Eloise mumbles, confused. We continue walking, her a few steps ahead of us. I take the opportunity to loop my arm through Penelope's, the girl in front of us deep in thought. "That doesn't seem like Benedict, though. You should speak to him."

"Maybe you've charmed him," Penelope chimes in, shrugging her shoulders innocently. "And now he's nervous."

The laughter that bubbles through me is hysterical, as if Penelope has just said an amusing joke. Benedict Bridgerton is not charmed by me, nor do I make him nervous. That is ridiculous. "No, my brother doesn't get nervous around women." Eloise informs her friend, "He's a flirt. I've had the unfortunate pleasure of seeing it... it's disgusting."

"So, it's just me then," I say playfully. Though Eloise turned to look at me over her shoulder, her expression was anything but playful. "Good to know."

"You should speak with him." She suggests, tilting her head, "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. Benedict adores you, just like we all do."

I doubt he "adores me," but I don't argue with the girl, knowing that of all her brothers, Benedict is the one she's closest to. She just wants him and me to get along, her two favourite people. So, I will speak to him, if only to make things less awkward and please Eloise.  "Okay. I will."