Chapter Text
The gust of chilly night air that met Colin as he left the house cooled his skin but did nothing to calm the racing of his heart. He was massaging the aching spot in his chest, which had only worsened as his head rang with Daphne’s words and their implications.
Not that he was sure exactly what those implications were, but he was determined to parse them out once and for all.
So enveloped in the thoughts looping themselves around and around his mind, Colin paid no attention to the precise direction he was going, having headed vaguely toward the garden as he exited the building. In his distraction, he walked straight into the wrought iron bench set along the path he was on. The pain in his shin jolted him out of his thoughts long enough for him to take a seat on the offending piece of furniture, leaning over to rub the new ache for a moment. It was definitely going to bruise.
But his leg pain could only distract him for so long, and his thoughts quickly returned to their tumbling state. Taking advantage of his now seated state and intent on putting his mind in order, Colin leaned against the back of the bench, closed his eyes, and let his sister’s voice float through his memory. What was it she’d said that set off the static in his brain?
She’d claimed, not in so many words, that he sought Penelope out upon arriving at every public event and that he only found relief when he found her. He couldn’t speak to the relief part, as he could not recollect any particular feelings of agitation if Penelope did not happen to be present at an event, but seeking her out was nothing to take note of!
Of course he sought her out when he arrived somewhere her family might also be present. Everyone sought out people of their acquaintance when arriving at an outing. That was quite the point of attending Ton events, to socialize with others you know. And Penelope was one of his closest friends, he understood that now, so it made complete sense that she would be one of the first people he searched out. Eloise also made a beeline for Penelope, and no one made any fuss about that!
Besides, he might scan the crowd, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that Daphne could definitively say it was Penelope he was scanning the crowd for. Perhaps he was merely scanning for anyone he knew. Although...he could admit that he often looked for Penelope...not long after showing up, but in what he considered an appropriate and timely manner. That seemed entirely logical, so that couldn’t be what had distressed him so.
Crossing his arms, he considered what other striking statements Daphne had made during their conversation. She’d also said that Colin was aware of Penelope at all times. But, he reasoned, this too was justifiable. Penelope had no male relative to look out for her, now that her father and Jack Featherington were out of the picture.
He and Penelope had known one another since they were children, and since she spent the majority of her time out in society in the company of his actual younger sister, it was practically his duty to keep an eye on her as well.
And, really, a good thing he did make himself aware of her, lest she and her family be taken in by another charlatan scheme like he’d saved them from last season!
He had felt quite heroic during that grand ordeal, covertly taking her hand in his own and pulling Penelope away from the crowd. Confronting Lord Featherington about the fictional gemstone mines. The look of awe on Pen’s face as they danced, as she told him he was astonishing.
It was not exactly the same feeling he got from the many times he rescued any of his sisters from scrapes over the course of his life.
Obviously that was because the stakes were quite high at the time, the Featherington family name and reputation, not to mention much of the town’s fortune, on the line. It made perfect sense.
If he’d thought thinking this through logically and step by step would make the tightness in his chest and the buzzing in his brain ease, he was wrong. If anything, the more he thought about Penelope, about her role in his life, about their history and interactions, the worse the pain got.
He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. This position opened up his chest a bit—maybe that would help ease the worsening twinge.
While he could explain Daphne’s comments, he supposed her observations were not entirely incorrect. Was he, then, drawn to Pen, as if she…how had Daphne put it? As if she oriented him?
That might not be such a bad thing! Penelope was very good after all—he had said as much to her himself at one point. So why shouldn’t she be some kind of guiding light for him?
And speaking of light, if he did happen to light up in her presence, as Daphne claimed, it was only because she was so bright herself—in countenance, in wit, and, he thought wryly, in attire. He was merely reflecting that brightness back at her.
Perhaps, he considered, he really was the moon, and Penelope was the sun whose light lit him up as well. With her intelligence and her general good person-ness, of course.
It all sounded so mundane and rational when he explained it to himself, so why couldn’t he explain it to Daphne? And why had her words had such a profound effect on him?
It struck him, then, that his moment of dizzying distress hadn’t just been at what his sister had said, but also that it had rung true to him about Penelope, or at least about how he unconsciously understood Penelope.
Why was it okay for her to be oriented to him, but so earth-shattering to think that he was oriented to her? Why was it so unsettling to him to think of himself in those terms but not her? He’d never really had to articulate, even just in his own mind, the intricacies of his thoughts about Penelope, but faced with the task now, he couldn’t say that he was especially pleased with what was turning up.
Actually, he felt quite disgruntled with himself. What did it say about him that he so easily and innately considered himself the center of Penelope’s universe? But that it felt like the world was spinning backward for someone to suggest that she might hold some similar position in his own life?
Sure, he had been very preoccupied with the grain of wrongness in their relationship as of late, but he had been so focused on figuring out what was wrong that perhaps he had not stopped to consider why it was so wrong. Maybe Penelope understood better than he seemed to that there was an imbalance in their relationship.
He was sure, too, that there was some kind of larger significance to this whole situation, that being drawn to one another––or not drawn to one another, as the case may be––had to mean something. But what exactly that meaning was eluded him. Although it seemed quite plain to Daphne, blast her.
Why could sisters never just say what they mean in a clear and helpful way? Why must they always be enigmatic?
Colin was growing increasingly frustrated that the tangle of thoughts and questions taking up all his consideration was getting no less tangled, despite the considerable attention he was giving to untangling it. Nor was the knot in his chest loosening. He pushed himself to his feet and began pacing the garden paths, in the hopes that movement would help jostle some new clarity free.
He contemplated Daphne’s observational prowess, which had always been considerable. And he had always been a bit delighted when he was able to evade her scrutiny, although that was generally for things that he knew would get him in trouble.
As far as he could tell, he’d always paid a respectable amount of attention to Penelope, he’d always made it a point to notice her. But if Daphne thought his behavior significantly changed enough to remark upon, perhaps he hadn’t truly been paying attention before.
Colin could feel a kind of slow panic building from the bottom of his stomach and creeping into his lungs, making it harder to breathe. He knew there was some new element that was impeding the usual easy flow of their friendship that he couldn’t figure out, but he’d thought he at least had a handle on the Before. Only now he was starting to question everything. Maybe he didn’t understand Penelope, or their friendship, or even himself at all.
Colin felt his pace quickening along with his breaths. The frantic nature of his thoughts was pervading his body. The buzzing in his head returned. The tightness in his chest was nearly unbearable.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a peal of thunder cracked above him, breaking through the static in his mind, and the sky split open, sheets of rain pouring down all around him.
He glanced around wildly, trying to get his bearings and locate the nearest shelter. Through the haze of the rain he just made out a gazebo a short way down the path and began sprinting in that direction, trying to make it to safety before he was entirely drenched through.
Upon stepping under the cover of the gazebo, Colin shook his head, attempting to clear the water from his eyes and loosen the hair that was now plastered to his forehead. As he flung the drops of water around, he heard a gasped “oh!” in a voice he knew as well as his own.
His gaze shot up sharply, landing on Penelope, also taking shelter from the storm in this gazebo. He thought, for the briefest moment, that perhaps she was a mirage, conjured up by his own disjointed thoughts, but he dismissed that idea almost instantly.
Of course she was really there.
Because Daphne was right, he was drawn to her by some kind of gravitational pull. The moon to her sun, he was trapped in her orbit as he reflected her light back at her.
The instant he understood that she was standing there, in front of him, the knot in his chest loosened and his breathing eased. As quick as the lightning that streaked across the sky above, a thought flashed across his mind.
“Maybe I love you.”
But he hadn’t just thought it. He’d said it out loud to Penelope. The fact that she heard him, even over the din of the storm raging around them, was made apparent by the look of shock––or perhaps horror--that overtook her delicate features.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen Penelope make that face before, and he was certain he’d never been the cause of it. For a moment, he contemplated running, or apologizing, or claiming that he hadn’t been speaking to or of her.
But once he spoke those words, the buzzing in his brain ceased, and there was only I love you left.
Everything seemed to click into place. Of course he loved her. How could he not have seen that? Before he could berate himself for his blindness, he realized that it was always difficult to see clearly when you were staring straight at the sun.
He felt the acceptance of this new understanding, this new state of existence, settle into his bones. It seemed to fortify him. He had been confused, but he hadn’t been entirely mistaken about their friendship. She was, she had always been, dearly precious to him.
Clearly this was what Daphne had been trying to nudge him toward. It was a wonder that it had taken her this long to make note of it. And if Daphne had been right about the way he felt about Penelope...perhaps he was also right that Penelope had similar feelings about him.
He met her wide-eyed gaze, usually so radiant, and saw flecks of uncertainty in their depths, a hint of hurt crinkling the edges. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him correctly after all.
Reaching a hand out, he took a step toward her, but his heart crashed in his chest as she took a step backward in tandem. She glanced around her, looking ready to make a break for it despite the sheets of rain still encasing them. Before he could call out and stop her, she seemed to resign herself to staying rather than brave the storm waiting outside the shelter of the gazebo.
Not wanting to make her feel trapped, Colin resisted the urge to move toward her. But he had to say something, had to know what was going on in her head and why she looked hurt.
“Tell me what I’ve done.”
Perhaps a demand was not the best way to begin the conversation, but Colin hoped that the desperation dripping from his voice was enough balm for the brashness of his words.
Penelope’s eyes widened a fraction more, as if she had not expected him to broach that topic. And then she dropped her gaze, staring at the knot of his cravat like it held the secrets or answers he sought. Though he willed it, she would not meet his eyes again, and he had to hold himself in check, lest he cross the distance between them to make her.
No, first he needed to close the emotional distance, bridge the chasm that had sprung up between them when he wasn’t looking. Then, maybe, she would allow him to step closer.
“I don’t know what you mean. What could you possibly have done?” she responded to the knot of cloth at his neck.
“Penelope, please,” he pleaded softly.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then lifted her eyes to meet his once more. The uncertainty he’d seen there before was replaced with a steely composure. It was that quality, he realized, the unyielding poise he could now identify, that he hadn’t recognized in her face, in her expression when she spoke to him, since his return.
“Truly, Colin, you have done nothing wrong. I mean that.”
He felt a bit of his own composure slip. “Something is different, Pen! You cannot claim that all is as it was last season! When you did not reply to my letters, I overlooked it, as I knew you and your family had been through much upheaval at the end of the season, and you were likely busy dealing with those matters. But I expected, upon my return, for things to proceed as they had. And yet they have not. ”
Colin knew he was getting agitated, but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop, the rage of the storm fueling his own heightened emotions.
“There is clearly something wrong between us, and I have been racking my brain for weeks trying to figure it out! I am losing my mind, Pen, and you must help me to understand because I cannot do it alone!” By the end of his speech, his breaths were ragged and his chest heaving.
He expected her response to be just as loud, just as impassioned, but when she finally spoke, her voice was gentle, yet strong.
“Of course something is different, Colin. Not wrong, not really. But different. How could it not be?” She turned toward the rain, placing her hands on the column beside her, as though fortifying her own strength with its solidity. “Did you know that on the night of my family’s ball, at the end of last season, as I was searching for Eloise amidst the guests on the grounds, I overheard you tell Lord Fife that you wouldn’t dream of courting me, even in his wildest fantasies.”
She said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, and yet hearing foolish words he barely remembered saying come from her mouth, knowing that not only did she know, but that she had heard it straight from him, felt like a punch to his gut. He managed to get out, “Pen, I—“ before she cut him off.
“I’m not angry. I’ve never been angry, really. I was not even especially hurt, once I got over the embarrassment.”
While the tone of her voice told him she was telling the truth, it did not stop the thread of regret winding its way through his body, slowly tainting the elation that had come with the clarity he’d achieved only moments ago.
“Nor do I want or need an explanation,” she continued. “I think it was good for me, to hear you say that. It was a kind of…awakening. You see, I had spent so much of my girlhood dreaming that one day you would fall in love with me. That our friendship would deepen into something more.” For a moment her voice turned the slightest bit wistful, but it did not last. “But this is my third season, and I am a girl no longer. It was time to put away that silly fantasy and focus on the real possibilities for my future. And so that is what I’ve done,” she finished, finally turning back to face him.
He could see the track of one tear glistening on her cheek, but she had a serene smile on her lips. He swore he could hear the crack of his own heart in his chest, but perhaps it was just thunder.
“I have never stopped being your friend,” she went on. “I hope that you can see that. But our friendship must be different, if I am ever to find a husband. And I hope you can see that as well.”
The idea of Pen married to some faceless man was one he had never taken the time to consider before, and yet now it consumed him. The ache returned to his chest, and he reached his hand up to his heart to rub at it. His heart was quite literally aching for her, and yet it had taken him weeks to understand why. It was no wonder she had given up on him.
This time, when he took a step forward, Penelope remained where she was, and he took that as a sign that she was willing to see this conversation through.
“Did you not hear me?” he asked her, as he searched her face.
“Hear what?” she asked in return, a small crease forming between her brows.
“I said I love you.”
The emotion that flickered through her eyes this time was akin to dread.
“You said maybe.”
“So you did hear me.” He took another cautious step toward her, but she held up her hands to stop him.
“You are confused because our relationship is changed and you are unused to its new parameters. It is still new to you, I understand. But I assure you that once you become accustomed to it, you will see that very little is actually different.”
She was correct. He had said maybe. And yet, standing here in front of her, even the single degree of uncertainty conveyed in that “maybe” had dissipated. All of the ways he had rationalized his behavior toward Pen just moments ago fell apart like so much wet paper.
She wasn’t simply an acquaintance like any other person he knew; she was his favorite person to spend time with, to trade clever barbs with, to escort across the dance floor. She was the person whose presence put him at ease, who allowed him to set down the Charming Bridgerton mantle for a moment and be his most genuine self.
It was no wonder that he couldn't focus on planning his next trip. His heart wasn’t in it because it was too occupied drawing him toward her. His travel meant nothing if he could not share it with her. And how could he expect to end up anywhere but lost, as he had been, in the absence of her guiding light.
And his hunger for her was unmatched—he had ignored an entire plate of biscuits he was so lost in thoughts of her! Standing this close to her, so close that the pale freckles dotting the bridge of her nose were visible, the flicker of flame that always licked up his arms when they danced was crackling through his whole being, urging him to put their bodies in contact in some way. His fingers itched to touch her, to run along the graceful curve of her arm, to brush the errant curls from her forehead, to explore everywhere.
Love didn’t strike him in a single, great flash of lightning, as he had always expected. Perhaps his realization of it had, but the feeling itself had trickled in until he was full to bursting with it before he knew he had sprung a leak. Penelope wore her way into his heart as water wears into stone, as waves crash upon the shore, gently beating beating beating and taking a little bit away with it every time.
Years of looks and laughs, shy smiles and wide eyes, oh-so slowly eating away at the wall he’d erected between them under the guise of friendship, unknowingly and unconsciously trapping her on the other side, until they spilled out of all the crevices they had made and into every part of him.
His certainty was absolute. He was undeniably in love with her.
“Penelope, I love you,” he said again, hoping that the force of his words would be enough to make her accept them.
“Oh, Colin, please don’t.”
It was the first real break in demeanor he’d witnessed from her since he entered the gazebo, and it arrested the forward movement he was about to make. The anguish in her voice reflected the writhing mass that had made its home in his stomach since she’d mentioned marriage to another.
“I have worked so hard to let go of all that girlish pining for some fantasy version of you. I have accepted this reality. I beg of you, do not say words you do not mean and cannot take back. Please do not make this any harder than it has already been.”
She ended in a whisper, and the desperation and desolation of it fueled his resolve. He crossed the remaining distance between them and grabbed her hands before she could retreat from his closeness.
“Pen, let me say this, just once, and if you remain steadfast in your resolution once I have finished, I will respect your wishes and remain your most devoted friend. But you must give me a chance to say my piece, and you must listen all the way through.” He arched a brow at her, requesting her acquiescence, which she gave as a nod.
“You said that very little is actually different in our friendship this season, and you are correct. In many ways, everything is just as it was. It certainly appears that way to others, and I have had neither the language nor the ability to express why something did not feel quite right. And believe me I have tried. But, Penelope, I am different.”
He paused for a moment, holding her eye contact to let the weight of his words settle around her.
“I have been beside myself since my return, trying to understand how everything could seem so normal and yet feel so wrong. Because I knew. I could tell immediately that something had changed. And yet, nothing was different. We spoke, we danced, we laughed. Still I sought answers—I even held conference with Benedict, if you can believe it. It has consumed me for weeks. You’ve been all I can think about.”
At this, Penelope scoffed, and he could not blame her. He’d diminished her importance, even if unintentionally, for too long.
“Please believe me when I say this, Pen. You have been the only thing on my mind.”
If Colin was not mistaken, the barest hint of hope had crept back into her expression. But he could tell she was still not ready to drop her newly-acquired defenses.
“I will admit, it took a bit of prodding from Daphne, but I have realized that you are the most important person to me. Your wit and cleverness are beyond compare, and you may be the only person in the entire world with whom I can be myself––just Colin, with no expectations. My return did not feel complete, did not feel like coming home, with the distance between us.”
He took one of her hands, still clasped firmly in his, placed it over his heart, and covered it with his own.
“From the moment I realized something was amiss, I have been in near constant pain, right here. It became almost unbearable tonight, so much so that I had to escape the ball to try and sort things out. But the more I tried to rationalize my behavior the more tangled my thoughts became, and the more tangled my thoughts became, the more my heart ached. Until I saw you, standing here, and everything fell into place. The pain disappeared. I knew there was nowhere else you could’ve been but here, waiting for the universe to bring us together. You are my true north, and I will always be drawn to you.”
Colin saw the tears spilling over Penelope’s cheeks and raised both hands to her face to wipe them away softly.
“Darling Pen, please don’t cry. The pain is bearable now.”
Despite having released his hold on her hand to wipe her tears, Colin could feel the warm press of her hand still covering his heart, her thumb rubbing lightly as if to soothe it.
She was no longer meeting his eyes. Instead she watched her own hand attempt to relieve the pain as if it was not attached to her. “Does it still ache?”
“How could it not when I know how I’ve disappointed you?” he breathed out.
She did meet his eyes again then, but she still did not remove her hand. Colin was hesitant to even breathe too forcefully lest he shatter whatever magic was holding them in this moment.
Taking a shuddering breath, she said, “I never imagined this would have such a profound effect on you. Truthfully, I was quite sure you wouldn’t even notice the change. And if you did it would be a welcome sort of reprieve. I certainly never meant to cause you pain.”
Gently, ever so gently, as if trying to capture a butterfly, Colin cupped her cheek. “You did not cause this pain. If anyone is at fault here, it is me. You were merely doing what you needed to do to protect yourself and your future. I cannot fault you for that.”
“I am sorry all the same,” she whispered. “Would that I could take the pain away.”
Staring up at him were the eyes he knew so well, brimming with that old brightness, and Colin’s pulse began to race. She was so lovely and full of light, and he instinctively drew closer to her, a moth to a flame.
“There might be a way for you to alleviate it, if you are willing,” he whispered back.
“Anything,” fell from her lips, and his eyes traced their movement.
Heart in his throat, he asked, “Penelope, might I kiss you?”
She did not answer right away, but neither did she remove herself from their proximity. She studied him intently, gazing into his eyes as though trying to read the depths of his soul and uncover all of his secrets. And he would let her. He would lay himself completely bare to her if that was the reassurance she needed.
He didn’t move, simply kept his expression as open, honest, and unguarded as he could while she took her time. He wanted to kiss her more than anything, but he wanted to do it on her terms, and after all the time she spent waiting for him, the least he could do was give her as much time as she needed to be certain.
Finally, having concluded her investigation and seeming to come to a satisfactory answer, she nodded.
“I need to hear you say it.” Colin was desperate with want, quite certain that he had never wanted anything more in his whole life than to kiss the woman standing in front of him. The urge to capture her lips with his, to press her body against the length of him, was overwhelming. But he needed her to confirm, out loud, that she wanted him, too. He needed to hear her voice to be sure.
She smiled slightly, the first genuine smile he had seen on her rosebud mouth all evening. “Please kiss me, Colin,” she said, as she rose on her toes to meet him, the hand not resting on his heart sliding up to wrap around his neck.
He needed no further prompting.
Colin brought his lips to hers, the hand still resting on her cheek guiding her mouth to his while the other hand settled on the back of her waist.
For weeks Colin had been drowning, flailing around unable to tell which way was up, which direction would lead him to safety.
When their lips touched, Colin was drowning again, only this time he was content to let the current claim him. Sod the burning in his lungs; he never wanted to come up for air.
Kissing Penelope was his new breathing, as essential to him as food and water.
Her lips were warm and pliable, her waist soft beneath his hand. He stroked his thumb across the apple of her cheek, reveling in the silky smoothness of it.
When her fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp, Colin banded her waist with his arm and drew her further into his body. It still wasn’t close enough.
He was certain there was nothing more divine than kissing Penelope Featherington, to have her supple body pressed against his. He was ready to do this for the rest of his life. And in the next one, too, if that was an option.
Unfortunately, his lungs did not agree that Penelope was akin to air, and they were forced to break their contact. He didn’t go far, though, resting his forehead against hers as they both panted, trying to catch their breaths.
“That was…” Colin trailed off, his brain completely incapable of putting words to the magnitude of the experience.
“Healing?” she asked hopefully.
Colin stared down at the face he loved more than he could articulate, and for a moment he wondered how he could’ve looked at that face so regularly for so many years—most of their lives—and not known just how precious it was to him.
His smile stretched across his face as he replied, “Very healing. In fact, I think I am ruined for any other kind of pain relief. I believe you’re going to have to stay by my side to kiss away all my pain for the rest of my life.”
As her own smile broke across her face, Colin was once again reminded of her likeness to the sun, the happiness that shone from her expression radiant.
“I think that can be arranged.”
And it was.