Chapter Text
By the moon, it is easy to mistake the night as a place of safety. Which is why perhaps, both Featherington sisters snuck away early last night with their husbands. But one must never forget that, despite the cover of night, there are still eyes upon us all, at all times. We know there is one young lady who most certainly wishes her plans had remained in the dark.
Penelope Featherington, who was so certain she would not find a husband on her own, that she had to enlist the help of Mr. Colin Bridgerton. And while we knew Miss Featherington’s marital prospects were slim at best, this recent scandal will certainly make any further hopes disappear.
This author would not be surprised if Miss Featherington should wish to return to her familiar shadows, once and for all. Perhaps a return to the shadows is for the best.
After all, a small taste of the light can lead to that most dangerous of emotions: hope. And once hope is lost, a lady may become reckless.”
Lady Whistledown
Society Papers, 16 May 1815
Penelope:
Penelope had been hiding in her room all day after publishing Lady Whistledown’s latest installment. She knew that there would be hell to pay from her mother, and if her sisters visited, she refused to offer herself up to their cruelty. But she knew, without a doubt, that her mother would find her as soon as she found out, and she was dreading it.
She already felt miserable after the ball last night. The glimmer of hope that her conversation with Lord Remington had sparked was snuffed out as soon as she heard the first whisper. Colin, bless him, stood up for her, but in truth, only made it worse by calling attention to the situation.
Penelope was brooding over this particular fact quite comfortably at her window seat that looked out onto the square when her mother burst into her room, armed with a copy of Lady Whistledown and a reproachful look plastered to her face.
“Have you seen this? Tell me it is not true”
Penelope wondered how Lady Bridgerton would have gone about this if she were her daughter. Perhaps a soft knock at her bedroom door, greeting her with that sad but understanding smile she had seen on occasion from the Dowager Viscountess. She imagined she would have first and foremost asked after her daughter’s wellbeing, and might have even offered some encouragement, some lie about how it was not as bad as it seemed.
But this was simply not her mother’s way.
“I cannot,” she replied, too weary to even try to defend herself.
“Oh Penelope, how could you be so reckless? This family has already endured so much public scrutiny, and now this?”
She slammed the gossip sheet on Penelope's desk and looked at her daughter, hands on her hips.
Penelope figured it might be best to explain to her mother that she was aware of how ill-advised her actions were, “It was foolish to ask a suitor-“
“No,” Portia cut her off. “What is foolish is being unreasonable about what you can achieve. I had thought that when you bought those dresses, it was only for your own amusement, not that you earnestly believed you might find a husband in your third year out.”
Penelope nodded, hoping it would communicate that she understood and that her mother did not need to keep berating her.
Portia sighed, and Penelope hoped that meant she was past the worst of this lecture.
“A life unmarried is not all bad.”
Penelope looked at her mother, confused by the shift in her tone.
“Trust me, men can often cause much more trouble than they are worth.”
Portia brought her hand down from anxiously chewing on her nail and Penelope thought she might actually offer it to her, maybe rest it on her shoulder to offer some comfort. But her mother had never been one for physical affection, she couldn't even remember the last time they had hugged. Perhaps when she was still in leading strings. As she grew older she tended to look towards her father for any consolation. Even if his affections were reserved, they were still markedly better than her mother’s.
Portia simply brought the hand down to rest on her hip, shook her head sadly, and walked out of the room.
Penelope continued to stare longingly out the window, well until the sun had gone down, wishing to be free of her house, of her mother, of the threat of her sisters becoming the new Lady Featherington. She replayed the past weeks' events over and over, wondering what she should have done differently. She dreamed about a better life, of the love she wished she felt she could deserve, of the love she had dreamed about and feared she would never find after the scandal and embarrassment of her colossal mistake. She looked at the moon, full and glowing, and decided she might as well try to go to sleep.
As she was finally about to stand up, she heard a soft knock at the door. Rae entered, looking rather apprehensive.
“Miss. You have a visitor.”
A visitor? Who would possibly risk coming to see her, in the middle of the night, no less? But she knew the answer before Rae said anything else.
“Mister Colin Bridgerton is here to see you. He’s waiting in the garden.”
Penelope stood and nodded, checked at her appearance in the mirror, and followed Rae downstairs.
In the garden, Rae led her to the doorway that separated the fenced-off portion from the street and there he was: standing in her garden once again, very near the spot where he had made that cruel remark last season. She thought she had cried all the tears she could today, but the memory made her eyes sting and she tried to brace herself for this conversation. She was proud of the fact that she had never actually let Colin Bridgerton see her cry.
“What are you doing here,” she asked, noting with shame the sound of heartbreak in her own voice.
He simply nodded at Rae, who looked at once Penelope and then swiftly made her retreat. Penelope decided that the next time she was out with Rae she would buy her a gift, as thanks for her discretion and giving them privacy.
“I bribed her to give us a moment alone. I had to see how you were.”
Penelope mentally kicked herself for what she had written about Colin at the start of the season. He truly was the kindest person she had ever known.
“You read Whistledown.”
“She is beastly to write such things about you.”
“It is her job to report what everyone is talking about,” she responded immediately feeling defensive of her secret identity, as well as despairing at the fact that she had to be the one to gossip about herself. She despised the self-flagellation that was required by her position as a gossip columnist.
“It would have been suspicious if she had not,” she gave Colin a sad smile. “In truth, I brought it upon myself. A sad, stupid girl who believed she might possibly have a chance of love.”
“You must not say such things,” he was quick to defend her, as always.
Penelope’s eyes searched Colin’s face, longing to know what he was thinking. He reciprocated with a look of intensity that emboldened her to make a decision. She knew, in that moment, that there was one thing she could do that might make her feel better. One thing that her friend could help her with, something that she had been ruminating on all day.
Somehow, in this moment of despair, she found that she did not care how this request might be received and decided to finally do something for herself. If she was destined to be a spinster, she should be armed with at least one memory of intimacy.
“Colin… Could I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Would…” her breath caught in her throat but she pushed on. She was afraid that if she paused for even a moment she might never get the words out.
“Would you kiss me?”
Colin:
“Would you kiss me?”
His life as he knew it was over.
Colin was so surprised he nearly took a step back but steeled himself. The look on her face nearly tore his heart in two.
“Penelope…” he wanted to explain to her all of the reasons why kissing her was a very bad idea. Starting with the impropriety of the request and ending with the fact that he found himself wanting, very badly, to kiss her.
She cut him off, barely pausing for breath to defend herself.
“It wouldn't have to mean anything and I would never expect anything from you because of it,” she was rambling and sounded as though she would burst into tears at any moment. He had never seen her so vulnerable. He could feel his resolve melting away.
“But I am nearly on the shelf and I have never been kissed and I am not certain I ever will be.”
He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, to hold her hand and reassure her that she would find everything she was looking for. She looked so beautiful, her face glowing in the light of the full moon. He didn't know how he had never noticed. He wondered why the rest of the Ton didn't see it.
Is the world populated with blind men, or merely stupid ones?
“I could die tomorrow-”
“You are not going to die tomorrow,” he interrupted, not wanting to think about that idea in the slightest.
“But I could. And it would kill me-”
“But you would already be dead-” he interrupted again, trying desperately to find some levity to break away from the notion that Penelope Featherington would die without being kissed even once. No one should be resigned to that fate. Especially not the girl in front of him. The girl who had been his greatest friend and supporter for his entire adult life. The girl who, he reflected, was no more a girl than he was a boy. But they had grown up together, and he had always found himself feeling rather like a child in her presence. Her company put him at ease and allowed him to forget his troubles.
“I do not want to die without having been kissed,” she looked up at him, pleading. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes and it broke his heart.
And then Penelope did the one thing that could break his resolve in an instant. She looked up at him, eyes filled with emotion, and uttered one simple word.
“Please”
He was lost. There was something heartbreaking in the way she was gazing at him, as if she might die if he didn't kiss her. Not from heartbreak, not from embarrassment- it was almost as if she needed him for nourishment, to feed her soul, to fill her heart.
It humbled him.
All of his mental protestations faded into nothing. It made him want her with an intensity that nearly buckled his knees.
Slowly and without his permission, his legs brought him closer to her, as if no coherent thought could keep him away from her. No one had ever looked at him this way. She looked as though she might actually fall to pieces if he did not kiss her that very moment. His Pen, who had always been so strong, so full of laughter. He would do anything to hold her together.
He placed his hand gently under her chin, not wanting to scare her. He drew her face closer to his until their lips met, ever so briefly in what was perhaps the softest kiss Colin had ever experienced.
He pulled away and as their noses brushed he found that he simply could not pull away. He kissed her again and realized she wasn't really kissing him back. He needed her to kiss him back.
"Pen," he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open so prettily that Colin had to bite back a groan.
"You can kiss me too."
She just stared up at him through thick eyelashes.
"A kiss," he gently brushed his fingers along the line of her chin, "is for two people."
She timidly brought her hands up to his chest and lightly tugged on the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down to meet her.
They brought their lips together again, and again, and again. Colin allowed his arm to snake around her waist and bring her closer to him. It wasn't the sort of kiss that happens when one is overcome with passion or emotion or anger or desire. It was a slower thing, a learning experience- for Colin just as much as Penelope. It was sweet, and it was quiet, and it was absolutely glorious.
This, Colin thought, this is what a kiss should be.
When he did finally pull away, it was so that their foreheads were touching. He tried to look into her eyes, desperate to know what she was thinking but found she would not meet his gaze.
What she did was say a quiet, “Thank you,” and fled back into her house.