Chapter Text
Her dress was too long. Her mother had complained about it for hours. Penelope made the best of it, keeping the hem lifted from the floor as she walked. The Bridgerton garden party was, thankfully, on level ground. There were no major obstacles to navigate. Just grass and artfully strewn tables. The dress was not purchased from Genevieve who never would have made such an error. It was neither here nor there. The dress was too long, and Penelope merely needed to make it through the rest of the afternoon without falling on her face.
She stood off to the side, watching the goings on. Colin did not approach her. Of course, he did not. He was still avoiding the fact that he had said something so horrible at the Featherington Ball months and months ago. Penelope scantly looked his direction, knowing that to look at him any longer than a few seconds would end with an ache in her chest.
Eloise was studiously, and rather artfully, avoiding Penelope as well. Penelope was not surprised by this either. It seemed avoidance was a rather obvious Bridgerton trait. Anthony avoided his desire for Kate. Daphne and the Duke had danced around each other in intrigue after intrigue. Goodness, even Benedict tended to bury himself in artwork and fantasy to cope with the world writ large.
Penelope knew she was in the wrong where Eloise was concerned. To a point. She did accomplish many things and she did have the best of intentions where Eloise and the Bridgertons were concerned. What was the turn of phrase? “The road to hell is paved with good resolutions.” Her intent hardly mattered when the result was a mark against the Bridgerton name, no matter how well they recovered. No matter if their finances and survival was never impacted.
Eloise’s anger was about more than the single Whistledown article that noted certain truths.
It was about the lies, and to a certain degree, jealousy. Penelope understood. She did.
There were times when she was also jealous of Eloise. The difference was, she could state it outright to Eloise’s face. Eloise could not do the same. She was too prideful for it.
Penelope settled herself alone at a table out of the way, keen to simply make observations. Her mother was focused completely on Prudence, trying to make a match with some gentleman or other that caught her eye. Penelope could only hope that the man would not be trapped the same way Cousin Jack had been.
Drawing in a breath, Penelope looked about the gathering again, finding Eloise uncomfortably standing with a group of other third season debutantes. She looked as if she were hating every moment, which Penelope suspected she was. For a moment, their eyes met. Eloise looked away immediately, adjusting in her seat. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Penelope instead focused on a gathering of young men speaking of their upcoming hunt.
Colin was there as well. He was handsome as he had ever been. Just a bit more tanned from his travel to Rome. She learned of his travel and received a couple of his letters. She never responded. Given his avoidance of her, she knew it was because someone had informed him of the Whistledown article divulging his season-end declaration. “Are you mad?”
Mad, indeed.
After a while, his words did not hurt anymore. In fact, his words meant nothing. Penelope believed in the power of words. Words contained multitudes, purpose, meaning, intent, motivation. It was words that turned the world on its axis. It was words and the subsequent action of those words that determined a person’s existence and character.
And Colin… Colin was an exercise in contradiction. A wealthy man with no purpose. A man that spoke of protection while harming. A man who sought home in places elsewhere from home. After several months, Penelope arrived to the conclusion Colin— however much she loved him— did not know himself.
That distinct difference between herself (for Penelope knew who she was, her virtues and vices) and Colin Bridgerton gave his words far less credence.
Penelope watched the men discuss their plans to hunt deer stocked in the area.
Colin’s eyes rose from where they had been staring at his feet, looking around the assembled tables before finally meeting her own. For a long moment, Penelope did not look away. She was almost challenging him. He would look away again, she knew. He could never meet her eyes for more than a few seconds. She saw his weight shift as his entire body turned toward her. It was so reminiscent of other times when he followed the same action, turning his whole body to face her, as if she was the center of his focus.
Then, he took one step forward.
Penelope’s heart leapt into her throat, and she pushed herself up and out of the chair, turning to walk away. She prayed that he did not follow, that he understood that she did not want to speak with him. She had already turned down a dance from him this season, his one attempt after his return from Italy. Hurrying away, Penelope moved to the side of Aubrey Hall’s east side, where she knew the gardens lay.
“Pen!”
At the top of the stairs to the garden path, Penelope stopped and looked back to see Colin hurrying through the tables. He was earning concerned and confused looks from his mother and brothers, Eloise was standing, eyes wide as she watched his pursuit.
Penelope moved to take a step down.
It was in the instant that her foot slipped that she realized her mistake.
Her dress was too long.
Colin had never felt so afraid in his life. He saw her fall. She was running from him (running from him) and she fell. In that moment, when he saw the surprise on her face as she slipped, he saw so many things. He saw her eyes when she called him astonishing. He saw a life without her. He saw little children with red curls. He saw delicate old hands holding his. He saw the past and he saw futures. Colin had never felt so afraid in his life. He could not remember yelling her name or his trek to the bottom of the stairs where she lay. Motionless. Motionless and quiet. She fell and then, she was in his arms.
His heart was racing as he frantically pushed the hair from her face. Her eyes were closed and her face slack. Her arms still lay at her sides, limp. There was blood on her pretty blue dress and a cut on her forehead, painting her pale face red and her already red hair redder.
“Pen. Pen. Pen, wake up. Penelope, I need you to wake up now. Pen, love, please.”
“Colin! Colin! What happened?” His mother was there then, kneeling next to him. “Oh dear. Penelope.” She turned to someone. “Go and get the doctor immediately.”
Not her. Not her. Please not her.
Colin continued staring at Penelope’s face, jerkily pulling the carvat from his neck to press to her forehead. Somewhere in the noise, he heard Portia Featherington’s terrified scream. He heard lots of things. Murmurs and whispers from guests. A sick feeling welled in his throat. They shouldn’t see her like this. Gritting his teeth, he pushed one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. Before he could ask, Eloise was at his side, holding his carvat fabric to Penelope’s injury.
“Inside! Inside. Come.” His mother ushered him along with Eloise and Lady Featherington. “Oh, Penelope, dear.” His mother kept saying as they moved through the house. When they arrived to the second floor, Colin’s movements were without thought. Penelope had no room at Aubrey Hall. His body took him to the second door on the right. His bedroom. Vaguely, he heard Lady Featherington’s murmured outrage, but he hardly cared.
“I will get the bandages.” Eloise volunteered, leaving the room.
His mother hurried to the water basin, dipping a towel into it before approaching. She began to clean the blood from the gash to Penelope’s head, just at her hairline. Perhaps four inches in length and bleeding quite heavily. Lady Featherington lingered at the edge of it all and Colin’s patience was wearing thin. He turned to her, ignoring the way she stared at his hand holding Penelope’s.
“My mother will stay here. Please go get Penelope a change of clothes.” Her wide, scared, wet eyes moved from their hands to his face and finally to Penelope’s blood-soaked dress. Finally, she nodded and back away.
Colin refocused on Pen’s ashen face, drawing fingers over the hair on the bloodless side of her face. “Penelope. Pen. Please, wake up. Please, love. You’re scaring me.” There was no movement. Nothing to show she heard him. Nothing but closed eyes and pale lips. He turned to his mother, trying desperately to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. “Mother…Is she…”
She lifted her hand and placed it on his shoulder. “Let us wait for the doctor, my dear.”
The way her voice shook made the tears he had barely kept at bay before fall. He turned back to Penelope.
He had not spoken to her for months. Months. She refused him a dance, as she had every right to do after his words to Fife. He respected her wishes and left her be. Before that, the last thing he remembered having said to her was— “I will always look after you, Penelope. You are special to me.” Colin held her hand tighter. The warmth of her skin on his was comforting. She was still warm.
He could still remember holding his father’s cold hand. And begging and begging and begging.
Colin lifted her hand and pressed the back of it to his lips, squeezing his eyes shut. He swore. He swore he would look after her. In his mind, he had sworn to protect her. He told her she was special. And she was. She was so special. She was so very special. If she were to— Colin gritted his teeth behind his lips which still pressed to her hand.
“Colin, you need to breathe.” His mother reminded him. “My dear, she needs you to remain calm.”
“I have bandages.”
Eloise arrived, hurrying to their mother’s side. Her hands were clearly shaking and the fear in her eyes were a pale comparison to the fear he felt in his own heart. The cloth was lifted, and the angry cut began to bleed again without the pressure of his mother’s hand. Eloise moved swiftly, pressing one end of the fabric to the wound while his mother lifted her head so the bandage could be wrapped.
He drew in a deep breath against her hand. He kept her knuckles against his lips.
His mother said nothing, giving him a concerned glance when she moved away to wash her hands of the blood.
He told her she was special and then spat in her face by saying those things to Fife. A man of honor, a good man, a man with integrity, would have never cowered to social pressure. Colin, in his own mind, had been calling himself a coward for months. The regret had chewed at him all throughout Italy. Each sunrise was Penelope’s yellow dresses. Each sunset was her hair. Each blue water of the coast was her eyes. Colin could not escape.
When her returned, he asked her to dance.
She declined.
He could see the hurt in her eyes. That haunted him.
He did not seek her out again. He did not try. He, like the coward he was, avoided her. The reality was that Colin was too ashamed. That was not who he wanted to be. He wanted to be everything she thought he had been— strong, courageous. Astonishing. His words that day were lies, he knew. A complete fabrication. It was denial. Performing a person that he expected others wanted because he had no identity of his own. A kneejerk reaction that he should have been mature enough to control. What a fool he was.
She ran to avoid him.
She tripped.
Because Penelope was running from him.
Colin looked to his mother, wishing for her guidance, feeling so lost.
There was some recognition in his mother’s eyes then. As if she saw something in him or his expression that she recognized. Tears drew up in her eyes as she clasped Eloise’s hand on her shoulder. Her mouth opened.
Before she could speak, Anthony charged into the room with a doctor hot at his heels. Kate stepped in as well, drawing his mother and Eloise from the bed. Colin did not move, but he did draw her hand away from his lips, continuing to hold it.
“I will need to conduct an examination. I will need the room.” The man, who was bent with age and eyes keen on Penelope’s head injury, looked at Colin. “You must wait in the hallway until I am done.”
“I am not leaving her.”
There was a firm hand on his shoulder. Anthony. He leaned closer. “She needs treatment. He needs space to work. Trust me. Come wait in the hallway.” Colin vaguely remembered that Kate had fallen from a horse and struck her head. She did not wake for some time. Colin felt as if he was going to be sick. It took every bit of strength he had left to release her hand and step back and away.
“I will stay,” his mother said. “As will Eloise. To help where we can.”
Colin nodded numbly, allowing his brother to guide him out into the hallway. He turned to see Lady Featherington waiting with a dress in her trembling hands. Her wide eyes stared at Colin’s arms. He looked down to see his shirt and coat splattered with blood. Penelope’s blood. Colin lifted his hands to look at either side of them. That’s when he noticed they were shaking. Lady Featherington seemed to gather herself and she moved past him and into his bedroom. The door shut behind her.
“Mother and the others will look after her.”
“I will always look after you, Penelope.”
Before Anthony could stop him, Colin threw open the nearest door— to Benedict’s room— and crossed to water basin. He heard the door slam shut behind him before he wretched. He dry-heaved another couple times, each time remembering Penelope’s wide eyes and her body at the bottom of the stairs.
As he drew away, he recalled the things he had seen in the moments when she fell. Her eyes when she was so in wonder of him. He saw little children with red curls. He saw delicate old hands holding his. He saw who he wanted to be. Heavily, he fell into a chair by the window and leaned forward to rest his head in his hands.
I love her.
The tears came without warning and he could not stop them. They blurred his view of the floor, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Penelope fell and he— he was the reason she fell.
Why is it he only realized this now? When she was hurt? When she was bleeding? How did it take him this long to admit something he had known for so long, even if it only flittered at the corners of his mind.
A life without her was not a life. He would be a wanderer forever. There would be no home.
Colin grit his teeth against a sob, his entire body quivering with the force of it.
“Colin.” A hand rested on his shoulder. Anthony’s voice was calm and reassuring. Colin felt an echo of it from so long ago. At this same house, in a room down the hall. Anthony drawing him away from their father’s body. That could not happen this day. It could not be Penelope this time. Anthony’s hand gripped his shoulder more firmly. “Colin, listen to me.”
Colin lifted his head, looking to where his brother knelt.
“I understand. How you feel. I understand. I know that you and the others believe that I am somehow immune to fear, but…” His brother’s head shook, eyes sad. “I was never more afraid than when Kate fell. I felt as if the entire world had collapsed down to a single point— her. If she was gone, then surely the world would go with her.”
Colin nodded. If Penelope was— He could not think about it. He could not entertain the thought.
“Mother came to me. She told me that love. True love was worth the fear and pain. No matter what.” Anthony moved his hand to Colin’s neck and squeezed before standing up. “What matters is what you do when she awakens.” His brother took a step back then another. “What matters is whether you treasure her after.” He opened the door. “I will go get you some fresh water.”
Then, Colin was alone.
Colin sat at the side of his bed, watching as she breathed steadily in and out. By all rights, his presence was likely improper. He had never followed the standards where Penelope was concerned. He held her hand, called her Penelope and Pen, and spoke with her casually as he would a friend. His dearest friend. His attention flickered from her sleeping face to his mother, who sat at the other side of the bed. Lady Featherington had left to give word to Prudence and change out of into her formal attire. The ball was still to be held with Daphne acting as hostess. Colin held no interest in attending.
“Mother, may I ask you something?” Colin's finger picked at the sleeve of a borrowed shirt of Benedict's. The sleeves were too long.
She looked up and over to him, eyes tired and sad. “Yes, dear?”
He worried his lip, looking back to Penelope’s slack features. The bandage about her head was thicker now. She had been changed to a white dress that was decent enough for his presence for he refused to leave. “If I ask a question about father, would it— I do not want to cause you distress.”
He remembered his mother’s crying. How it went on for so many months. He remembered all of it. At only ten, he managed to keep his younger siblings entertained. He felt he needed to grow up fast enough to help Benedict and Anthony. Once the stress of losing their father passed, Colin had felt freed of it. Now, he was not so sure that the stress had ever passed or that his mother had ever truly healed. She had merely stopped crying and moved forward. She was likely in pain at that very moment.
He never understood. Until now.
“You may ask me anything, dear. I will try to answer as I can.”
Colin shifted. “How did father…How did you… know father was the one? The one you were meant to spend the rest of your life with? How did you know?”
His mother smiled. The first smile he had seen in hours. Colin wondered if this was too familiar for her, sitting at a bedside like this. In this house. The fear of losing someone so dear was stifling. “I could not picture my life without him. I looked at my future and could not see a future where I was not with him.” She hummed, her expression fond. “I once told Daphne that one need only marry the one that feels like your dearest friend.”
Dearest friend.
This only reaffirmed what he had realized only hours before. Colin nodded his head, resolute. The pieces falling into place so perfectly that he could hardly believe the truth of it. He had been looking to the ancients— in Greece, in Rome— and been looking to books, for answers. The answer was at his side the entire time. As he flailed about searching for purpose and meaning, it had been Penelope all along.
“Edmund once told me that he was quite afraid when he realized he had fallen in love with me.” His mother’s voice was quieter now. As if she would ruin the soft quiet of the room if she spoke any louder. “He was afraid because we had a disagreement before he realized his feelings. I was very cross with him. I forget why.” Colin looked back at her, meeting her eyes across Penelope. “We made a pact with one another, him and I. That we would never allow frustrations or negative feelings to fester. That we would never let something like that come between us again.”
Colin drew his eyes away again and looked to Penelope’s face. Her cheeks were usually rosy. Her lips were usually rose-colored and plump. Her eyes bright as they looked up to him. Even when she was angry with him, her eyes still glittered. Now, she was pale and still. Nothing frightened him more.
This house held nightmares of still bodies, but nothing struck as much fear into his heart than Penelope lying there so very still and scraping her blood from his hands.
“Relationships are not all peaceful weather, my dear. They come along with any number of challenges. There are storms. There is sunlight. You find someone with whom you weather the storms and with whom you can enjoy the sunshine. You find that person and you hold onto them.”
Without thinking, Colin reached for Penelope’s hand.
“It’s her.”
He thought he heard his mother whisper a soft “I know.”