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Penelope ran her fingers over the smooth silk of the dress draped across her bed. She smiled to herself as she traced the neckline, admiring how the deep emerald contrasted with the warm pink of her skin. It was a truly beautiful dress, simple in its form despite the intricate details strewn across the bodice. Small vines had been woven throughout the fabric, delicately winding together in such a way that Penelope could not help but think of the thick of the forest – simple yet beautiful, earthy yet ethereal.
The gown had caught Penelope’s eye one day as she dropped off a note for Madame Delacroix, and the seamstress had all but demanded that Penelope try it on. Madame Delacroix had gasped when Penelope peaked out from behind the curtains. She looked magnifique, if Madame Delacroix was to be believed. Despite Penelope’s protests, she had returned home that afternoon with the dress tucked underneath her arm. Free of charge, Miss Featherington, Madame Delacroix had insisted. After all you have done for my business, it would be my pleasure.
Penelope swallowed. Tonight was important – pivotal, even. All season she had worked tirelessly to prove herself as a true debutante. After a rather shaky start, she had managed to recover rather nicely, and she now had three serious suitors to consider: Captain Anderson, Lord Debling, and Mr. Dankworth. Penelope had long ago decided that this evening would solidify her place in the marriage mart once and for all. Indeed, tonight Penelope intended to garner a proposal.
For many years, she had foolishly dreamed that such a proposal would come from Colin. She shook her head as if to rid herself of the thought – Colin would never care for her in such a way, and it would do her well to remember that.
In all honesty, it had been difficult to reconcile her feelings for him as of late. Upon Colin’s return from Greece, Penelope had found herself positively seething in his presence, marred by his cruel words from the season before. However, as a sort of penance, Colin had volunteered to tutor her in the ways of confidence, and they had reignited their friendship once again. Their lessons had morphed into a delicious form of torture – they would spend hours together, plotting and planning Penelope’s next move on the marriage mart. She was well aware of her goal, and yet, there were moments – when he would shoot her a smile from across the ballroom, or his hand would press gently against her back as he helped to perfect her waltz – that she often forgot that the reason for their reconciliation was to find her a husband. A husband that was not him.
Penelope looked at the elegant gown before her, nodding to herself with purpose. Her days of childhood naiveté were long behind her. With no more garish yellows or girlish frills in sight, this evening she would present as a marriageable young woman. This dress would make sure of it.
***
Penelope pulled at the waistline of her gown. Under the watchful gaze of the ton, her dress felt much more suffocating than she had remembered.
“Stop fidgeting,” her mother hissed. “I know you insisted on the dull frock, but pinching at yourself all evening is hardly the proper way to draw attention to yourself.”
Penelope frowned, moving to soothe her hands down her skirt and settling at her sides. “Sorry, Mama,” she muttered. Her eyes darted across the ballroom, scanning the faces that turned to look in her direction. It was clear to Penelope that she was undoubtedly drawing more attention than usual. In fact, she had noticed the gaze of several gentlemen lingering in her direction, Captain Anderson, Lord Debling, and Mr. Dankworth very much included. However, while it appeared as if her suitors intended to approach her, none of them did. No, it appeared her dress had not produced the desired effect. Indeed, it seemed she was raising more eyebrows than anything.
Penelope felt heat rising in her cheeks. Perhaps the neckline dropped too low – she had warned Madame Delacroix of such a concern, but the seamstress had insisted that the neckline was simply becoming and not the least bit scandalous. Perhaps it was the waistline? It was rather fitted, but Penelope had thought it flattering. She swallowed – perhaps it was simply her that was the problem.
A gaggle of women pointed in her direction and began murmuring amongst themselves. Penelope felt tears prickling at her eyes. She needed a moment of fresh air, she needed –
“Miss Featherington,” a high-pitched voice trilled. Penelope turned to see Lady Cowper, a strained smile plastered on her face. “I suppose congratulations are in order?”
Penelope furrowed her brows. “Congratulations?”
“It appears you have done the impossible. What a turnaround – from a spinster to the betrothed of the most eligible bachelor of the season! It is… truly unbelievable,” Lady Cowper said.
“Betrothed?” Penelope repeated hollowly.
“Congratulations again, dear. You must be such an inspiration to other ladies like yourself,” Lady Cowper continued on as if Penelope had not spoken a word. “I must be going.”
Penelope stared at Lady Cowper as she flitted away. Betrothed? The most eligible bachelor of the season?
“Penelope,” a voice rang out behind her. “You are a vision this evening.”
Penelope’s stomach dropped. She knew that voice, would not be able to refuse it if she tried. She let out a sigh, turning slowly to face him.
“Colin, not now, please. I – ”
The rest of the words died in her throat. Colin Bridgerton stood in front of her draped in a forest green jacket and matching waistcoat. Her eyes trailed up his form, following the path of the fine vines that wound across his suit.
Penelope felt her jaw drop open. They looked like they were, quite literally, cut from the same cloth.
“I would usually insist that one of us change, for it is terribly embarrassing to be caught in such identical uniform,” he began, a pleased smile tugging at his lips. “However, we are quite a ways from Number Five, and it would be a shame to ask you to change out of such an... an…” Colin coughed, “an exquisite dress.”
“Colin,” Penelope hissed. “You must remove your coat.”
Colin raised a challenging brow in her direction in spite of the light dusting of pink that colored his cheeks. “What words from a lady of the ton,” he responded.
“This is not funny,” she seethed. “Not to me. I am being earnest, Colin. Remove your coat.”
“Surely you are aware that I cannot simply disrobe in the middle of the ballroom,” he retorted, grinning. He cocked his head at her, the smile fading from his face as he observed her. “What is the matter, Penelope? What is troubling you so?” he asked, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her arm.
Penelope swatted him away. “You are ruining everything,” she said. “Why do you always see it fit to ruin everything?”
Colin blinked at her. “I – I do not understand.”
Penelope felt her stomach twist with anger. Of course he did not understand. He never understood. She opened her mouth to tell him as much when she felt a knot form at the base of her throat. She suddenly feared she might cry.
Shaking her head from side to side, Penelope took one more glance at Colin before running from the ballroom and ducking into the gardens.
She managed to locate a secluded bench surrounded by thick hedges, and she sunk into the seat with choked sigh. She fisted at the skirts of her dress, the shimmering emerald fading into a lifeless mossy hue before her eyes. It was odd to think that, not ten minutes ago, this gown had been the key to her new life – a life of her own choosing, free from the wreckage that Colin always seemed to leave in his wake. Now, all she could think of as pulled at her sleeves was that she would never be able to separate herself from Colin Bridgerton, no matter how hard she tried. A sob lodged itself in her throat.
Penelope heard a rustling noise, and she dragged her head up to investigate. She cursed internally as Colin emerged from the bushes.
A mask of concern crossed over his features as he took in the sight before him. “Penelope,” he began, rushing to kneel by her side. “Please, tell me what I have done wrong and how I can fix it.”
Penelope let out a watery laugh. “Everybody believes us to be together.”
“Whyever would they think that?” Colin retorted.
Penelope scoffed – of course, the idea was so unfathomable to him that he could not imagine how one could come to such a conclusion. “Have you spoken with Captain Anderson tonight? Or Lord Debling? Mr. Dankworth?”
“It is my mother’s ball, of course I greeted all the guests,” he answered. “And of course I bestowed special attentions on the gentlemen who have expressed interest in you. You are aware that I am in the process of ensuring that they are honorable men, and, as a matter of fact, I wished to discuss with you – ”
“They have ignored me all evening,” she cut him off. “They all looked at me as if they had seen a ghost, and the truth is that I cannot blame them. With all the time we have spent together in our lessons, I would, too, be suspicious of our relationship, and now that it appears we have coordinated our outfits… I suspect they believe us to be betrothed. Lady Cowper confirmed it.” Penelope shook her head sadly, tears threatening to escape from the corner of her eyes.
“I do not understand,” Colin said softly.
“Yes, I know that such a thought is unimaginable to you, but you must understand how we appear to – ”
“No, Penelope, I do not understand what is so terrible,” he said, his eyes flickering up to meet her own.
Penelope startled at the intensity of his gaze. “What do you mean? Colin, they believe us to be betrothed. That is – we are not – ”
“And what would be so terrible if that were the case?” he responded. “We are the closest of friends, and you are the most admirable of women.”
Penelope narrowed her eyes at him. “You are the one who said it would be terrible. Never in your wildest fantasies, or do you not remember?” she retorted.
Colin shook his head frantically, moving to sit beside her on the bench. Penelope huffed at the gesture, shifting as far away from him as she could given the confines of their seat. “Surely you know I do not believe that.”
Penelope let out a dry laugh. “Surely, I do not.”
“I do not – you must know, after all this time, that I did not mean – that I do not believe – ”
“It does not signify,” she announced. “It is over. There is no longer a world in which I receive a proposal from any of my suitors this evening, and it is your doing.”
Colin sat up straighter. “A proposal? You believed you were to receive a proposal this evening?”
Penelope sighed. “I – I had hoped, yes.”
Colin suddenly stood up, packing back and forth. “You cannot – I mean to say, these gentlemen, these suitors of yours – you have not known them long enough. Under no circumstances should you accept a proposal from any one of them.” He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up at an odd angle.
Penelope rolled her eyes. “You are not my father, Colin. They are kind men who would treat me amiably. That is all a woman of my station can hope for. You could never understand the position in which – ”
“You deserve more. You must know it. You deserve a man who knows you, body and soul, and who admires you for every piece of it, and frankly, for any of these men to refuse to render you a proposal… well, I fear they must be insane.” Colin stopped pacing suddenly, striding over to Penelope and grabbing her hand in his. “Penelope, I – ”
“It does not signify any longer,” she murmured. “The ton will be talking about this for ages. Nobody will propose to me as long as they believe my heart belongs to you.”
“Does it?” he blurted out.
Penelope blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Does your heart belong to me?" he inquired once more.
“What do you mean to say? Colin?” she breathed, eyes widening as he dropped to one knee before her.
“Marry me, Penelope,” he pleaded, grasping her hand firmly.
Penelope felt her jaw go slack, a pit forming slowly in her stomach. She had imagined this moment ad nauseum, had envisioned every night for years what it might look like should Colin Bridgerton ever kneel before her, a shiny, golden ring in his hand.
What she had never imagined is that she would not know what to say.
“I – ” she began.
“These men do not deserve you. I can – I will – ”
“And you do?” Penelope questioned. “I am asking in earnest, Colin. None of these men have injured me quite as gravely as you have. Whatever makes you think that you are more worthy?”
Colin hung his head low, swallowing deeply. “I am not,” he said finally. “You are right. I am not better than these other gentlemen, and I am not worthy of you. I – I apologize.”
Penelope felt a spark of anger flicker in her chest. Lord, she was so sick of Colin, so unbelievably tired of his empty gestures and careless words. “I am not a plaything for you to mess around with, you know. You cannot simply propose to me on a whim, and under no circumstances can you expect me to say yes!” she seethed.
“I know, Penelope, and I am sorry, but you must understand my proposal is by no means a mere whim,” he responded.
“Then what? What is your reason?” she retorted, eyes narrowing. “To play with my feelings? To coddle your own sense of pride?”
“Christ, because I love you!” he exclaimed, standing up. “I love you, and I wish to spend the rest of my life with you. Is that a sufficient reason for my proposal?”
Penelope felt suddenly as if she could not breathe. “You – you love me?” she gasped out.
“God, yes, I love you, Penelope, so much I can hardly think straight, if that much is not already clear to you. I am out of my head – I cannot sleep, I cannot eat, I cannot breathe without you, and when I saw you tonight in this dress, I could not help but think…” he paused, shaking his head and exhaling sharply.
Penelope felt her heart stutter against her ribcage. “This dress?” she repeated.
Colin nodded solemnly. “You are enchanting in this dress, Penelope. All I have wanted all evening…”
“Yes?” she prompted.
“All I have wanted all evening is to kiss you.”
Penelope swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She stood slowly, placing her hands on the lapels of his coat and tilting her head upward to see his face. His jaw was tight, cheeks red. His eyes were trained steadfastly on hers, asking her what she knew he dared not say aloud. “Then kiss me, Colin.”
His eyes fluttered slightly with relief as he moved a hand to cup her jaw. His breathing was shallow, and she could feel the heat of it puffing onto her cheek. He leaned down slowly, as if not to scare her, and then paused.
“You are sure?” he whispered, and he was so close that she could feel the edges of his lips brush hers as he spoke.
Penelope nodded, and Colin captured her lips with his own.
Penelope sighed into him, her heart fluttering with such intensity that she feared it might fly out of her chest entirely. When she thought of Colin, she often thought of bright blues, of tales of the Grecian Sea and boyish grins. But this? This was different. It was warm, and heady, and familiar all at once. Each touch, each caress of his lips on hers, each slide of his hands along her ribcage – it was sacred and lush, a shimmering, deep abyss, and Penelope could feel herself drowning in it. It was emerald, flooding all her senses and wrapping her in a silken glow.
“Penelope,” he whispered, pulling away from her lips to press reverent kisses along the length of her jaw. “There – there are no words.”
Penelope nodded, lolling her head to the side to allow Colin more access. She gasped as he laved his tongue over the base of her neck. She suddenly felt dizzy – the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him swirling around her as if he were a storm in his own right, coaxing something dark and curious from a part of herself that Penelope did not know existed.
“Your coat,” she breathed.
“My coat?” Colin repeated, grasping soundly at the gentle curve of her hip.
“Did I not ask you to take it off earlier?” she responded, and Penelope felt Colin groan into her neck.
“By God, you will be the death of me,” he ground out, tugging at his coat with no small degree of urgency. The offending garment fell to the ground haphazardly, and Penelope moved to trace the line of his forearm. She explored him with remarkable attentiveness, slowly passing his elbow before moving up to his bicep. She felt something molten pool low in her belly as she ran her fingers over the broad muscle of his shoulder.
“I do not understand what is happening,” Penelope whispered, circling where his rumpled cravat exposed the skin of his chest. Colin let out a sharp exhale.
“This is what lovers do, Penelope.” He swore under his breath at Penelope fisted at his waistcoat.
“I cannot – you, you said that you love me?” she uttered. As the words fell from her lips, she immediately wished she could shove them back down, suddenly petrified that they would somehow wedge themselves in the space between their bodies, pushing them back apart just as they had been for the past months. She nearly shivered at the thought – now that she knew what it was like to be so near to Colin, she never wished to be parted from him again.
She chanced a look at his eyes, and she was met with an intensity that stole her breath away. He nodded at her seriously, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her even closer.
“With everything I am,” Colin vowed, grabbing Penelope’s hand in his own and placing it on his chest, just over his heart.
Penelope felt herself break into a smile. “I love you, too,” she murmured, squeezing at his palm.
A wide grin spread across his face. “Lord, I cannot wait to show you,” he said, pressing a giddy kiss to her cheek before returning to claim her lips with his own.
“Show me what?” she responded between kisses, gasping as Colin pulled at her skirts.
“Everything,” he muttered, grasping at her hip so tightly that Penelope wondered vaguely if she might find fingerprint-shaped bruises the following morning.
A faint trill of laughter – from the ballroom, perhaps? – made its way to Penelope’s ears, and she froze, the rest of the world suddenly coming back into focus through the haze of her addled mind. They were no more than a short stroll away from the rest of the party, very much alone and very much compromised. Penelope felt dread flood her senses. She could not be forced into a marriage with Colin. They needed time, they needed –
“Colin, wait, this does not change – ” she began, letting out a sigh as Colin moved to press languid kisses to the tops of her breasts.
“This does not change what?” he responded, bringing a clever hand to cup her through her dress.
“We must still – we must discuss,” Penelope cut herself off with a whimper as Colin began to suckle at her. “You must earn my trust back. There is much we need to sort through.”
Colin ceased his ministrations, pulling away to look her in the eyes. She was surprised to find his own eyes dark and serious. “Anything. I will do anything.”
Penelope nodded, smiling gently as she attempted to settle her breathing. “Green suits you,” she said finally. “It is quite different than your usual Bridgerton blue, but it brings out something new in you.”
Colin grinned. “I will always adore you in yellow, although may I say that green compliments you most beautifully as well?”
“You may,” she quipped, blushing slightly.
He let out a bark of laughter. “By God, I love you. May I announce it to all the ton?”
Penelope rolled her eyes. “You may not.”
He chuckled as he bent down to pick up his long-discarded coat from the ground. He shrugged it back on before offering an arm in her direction. “Allow me to escort you back inside, Miss Featherington. I do believe we have some explaining to do to a fair number of your gentlemen callers.”
Penelope nodded, grabbing his arm and following him into the ballroom.
***
A note to Madame Delacroix, April 25th, 1816
Unfortunately, I was quite preoccupied at the most recent Bridgerton ball, and as a result do not have much to report to you in the ways of gossip. Fear not – I daresay I should have plenty of material for the upcoming edition of Whistledown regardless.
As always, please keep me apprised of any news that comes your way.
Yours,
Penelope
P.S. THANK YOU for the dress.