Work Text:
Inspired by: One Last Time, Ariana Grande
I don't deserve it, I know I don't deserve it
But stay with me a minute, I swear I'll make it worth it
Can't you forgive me? At least just temporarily
I know that this is my fault, I should have been more careful
It would all be over after tonight. He knew that. He thought he’d been prepared. It had been announced in that morning’s Lady Whistledown that the ton could expect the imminent proposal of marriage from Lord Debling to one Miss Penelope Featherington.
If Lady Whistledown said it was true then the deal was done, Colin thought bitterly to himself. He’d never been certain whether Whistledown solidified wavering truths or if she created them herself but it hardly mattered. Just as he’d been burnt once before by the writer’s words, so he would be again. And who’s fault was it but entirely his own? It had been his plan that had gone perfectly, his mistake he’d needed to fix. He would be left spending the rest of his life silently atoning for the damage done in a few drunken seconds one summer’s night.
He watched as Penelope happily mingled with the small crowd surrounding her, laughing with her newfound but natural confidence. He listened in to the buzz of animated whispers, the congratulations passed to her from a group of the ton’s kinder mamas. His own mother stood close by, watching over her with an affection usually reserved for his siblings.
‘Lord Debling will make a fine husband, to be sure,’ one of the mamas declared. Funny how he’d said such similar words to her only a few weeks ago. Funny how they haunted him now.
For he was certain Penelope would accept Debling’s proposal. She’d told him as much the day before as they’d walked together through Berkeley Square, discussing the latest developments in their plan as the rain began to fall. Why would she not accept him? The man had his eccentricities to be sure but she, with her open and ever-loving heart, would never allow such things to shape her judgment of another.
Debling could offer her everything Colin could not. A good life. A title. Protection from those who would wish to cause her harm. Her soon-to-be fiancé would make a vow to guard her honour and to care for her always, painfully similar to the promise Colin had so freely made and so casually shattered within the shape of a single evening. Debling would never be so careless with her happiness or her trust; only a fool would dream of doing such a thing. Every step that had led Colin to tonight had been of his own making.
He watched her now. She was smiling. She was laughing. How different from the wounded, angry tears he’d witnessed – no, caused – the first week he’d returned home from Italy.
‘You hurt me, Colin’ she had gasped, as if he’d inflicted a physical wound that reopened with every conversation he forced from her.
It was only after his promise – a plea, really – to fix everything and find her the husband she so desired that flashes of the Pen he’d known last summer slowly returned. People believed this Penelope to be brand-new. She too, in their private moments together, would credit him with the confidence she carried. However, Colin knew the truth. All he’d really done was encourage her to be herself, as she always had been with him. The rest of the ton would soon witness the radiance he’d been fortunate enough to have known since they were children.
There was no doubt that his promise had been selfish. He needed to bring her back to him and it had worked, even if her time as his was limited. He would let her go, he’d reasoned with himself. Just as soon as he could be certain she was happy. And now, she was. Tomorrow would bring everything they’d planned.
From the middle of the crowd, Penelope caught his eye and smiled at him. The two of them, in their rediscovered closeness brought about by an initially grim determination to achieve a shared goal, rarely required words to converse between them. They had always spoken in stolen glances and fleeting moments across a ballroom and now they could pass entire conversations with only a raised eyebrow or a smirk.
Are you quite well over there? she seemed to be asking him. He tried to return a full, reassuring smile but he felt it falter on his lips. It was crooked at best, a grimace at worst. He threw a tiny shrug of his shoulders imperceptible to anyone but her.
She lightly excused herself from her conversation and moved towards him, her beam growing wider as she closed the distance between them.
‘It’s not like you to cling to the edge of a ballroom, Mr Bridgerton,’ she chided. Although she had once used his formal name as her sharpest weapon against him, it had since softened to a term of teasing affection. Still, it made him flinch. It was a reminder of his carelessness, of how easily he had failed her.
‘It’s not like you to enjoy your time in the middle of the room yet here we have found ourselves, Miss Featherington. Quite the reverse of one another, are we not?’
She grinned at his playful words, the gentle jab at the transformation she’d recently undergone. Her hands absently brushed against the icy blue skirts of her dress. ‘Indeed.’
Her grin flittered into a wistful sigh. ‘I confess, I find myself quite nervous about tomorrow.’
‘What is there to be nervous of? Lord Debling has already spoken with your mother. His intention to offer for you is as certain as it is sincere.’ Colin hoped none of the sting he felt at his own words spilled into the air between them.
She considered him for a moment, lips parting as if preparing to say something. She seemed to catch herself and shake the words away. Close they may be, but it was a friendship not healed but re-founded in the ashes of all he’d burnt. Part of those new foundations meant that he was no longer privy to every thought that flashed through her mind. She would never admit it to him, and he did not need her to, but she could no longer quite bring herself to trust him as she once had.
Did it really matter anymore? Tomorrow, she would belong to another. Their precariously salvaged friendship was deservedly temporary, as was her forgiveness. Her future with Lord Debling was permanent and, as Anthony had taken it upon himself to remind Colin many times over the last few weeks, her new life would have no place in it for him. They could not remain friends. He would step to one side and allow her to claim the future she said he’d stolen from her.
His trunk was already packed and loaded into a carriage, ready to leave at first light. A note would be left in Anthony’s study explaining as much as he could bring himself to say. His brother would be furious, of course, but there would be little Anthony could do once Colin had left. His inheritance had already been withdrawn from the family account and there would be no forwarding address. It would be better for everyone, Colin had decided, if the thirdborn Bridgerton simply slipped away.
‘Everything will be different,’ Penelope said, mostly to herself. It roused him from his thoughts. Her voice was laced with lilting nostalgia, as though she was reaching for something that had not quite passed yet was lost all the same.
Colin frowned at her words. ‘Penelope, if you are unsure of him –’
She relaxed into a light laugh.
‘Of course, not. I am quite certain. This was our desired outcome, was it not? The two of us were quite magnificent in the end. All will be well.’
‘If I was ever magnificent, Pen, it was because of you. I will always be grateful.’ The words tumbled from him before he could stop them. He bit down on his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything further.
It was safe enough, though. She did not know, and now surely never would, of how deeply he adored her. He would never tell her of the afternoon in Venice when he had strolled by the canal and found himself wishing she was there beside him. He’d always believed love would strike him in one blinding, breath-taking moment as his eyes found a stranger across a crowded ballroom. Instead, it had come to him as a gentle miracle, nudging him on the shoulder and whispering in his ear. Penelope. He loved her. Of course, Penelope.
He boarded the next ship home.
He’d expected to stand before her, his dearest friend, and confess his love. To his horror, he’d found himself standing alone in the ruins of their friendship. She would not speak to him, would not see him, and suddenly the world he’d known crumbled beneath his feet.
It would’ve been grotesque to share his love knowing how she despised him. And so, he’d carefully concealed any trace of it over the past weeks, never broken even as he’d been near on his knees begging for the friendship that had severed between them. He concealed his love behind his desperation to reclaim what they had lost. She had never suspected him.
‘Come now, so morose! I am to become engaged, not be sent away to a convent,’ she teased.
His stomach churned at the thought of her waking up tangled in Debling’s arms. No, it was certainly not a convent she was heading to.
‘Colin, it’s not goodbye,’ she said sternly. Her voice could’ve commanded the sun to stop shining, so fierce was her determination. ‘We will always be friends.’
‘Dance with me,’ he said suddenly. The image of her wrapped up with Debling was unbearable. He had to wash the vision away. He had to feel her against him one last time.
He could let her go then, he thought. He’d return her to the side of the man who would give her everything she deserved. He just needed a few more moments to suspend his horrific disbelief at all that had transpired and for them to dance in each other’s arms as they had done before any of this had come to pass.
Penelope’s cheeks flared and her eyes sharpened with immediate anger.
‘Colin, I cannot dance with you tonight. I am to become engaged in the morning,’ she bit out. ‘It would not be proper for me to dance with any other man but my intended, as you well know.’
Of course, he knew. Even so, he could no longer find it within him to care. He was tired and he needed her. Her heart may be with Debling but he ached for her to be in his embrace. He found it unbearable to stand so close and still be without her.
She shifted as if to move away from him. With a swell of panic, he reached for her arm.
‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘Stay with me, Pen. Dance with me. I will never ask again, I swear.’ He wished he couldn’t feel the desperation in his eyes.
If his intention had been to soften her with his words, then he could add her reaction to his ever-increasing record of failures. Her lip quivered and enraged tears sprung to her eyes. She glared first at the space between their bodies and then at his warm hand that breached the careful distance by resting on the bare skin of her arm.
Colin was not surprised by the intensity of her fury. For all her insistence that she had forgiven him, the truth was that she never really would. Her anger was always close to the surface, ready to fracture wide open at any moment. He did that to her. She had to be free of it. She had to be free of him. He pulled his hand away quickly.
‘You promised you wouldn’t do this anymore,’ she said sharply, her voice dropping so only he could hear her.
There would be little use in feigning ignorance; they were both well-aware of exactly what she was referring to. During their many heated confrontations in the weeks following his return, she’d scolded him for the ignorant way he flouted the rules of polite society in her presence.
‘How lowly you regard me, Colin. How little you care for my honour. I’m not even a woman to you, let alone a lady who simply deserves the most basic display of propriety.’
Colin, utterly taken aback by her accusations, had scrambled to counter them. She’d cut him off before he could throw any more pitiful excuses at her.
‘You say I do not count and then you take my hand and lead me from a ballroom. You say you will always look after me and then you sabotage my prospects. You…you confuse me, Colin!’
He hadn’t dared protest further. All he could do was apologise for his past transgressions, along with every other terrible mistake he’d made, and vow never to repeat them in the future.
‘You promised,’ she whispered now. Her voice small again, wounded again. Good God, was he capable of doing anything but hurting her? He’d allowed himself this final night to be her friend. One last night at her side. He’d sworn it would be all he needed to muster the strength to leave her life.
A liar and a failure.
As he studied the tears in her eyes, he battled for his resolve. Even though he could not imagine how he’d be without her, it was the only path left for them now.
‘Penelope, you are quite right. I am sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
He straightened himself, took a deep breath and adopted the casual smile he’d worn his whole life. It was once the trademark of the charming Colin Bridgerton but tonight it would be worn as his final piece of armour.
‘I fear I have kept you for far too long. Let me return you to, ah –’
They both watched as Lord Debling made his way towards the group of mamas. Colin felt Penelope fleetingly press against him, mostly likely an accidental misstep on her part. He looked down at her and nodded in reassurance. Although she returned the gesture, it felt like more of a question. He would not stop to decipher exactly what question, though. There would be no more answers between them.
He offered her his arm. ‘Allow me?’
Allow me to return you. Allow me to find this one moment of bravery in a lifetime of cowardice. Allow me to find the strength to say goodbye.
She wordlessly took his arm and slipped alongside him. It pained him to know how effortlessly she fit by his side. They made the short journey from the shadows of the ballroom back towards the bustling centre and all too soon he was gently dropping his arm from hers. She silently moved from his side to Debling’s.
‘Ah, Bridgerton!’ Lord Debling exclaimed. ‘I see you managed to return my dear Miss Featherington. It’s all down to you I ever found her in the first place, no doubt. Why, it was only this afternoon Miss Featherington reminded me of how we both owe you our gratitude for bringing us together.’
Only Colin noticed the tiny, sharp intake of breath that hitched in Penelope’s chest. His eyes met hers.
I didn’t mean … You weren’t supposed to…
He nodded at her. It’s okay, I am happy for you.
Clearing his throat, he moved his attention back to Debling. ‘Miss Featherington has been a dear friend to us Bridgertons for many years. We have only ever wished for her to find the contentment she deserves.’
His mother’s gaze burned into him. He refused to look at her. In these final few moments, he needed to maintain his composure, a feat that would be rendered impossible if he let himself remember he was leaving her behind too.
‘Miss Featherington’s contentment is my greatest concern, I assure you’ Debling replied, jovially. ‘Penelope has been fortunate indeed to have found friendship with such a family as yours. I look forward to sharing in that friendship one day.’
Hearing her name on Debling’s lips almost ripped the air from Colin’s lungs. If anything could convince him to leave, it would be this. How could he possibly stay, forced to address her only as Lady Debling when another used the sweet names that had always been his?
‘I assure you, the fortune has been all mine. Her friendship has been my greatest joy.’
Penelope flinched uncomfortably and Debling blinked in confusion. Colin knew he had overstepped. It hardly mattered now, he supposed.
‘Forgive me, but I must take my leave. Debling, good to see you. Miss Featherington, always.’
‘Colin –’ she began, her voice suddenly uneasy.
‘Pen,’ he finished softly, her name falling from him like prayer or perhaps a reverie. Those three letters had been his anchor to their shared world, but they weighed her down too. It was time for her to be free.
He bowed and walked away, determined not to look back until he was certain her eyes were no longer upon him. He grabbed a champagne flute from a passing tray and threw the drink back with one swallow. Dutch courage, he thought. And by God, he needed all the help he could get to summon the fortitude for what came next.
He scanned the ballroom for his scattered family, his attentions resting briefly on each of them in turn as he bid them a silent goodbye. He thought of Hyacinth and Gregory, sound asleep in their beds back at Bridgerton House. He prayed they would find a way to forgive him for running away. He already knew he would not forgive himself.
He found her one last time and gave himself a few seconds to drown in every detail of her gentle frame and flamed hair. It was a comfort, somehow, to know that however far he wandered, he would never love another the way he loved her.
He loved her. He would leave her. She would be free.
The thirdborn Bridgerton turned and slipped away.