Work Text:
For Colin Briderton, love began with a bang.
Or- perhaps, more accurately- a thud.
While getting violently bucked off of a skittish mare was a rather painful experience, Colin would have to admit it did have its upsides. One such upside happened to be standing right above him. Her auburn hair gleamed on that midmorning day. Her face- filled with worry- blocked the sun creating a halo she could call her own. Colin propped himself up on his forearms and smiled.
At least he could honestly tell his children that he was breathless when he met the love of his life.
“Are you quite alright? I was just popping down to milliner’s to get the ribbon on my hat mended. But then I thought that it was too pretty a day to not be wearing my favorite hat, so I put it on and then a gust of wind must have and- Well, here we are.”
“Here we are,” He repeated numbly, dazed at how someone could speak so fast and not stutter once.
“So, are you?”
“Am I…?”
“Are you quite alright?” She furrowed her brows as a playful smile raised the corners of her lips.
“Oh!” He jolted, “That. Yes, yes, I’m quite alright. Don’t need to call the coroner just yet. ‘Fraid this lame horse has still got a few good years left in him.”
She laughed. A good, proper laugh. The kind that cut through crowds and made you feel all warm and fuzzy. Colin had heard people laugh before. Heard women laugh before. Quiet ones, muffled by the backs of gloves and silenced before they were scarcely heard.
He had never heard anyone laugh in quite the same way she did. He vowed to never go a day without hearing her laugh again.
Bent at the waist, she leaned down to ask, “So, in this metaphor, you are a broken stallion, hmm? How fun that must be.”
He couldn’t think of what to say. His cheeks burned iron hot as he stared at her blankly.
“Still, we must get you up. There’s only so long a gentleman can spend laying in the muck before people start itching to call an asylum. And you really are much too handsome to be hidden from public purview.”
She wrapped her arms around his and attempted hauling him up.
He fell with a satisfying squelch into the mud below. He felt his cheeks stretch until they began to feel strained. The woman bent over to try again before Colin held up his hand to her.
“I assure you, Miss- I am quite adept at getting myself out of sticky situations,” slowly he raised himself until he was standing fully upright. He looked at her bright eyes. Slowly his gaze trickled down until he saw her beautiful lips.
Subconsciously, he began leaning towards her. The second he saw her he had made his mind up, so why should he wait to kiss her? Especially when she was standing right here with her perfectly kissable lips.
A small gasp escaped her and their surroundings finally dawned on him. He wasn’t going to kiss her in the middle of Grosvenors Square the very first day he met her. No, the next time he’d try to kiss her it would be because she well and truly wanted him to kiss her.
He looked back up into her eyes, before his attention drifted to the stands of her hair billowing in the wind.
“Oh, your hat!”
He turned away from her until he saw the pale straw sticking up from its entombment of mud. His feet moved to it without a moment’s hesitation. He picked it up and tried swiping big gulps from it. In doing so, mud settled into the grooves of the hat. Remembering the last time he had ruined one of his many sisters’ many hats, he turned around sheepishly.
“It really is a very pretty hat! Or was- It’s still nice around the… mud bits. I especially like the flowers. Did you put them in or…” Colin trailed off, unable to imagine a way to save this tragic interaction, “You said you were going to the milliner’s, right? Maybe he could clean it?”
Her lips quirked to the side in a frown as she examined her hat, “Well, good thing it was quite an old hat. Shame I plucked all those flowers this morning though. Met their demise for a ruined hat.”
His hands clutched around the brim of the hat.
“Still,” she continued, “at least one good thing has come from this.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Now,” she placed the ruined hat on her head, “we match.”
Colin laughed when mud trickled down the side of her face. Instead of pouting or squealing when she felt the cool sludge on her cheek, she simply scrunched her nose and held out her hand.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well?” He repeated, for what felt like the millionth time that morning.
“Aren’t you supposed to hold out your arm so you can walk me home and all? Or, are the standards for what qualifies a gentleman different in the city?”
He grinned before making a show of bending his elbow for her to grab onto. The lady put her arm through his and looked at him with a satisfied smile. As a newcomer to the Ton, Colin was certain that she must be terrified about the upcoming season. And, yet, as he looked at her he couldn’t find a single glimmer of trepidation. No fear, no nerves. Though, with her beauty and wit to match, there really wasn’t a reason for her to be nervous.
“So. Now I’ve proven myself a gentleman, where are we off to, Miss-?”
“Penelope. And, I think I’ll take you over to mine. It’s just a ways away, over by Mayfair Square?”
Colin hid a smile from his companion. If he remembered correctly, it was only a five minute walk from his mother’s to the center of Mayfair. He saw many more trips to his mother’s place in his future. Oh, how pleased she’ll be.
“Ah! I know the way,” he said, starting their journey towards her home, “Follow me!”
She giggled, “Thank you, Mr–?”
“Bridgerton.”
“Oh! A mystical Bridgerton! Here I was thinking you Bridgertons only existed inside the pages of gossip rags.”
His breath hitched, “Are you an avid reader of- gossip rags?”
“Not really. Don’t get me wrong, they can be quite entertaining. Especially when the woman writing them is exceptionally gifted. Still, I think getting to know the actual people is a far more accurate source of information. Not to mention, much more entertaining.”
He breathed normally again, “Woman?”
Her eyes raked over him, “Man?”
“No, no, sorry- I meant you think the authors of those gossip rags are women?”
She gasped in mock-outrage, “Of course I do. I’ve never been thoroughly invested in what men had to say. Present company excluded, of course. Plus, you men have this confounding way of thoroughly misunderstanding every interaction you’re in. Honestly, it’s quite impressive!”
“What are- Well I- I’ll have you know Miss Penelope, that I’ve understood every interaction I have ever been in!” He said confidently.
“Really? Every single one?”
Perhaps a bit too confidently.
“You’ve never smiled at a debutante, paid her special attention, only to dance the quadrille with her best friend?”
“Wha-? I’d-” He tried standing up for himself.
“Never smiled at a girl, only to compliment another on her watercolors?”
“Well, maybe-”
“Better yet- Never went on a promenade, only for your name to end up on the dance card of her sworn enemy?”
“Well, perhaps if you debutantes weren’t so confusing, we men could successfully navigate this world you’ve created.”
“Debutante!” she barked out, “My word, it’s been an age since I’ve heard that word applied to me! How bizarre.”
Colin was taken aback, “Not a debutante? How is that allowed to happen? Ah, I see, you’ve decided to spare us poor bachelors the collective delirium of seeing you in your best dress. How awful kind of you. And how dreary for me.”
“Dreary?” She asked, biting her bottom lip.
“Dreadfully, I’m afraid. I fear I’ll be facing another year of mindless debutantes and their unrelenting mamas. And worse!”
“There’s worse?” she said, holding her hand to her mouth in a preposterous display of horror.
“Yes, there is! And you’re the perpetrator, I’m afraid! Not only are you dimming my experience at these upcoming tedious balls, you are also robbing me of the sight of you in your best dress. What a vision you must be.”
For the first time since they met, he had rendered Penelope speechless.
“Well that is- Quite something,” she said, once she had found her voice, “Although, I’m afraid you’ve got it all wrong. I was not a charming debutante back in my day. And, I don’t think I would be a good one now, either.”
He stopped, in the middle of the street, to look at her. Her eyebrows were scrunched up with the most serious look he had seen on someone in a long time. Her eyes were cast down to the street below, as she shrunk in on herself. And he knew. Someone, somewhere, had said something to her that made her think less of herself. And he knew that if he ever met that person, God would have to save them.
“Why, pray tell, would you not make a good debutante?”
She looked at him for a beat. Then looked around the street where people were ambling about, grumbling when they had to move around the pair of them. She tugged on his arm to start their journey again before responding.
“Well, for starters, I’m horrid at watercolors. I tried painting the King once- in an act of patriotism. Turned out so muddled and misshapen, I was afraid they’d exile me to some far-away land.”
“So, we’d never have a Penelope Original in our home. What a tragedy. Still, my brother’s a painter. Got the attitude to match. And, trust me, they’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”
She covered up her budding laugh with the back of her glove.
“Okay, what else?”
“I don’t know any foreign languages. Definitely, not accomplished in any of them.”
“I skipped out on every Latin class I was ever forced to attend. Can’t say I’m accomplished in any other language than English, either. What’s next?”
“I’m rather plain-”
“Hardly,” he retorted.
“Well, no poet will ever describe me as lithe or willow-like.”
“Nor will they describe me as such. But, why should you care? Most poets are full of hogwash, using twenty words when one would suffice. If they can’t find the right words to describe you, then shame on their so-called creativity! If they can’t recognize your beauty- well, then, more’s the pity!”
“I love poetry.”
He balked. He’d cocked that up, hadn’t he? As if noticing his horrified expression, she smiled then leaned into him.
“Still,” she continued, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You’re different than I thought you’d be.”
It was Colin’s turn to pause. Slowly, he asked, “And, how’d you think I’d be?”
“Well, with your lustrous hair and shining eyes, I expected you to be the type to smile and have a litany of women at your feet. You, sir, are almost the complete definition of a Rake.”
“A rake?”
“Yes, a rake. With a capital ‘R’.”
“And what chance would a Rake have with a not-quite-a-debutante?” He slowly turned his head to look at her.
“What if you’re the type to leave me heartbroken?” she asked. Her hands clenched around his bicep. She glanced down at the street before slowly looking back at him.
“What if I’m the type to make you perfectly happy?” he asked.
She jerked to a stop, looking him in his eyes. She looked startled. He had an inkling then, that Penelope hid behind her wit to hide her own insecurities from the world. Someone seeing past her facade scared her. Someone not finding her a wonder confused him.
She turned away from him, “Yes, well. What a wonderful thing that would be, eh? That’s me right there.”
He followed her pointed finger to the yellowed house across the square. For most of his life, the house had never been inhabited. The second it was let, it was all his mother could talk about. Until, she came in contact with its owner. A middle-aged baroness, Lady Featherington was as cunning as she was aggravating. To think that such a woman gave birth to a wonder of a daughter was enough to do Colin’s head in.
“How? How are you a Featherington?”
They crossed the square and stood at the bottom of the Featherington’s front door. Penelope looked up at him with a glimmer in her eye as she climbed up the first step.
Turning around, she retorted in an old-timey voice, “Wherefore art thou Bridgerton?”
He let out a puff of air in disbelief as she turned around with a smile on her face and mud in her hair. She made it all of three steps before he heard her call after her mother, “Leave Mr. Bridgerton be, Mama!”
And, as he stood on the outside of the Featherington estate, he knew that for the rest of his life he would be looking for Penelope Featherington in every room he ever stepped into. On top of every set of stairs and in every dark alley. For as long as she breathed, he’d be seeking her out like a moth drawn to a flame.
And, Colin realized right then, that he was more than happy with that.