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Violet was surprised when she entered the drawing room to see her third eldest was there, perched upon the settee. She was far more startled when she realized he had not touched the handsome afternoon spread of biscuits and sandwiches that was laid within his arm’s reach. She swept through the space and took up a seat at his side, not breaking the trance he seemed to find himself in until she layered her hand atop his anxious one, stilling it from rubbing a hole through the knee of his trousers. “Colin, dearest. What pains you so?”
Colin’s head snapped to the side, as if he was only just now registering his mother’s presence. “How do you know?” he asked, his eyes and tone colored with insistence, but failing to elaborate any further so as to give his mother a clue to the topic for which he sought her advice.
After waiting patiently for longer than she ought, Violet realized she would need to prompt her son if she expected any sort of elucidation of his mind. “How does one know what, Colin?”
He angled his body towards his mother, turning his hand over to clasp hers. She could not recall the last time the young man before her had held her hand, and she took a moment to revel in the very last vestiges of his boyhood, which for the most part, had long since slipped away. His gaze was searching, and she knew that whatever he was about to ask of her was of great importance to him. “How does one know if it is love?”
Violet stifled a laugh, having allowed her mind to briefly fret over far more grave topics. But the look on her son’s face told her that indeed, this was the most serious he had ever been. She schooled her features, and tried her best to compose an intelligible response within her mind.
“Is that not one of the great questions of the human condition?” she began, her prevarication being met at once with impatience. She did her best to rally. “It is difficult to say for certain, dear. Despite what you may have witnessed with your brothers, or even with Francesca and Lord Kilmartin, real, true love is not some thunderbolt from the sky, transforming you into a different man. Love is found in the ordinary, everyday moments.” Colin looked upon her skeptically, and she continued her explanation. “Love grows and changes. It begins with a smile, a word, a teasing glance. It is fostered by time until one happy day, it is everywhere and in everything you are and everything you hope to be, and you just… know.”
Something in her words seemed to resonate, for a look of resolve replaced Colin’s previously grim countenance. “I take it we do not speak in hypotheticals?” Violet encouraged.
Colin met his mother’s eyes, appearing to contemplate admitting to what she had long suspected. “I do not know how… I do not know when…” He shook his head, the revelation proving too much for fluent speech.
Violet nudged her son ever so gently, although she was already quite certain of the answer. “Who, dear?”
“Pen.” he whispered, almost reverently. “She just… shines.”
Violet watched her own son’s eyes shine when he finally spoke the name of his beloved. “What then, are you to do about it?” she encouraged.
Horror struck, and Colin was once again as anxious as before. The youngest Miss Featherington had, under the tutelage of her son, managed to capture the attention of several eligible suitors this season. After two dances the night before with one young Lord in particular, the latest gossip expected Miss Penelope Featherington to be rather inextricably engaged by the end of this afternoon’s calling hours.
“I am too late.” Colin choked, releasing his mother’s hand and slumping into the chair back.
Having seen far too much grief over love lost in her gathering years, Violet raised up and took on her sternest tone. “Colin Bridgerton, it is not too late until there are marriage lines in her hand. But you must act. There is no longer time to dally if you are certain.”
Colin stood, looking around the drawing room as if the answers he sought might be written upon the walls. The silent question once again fell to his mother.
“Be daring, my darling.” she nodded, turning him by the shoulders towards the door. “Now, go!”
Colin paused a moment, looking back at his mother as if searching for words to express his gratitude. Violet’s fervent repetition of the single syllable, “Go!” was enough to finally set him into motion.
He took off in a sprint, one that polite society rarely saw outside of paper boys and the occasional groom, crossing Grosvenor’s Square in a matter of seconds. He did not pause to give his calling card to Briarly, brushing straight past the befuddled new butler. Colin knew his way about Featherington House of course, and took naught but a few seconds to reach the drawing room, bursting his way in without introduction nor a moment’s hesitation.
When he saw one Mr. Dankworth on his knee in front of Penelope, hand in his pocket and head craned around to stare down the intruder, Colin knew there was no time to wait.
“Pen, no!” he gasped, crossing the room in a trice and pulling her to her feet, blind to all others present. “Do not marry him.” Colin tried to think of something to impugn Mr. Dankworth’s character, but honestly could not recall anything of the gentleman. If anything, he had expected Lord Debling to be the one on bended knee upon his arrival, but the Lord was sat on the other side of the room, shifting rather uncomfortably on the sofa next to the Lady of the house.
Penelope stared up at him, confusion and indignation apparent in her features. “And why should I not marry whomever I please?” she retorted, abruptly yanking her hands free of his.
“Because I love you.” he blurted out, retaking her hands despite the strangled gasps coming from all around them.
Penelope did not seem to hear him, her eyes darting across the room to the gentleman on the couch before returning to the patch of floor between them. She shook her head. “Colin, I know that you care for me as a friend; that I am in some way special to you. But I am no longer the young girl in need of rescuing from her spooked horse. I appreciate that you wish to look after me, but as a young lady, the best thing for my future is to return the attentions of those who would court me in hopes of securing a husband.” He watched as her eyes flitted nervously over to Lord Debling, still seated next to her mother on the sofa.
It did not escape his attention that she made no mention of the man still on his knee, looking rather defeated by this point, beside them on the floor. “What of Mr. Dankworth?” he inquired, puzzled by her total lack of recognition towards his gesture.
“Mr. Dankworth?” Penelope echoed, confusion etching on her brow as she looked back to take in the scene. She turned back to Colin, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “I fear you have interrupted his proposal to my dear sister.”
Only then did Colin notice that Penelope had been sat beside her now rather sour-faced elder sister. “Miss Prudence?” he stammered, relief and abashment confusing his tone. He had not interrupted a proposal to Penelope after all, although from the blotchy red patches spreading across Lord Debling’s neck, he estimated his timing was not terribly far off the mark.
Colin bowed his apologies, first to Miss Prudence, then to Mr. Dankworth, imploring he go on. Colin threaded Penelope’s arm through his, stepping them both out of the way as the gentleman resumed his proposal. Prudence’s dramatic screeches were certain to be heard by all who resided within the bounds of Mayfair, and Colin wondered what Penelope would write about it in the next edition of Whistledown.
When their hearing had returned, and Prudence had evacuated the sofa to go show her betrothal ring off to her mother, Colin brought Penelope back to be seated, joining her away from the ruckus across the room. “Pen,” he whispered. “Do not marry Lord Debling simply because he is here to offer for you.”
“Colin!” she hissed, her face hardened. “What choice do I have? I cannot go on living with my mother. Especially now that Prudence is to be married! She would be insufferable.”
“Of course, but what I –”
Penelope cut him off mid-sentence, leaning in so that none other in the room might overhear. “And as we spoke of before, if I am to carry on publishing,” She checked over her shoulder to ensure no one was paying them any mind. They were not; even Lord Debling was caught up in the hysterical show of joy Prudence was putting on, cutting off his line of sight to she and Colin. “I need my independence. I must marry. Soon.”
“Then marry me.” Colin replied, as natural a conclusion as if he were suggesting a lemonade on a hot summer day.
“Colin, be serious.” Penelope was tight-lipped, her eyes colder than he had previously known they could be. “I am not in need of saving. Lord Debling is, well. A bit odd, to be sure.” Both glanced back as she paused, the gentleman in question trapped now between Portia and Prudence, the former gushing over the latter, with Mr. Dankworth standing at his knee, blocking any hope of egress. “But he is kind to me, and can provide me with a comfortable life.” She nodded as if convincing herself of something. “Besides, he is so busy with his entomology, I shall scarcely see him. I will have my independence.”
“Bug preserving.” he grinned.
She winced. “Arthropod pinning.”
Colin stared at Penelope in disbelief; that she would choose this strange man she barely knew over him was simply beyond his ken. “Pen, I would allow you all the independence you desire. We would be more than comfortable. I am not a Lord, of course. But I am a Bridgerton.”
He observed her eyes appear to well with unshed tears. “Colin, do not be cruel. I know you do not mean it. You only wish to save me because you care for me. But there is –”
“No!” It was Colin’s turn to interrupt. He finally understood her mind. Recalling his mother’s words, he knew it was time to be daring. He had to declare himself, loudly and unequivocally. “Pen, I love you.” She began to speak, but he continued, knowing that this was his last chance. “It happened so gradually, I do not know when or how. But you have become as natural a part of me as my own beating heart. I love you for the past we have shared. I love you for every one of your smiles, and even more, for every one of mine. I do not love you merely as a friend, though I am not ashamed to say how deeply important your friendship is to me. I love you, and I wish to share my future with you. I do not love you by measures, Pen. You have all my love.”
Penelope’s jaw sagged, tears falling freely down her cheeks. He squeezed her hands tightly in his, terrified that if he let go, he would lose her forever. He waited patiently for any indication that she would accept him, and secure his future as the happiest man in Town. She swallowed nervously, but just as he believed her about to speak, they both noticed a presence looming.
“Miss Penelope?” Lord Debling stood over them, having managed to make his escape from the spectacle by the fireplace.
Penelope turned to the sound of her name, but Colin’s heart soared when she did not move to pull her hands from his. The seconds passed like minutes, the three taking turns staring down one another. When the silence was more than Colin could bear, when he could wait not a moment more for her reply, and disregarding every bit of social graces and training he had received since birth, he blurted out the only thing he could. “Are you going to marry me, Pen, or what?”
“What?” Lord Debling spat out. But his histrionics were ignored completely as Penelope choked out the most beautiful three-letter word in the English language, her full flush and tear-streaked face making it impossible for Colin to resist taking her into his arms, present company be damned.
“Yes. Yes, Colin. Yes, I will marry you!” she sobbed into his shoulder. She jumped slightly at the sound of the drawing room door slamming shut behind Lord Debling, but Colin only squeezed her tighter to his chest.
“Mr. Bridgerton?” Portia called uneasily from across the room. Penelope craned back, but neither turned. Colin smoothed her hair back from where it had stuck to her cheeks, unable to look away for even a moment.
Penelope steadied her breath, looking up at him through her eyelashes with look of determination he had not previously observed in her. “I love you, too, Colin.” His heart fluttered wildly in his chest at her declaration, but she was not yet done. “I have loved you for years.”
“Years?” he echoed, the realization breaking over him like a twenty-foot wave.
Her eyes shone, and he knew she held no regrets. “Since the very first day.”
All was right in the world. Colin loved Penelope and she loved him back and she had agreed to be his wife. He leaned in, unable prevent himself from taking her lips between his once more, reprising the kiss that had turned his whole world upside down a mere se'nnight past.
It was only when he made to deepen the kiss, threading his fingers into her hair and moving to part her lips such that his tongue could find hers, that the rather insistent sound of Lady Portia Featherington’s throat clearing had them each remembering themselves, jumping back to a more respectable distance. For a betrothed couple at any rate.
Colin found himself clearing his own throat. “Lady Featherington,” he began, nerves choking his normally confident voice. “If we may have your blessing, of course. Miss Penelope has just accepted my offer of marriage.”
“Hmph!” The matriarch rose from her seat, patting Prudence – now rather dejected looking after having her moment in the spotlight stolen by her younger sister – on the shoulder. She looked between the hopeful faces of the third Bridgerton son and her third daughter, letting a wry smile slowly spread across her face. “Of course you have my blessing.”
Colin embraced his betrothed once more. With Penelope in his arms and at his side, nothing could interfere with his happiness. They were so overjoyed, in fact, that they almost missed Lady Featherington remark how certain it was that her afternoon’s triumph would be the lead story in the next Lady Whistledown.
Almost.