Work Text:
Twice again
I came to the door
Twice ordered back
How bright the moon
As bright the void
'Translating Mother' | Wong May
–
Thou silver deity of secret night,
Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,
The Lover’s guardian, and the Muse’s aid!
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;
Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove,
My friend, my goddess, and my guide
'Hymn to the Moon' | Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
–
It was a shock even to him that he had ended up here, calling on Penelope in the middle of the night. But he had been unsettled all day, since bloody Whistledown had been delivered, and she had refused his call earlier, as if he could not very well see her mooning out her window from his position down in the square. She was there but she would not see him.
Seeing her behind the glass, seeming to gaze at nothing and no one, had only intensified his unease.
Sleep tonight would have been impossible and he was in no fit state to keep company with his brothers. So he set off alone into the night, hoping to sort out his thoughts with a long walk. Except that after wandering and wandering, feeling like he had made no headway on the problem at hand, his feet brought him here.
Before he fully knew what he was doing, pebbles struck Penelope’s window, there was a flurry of movement at the curtain, and then her shocked visage finally gestured him to this doorway. Penelope stood before him looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her, but perhaps more vulnerable too. Her dress had an almost magical lustre under the pale beams of the moon, her dark red locks flowed loose and free over her shoulder, and her sweet face, perfectly round in every feature, looked so delicate, fragile, perhaps.
“Colin!” His name was a gasp, a scold, and a question all at once.
“Pen. I know it is… late. I had to see you. See that you were well. After what that vile woman printed.” He trailed off, unable to repeat the words, hating the woman who had written them.
He had made Penelope a promise that he would help her find a match, tutor her in the ways of charm and flirting that came so naturally to him. Penelope was special to him and he was bound and determined to look after her, yet here was this Whistledown woman publicly ridiculing her. Destroying her fragile confidence they had just started to build. Dimming the light in her eyes. He could feel the storm brewing within him once more.
It drove him mad.
“It is nothing, Colin.” She filled in his silence, her eyes sliding to the side. She was trying to evade him.
“How can you say that?” He demanded, leaning in closer to try to catch her gaze.
“It is nothing that hasn’t been said of me before. Besides, everyone saw my failings with their own eyes. I am surprised she bothered to make note since it is such public knowledge. Penelope Featherington tripped catastrophically on the dancefloor. Ever the laughingstock.” Her words were bitter with self-loathing.
Colin felt himself cringe at the truth of it. He couldn’t deny that Lady Whistledown had ridiculed Penelope before. Nor that the ton had all witnessed and tittered at her… stumble. But it ate at him differently this time. A gnawing ache leaving him unsettled, compelling him to the madness of this midnight call.
“Penelope, why did you turn me away this afternoon?”
She stared at him for a moment. “I could not bear to relive it. Or hear your platitudes,” she said, lifting her chin. “I know you mean well, Colin, but our lessons are failing. I cannot—,” she paused to catch her breath, her words skittering out. “I cannot speak to other men the way I— I… do not feel myself. I am— I will never—,” her words ceased, clogged in her throat by emotion.
His heart ached to comfort her, to reassure her that she could, that all would be well in the end, that he would ensure she had everything she dreamed of someday. That she would have a family, marriage. A vision of Penelope on the arm of Lord Debling suddenly paraded through his mind, and Colin’s stomach churned. He bounced on his feet, restless to do something to shake that image from his head, desperate to move.
“Penelope, promise me you won’t give up. I cannot bear to see you so unhappy.” He knew if he could get her to keep practicing with him, he could rebuild her confidence. She was… captivating when she was with him. Surely, others would eventually see it, too. “Come, Pen,” he coaxed, taking her hand and stroking it gently. Her skin was so pale in the silver glow of the full moon. “Let us practice what troubled you at the ball.”
A warm blush rolled over her, rising from her chest up to her cheeks. “It was— it was his proximity that rattled me,” she admitted, “during the waltz.”
Colin turned this information over in his mind, immediately incensed that a suitor had imposed himself too closely upon Penelope on the dancefloor, but also… something else about this niggled at him. Perhaps it was puzzlement. Penelope was an excellent dance partner — his favorite, come to think of it — fleet of foot, gracefully following his every move, never missing a step. So why…?
“You are an excellent dancer, Penelope,” he said confidently. He raised their joined hands in the air, inviting her to begin a dance right then and there, on this threshold between her family’s house and the stars above.
“Colin…?”
“You have never missed a step with me, not during a jig or a reel, and those are much more taxing than a waltz.” He moved his free hand to her waist, pulling her one step closer, his heart rate spiking at the intimacy of it, alone together in the dark of night. He wondered if she could feel his pulse through his palms.
“When I hold you like this, Pen, does it make you nervous?”
He looked down at her, taking in the quickening rise and fall of her chest, the tip of her tongue darting out between her parted pink lips.
Though her body seemed affected, her eyes were unwavering on him. “No.” The pale blue circles piercing him surrounded a brightness reflecting the moon.
“No?” What had he even asked her? He was having trouble thinking of anything other than the feel of her in his arms, the soft expression on her face, painted with moonlight. She looked like a silver deity, a goddess on earth.
“No. When he held me, I felt so unlike myself. Like I had three feet. Like I was trying to control my body from afar.” His arms tightened reflexively around her. “But when you hold me, I feel—”
Her voice quietened and he leaned closer so as to catch every word.
“You feel what, Pen?” His warm breath bounced back at him from the proximity of her face.
“I feel I am exactly where I am supposed to be.”
Before he could think or even breathe, he was kissing her, drawn inexorably to her as the tides obey the moon.
His lips pressed urgently to hers, just as his fingers tightened their grip around her waist. And, oh, how she came alive under him, her own hands scrabbling for purchase on his velvet coat, at his waist, at the back of his neck, just where hair met skin. Her lips were eager against his own, pressing fervent sweet kisses against his mouth. Her body surged into him, all soft curves against him, and Colin felt near feral with desire. How could he get his hands on those curves, what would her skin feel like against his, how, how could he get closer?
At this desperate thought, he pulled her flush against him, groaning at the pressure against the ridge of his arousal.
And just like that the tension snapped. Their connection severed.
Penelope tore her mouth from his. She pressed her hands against his chest, backing away, a look of utter fear splashed across her face.
Colin’s stomach dropped into an endless pit. What sort of rake was he, what scoundrel to— to take advantage— “I am sorry,” he spluttered. He had done this to his friend whom he had vowed to guide and protect. And now she looked at him with such despair, he felt like the worst man to walk the earth, regrets piling in his stomach like stone upon stone. “Penelope, I—”
But she ran.
She ran into the silent, gilded garden, clearly hating him, unable to bear him anymore than he could bear himself. He had to make this right, he had to— he couldn’t lose her again. Not again. His body agreed, already moving after her on instinct, his long strides pounding against the loose gravel, making up for her head start.
“Penelope!”
She whirled to face him, chest heaving to catch breath, her face the picture of— what was it? Hurt? Fear?
What could he say? How could he explain away that he had lost his mind over simply holding her in his arms as he had done a dozen times at balls? That somehow comforting her and encouraging her had turned into admiring her and longing for her, without a conscious thought. That he could not have exercised restraint because he had done it before he even realized. He certainly could not say that he had stopped thinking of anything but pressing into her — sinking into her — right there on her family’s doorstep.
He tore his eyes from her and stammered out his apologies. They sounded weak to his own ears, and he was grateful that only the moon was witness to his foolishness.