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I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington. Colin shuddered as he remembered uttering those cruel words about his best friend, while downing another coupe of champagne. The men had caught him off guard, asking about their dance. He had been on a high from uncovering Lord Featherington’s scheme, protecting Penelope and her family from that swindler, his heart throbbing in his chest. He had even told Penelope she was special to him. Then, within the same hour he had denied their special bond. He should have defended her honour, telling the men instead what a wonderful woman Penelope was. But no, his mouth had shot out the worst words and now he needed a clear mind, to still the anxiety in his chest. Slinking back to Bridgerton House across the square, he ordered a cup of tea to be brought to his room. The minute it was placed on his desk, he sprinkled some blue powder into the tea. The blue tea had helped him during his travels, opening his mind to transcend ordinary anxieties. Now he used it to escape the thought that was plaguing his mind, his denial of Pen, his dear friend, in front of some eligible bachelors of the Ton. Surrounded by yellow bedspreads and curtains, Colin lay down, to forget his cruel words.
But mixing champagne with powdered tea might not have been the best move.
The dip in his bed felt different today, Colin thought as he was rousing, his mouth parched from overindulging in alcohol. He lay on his right side, when he opened his eyes, his long lashes fluttering against the rays of sunshine peeking through his yellow curtains, until he realised why the dip was different.
“Pen!”
Penelope was laying next to him, her eyes warm and bright, her smile radiant and exclusive for him. But she was a lady. And he was a gentleman. And it would not do to ruin her reputation. Still fully dressed, only his cravat was unraveled, he rolled off the bed, to keep his distance and to protect her honour.
“Oof!”
The minute he hit the floor, Penelope rolled on top of him with a soft giggle, her cheeks bashfully pink, her eyes anywhere but on him.
“Oh sorry, Pen, that was not my intent. Can you forgive me?” Colin whispered as he scooped her up and placed her on the edge of his bed. When he pulled his left arm back from the bed, Penelope’s right arm moved as well. With his every direction. Moving his arm this way and that, Penelope’s arm followed with every move. He touched the space between them, but there was nothing to tie them together, and yet, she followed his moves like a puppet on a string. She seemed not to notice, her smile was firmly in place, her eyes cast dawn like the demure lady she was.
Penelope replied to his question with a nod when she noticed his untied cravat. “Oh, let me.” As she gripped both ends of his cravat, Colin’s hand moved the same way, at a distance. It appeared she controlled his moves, as much as he did hers.
Sitting on the floor, watching Penelope tying his cravat, humbled him. She had always been there, constant and loyal and he risked ruining her reputation by bringing her into his bedroom. What on earth had he been thinking? If Anthony saw them, they would be married within days. Not the best way to thank his very best friend Penelope. If they were discovered, he would marry her without a second thought, but he hoped to avoid such an unthinkable fate. “I suggest we sneak back to the party,” Colin whispered up to the bed, where Penelope just nodded.
On entering the Featherington estate, Colin noticed a servant with coupes of champagne on a tray hovering near the entrance to the ballroom. Taking two coupes with a grateful nod, he noticed the scrunched up nose from the servant. If Colin did not know any better, that look of disapproval was directed at him, which was unheard of. Servants should not display any emotions, they should dissolve into the walls. But this was the Featherington house and perhaps the servants showed their discontent with facial expressions. Colin downed one coupe in one gulp and took another glass, the look of horror on the servant visible for all to see. Yet Colin was a gentleman and he offered the glass to Penelope, who beamed at him while shaking her head.
“I shouldn’t. I had one too many already.” she whispered to him.
Colin beamed back, still holding on to his two glasses. “Then I will hold on this glass for when you do need a sip,” he whispered back and the servant fled the scene, muttering under his breath, “He really is barmy, such a shame.” Colin did not notice, too occupied to keep Penelope happy. Her arm tucked into his left elbow, he guided her to the ballroom. But first, a snack.
The table was filled with savouries and sweets. Finger sandwiches and tiny petit fours in every colour and flavour imaginable. Colin’s stomach rumbled when he perused the display. They had his favourite: smoked salmon sandwiches, next to egg and cress, cheese and pickle and something with ham. Taking a plate he leaned towards Penelope, “What can I get you, Pen?”
“Oh, no, nothing for me. I am not hungry. But you should take some, I can hear your stomach growling. Or perhaps it is the thunder rumbling the skies.” She smirked, as she turned to look through the window to a sky filled with stars, a sliver of moon brightening the garden below.
Colin need not be told twice. Stacking his plate with sandwiches, he added a couple of biscuits and a pink petit four with a sugared almond on top, which he hoped to share with Penelope as a dessert. He knew Penelope had a sweet tooth and he hated that she did not want to eat in front of the people of the Ton, claiming she was not hungry, while he knew the Ton would be making snide remarks on her gorgeous curves the minute they saw her eat anything. He loved her curves, they were perfect and the fools in the Ton were just that. Fools. For not seeing how absolutely gorgeous Penelope was. He needed her to keep those curves, hence the petit four.
Holding the plate in his left hand, so her arm would not sway all over the place, he managed to tuck the first sandwich into his mouth. He had never realised how difficult it was to eat with his right hand, yet he was glad for the inconvenience since Penelope was still attached to his left hand. He was so very happy, she had not heard his cruel words. It had been unforgivable to say that about his good friend. Yet as long as she did not know about his cruel words, he could forget he ever uttered them and enjoy her company. For he did enjoy her company, immensely.
Guiding her to the edge of the dance floor, he surveyed the room, all the gentlemen ogling them and whispering behind their gloved hands. He leaned closer to Penelope, “They are all staring. I wonder what it is that entices them so?”
Penelope giggled, “I believe they are watching Miss Goring, who is tucking some handkerchiefs into her bosom. She must have spent some time with a gent in the cupboard again.”
“Again?” Colin choked on his salmon sandwich, “Penelope what a barb!” How had he never realised Penelope had a sly sense of humour? She had surprised him with her keen observations. She would keep him on his toes, with her sharp wit and her eagle eyes. Nothing went past Penelope, of that he was sure. He was happy she did not care about the gossiping matrons, hiding behind their fans on the other edge of the ballroom. It was obvious the ambitious mama’s were set to lure and trap eligible bachelors for their daughters. They were even eyeing him up, but obviously decided against it, because none of them threw their daughter towards him. How odd?
Matrons used to come over at every ball, pushing their daughters in his face until he was dizzy with all the dreary conversation. The other debutantes were all so different from Penelope, he had never been bored talking with Pen. Or maybe he should say, Penelope was so very different from the other debutantes. He always sought her out, at every ball or event, because he liked spending time with her. With the other debutantes, he did not. How many watercolours could a man endure?
All these people staring at him and Penelope distracted him. He had finished the plate of sandwiches, even the petit four he had wanted to share with Penelope. But she did not seem to mind. He handed the empty plate over to a passing servant, when he noticed the orchestra started to play a waltz, the most romantic of dances.
“I do believe this is our dance,” he said to Penelope, as he guided her to the dance floor, his left hand gently resting in the small of her back.
As he took her in his arms and waltzed away, she sighed. It sounded lovely, strangely comforting and wise. He wanted to hear her sigh and laugh more often, it would mean so much to him if he could make her happy. But could he make her happy? He had said dreadful things about her, which he had not meant.
I must not think about that, he thought. I need to focus on holding her in my arms, making her giddy with laughter. He needed to make this dance, this moment, memorable. After denying her to the gentlemen of the Ton, he had to show her he cared for her. To not mind what the men thought of their dance. What of it, if they danced in an interesting way? This dance was between them and them alone. If the men didn’t see what a special woman Penelope was, then that was their loss. And Colin would enjoy every moment he could spend with her. Yet he could not help but notice a rise in fluttering fans and guffaws between the gents. He would show them, ha! As he twirled around the floor once more, a giggling Penelope in his arms, his heart soared and skipped along with the rhythm of the waltz.
Phew! Kaboom!
The colourful display of fireworks snuck past an opening in his yellow curtains, spattering his walls with a kaleidoscope of colours, startling Colin in his blue hazy sleep. His wrist burning, Penelope gone.
“Pen?” Colin sat up in bed, his eyes searching his room for her familiar frame, but she was not there. She must have gone outside to watch the fireworks, he thought. Without checking the state of his evening attire, he crossed the square to Featherington House. The ballroom was empty, only servants milling about with trays of champagne coupes.
“They have all gone out to the garden, Mr. Bridgerton, to see the fireworks,” Briarley informed him, guiding Colin to the double doors outside, where members of the Ton stood in small groups, eyes cast to the sky. He was sure Penelope must be here somewhere. “Have you seen Pen? Penelope Featherington?” he asked the first group of men to his right, who shook their heads warily.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Penelope Featherington. Have you seen her?” Colin addressed another couple. No, they had not.
“Penelope Featherington, do you know where she is?”
“Who?” came the reply, the man scratching his beard as he racked his brain and came up empty. “No, sorry Mr. Bridgerton. I do not know her.”
Perhaps Colin had made a mistake, if the men of the Ton didn’t remember her, then perhaps the ladies would. Penelope had always been close to the matrons and chaperones, hiding at the edge of the ballroom. Of course, they would know where she might be. Heading over to the ladies, he turned his head this way and that, trying to spot that red knot in her yellow dress in the crowd, until he stepped onto Miss Cowper’s dress.
“Watch where you’re going! Oh, Mr. Bridgerton, I did not see you there,” she chuckled, the sneer on her face gone, her eyes delighted to see him.
“Ah, Miss Cowper, perhaps you can help me. I am looking for Penelope Featherington. Have you seen her?”
Cressida took every opportunity to make snide remarks towards Penelope, surely she must know where her target was hiding.
“Miss Penelope Featherington?” Cressida echoed, her blond brow raised high under her tight bun.
Colin nodded.
“I don’t know a Penelope Featherington. Is she somehow related to Lord Featherington?”
Colin was about to praise Penelope’s features, when his wrist burned even more painful, like a connection was severed. As he looked at his wrist, he noticed his left hand was missing. Instead of flesh, he looked straight to the grass. Tugging at his jacket, hiding his misfortune, he excused himself.
“Never mind, sorry for bothering you, Miss Cowper. My mistake.” Off he went, finding a dark corner in the garden to check on his hand. Rubbing his wrist, he took off his cuffs, rolled up his shirt sleeve, only to see… nothing. He felt an ache, a hot and burning sensation, but there was nothing. No hand, no wrist, no arm. It had gone up in a puff of smoke. He tried to hide his panic behind one of his lethal smiles no one could resist, as he hurried through the garden, past the members of the Ton, to find answers. There was quite a crush, making it difficult for him to sneak out. Stuck behind a group of gossiping matrons, he heard, “Poor Mr. Bridgerton, he used to be quite the catch, but it is clear he has lost his mind. Must be all the travel. It can’t be good meeting so many different cultures.” But Colin paid them no heed. He needed to find Penelope.
Hiding behind the roses, a wall of green with orange and yellow blooms, the sky overcast with spattering of colour he closed his eyes, his fingers splayed on his forehead, while his mind went back. Back to when the world made sense. The members of the Ton all said the same thing, there was no Penelope Featherington. At least, they had never heard of her. But how could that be when he always sought her out at every event, when his heart soared whenever he was near her. He knew in his heart Penelope was real and not a figment of his imagination. So why could he not find her?
“What are you doing here?”
“Argh, not now Eloise,” Colin grunted, while on second thought, maybe she knew where he could find Penelope. They were always attached to the hip. Surely his sister would guide him in the right direction. Opening his eyes, he looked at Eloise, regarding him with a look of wonder and perhaps disdain. “Have you seen her?”
Eloise eyed him up and down, her arms crossed before her chest. “To whom are you referring?”
“Penelope,” Colin sighed, trying hard not to let impatience shine through.
“Who? I don’t believe I know a Penelope,” Eloise scrunched her nose, deep in thought, as another searing pain caught Colin in the shoulder with another denial.
Colin rubbed his shoulder, tears stinging his eyes, but Eloise did not give it another thought and just continued. “I made a promise to myself that I would not believe the whispers about my brother, but at this very moment, I must conclude they must be true.” Her voice rose as she stepped closer to him, her finger pointing at his chest, “You have completely lost it, haven’t you, brother? What on earth happened to you that has you talking to yourself at the edge of the ballroom, dancing on your own? Tell me brother, are the ladies of the Ton really so boring that you had to imagine a lady of your own to dance with in Berkeley Square?”
“Berkeley Square?” Colin echoed, that was one of the squares where he had met Penelope once. “I believe I must go,” as he turned on his heels and stalked off with great strides.
“Tread carefully now, you’re already in dangerous water with the Ton whispering about your state of mind.” The words followed him as he left the rose scented garden for another green park across town.
There was a drizzle in the air, more like a thinly veiled mist, even though the air was still warm. He knew Penelope loved the park for its scented flowers, the crunch of the dry grass on hot summer days. Perhaps she might even love the squishy sounds her boots made on the wet grass, he chuckled. Entering the park he cast his eyes left and right, when he spotted an ethereal phantasm of yellow twirling on the grass. As he came closer Penelope was no more than a whisper, a soft patter of rain passing right through her, while it clung to his long lashes. And still, she danced, her eyes closed, swaying to music only she could hear. It might have been her swan song, but she danced. She was real, sort of, he had not imagined her.
“Pen,” he whispered, not wishing to startle her in her dance.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” she said with a clipped voice, her eyes opening, the blue as see through as the rest of her, and his right hand burned as it evaporated.
“Pen,” his voice pained, as he tried to grasp her hand, but failed when his arm just passed through air. “Oh dear God, don’t tell me you overheard me—“
Penelope nodded, her eyes cast to the green grass, her yellow dress unraveling in the soft breeze.
“Pen, I owe you an apology. It was never my intent to deny you. I’m not sure what came over me, but I know I was wrong. Please forgive me.” With a plop his right hand returned, and as Penelope looked up to him, he noticed her cheeks got a bit more colour. He reached out to her again, grasping air once more. “I am sorry for hurting you, if I need to beg your forgiveness for the rest of my life, I will. But please know that you are brave and witty. You have taught me a different look on the world. You even managed to let me see myself differently.” His left shoulder filled his jacket once more, as Penelope got a bit less ethereal, giving him hope he was not too late.
“The minute I uttered those words, denying you, I had a pain in my heart and I went home to drink myself into oblivion with some blue powdered tea. And I managed.” Colin showed her his missing left arm and Penelope chuckled as she tried touching his hand. And failed.
Her eyes locking onto his, she urged him to continue.
“The blue powder is used to open minds and transcend anxiety, but in my case, in this particular case, it gave me clarity of thought. For I know now that I do not want to travel the world, forlorn and alone. My place is here. To be precise, here with you.” Colin wanted to touch her, he needed to feel her hand in his, before he continued. Reaching both hands out to her, her hands finally filled his, still featherlight and his heart skipped a beat. His blue eyes landed on hers, expectant, her breath bated as he cleared his throat. “You must consider me a fool— but my heart pays no heed to mere logic. I do not want to court you—”
Penelope gasped, her eyes hurt, but he held her hands in his, rubbing her wrists with his thumbs just above the ridge of her gloves, “Because I want to marry you. I can’t live without you Penelope Anne Featherington, so please do me the greatest honour to give me the highest rank of all, that of loving husband.”
Her hands materialised fully into his, before she clasped his lapels and pulled him closer. “I prefer Mrs. Bridgerton.”
“Wise choice,” he grinned, wrapping her into his arms, kissing her soundly on the lips as he waltzed her around in the middle of Berkeley Square without caring who might see. She was his life and he had finally woken up to see what had been right in front of him all the time.