Chapter Text
Colin:
Colin was in the garden at Bridgerton house, playing a game of cards with Benedict, Hyacinth, and Gregory when the footman came around a corner and nodded discreetly at him.
Thank god, Colin thought, he desperately wanted to see Penelope. He was starting to have a lot of fun during their lessons, and his plans for today were truly exciting.
“I am out of this round,” Colin said, throwing his cards down.
“Coward!” Gregory smirked.
“I told you he had a strategy,” Benedict grumbled.
“We may need more coins, the way Hyacinth is playing,” Colin explained as he got up from his seat and made his way towards the house.
Penelope was waiting in the foyer, looking rather pretty in a light blue dress with flowers in her hair.
“Penelope!” Colin exclaimed, “I've been eagerly awaiting your visit.”
“As have I, but perhaps it would be better to meet you at the market instead of coming here first.” She looked nervous.
“We are not going to the market this time. We are going to the Bridgerton drawing room.”
Penelope's eyes went wide, “Uh, but… why?”
“For your next lesson, of course.”
She did not seem willing to leave the foyer.
“Uh, but Colin… my maid is outside, and Eloise-”
“Is out for the afternoon at the modiste with Francesca and my mother,” he tried to quell the anxiety she clearly felt.
“And the rest of your family?”
“They are playing cards in the garden,” he walked towards her and put a hand on the small of her back to lead her upstairs, “you’ve seen my family play pall-mall. You know how competitive we are,” he continued explaining as they ascended the staircase, “Hyacinth loves to win, Gregory hates to lose to her, while Benedict will refuse to miss the spectacle. Trust me, not one of them will be leaving that table in the immediate future.”
Penelope:
When they entered the drawing room, Colin closed the door behind them and Penelope felt even more nervous than before. Walking around a crowded market with him was one thing, but being here? Alone with him in his house? This broke every rule of propriety and decency she had ever been taught. She gripped her shawl more tightly over her arms, trying to control her nerves.
Colin seemed entirely unaffected, which rather annoyed her. If they were caught by anyone, she would have the right to demand his hand in marriage. He didn’t seem concerned with this at all. This highlighted the fact that he did not see her as a woman, only as a little sister. Marina’s harsh words from two years ago repeated in her mind: “Your love is an unrequited fantasy. Colin sees you as you are and regards you no differently than he does Eloise or even little Hyacinth”
“You mentioned you were comfortable at Bridgerton House, so we are going to practice here.”
“I was comfortable at Bridgerton House. Previously.”
“We needed a place to be alone. Here, your maid can wait outside, and we can pretend we are at a ball.”
Penelope's head was spinning. Has he always been so annoyingly obtuse? This entire situation was so ridiculous she nearly laughed.
“Have you gone mad?”
He chuckled and took a step further into the room, “Imagine it with me, Pen,” he gestured to the corner, “The quartet is by the pianoforte, preparing for the Parisian quadrille,” he turned, “Here, on the sofa, some mamas are debating the merits of the decoration.” He turned again to face her. “Across the room, gentlemen are asking a young lady to dance. And here,” he gestured again, “we have the lemonade table, which is where we shall begin.”
He sounded so pleased with himself for this idea that she couldn’t help but go along. With a sigh, she removed her shawl and placed it on the chair next to her.
“Very well,” she said, picking up a glass of lemonade, “shall I pretend to flirt with the imaginary cellist?” matching the dramatic bravado he had set the scene with.
They shared a laugh, and he said, “No. With the dashing suitor you just met by the refreshments. Me.”
She dropped her smile and said, “You?” hoping she had misheard him.
“I'm the perfect person to practice on. You do not have to be embarrassed. You know me.”
How could he be so incredibly thick-headed?
“That is exactly why I will feel even more embarrassed. Because I know you.”
Colin sighed and put his glass back on the table, clearly disappointed.
“Forgive me, it is only…” he looked at her expectantly as she explained, “deep inside, I know I can be clever and amusing, but… somehow my character gets lost between my heart and my mouth, and I find myself saying the wrong thing or, more likely, nothing at all.”
“Forget what is wrong or right. Imagine what you would want to say to me if I were a suitor. Without concerning yourself with how I might receive it.”
She looked up at him, searching his beautiful, dark blue eyes that she had fallen in love with all those years ago for something to compliment. Anything would work, really. So she said the first thing that came to her mind.
“Your eyes,” she began earnestly, trying to level her breathing so that she did not stumble over her words, “are the most remarkable shade of blue. Yet somehow they shine even brighter when you are kind.”
He looked rather taken aback, which may have felt gratifying if she didn’t feel a rush of embarrassment over the fact that what she just said was perhaps a little too honest. She prayed to God that he wouldn’t see the clear meaning behind her words.
She floundered to move on from that moment, removing her eyes from his gaze and setting down her glass, “I… I might say something like that if you were a suitor.”
Colin downed his entire glass of lemonade before responding, “Well, that was, uh, rather direct.”
They both cleared their throats, clearly uncomfortable. Penelope was weighing the merits of fleeing when she heard voices coming from the hallway. Eloise and Francesca were bickering about something.
“Eloise is here,” she said, looking at him expectantly.
“You can hide in the study.”
He rushed her out the other door and went to fend off his sisters. Doing her best not to panic, she rushed down the hallway and entered the first door on the left, quickly shutting it behind her. When she was safe in the study she collected herself and looked around the room, curious. She had only been in here once or twice as a child with Eloise. It was a rather large room, with a gaming table with the remains of an unfinished card game, and a large desk against the back wall. She walked carefully towards the desk, spying the coat Colin wore when he arrived in town. It was heavy and made of supple brown leather, undoubtedly something he picked up in his travels. She traced her fingers along a seam and resisted the urge to pick it up to see if it smelled like Colin.
Turning away from that temptation, she spotted a journal lying open on the desk. She carefully read the passage from where she stood, “... I can now declare with great certainty, that Paris has some of the most beautiful women in the world. How lucky I am to be surrounded by them, on the tree-lined streets of Le Marais, in the charming cafes along the seine at times. When the city is still, alone at night.”
She inhaled sharply and forced herself to step away. This was Colin’s private journal. She should not be reading this. It was incredibly invasive to do so in the first place. But she had never been more curious in her entire life. She surrendered to the urge, swiftly picked up the journal, and continued reading.
“... In those moments alone, as my fingers trace freckles from cheek to collarbone, or as I watch the starlight dance across skin, I marvel at how one can feel such intimacy, but also such great distance.”
Just as she was pondering the loneliness of the passage’s sentiment, the door opened.
Colin:
Colin made his way through the drawing room as soon as Penelope was safely out. On his way he spotted her shawl lying where she had left it on the chair. He snatched it up and quickly balled it up as small as he could to hide it behind his back as he went to cut off his sisters in the hallway.
“Did you have a good time at the modiste?”
“Oh, a splendid time, brother,” Eloise replied sarcastically.
Francesca giggled and he decided he didn’t want to know what that was about.
“And where is our dear mother?”
“Mama went with her maid for tea at Lady Danbury’s house,” Francesca answered. “We were just about to join the others in the garden for a game. Care to join us?”
“I would but, no, thank you. I’m busy at the moment.”
While climbing the stairs he heard Pen’s voice in his mind: “The most remarkable shade of blue.” he considered that. He had always thought his eyes were rather dull. Too dark to even tell they were blue. Nothing like Penelope’s bright baby blue eyes.
They were rather pretty. He realized that if you had asked him this morning, he would not have been able to tell you what color her eyes were, he had never noticed. But as she stared at him trying to think of a compliment he found himself unable to look away from them. “They shine even brighter when you are kind.”
He was smiling at that remark when he realized he was still holding her shawl. Impulsively, he brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. It smelled like Pen: roses and vanilla. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
He was trying to flatten the wrinkles he had created out of the shawl when he finally reached the door to the study. He opened it, expecting Penelope to be sitting and waiting for him, and instead found her behind the desk, reading something.
“Pen,” he said, holding her shawl out in front of him.
She looked as though she had been caught stealing. She slammed whatever she was reading down on the desk and took a step backward. It was then he realized that she was reading his journal. The one he had started writing, in truth because the only person who ever responded to his letters had stopped writing back and he needed to document his travels somewhere. But there were things in that journal that he never intended to share with anyone, especially not Penelope.
He closed the door carefully and said “Were you reading that?” hoping the answer would be no.
She flushed red, “No,” she shook her head furiously, “I did not mean to.”
“You did not mean to pick up my journal and read it?” he accused as he strode towards her, his embarrassment was making him angry.
“No. I did, but I should not have.”
Her reaction was making him feel a little better, at least she had the decency to look ashamed.
“Well no you should not. Whatever you read was not meant for another’s eye.”
He reached down to snatch the up journal but knocked over a glass candlestick holder that shattered on the floor. Penelope gasped and jumped backward. Colin, furious with himself for leaving the journal out in the open and at Pen for snooping, scowled and bent down to pick up the pieces. He grabbed up a large piece of glass and immediately cut a large gash on his hand.
“Damn!” he nearly yelled.
“Colin, your hand!”
“It is nothing,” he said, not wanting to look at her. He was ashamed of both what she had read and his reaction to finding her. But it was not nothing, the cut went rather deep and the blood was already starting to pool in the palm of his hand.
“It is not nothing. Stay there.”
He obeyed as she quickly removed her gloves and searched for something to wrap his hand with. She looked at him a little panicked and he scanned the room as well. There was nothing. He sighed and reached his uninjured hand up to his neck and attempted to untie his cravat with little success. He groaned in frustration and she bent down in front of him and reached out to help. He leaned away from her and she gave him a look that one might give a petulant child.
“Please, let me.”
He swallowed, and conceded, leaning in towards her. Her hands worked quickly and she avoided his gaze as she worked to untie the knot and unwind the fabric. Colin reflected on the fact that this would be an incredibly compromising situation for them to be in if they were seen. Her fingers briefly brushed against his chin and he was shocked by how soft her skin was. He stiffened, and resolved to remain completely still until she had finished.
When she finally managed to free the cravat and the cool air blowing in through the window hit his uncovered neck, Colin missed the warmth of both the garment and her hand.
She carefully grabbed his injured hand and began to apply pressure, wrapping the wound gently. Her hands were rather small and she was incredibly warm. He reflected on how nice her soft skin felt against his, despite the pain.
When she finished wrapping his hand, she continued to apply pressure to his palm. She was still refusing to meet his gaze, instead staring down at their joined hands. He tentatively closed his fingers around hers and instead of pulling away, she brushed her thumb soothingly across his knuckles. He found himself transfixed at the sight of their hands joined together. She finally glanced up at him and he felt a stirring in his stomach that he couldn’t quite comprehend. He didn't want to let go of her hand. He knew the moment she was done caring for him she would go.
He didn't think she wanted to go, but he knew that she would. She'd think it was the proper thing to do and she'd probably even think it was what he wanted.
Nothing, he was surprised to realize, could be further from the truth.
“Your writing,” she said softly, “it is very good.”
She sounded apologetic, and so sweet that he wanted to place his other hand on top of where they were joined and beg for forgiveness for the way he acted. But he remembered himself and pulled away just an inch and said, “Perhaps we should pause for the day,” all of his anger had left him and his voice was just as soft as hers.
They both stood quickly and took a step back.
“Will I see you tonight?” he asked carefully.
“Uh, indeed,” she looked a little flustered as she grabbed her gloves from the desk, “thank you for the, um… lesson.”
He watched her carefully as she grabbed her shawl and hurried out of the room. When she was safely out the door he walked around the desk to look at the page she had been reading. His face fell. She had read a passage he wrote when he was feeling particularly lonely, after a night of drinking and flirting with various women. The next day he had been bottle-weary and missing home. He remembered that he had specifically been missing Pen. It had been weeks and she still had not replied to him. He had been confused and hurt by her refusal to write him back, and honestly, a little worried. But he had comforted himself by rationalizing that if something had happened to her, surely Eloise or someone in their family would have notified him.
“Your writing, it is very good.”
He allowed himself a small smile, despite his embarrassment.