Chapter Text
Future Penelope’s POV
Penelope had grown accustomed to the chaos of Bridgerton family dinners by now. The constant escalation of voices trying to talk over one another, the always looming threat of a glass being spilled or someone getting errantly stabbed by a fork were things she was used to. After the time Gregory accidentally set the table on fire in his excitement over Kate going into labor, she thought she had become truly prepared for anything.
She had been wrong. So very, very wrong.
The most pressing issue was the fact that she shouldn’t be at this particular dinner. At least not this version of her. She could see her 17-year-old self gaping in her direction, just as stunned as the rest of the invited guests, which included her mother, her deceased father, her sisters… Marina. After all, this was the night that the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons had come together to celebrate Colin’s rather-sudden first engagement.
She remembered the evening well. In excruciating detail, in fact. How handsome Colin looked. How doting he’d been to his fiancée. How silently Pen had been screaming the entire night, just hoping someone would hear her. She remembered what everyone was wearing and how the delicious food tasted like dust in her mouth. She distinctly did not remember some future version of herself barging in during the main course, with a sleeping two-year-old in her arms.
“What is the meaning of this?! Who are you?” Penelope’s mother demanded – the first of the lot to be loud enough to break through the general din, because of course she was. Instantly, Penelope made a shushing sound, knowing from experience that the register of Portia’s voice tended to wake the baby and cause him to scream his head off, which was the last thing the situation needed right now.
“It’s me, Mama. Penelope,” she explained, the words feeling slightly ridiculous – but so was this whole situation. “I – I’m not sure what happened. I was on a trip with my family, exploring the Scottish Stones, when a fog rolled in, and now… I’m here.” Perhaps the place she least wanted to be.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Colin shuffle in his seat and mentally corrected herself. It wasn’t the place that was the problem. It was the time period that definitely left something to be desired.
As if sensing she was thinking about him, the 20-year-old was the next one to speak up. “I’ve read stories about those stones. People claiming to have time traveled from there…” His dark blue eyes assessed her – starting from the looser curls of her red hair and following the line of them down to the child she held clutched in her arms. “I can’t say I’d put much credence into the idea before now,” he said, rather stunned.
She knew, of course, that he was looking at her that way because she was – essentially – a magic trick. A mysteriously appearing future version of his family friend. Still, her heart stuttered the way it always did when he stared at her, mouth agape.
“Did any of those myths offer suggestions on how one gets back?” she asked him tensely.
In an instant, the bewilderment in his eyes softened into concern. “Supposedly, they just get yanked back after a few hours,” he reassured, and something inside her unclenched. “Also, forgive us for our rudeness, Pen. For what it’s worth, it’s good to see any version of you.”
“It’s worth quite a lot. I’m always glad to see you, too,” she murmured, because it was true. Still, she couldn’t help but wish the version she was talking to was her husband, not Marina’s fiancé.
Fresh air – that was what she needed. Or perhaps some smelling salts to revive her from where she’d clearly hit her head and fallen unconscious. Still, it was the first one that seemed more in her power.
“I apologize for disturbing your evening,” she told the group at large. “I’ll just – see myself out,” she added awkwardly, trying to skirt around Violet’s chair towards the door, only to be stopped by Lady Bridgerton herself.
“Nonsense,” Violet decided, reaching out to put steadying hands on both of Penelope’s shoulders. “We’re hardly going to send you out into the night without a place to go. Stay – both of you – and I’ll have Cook bring in another plate.”
That… was a terrible idea. Truly terrible.
But as Penelope’s mind raced to come up with excuses, someone had already gone to fetch her a chair – and then she was being forcibly guided toward the new seat between Violet and her past self. On instinct, she turned to shoot Colin a hopeless look – only to find him ready to meet it, wearing his Nothing to be done about it, unfortunately, smile.
“And when are you claiming to be from exactly?” Anthony’s question snapped her out of her thoughts, while simultaneously wiping the smile from Colin’s face. Right. Pen had almost forgotten the particular roughness that defined pre-Kate Anthony.
“1818.”
“You have a husband?” Portia asked with an expected – but still hurtful – amount of shock.
“I do…” Penelope replied, calmly and measuredly.
Then came Prudence’s even-less tactful scoff. “Who would want to marry you?”
She could feel all of the Bridgertons tense up around her. It had been a long time since Pen had to deal with her sister’s commentary without a Bridgerton at her back and it was touching to sense their support here, now – before she was even family. It made it easier for her to relax her shoulders.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I’m guessing that’s why she asked it,” Philippa interrupted. “I don’t particularly care,” she added loftily, with a proud toss of her head.
“I still think that’s information I should keep to myself,” Penelope insisted, ignoring Past Pen’s piercing stare.
“You must, at least, tell us your young one’s name. And let me hold him so that you can eat,” Violet exclaimed, her ulterior motives clear as she pushed her own plate aside and looked starry-eyed at the toddler. Penelope knew a losing battle when she saw one and easily transferred her son into his ignorant grandmother’s arms.
“Eliot,” she answered. “After Eloise.” This, of course, only made Violet more enamored, as she pressed her cheek against his softly curling auburn hair.
For a minute after that, silence enveloped the room – all the attention still locked firmly on Penelope. She sighed. While it had been years since she had considered herself a wallflower, there were moments when she missed the comfort of being safely ignored – and she could tell her younger self was also off-put by everyone’s comparing gazes.
“I fear I’ve monopolized your special evening. Perhaps, everyone would like to resume their previous conversations,” she hinted to the people around her.
Past Pen only looked more betrayed at that. But Penelope needed time to think. This night was crucial in so many ways, and she couldn’t help but feel worried by how derailed it already was. In her time, Colin liked to say that he’d never been fully immune to her. That before he understood the feeling, he was drawn to her company and her laughter, and that those feelings grew naturally the more they bonded. It was his way of reassuring her that – despite the winding path to get there – their love was inevitable.
She loved that he thought that, and there were even moments when she liked to think that herself – but mostly, she felt lucky to have wound up where she did. Like every piece had to fall into place exactly right to get her to that happy ending. And she’d undoubtedly disturbed some of those pieces tonight.
She was so lost in her concern that she wasn’t really tuned into the conversation until she heard her name repeated a couple of times. “Well?” her mother asked impatiently when she finally raised her head.
“I’m sorry. What was the question?”
Portia rolled her eyes, but it was her younger self that offered an explanation. “Colin and Marina were discussing potential wedding plans, and Mama pointed out that you must have been at the ceremony so you could tell us the answers.” The underlying bite to this Pen’s words was obvious, and she wondered exactly how many of her own passive-aggressive comments she’d been missing out on while lost in her head.
“Oh,” she said, looking at the assembled group.
And then she said nothing else.
The thing was… Penelope wasn’t a stranger to lying, for better or for worse. But there was a difference between a thought-through planned deception and coming up with lies in the moment. One she was passable at – the other… not so much.
Both Anthony’s and Violet’s faces panicked at her struggle to come up with something even halfway convincing, while Marina’s turned calculating.
“Colin Bridgerton!” Violet exclaimed at last, some of the cutlery clinking as she slightly jostled the table. “Please tell me that you don’t elope!”
“Of all the irresponsible…” Anthony muttered under his breath.
Colin’s expression darkened as he tossed his cloth napkin onto his mostly empty plate. “And how – exactly – am I to answer you, Mother? I haven’t done it yet – nor did I have any plans to elope going into this evening. Although the less-than-warm reception from all of you is certainly making the concept sound more appealing.”
Underneath the table, Penelope’s nails dug into her thighs, some errant part of her hoping that the pain would wake her up.
It didn’t, but someone stirred in reaction to all the commotion.
Eliot’s face always had a habit of scrunching up in displeasure whenever he first woke up, but then he caught sight of who was holding him, and he brightened. “Nannie, you’re here!” he cheered, reaching up to pat one of Violet Bridgerton’s cheeks before launching into a story about a goat they had seen the day before.
It was incredibly cute. It was also not helpful right now, but maybe everyone would assume that as Eloise’s namesake, Eliot had been raised to see Violet as a surrogate grandmother.
“—And then Papa said…” Eliot abruptly cut off his ramble mid-sentence, his head whipping around in search of someone – and Pen bowed her head in defeat.
“Papa!” Eliot exclaimed, looking directly at Colin. “Didn’t you say girl goats have beards like boy goats?”
Colin’s mouth dropped open slightly.
Someone’s knife clattered noisily against their plate as it fell, while beside her, Penelope could hear one of her sisters give a choking cough.
“…Papa?” Eliot asked again, his eyes going round with concern.