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His ring would set a lavish wall between his Pen and any other man, and Colin was going to be a possessive husband.
He had chosen a pearl set in silver with golden accents. It would echo the glow of her skin and incorporate the Bridgerton taste for silver jewelry with the Featherington’s choice of golden yellow. Despite his jeweler’s advice, their initials were already engraved inside the band. It would not be going back to the box after it was slipped onto her finger. He did not want his money back.
Colin savoured the sweet relief of perfect honesty for a moment, every second beyond the first minute gaping like a chasm of rejection. She had not spun to face him and clasped him impulsively. She had not smiled. Even touching the ring box was a pinch much like removing a hair from one’s food.
His smile faded, and he stood up when Pen did. His mind went blank when she fainted, and he wasted time trying to rouse her. She was not prone to swoons. She was more likely to make fun of them, at least from the young ladies who used them as a way to be caught by a gentleman. Pen’s theory was that the grace of dancing could not extend to the pretense of a feeble body. A man who was not impressed by a debutante dancing but liked her for falling unconscious was something of a creep.
He folded his coat under her head, and looked at the room with despair. They had not touched the food, and that was more damning of his machinations than any of the mess. No one in the house thought he could go more than an hour without eating.
Colin stood up and put the ring in his pocket. He couldn’t clean up the feathers. He could only lie and hope the servants were compassionate to Pen’s illness. He cursed his notion to push the furniture in front of the door. The floor was scratched, the cabinet was dented but had also dented the frame of the door. It felt too heavy to not be indestructible.
He went into the hallway with some hope he would see his brothers first. The footman by the front door perked up.
“Sir?”
“I need a few maids and another footman. Bring a blanket. Miss Featherington has fainted, and we must convey her to bed. Ask Humbolt to call the doctor.”
It was not how he wanted to be showing Pen the Bridgerton house bedrooms. She would be mortified to faint for the first time in her life out of happiness. He was worried, but there was no reason to expect she was in danger.
Anthony came down the hallway and moved to halt the footman. “Why are you running? Colin?”
“I have asked for maids to help Penelope. She fainted, and I cannot get her to respond,” he said.
They hurried into the drawing room, and the drifts of feathers looked like a thousand cushions had died.
“Colin, what have you done? Did the cabinet fall on her?”
“No. I knocked into it going to the door. I was, uh, running.”
Anthony had been the man of the house for much of Colin’s life. His disbelief and censure was hard to hear, especially when Pen was being rolled carefully to her back. The maids were petting her hands and calling to her. One of them had smelling salts, and waved the bottle under Pen’s nose. She was still and only the rise of her breathing gave her life.
Perhaps she was hurt. He had been next to her but a step away. Colin would have caught her if he had been ready. He was sure she hadn't broken anything, but remembering Anthony’s ordeal with Kate gave him pause.
“How hard did she fall,” his brother asked seriously. “Could she have struck her head?”
He shook his head and doubted his own memory. He had been wrapped up in the joy of the day. Pen was shocked, but her mood would turn to elation to match his own. He had been the one complaining of a headache. She was unhappy with his doubletalk but she was well.
“We will get a doctor and I am sure he will soon be able to convey her home,” Anthony said.
The footmen lifted her and stepped carefully through the feathers. The maids let them go through the doors first, and followed with hurry. They were so near to the Featherington’s house it might be fewer steps to take Pen home instead of carrying her upstairs. But Colin would have to wait interminable hours or days before he saw her. He couldn’t bear it.
“No, we should keep her here.”
He moved to follow, but was held back. Anthony’s eyebrows were raised, his hands cocked on his hips.
“It is only a faint, Colin. It is startling but not uncommon. Penelope will be fine,” he said. “What were you two doing? A pillow fight?”
It was flippant and might have eased nerves if Pen was not the one lying so still. Colin scowled. “It is no laughing matter! If we give her back they will want to keep her.”
The Viscount looked at him with wonder. “Yes, but I don’t think we can judge Lady Featherington for wanting her own daughter back. If you are so concerned, we can make sure the doctor goes with her.”
“I have proposed,” Colin said flatly.
Anthony looked at the ceiling, or perhaps said a tiny prayer. “To Penelope! Well, that is different, but you are not married. We cannot simply claim her for the family, welcome as your bride would be.”
It was nice his brother thought Pen would marry him. Optimism was welcome to get him through the emergency. He would be nervous being parted from her without the faint. He was sure they could send a note that she was sharing Eloise’s room like they had as girls. It was a white lie that would save his sanity.
“Penelope did not give her answer. She put the ring away from her and fell over. She did not even look.”
The ton knew Lord Debling was courting her. Anthony made a face and looked down. He sighed when the view reminded him the room was full of feathers.
“Oh. I am sorry, brother,” he said. “She may yet accept you. Did you have an understanding about courting?”
Everyone with eyes understood Pen was special to him. Colin had written to her personally, when it would have been more proper to send letters through her family. He danced with her all the time. He spoke with her longer than any other woman. They were such good friends it should have led to talk, and it was offensive no one had accused them of impropriety. They could fill an edition of Lady Whistledown after all their recent bickering.
“Not in so many words,” he grumbled.
“You must not lose hope. Right now we will make sure she is well, and later you can talk to her. She is good, and will not hurt you. I know a florist that can have a jungle’s worth of flowers around her when she wakes up. But she must go home today.”
Colin’s schedule for an engagement was measured in weeks, and days would be better. He did not care who attended, or how much gossip it caused. Daphne’s marriage had effectively raised the family above reproach unless they took to the seas as pirates.
“I will carry on as if we are going to be wed. Until I am denied I will believe my feelings.”
Anthony eyed his purposeful stance and nodded in support.
“Yes, do that. And keep the proposal private until Penelope can give a reply. It is only fair to preserve her privacy if she cannot speak for herself. What happened to the cupboard?”
“I pushed it in the way of the door. I did not want to be interrupted.”
Anthony had seen Penelope enter the house looking for Colin, which was reassuring when so much of the fracas felt like a poorly managed kidnapping.
“Let’s say you tripped over it,” he said. “I will have it replaced. Perhaps mother will not notice.”
Penelope Featherington was laid out on a palette of cushions in the retiring room, and Colin was hovering tearfully as maids fanned her and patted her wrists with damp cloths. The best story Anthony could fathom was an improvised staging of Romeo and Juliet. The whole family would see something more than a visit had gone on. They were not sickly and the doctor was called rarely.
“Colin?”
He shook himself out of his doldrums. Pen would see the doctor, and then they would announce they were engaged.
“What?”
Anthony picked up a feather. “Did she throw a pillow at you?”
He felt ashamed the proposal was so clumsy. It was his second attempt at getting a wife, and his practice was not gleaning any better luck.
“Yes,” Colin said sheepishly. “I was talking too much. She was right.”
His brother smiled his crooked grin that lifted one corner of his mouth into a smirk. “Well, it is sad for the pillow that was disemboweled. Now I can be sure she will say yes. That doesn’t get you off the hook for sending flowers.”
If Colin had any premonition he would be asking for Pen’s hand after all his delayed sentiments overflowed, he would have filled the ship on his return voyage with tropical blooms. Of course if he had that prescient knowledge, he would never have left her for that last trip.