Chapter Text

“You are Lady Whistledown?” He stalked towards Penelope. It couldn’t be true, could it? He felt his face heat up, and his mind was reeling from just the thought that she… she…

“Colin, I—”

“Do not try to deny it. I heard you with the printer.” He could hear how harsh his voice came out, and it should not have, but he could not help it. The longer he stood with this revelation, the tighter his heart felt in his chest. He was… angry? Furious? Betrayed? Hurt?

He was all of the above, and on top of it all, he was defenseless against the look that Pen gave him. When she looked at him, eyes full of fear and regret and shame, it was enough to trigger his own tears to well. So the part of him that was now filled with so many confounding feelings warred with the part of him that wanted nothing more than to protect her from the thing that cause her so much pain.

Himself.

He was going to be sick.

When Pen did not speak, he continued. “To think, I ran after you because I was worried about you, terrified that your carriage driver had abducted you to this part of town when, in truth, you knew exactly what you were doing because it was you who printed tonight.”

“I did not print tonight’s edition.”

“But every other one?” Pen did not answer. “Is it not you who has been Lady Whistledown all along?”

Finally, Pen nodded her head, and though he did not need her confirmation to know it had been true, for her to give it whilst looking at him like that was akin to a pianoforte dropping onto his chest.

He took a step back, truly looked at her. This was Pen, his Pen, and yet… she suddenly looked so different. In the moonlight, under her hood, she was so much more than what he had known of her—there was so much that he did not know, and that devastated him. It frightened the hell out of him.

“All the lies… you have told me…” The words came out meager, between held back tears and his trembling voice. “All of the things you have written about me and my family. I—”

“Colin, please—”

“I knew something was wrong! Stupidly, I blamed myself, as if I was underserving of your love—”

“Colin, you could never—”

“But you are the one who is at fault.”

Pen’s breath caught in her throat, and she took a step back. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Colin, let me explain.”

Colin closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I can’t look at you right now, Pen. I…I…” He cursed at the weakness of his voice. She did not reply, but he could hear her shaky breath, and from the back of his eyelids, he could see the tears that fell down her cheeks.

Finally, after a moment, he heard her soft voice cry, “Colin, I am so sorry.”

But all he could do is shake his head and let out a deep sigh. “Come,” he said, more faintly and resigned. He turned away, towards the carriage. “I will take you home. I can’t… I can’t think right now.” He began walking, only turning to look back at her once he had reached the carriage door. She had not moved an inch.

He watched the slow rise and fall of her shoulders, and he realized that she was trying to muster the strength to join him. The thought was like a punch to the gut. “Penelope, come. You cannot stay here alone.”

After a moment, Penelope nodded, and she scurried in through the carriage door.

He could feel her eyes shift between him and the window curtains, but he could not bring himself to look at her.

They did not say a word to each other the entire way home.

Chapter Text

Penelope could not have had a worse night.

She had placed the floorboards down and crawled into bed, only for her to toss and turn and stare at the ceiling as the image of Colin’s crestfallen face echoed in her mind. Her thoughts that had been flirting with the memory of what they had done in a carriage mere weeks before were now tainted by the silence of their carriage ride back to Featherington House. A silence so loud it deafened her ears still.

This was it—it had to be. She was going to wake up in the morning to word that Colin had called the wedding off, that he could not forgive all that she had done, that he did not love her anymore. She would not be shocked, either, for how could she be? Colin choosing her, loving her, touching her… those were ideas straight out of one of her novels. As so many had told her, as she had even convinced herself: Colin having feelings for her was laughable. And, if Colin was, at this moment, deciding that he had been wrong in what he had told her—that he did not love her—she would not be surprised, and she could not blame him. Even Eloise had said that until Colin truly knew her, he could not love her.

Now he knew her. All of her. More than anyone, even she, had ever cared to know.

By the time she arose in the morning, she had slept a sum total of two hours. Maybe, if she was generous with herself, three. The bags under her eyes were accompanied by the redness and swollenness of all the crying she had tried very hard not to do. As Rae helped to ready her, all Penelope could think of was how haggard and villainous her reflection appeared in the mirror.

And the looking glass does not lie.

Thankfully, none of her family seemed to have noticed she had spent the night… ruminating. Or, if they had noticed, they at least did not bring attention to it.

And, fortunately (well, whether it was fortunate or not was still to be decided), as they stepped out of the carriage to promenade, it was clear that the rest of the ton’s attention had been captured by the latest Lady Whistledown.

The latest two Lady Whistledowns.

Her Mama looped a hand through Pen’s arm. “It is a good thing Miss Cowper’s Whistledown spectacle has been settled, so now everyone can be focused on our upcoming nuptials. I want every eye in the ton focused on you.”

Her face hardened. All she could focus on was the inevitability that those nuptials would no longer come. But news had not reached any of them yet, that that is what Colin had decided to do. Maybe… the news would never come. Maybe he would marry her out of sheer obligation.

But that thought somehow hurt more than if he simply did not love her.

Her mother continued to ramble. “…hosting the most elaborate wedding breakfast Mayfair has yet to see.” But Penelope did not have it in her to entertain her mother now.

After a moment, her Mama asked: “Will Mister Bridgerton be joining us this morning?”

Penelope pursed her lips, saying nothing until, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar figure walking by. “Mama, I must speak with Eloise,” she said softly, not waiting for permission before she dropped her mother’s arm and paced over to the two Bridgertons on the far end of the path.

“Good day,” she said.

“Good day, Penelope,” said Benedict.

Eloise looked at her brother as soon as Penelope arrived. “Give us a moment?” she asked her brother.

“Oh! Of course.” Ben grabbed the issue of Lady Whistledown from Eloise’s hand. “I’ll just go read this, er, over there."

Once it was safe, Eloise gave her smile, placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her down the gravel pathway. “Pen, you have done it. Cressida is entirely discredited.” Among her relief, she sounded almost…excited. Thrilled. “I never thought I would say this, but I am so glad to see you printing again.”

But Penelope could only think of one thing. “Eloise, he knows.” El’s giddiness faltered. “Colin. He followed me last night.”

“A-and how is his condition?”

“He is furious. Rightfully so.” She looked down, feeling her lip quiver as she spoke, but she mustered the strength to continue. “I don’t know what to do. We are to be married this week, if he will still have me, but I doubt he will even speak to me.” By the end of it, her voice had weakened to barely a whisper.

Penelope could feel the weight of Eloise’s sympathetic eyes on her. “I am sorry. I cannot help you with this, Pen. I am so grateful for everything you have done for me… for my family now, but already, I feel in the middle between you and Colin. Perhaps I always have been.”

“That is not true,” Penelope assured her.

“You did meet Colin first.”

“But back then, that was a silly infatuation. Yes, it grew to a true friendship but, Eloise, you are the truest friend I have ever known. I do not wish to put you in an uncomfortable position between myself and your brother. It is probably for the best, anyway, that we communicate within ourselves. But, I am sincere, El.” Penelope reached down, cradling Eloise’s hand between her palms. “It was torture not being by your side this season. I could not bear the thought of losing you completely.”

Eloise nodded. “I wish you good luck, Pen. Truly. I know… Colin—he will forgive you. Just give him some time. Let him the time to process, to…want to allow you the chance to speak.”

Penelope caught Eloise’s gaze, and there was something so warm and familiar about the way she spoke to her. “Do you really think so?”

“Trust me.”

#

Colin’s fingers tapped against the wooden desk. He was tired. He was exhausted. But his mind would not let him rest. All his thoughts were consumed by Penelope. By her secrets now revealed. He looped through a vicious cycle, feeling first the disbelief that it was even true. How could his Pen even be capable of writing such things? His soft, sweet Penelope, who encouraged him and brightened him and made him see the world so differently and so clearly. But she had done those things. He could still see her trembling confirmation when he closed his eyes.

Which led to the anger. To the hurt and the betrayal for what she had written and done. For who she was when he was not there. For being someone he did not know fully. For hiding this part of herself for so long. How… how could she have not told him? How could she have let things go so far without mentioning a thing?

If she had only told him the truth, he knew he could find a way to move forward.

But she hadn’t. Instead, he had to find out for himself. If he had not gone after her, would she have ever told him? Or would she have continued to let him drone on and on about dancing on the day of Whistledown’s demise? Or thoughtless barbs that… dear God… she would ruin any hope of marriage?

He had not made it easy for her to step up, had he?

But then again, she’d had so many chances—years’ worth of chances—to say something. To apologize, to explain. She only saw fit to do it now because she had been caught.

The ghost of a migraine threatened to haunt him. He closed his eyes and cradled his forehead in his palms. Deep breath in. Deep, shaky breath out.

For everything that she was and for everything that she had done, his heart still reached for her. As he sat in the study, staring blankly at scattered pages full of meaningless words and spilled ink, he could feel his body being pulled to her, like a magnet so strong he had to grip the arms of his chair to keep himself from leaving. His body and spirit already knew what his mind and heart were fighting so hard to discern: that at the end of everything, he could not rest until he was home. And after years of their musings as children, after all the the letters they’d shared back and forth, after discovering this recent space of openness towards purposes and dreams and love and life—Penelope was his home.

That did not change the fact that he was furious. Nor did it mitigate all the sins she had committed. In the end, it all boiled down to his hurt. At this stage of the cycle, his chest felt hollow, his empty stomach did not spark hunger but rather nausea, and he simply wanted to lie down and forget that any of this happened.

Which brought him back to sheer disbelief.

The loud bang of the front door brought him out of his thoughts, and he rushed out of the office, down the back stairs, only to find Eloise in the foyer.

“How long have you known?” he asked, rather demanded. Eloise paused, then turned to face him. He continued, “I saw you leaving a private room with Penelope last night shortly before I found her.”

El looked at him, her face sullen and red with remorse. “I had been trying to make her tell you.”

“You should have told me yourself.”

Then, her eyes narrowed. “And you should have told me you were in love with my best friend before you tripped into the drawing room engaged! I did not know until last year.” She gulped. “And I was too heartbroken to speak of it.” Colin’s wrath softened, and he took a step back. The realization sinking in, he now looked at El now in a new light as well.

The pieces had all been there, hadn’t they?

“If I had known what she meant to you before maybe I—” El looked down, shaking her head. She let out a low breath. “I have been trying to make her tell you, but then I thought,” her voice cracked, catching in her throat. “Then I thought, why break your heart as well?”

Colin pressed his lips into a thin line. He hated it. He was so bloody furious, but he could not blame his sister. As his feelings unfolded, he found it very hard to find blame in any one person alone.

El took as hesitant step towards him. She gave him a soft small, and there was a hint of encouragement as she said, “Her sheet has been fair this year. Certainly sharp and biting, but she has not written anything withering about anyone. Or, if she has, they have deserved it.”

“Are you forgetting about what she wrote about me at the start of the season?”

El pursed her lips and reluctantly nodded. “Of course, that was not so good.” Then, after a brief moment, she added: “But I, too, had said something similar when you first arrived, had I not?”

“That is different. Your words were not nearly so… sharp and biting, and you did not hide behind a gossip column to speak them.”

El held his gaze for a moment longer, nothing left to say. Colin shifted back and forth on his heels. “Have you already forgiven her?” Though, even when he asked it, he could see her answer in her eyes.

“I want to,” she said. “Do you think you can?”

And there was the ten-thousand pound question, but what truly made this entire conundrum so laughable was the fact that the answer was so simple, so obvious. The destination was clear; it was only the journey to get there that was riddled with obstacles.

Colin found it hard to meet his sister’s scrutiny, so his eyes fell and his focus landed on the far end of the hall. His voice was distant, quiet, when he heard himself speak: “I think you should consider yourself… uncommonly lucky… that you have never been in love.”

Chapter Text

As he entered the Bridgerton drawing room, Colin caught the gaze of his mother. She had her morning tea against her lips and her embroidery laying on her skirt. He paused before acknowledging her with a nod. “Good morning,” he said, evading the questions in her eyes and reaching to pour his own cup of tea.

“Good morning,” she replied in her soft, song-like tone. “Will you be accompanying me today?” Colin frowned, unsure of what she meant. “I will visit the Featherington’s in…” She pulled out her pocket watch. “…in an hour. Or, as soon as I finish my tea.”

“I don’t know…”

“Are you sure? Lady Featherington will be showing Penelope and I her plans for your wedding breakfast.” His mother set her cup on the table beside her, and Colin was all too familiar with the look that she gave him. “If you need a moment, I am happy to wait for you.”

In other words, absence was not an option.

He felt her presence before he saw her, as the housekeeper welcomed them inside the Featherington’s estate. But, as soon as he did see her, his breath caught. He loved how she looked in that shade of blue. He loved the way her hair cascaded down her back and shoulders, framing her curves beautifully. He knew right then and there that if he was going to survive the hour with even a modicum of self-respect, he could not, for any reason, look at her.

But even as he resolved to do just that, he still could not help but steal a final glance. Pen hovered behind her mother, looking as if she wished to be anywhere but here. Then Lady Featherington stole back his attention, greeting him and his mother with a bright and wide smile. But as he spoke his meaningless platitudes in response, all he could think was how much he had wanted for her to look at him.

Their mothers led the way while Colin and Pen shuffled a few paces behind. The distance between them was heart aching. She was so close, so tempting… He could touch her if he wanted, hold her hand or caress her face when the mothers and Varley were not watching. It would have been so easy.

Except he couldn’t. He couldn’t disrespect that part of himself that was still trying to sort through all his thoughts and feelings. That part of himself deserved the time to figure out what he wanted, what he needed, in order for all of this to make sense and feel okay.

And he couldn’t disrespect Penelope like that, by doing all the things he oh so wanted to do to her whilst in the state that he was in. He was not himself right now, instead too many pieces had been plucked and scattered, and he did not want to return to her as anything other than his complete and true self—just as he wished for her to be with him.

“Here we are.”

They entered a midsize hall riddled with yellows and greens and whites—a rather ostentatious display that was quite sore on the eye, but Colin held back his tongue. His mother may have wanted him there, but it was definitely not for his opinions. Besides, in an odd way, the room was somewhat comforting. He had always had a bias towards yellow.

But by the look on his mother’s face, it seemed not all Bridgertons shared that sentiment.

“Uh—” his mother started. “In here for the wedding breakfast?”

The mothers walked deeper into the room, further discussing the size and number of guests, but Colin stopped listening while he and Penelope lingered by the entrance. Colin knew why he did not progress, but he could not help but wonder why Pen had stayed with him. She was clearly uncomfortable. So why loiter? Was it fear to get too invested? Or a desire to make a quick escape?

“Colin, will you at least look at me?”

Ah, so it was a need to torture him.

How could he explain that he could not, in fact, look at her? That not looking at her was, at present, the only thing keeping him sane? He did not yet have the words, and even if he wanted to tell her, his voice would have surely betrayed him. So, instead, he let his body harden, and he kept his gaze planted firmly on their mothers.

“I could tell my mother was becoming curious. About our not seeing each other recently. I am only here because I did not wish to arouse suspicion.”

In his periphery, he saw Pen take a step back.

“Are you going to call off the wedding?”

His mouth parted slightly. He shouldn’t have been so surprised that her mind had traveled there.

“Of course not,” he whispered. “Besides, I am a man of honor, and we were…intimate.” Then, after a moment, he added lowly, “Perhaps that was another part of your planned entrapment.”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. It was from the worst part of himself, the bitter pieces that he still had intact, that had triggered such a nasty remark. He knew she had done no such thing. If anything, he had entrapped her with all the liberties he had taken with her these past few weeks. He had said the words to hurt her. Maybe this was his sick and twisted solution to ensure she knew exactly what his hurt felt like.

“Entrapment?” she croaked. “Is that what you think of me now?”

Take it back, you bloody idiot. But his mind was two steps in front of his mouth, and he muttered loud enough for only her to hear, “I do not know what to think.”

She turned towards him, shrinking the distance between them, and Colin was forced to finally look at her. She rested a hand against his forearm and placed the other across her heart, Her blue eyes pleaded at him. “I am still me, Colin. You know me—now more than anyone ever has.” His eyes traveled down to where she touched him, up her arm to where her other hand lay on her chest, to her lips. He felt his heart quicken. “I would never try to entrap you. Even after we have been… intimate… I would never ask that of you. To marry me because you believe it the honorable thing to do.” He finally reached her eyes, so beautiful and watching him with so much anguish. Though she was not crying, he could see the redness and swollenness, which he had not allowed himself to notice before.

Penelope exhaled deeply, dropping her hand from his arm, and already Colin felt withdrawal from the absence of her touch. “I love you, Colin,” she said. “But if you do not love me, then here.” It was then Colin realized she had been twisting off her engagement ring from her finger, but before she could pull it completely off, he grabbed her hand to stop her.

In the distance, he could hear their mothers quiet down, and he did not need to look to know that they were watching, but he could not care less about the consequences of this scene now.

In this moment, all that mattered lay between his palms. He held her hands tighter and watched the folds of where his skin touched hers until she no longer attempted to resist him, until he was certain that ring was staying on her finger. Then, he shifted his gaze back to her eyes.

Their mothers’ chatter reentered the hum of the white noise, and he could see them through his peripheral, pretending very hard to be focused on the statue in the corner.

Pen’s breath hitched, her gaze turning to their mothers and back to him. She followed along the line of where her arm became his arm and, under her breath, she asked him, “If you do not wish to call it off, then what will this marriage be?”

He swallowed hard. “I guess that depends. I noticed there was no Whistledown this morning. Are you going to stop publishing?”

“I… I do not know.”

He closed his eyes. Not the answer he wanted to hear. “You are putting yourself in danger, Pen, don’t you see that?”

“If you would only just let me explain to you—"

“This is not the place,” he interrupted. Their voices had raised just slightly, and though their mothers continued to discuss the settings and arrangements, he did not trust that they were not also trying to eavesdrop on every other word.

Pen nodded. “Where, then? When?”

That was the next problem… there was no perfect time, was there? With all the wedding preparations, Pen’s mama rarely left her alone. There would never be a time where they would not be unchaperoned.

Well, he could try to bribe Pen’s maid again so that he might speak with her after dark, but after what had happened last time he had done that (not to mention all the dreams he’d had which reenacted it), he did not trust he would last long before they were no longer speaking, and he deserved to hear her testimony, and she deserved the chance to give it.

Colin sighed. “Let us… get through this wedding.” It would be easier to speak freely once they were married. “Then, we can talk.”

He managed to give Pen a small, encouraging smile, and her face softened in response. They stayed silent for the remainder of the tour.

It wasn’t until Varley approached them, offering refreshments, that Colin realized.

He had never let go of her hand.

Chapter Text

The aura at White’s was ripe with men giving into their vices. The clinking of chips as some in the corner gambled over cards. The laughter that accompanied their rakish stories as others sat beside the fireplace. Then there were the four men huddled around a half-filled decanter of light amber whiskey. They breathed in the musky, tobacco-filled air as they raised their glasses with a cheer and shot down the liquor in a single gulp.

As his three drinking companions scrunched their noses at the alcohol burn down their throats, Colin reached for the decanter and poured himself another glass.

Benedict leaned over. “I realize it is tradition to drink, but I believe if the stag gets too drunk the night before its wedding, it runs the risk of being shot.” His hand formed a two-finger gun and aimed it at Colin’s forehead.

Colin gave him a thin smile. “Then keep up with me, so that there might be other, slower targets.” He raised his now full glass in Ben’s direction, then drank.

In truth, he did not know why he decided to drink so much. The first pour he had downed had been out of pity for himself—that he could not just enjoy their small celebration for his impending nuptials without all the storm clouds lingering over his head.

The few after had been out of anger. Or rather, whatever emotion now resided where his anger had once lived, because after his conversation with Pen at Featherington House, he did not think he could say he was angry anymore. He had attempted to put his thoughts down on paper for a few nights now, so that he might organize his mind just enough to give a name to this new emotion that his anger had dulled into, but he found himself hesitating before each sentence and second guessing his instincts in a way he never had before.

His drink after that had been to calm his nerves because he was to be married tomorrow. The thought simultaneously scared and thrilled him, the knowledge that, come tomorrow, he would be married to his best friend. But also, so much was still unsettled between them, and though he knew deep down they would eventually settle it, the way forward was still so unclear. And what frightened him most was knowing that his time to sort himself was quickly running out, and he feared not being swift enough to beat the clock.

With his later drinks, he settled on calling his feeling ‘frustration’. Frustration with Pen for all the obvious reasons, but also frustration with himself. Because the longer he sat with this information, the more he realized how obvious it had been. How similar Whistledown’s words were to those of Pen’s letters. How Penelope was one of the few people who could have known of Miss Thompson’s condition. Even in the garden, when she had said it would have been suspicious if Whistledown had not written about their deal. Colin remembered thinking how strange her choice of words had been, but he had quickly become so preoccupied with kissing her and then coming to terms with his feelings that he had completely forgotten.

Then there was, of course, the other type of frustration. The frustration that had him dreaming so vividly and waking each night while the moon still shined with a racing heart and sweat dripping down his bare chest and arms. The frustration he had believed had already settled that night in the carriage, then again that morning in their new home. The frustration that had him craving sleep at all hours of the day because those dreams were a powerfully addictive elixir.

And it was to that fact that he took his most recent drink. Maybe if he drank enough, the restlessness would not prevent him from a much desired sleep.

Will’s eyes followed Colin’s glass as he put it back down on the table. “I do not think any of us can keep up with you tonight.”

By their side, John Sterling hiccoughed. Colin stifled his laugh but Benedict loudly chuckled

“I thought you were not much of a drinker, Lord Kilmartin,” said Benedict.

John swirled the whiskey in his glass against the table. “No, I am not. But, in my defense, your mother does not like me.”

Colin quirked a brow. “No, our mother does not not like you.”

But Ben patted the back of his shoulder. “I shall handle this.”

Colin let out a low laugh as he watched his older brother begin. “Lord Kilmartin, our mother adores… you.” For all the grief Benedict had just given him, he was definitely slurring his words more than Colin had been. Maybe he wasn’t the only brother in need of a distraction tonight. He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyeing their conversation closely. “But our mother also has an obsession with great love stories.”

“So what should he do?” Will asked, gesturing to John. “Give the man some practical advice.”

Ben nodded, accepting the challenge. This will be interesting. “Frankly,” he started, “you might consider doing something foolish.” Colin bit back a laugh. “You know, something bold. Declare yourself.”

And Colin nodded. That bit was fair enough. His mother knew very well the power that a little courage could hold when it came to love. Colin learned so from her.

“Throw rocks?” Benedict’s next suggestion had Colin wide eyed. Benedict looked at him for confirmation then, without it, he exclaimed more brazenly, “Throw rocks at Francesca’s window tonight.”

“No.” Colin shook his head, looking at John. “No.”

“Your problem is… you are trying much too hard to be respectful.”

Then Colin paused. He eyed the space between the four of them, furrowing his brows. Something about his brother’s words struck him, and he did not know why.

“Bold?” John replied, unsure. Benedict nodded. John tilted his head from side to side, clearly considering his advice. “Well, if I am to be bold… I shall need some time to think about it.” And in one swift motion, he tipped his head back and finished his drink.

The entire table groaned.

John stumbled when he stood from the table, wobbling back and forth as he tried to find balance, and Benedict chuckled at the sight.

After watching him leave, Will knocked against the table. “I think perhaps I shall go home as well. It is strange to be drinking in another man’s club.” He stood as the two brothers protested. “Mrs. Mondrich and I have had our social calendar full this week and I am spent… I shall see you tomorrow.” He nodded at Colin. “Bright and early.”

Colin sighed and waved him goodbye. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing the decanter, wondering if he could stomach another drink.

“Perhaps that is our cue.”

“You go,” Colin replied. “I could use a moment on my own.”

Benedict leaned forward, trying to catch Colin’s eye. “Is everything well?”

Colin met his look with a raised brow in challenge. “Is everything well with you?”

Benedict laughed to himself and shook his head at the ground.  The chair scraped harshly against the floor as he stood up, somehow with good balance. His brother gave him one final study before kissing Colin’s head and leaving.

It was funny how a single person could hold so much of another’s attention that their sudden absence could send a person’s mind into shock. For as soon as Benedict was far from earshot and Colin was accompanied only by the clinking of poker chips and the crackling of a fire, his mind began to spiral. Distracting himself among the company of friends was the patch that fixed the leaking dam, but his thoughts were the water building up in pressure, pressing up against the cracks and begging to be free. And now that he was alone, the water had broken through the dam, leaving a hole much wider and harder to fix.

What was he doing? He knew how this was going to end, so why must he resist so fervently? All he accomplished in doing so was letting the wedge between them push them further and further apart, when all he wanted now was to be close to her. He missed being near her, talking to her. God, why had he not talked to her?

She had tried to talk to him, but he had been so stubborn. On top of that, he had been cruel. When he told her how she’d entrapped him? It soured his stomach and made his mouth taste of bile.

At the time, all he could think about was Penelope’s confession in the church that she had always loved him. Hearing her say that had filled him with such elation. Especially since he had spent every moment since their time in the carriage simultaneously happy and in love and frightened that she was regretting all of it. That she did not love him as he loved her. After all, it had made no sense to him. What had he done to earn such love from someone like Penelope?

Then he learned her identity, and he had thought, if she could lie about this, then how else had she lied? And the thought that she had lied in that church was an unwelcome caller in his mind that would not stop knocking. It was not such a strange notion, for someone to feign love for him as a means to an end. Marina had done just that.

So, even if he knew that Penelope was not Marina—that it was, in fact, Marina who made Colin realize that Penelope would never forsake him—the thought alone had tainted her confession, and he had resented her for it.

It was the cruelest, darkest, most bitter part of himself that could think such things. He battled against it over and over again, the voice in his head whose only aim was to make Colin think the worst of himself and of others. That voice had won before many, many times. Even now, especially whilst alone, the voice hummed in the back of his mind, urging him to give into the dark emotions that held him back. He knew he could not let that voice win again.

His arm splayed on the table, fingers outlining the decanter. He did not think he wished for another drink, but he did not wish to go home.

Do something foolish, something bold. Benedict’s words echoed in his head. Declare yourself.

And he realized that he did, in fact, wish to go home—just not to Bridgerton House. He wanted to see Penelope. To Hell with waiting until after the wedding to hear her tell her story. Wasn’t it better to do it now, so they could stand together in that church with perfect clarity?

You are trying much too hard to be respectful.

Colin had been, and for what purpose? Though they were to be married tomorrow, they were already as good as man and wife. He could go see her right now, throw rocks at her window or… or… bribe her maid in the garden again. So they could have their privacy, and then they could finally, finally work through everything. Together.

It was a brilliant idea. He did not remember why he ever thought it a bad idea, but he did not care. He was going to do it regardless of what a younger, naïve (albeit sober (though, in all honesty, he wasn’t even that inebriated)) version of himself thought about the matter.

He had decided.

He was going to see Penelope.

Chapter Text

Colin stepped out of White’s with a renewed vigor, only to find that Benedict had taken their carriage back to the house. No matter, it was a beautiful night, and he had no problem with walking. In fact, his gait was that of a giddy schoolboy, if he was to be honest with himself, but his inhibitions were lowered enough that a majority of him did not care. The rest of him, however, was glad that the streets of Mayfair were dead at this time of the night, save for some scattered bodies here and there and…

His eyes widened and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Oh! Colin.”

His face could not have fallen any faster or harder, as Penelope stood mere feet away from him, hiding under the same blue hood she’d worn outside the printer’s door.

“Pen?” The world seemed to spin, and he closed his eyes to process. There was a hollow pit forming at the bottom of his gut. He had not expected to see her here.

He really wished he hadn’t seen her here.

“What are you doing here?” He opened his eyes and watched her hesitate.

She frowned and took a step towards him before responding, “I was just… visiting a friend.” A friend? What friend did she have in this part of town, and why would she be out so late to meet them? He felt his face heat. Pen gave him a shy smile, taking another step closer. “Celebrating before our wedding tomorrow.”

“Right.” He swallowed hard. “Of course you were.” He winced when he heard how biting he had spoken the words

Pen’s face fell. “Is it so hard to believe?” Her voice trembled. “Because I could not possibly have a friend?”

Colin stepped closer. “Of course not, Penelope. I should not have said that. I am sorry. You know I do not think that.”

She looked towards the ground, shaking her head, lips fighting a frown. “I am trying, Colin. You must be able to see that.”

Of course, he could see that she was trying. And he wanted nothing more than to give her the chance to succeed. “Which friend?” he asked.

“Hm?”

“You say you were with a friend, so which friend?” He watched her, hoping—praying for her to just give him an ounce. A droplet even.

“I, uh…”

As she hesitated, Colin could feel all that frustration which had built over days and days come to the surface. “Is it so hard to just give a name?” he asked. At this point, he was begging her. “Or is it because there is still so much more that you are hiding? Can you truly not trust me to show me all of yourself? You say you are trying, and believe me, I am trying as well. But how am I to trust you, Pen, when I know you do not trust me? I am not speaking rhetorically but genuinely. I want to do so more than anything, but every time I think I am close, I find out something new that makes it very difficult. Because there is still so much you do not share with me. For all I know, I have found you in the midst of more… secret dealings.”

Her chin dropped to her chest, and her eyes remained at his feet. It hurt that she could not look at him, after he had opened himself to her. She twiddled her fingers, voice soft and unsure. “I know I have kept things from you, but I have never truly lied.”

Colin’s jaw dropped. He stared at her, and he couldn’t tell if his stunned silence was of awe or of ire. That was what she had to say to him?

She immediately knew those were not the right words, for her wide blue eyes finally met his gaze and the red flush of her cheeks was bright even with only the moon to light them. Her hands dropped to her sides in fists, and she squeezed her eyes shut, whispering defensively, “Well, what of you?”

Colin scoffed. “Me?”

Pen relaxed, her eyes fiery and wild. He had never seen a look like this from her before. “Yes, you. All this talk of me, but what of you? What secret dealings have I found you in the midst of? The night before our wedding?”

It was not possible for Colin’s jaw to drop any lower. He took two steps towards her, until she was so close he almost could not breathe. He scanned her eyes for something, anything to explain what she had just said to him, but he had lost his confidence at his ability to read her, and that only strengthened his frustration.

“What exactly are you trying to imply, Penelope? How could you even ask me that?” He leaned in, eyes protruding. “After all the damage that you have done, what right do you have?”

Pen flinched. “You’re right.” She took a deep breath in, and Colin could hear a small sniffle as she breathed out. “I have done a lot of things that I am not proud of, but you are the one who is so quick to think me a villain. Yes, I have made more mistakes than I can count. There is no one who knows better than I that I am not perfect, I can promise you that.” Colin’s nostrils flared, but he held his tongue and let her finish. “But with all that I have done, Colin, I thought I was doing the right thing. I’ve wanted to explain—”

“It’s actually quite funny,” he interrupted. “Because I have just spent the entire night thinking of how unfair I have been to you. I was on my way to your house so that I could let you explain. Instead, I catch you out where you definitely should not be, doing God knows what, keeping more secrets from me. Do you know how that feels, Pen?”

“I told you, Colin. I was with a friend. Their name is not important.” She let out a sigh. “But I imagine it feels quite like having my oldest friend and fiancé decide to finally speak to me after… how many days of avoiding me? Of putting me at arms’ length and constantly dismissing me? When would I have had the chance to divulge all my secrets when you’ve acted like this?”

“Then explain, Pen. Now is your chance. Explain why you did it. Explain what you were thinking when you wrote all those things. When you wrote about Eloise?”

“Colin, the queen had threatened her because she thought Eloise was Whistledown. I thought I could protect her by writing something I knew she would never write about herself. I realize now how misguided I was, and not a day has passed that I have not regretted it.”

“And what about Miss Thompson? Exposing her as you did. Ruining her.”

“She was going to trap you into marriage. I thought I was protecting, you.”

“Then you should have told me! To my face,” he exclaimed. “Or do you not respect me enough?”

Penelope shook her head, wiping away a tear, and then returned to looking at him, eyes wet and red. “I tried!” she screamed, her voice cracking just slightly. “I tried to tell you about Marina and Sir George, but you would not listen.”

“And what about me?” He stood back to look at her, but his movements were slow, his shoulders unbearably heavy. “Who were you protecting when you wrote about me this year? Saying that I hardly know myself.”

“I was…” She sighed, her posture slumping. “…thinking that I simply wanted the Colin I know back. Not this stoic man you returned as, acting as if you care for no one and need nothing.”

His jaw instinctively clenched.

“I wanted you,” she continued. A tear trailed down her cheek, and Colin felt something like a string tug at him, urging him to wipe that tear away. “And I was hurt, Colin, after what you had said at the end of last summer. And it hurt even more to see the kind and feeling, good-hearted man who I love be someone that I could no longer recognize.”

Her admission had caught him off guard. It should not have, knowing that Penelope could see him so clearly, more than he could even see himself—and yet he had failed to see her. How many things had he gotten wrong with her? How many more ways had he let her down, disappointed her, proved he was inadequate for her while not even realizing what he was doing?

“After you visited me in the garden,” she said, tipping her neck skyward, “once I saw the real you was still there, I knew I could not have been more wrong.” Penelope stepped towards him. “I should have told you myself. There are so many things that I should have done myself, but I cannot change the past. All I can do is look forward and be that I person I should have been, and with the confidence that you have helped me build this summer, I know I am finally able to.”

Colin swallowed then parted his lips. He shifted, succeeding in capturing her eyes. “So you do not need Whistledown anymore.” It did not come out as a question.

But Pen tilted her head, observing him closely with furrowed brows. She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I do not need to hide behind Whistledown anymore, but… I tried to give it up, Colin, when I thought I might lose you if you learned. But it felt as though I was losing a part of myself. Whistledown is…” Her breath caught in her throat.

“You are a writer,” he said with some newfound understanding. He squinted at her, watching the shadows dance across her face as it shifted unsurely at his statement. Some new emotion found its way into his gut. Or, maybe it had always been there, but now it found partnership with his known frustrations and demanded its due attention. “That… that is your purpose.” He fought against the voice in the back of his head, trying hard to swallow it down, but he could not contain the bitterness in his tone as he finally admitted. “I let you talk so much about my journal as if I were to be some great writer, what all this time you have been a published writer renowned across Mayfair!”

That she had condescended to him for the sake of his ego was humiliating, but not as humiliating as the fact that it bothered him so much. He… he was actually jealous of her.

“Colin, I meant everything I said about your writing.”

Condescension had been the wrong word. He was doing it again… projecting his insecurities onto her motivations. He was on the verge of saying something he would definitely regret in the morning, so he shifted strategies.

“You are putting yourself in danger being out here tonight. And you have been putting yourself in danger living this double life all along.”

“I have been careful.”

“You have been foolish.”

“Colin, I can take care of myself.”

“Then what good am I to you?!”

“Colin, I love you!”

Their frustrated words echoed in the space between them as they looked at each other in stunned silence. His heart pounded against his ribcage. Their breaths were heavy.

Pen’s face softened, and she reached out her hand to touch his face, but he stepped back, eyeing it warily. He watched her face fall in response, and he scanned her, her body, her lips with eyes pleading for the truth.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Not for what you can do for me, but for you. You are brilliant, Colin, astonishing—even if you do not believe it is true. You are a person who wants to do those things for me, and that is enough. All I need—all I have ever wanted—from you is for you to love me back.” His heart was ready to jump straight out of his chest. He cleared his throat, swallowing, licking his lips. He clenched his fists to hold himself at bay. “And… if you do not or cannot any longer, then please, Colin, tell me now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pen,” he said between his teeth.

“Is it so ridiculous?” she pleaded. “You won’t talk to me—”

“We’re talking now.”

“You won’t listen to me—”

“I’m listening now.”

“Colin, you won’t even touch me!”

He could not maintain himself any longer. He reached for her, interlacing his fingers through her hair, and pulling her lips to his. Her body froze beneath him in surprise, but she quickly pointed her lips up towards him in response. Colin pulled back for just a second, seeking her confirmation that she truly wanted this too, and the eager look in those siren eyes was enough to make him forget his own name.

He met her lips again, this time hungrier and more demanding, and she met him with equal passion, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him devastatingly close. He placed his hands on her waist and guided her to the nearest hard surface, pinning her, ravishing her anywhere and everywhere that he could.

The sound of their rapid breathing filled the empty streets in harmony with their impassioned, consuming exchange. Colin could taste Penelope’s anticipation in the sweetness of her lips, finding himself addicted to the taste of their connection.

He kissed her cheek down to her neck, and he felt himself harden at the sound of her moans in his ear. She whispered, Colin, Colin, in the exact tone that haunted his nights, and the concepts of modesty and reticence and inhibitions left his body. All that remained was a hunger so primal, and he wanted her—he needed her—now.

He lowered his hand down to her hip, cupping her thigh and pulling her in, and he was met with zero resistance as she wrapped her leg around his waist. He pressed himself against her, let his hands roam down the length of her body, dragging up her skirt just enough to give himself better access. As his fingers lingered over her, playing and teasing all the right places, Penelope grabbed a fistful of his hair and kissed his cheek and moaned against his temple.

She was a siren, a goddess, and he wondered how on earth he managed to stay away for so long.

But the neighing of a horse and hoofbeats made him go rigid.

“Stay still,” he rasped  before he could fully process. In one swift motion, he let her go, placed his arms atop the door on either side of her, and shielded her with his body. Pen’s exasperated breaths were hot against him. He craned his head to look behind him, watching as the horse and rider passed them by.

As the danger disappeared in the distance, Colin sighed, hanging his head low with exhaustion. When he finally looked back at Pen, she was watching him with wide, doe eyes. Her breath had not slowed; her cheeks were flushed and flustered.

Colin let out a gentle laugh, to which Pen bit her lip into a sugary smile. He gulped. “We should, er, go.”

She nodded. “I have a carriage around the corner.” She giggled. “At least, I should. They might not have waited.”

Colin nodded and, reluctantly, stepped away from her. They stood like that for a moment, just looking into each other’s eyes, and Colin was sure now more than ever that they would be alright. He knew in the back of his head, he still had questions, but as she stared at him with such love, such admiration, he knew that he would find his answers in the end. For now, all those heavier emotions settled into something a lot more manageable than what he had left with at White’s.

His relief must have been evident on his face, because Penelope’s smile widened, and she leaned in to press a delicate kiss against the corner of his mouth.

He took her hand and led her around the corner, where her driver was, in fact, still waiting. He helped her into the carriage and paused.

“Colin?” she asked in a whisper.

“I think it might be more appropriate if I do not join you,” he said. There were too many inappropriate things he wished to do if he were to have done, but it was too late in the night. They had been careless in their desires, and risk of being caught was too great. Besides, they could both use their rest. He, at least, was drained.

Pen nodded. “I love you, Colin.”

He pressed his lips into a soft smile, because right then and there, he had absolutely no doubt that she was telling the truth. “I will see you at the church tomorrow.”

Colin closed the door and watched her settle in her seat through the window. He took a step back as the carriage took off, eyes never leaving until they disappeared in full. He combed his hand through his hair and began his trek to Bridgerton House with a pleased smile.

It was, after all, a beautiful night for a walk.