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MORNING GLORY
Varley closes the front door on Colin and looks at her.
Pen does her best to appear innocent, or at least like she hadn’t nearly had her wicked way with Colin Bridgerton against a tree five minutes ago.
Varley does not seem convinced by her efforts.
Nevertheless the older woman gestures to the stairs. Locks the door. “Up to bed with you, Miss Penelope,” she says, “and we’ll see about this in the morning.” A weighted look. “No doubt your mother will have something to say about it, too.”
At the mention of her mother Pen reddens. Nods. She really doesn’t want to contemplate talking to her Mama about tonight. “I’ll head to bed, then,” she mumbles. “Thank you, Varley.”
She’s halfway up the stairs when she hears the other woman’s parting shot.
“Perhaps better that Mr. Bridgerton is not dappled with your shade of lipstick when he calls tomorrow, hmm?”
She glances at Varley, whose expression is studiedly blank.
Pen, on the other hand, is sure her cheeks are flaming.
“Perhaps not.” She swallows. “Good night, Varley, thank you again for letting me in.”
And then, Lady Whistledown or no, Penelope Featherington flees to her room like the wallflower she is and locks the door behind her.
Drat.
Pen spends her entire night sleepless, oscillating between giddy delight at the idea that Colin will call on her tomorrow and the crushing notion that he most certainly will not.
It is infuriating.
For while he might have kissed her, she keeps reminding herself, and while he might have defended her against Fife, there is no way that Colin Bridgerton is going to court her, no matter what he may have said in a moment of passion. A moment which she, let it be remembered, had entirely initiated.
Whatever Kate and Daphne may think, she reminds herself sternly, she and Colin have only been and will only ever be friends.
For Pen has had drilled into her from the moment it became obvious that she would not be a beauty, that men like Colin Bridgerton do not marry women who look like her. They do not desire women who look like her. In fact, she has always been assured that men have no use for women who look like her at all. No man prizes personality above beauty, Pen knows this, and whatever else he is, Colin is most definitely a man. A handsome, desirable, sweet, kind, funny man who now has most of the Ton’s ladies chasing after him.
And yet…
She thinks of the way he touched her tonight, the way he looked at her.
Her stupid heart keeps insisting that it means something.
She thinks of the relief, the joy in his eyes when she stroked his skin and tugged his hair, and something deep within her keeps whispering that one does not react to a friend’s caresses like that.
He had looked so… blissful.
So handsome.
So besotted.
And then she thinks of the fury in his eyes at Fife’s behaviour, thinks of the gentle, soothing way he’d held her when she escaped and yes: There it is again. Her traitorous heart is once again convinced that he will call on her tomorrow. That he will talk to her mother. That he meant what he said about courting her.
She lies in bed and doesn’t get a wink of sleep. She knows it’s her own damn fault.
It makes her want to scream.
Or at least it does when she’s not remembering how it felt to finally kiss Colin Bridgerton, how he tasted, how he moved against her, how he sounded when he said he wished to court her...
Again, Penelope thinks, Drat.
No wonder she can’t sleep.
She must eventually fall asleep, for she’s woken by Rae early the next morning.
“Mr. Bridgerton is here to see you, Miss,” she says. She has a pleased, knowing little smile on her face. “He’s waiting for you downstairs, in the morning room-
What gown would you like to wear to receive him?”
Half asleep, discombobulated, it takes rather longer than it should have for Rae’s words to penetrate Pen’s brain, and as soon as they do she finds herself in a flutter. (She does not, in general, flutter, and especially not before breakfast). Still-
“My new turquoise day dress,” she says.
“The one with the teal and pink flowers?”
“That’s the one.” Colin had complimented her the first time he saw her wearing it, and it is looser and more flowing than much of the rest of her new wardrobe.
The thought of not being squeezed into something tight is particularly pleasing today.
With her usual efficiency Rae dresses her mistress before seating her in front of her vanity and brushing her hair. She sets it in a simple, loose style and, at Pen’s request, forgoes adding any cosmetics other than her usual perfume. (Pen has not forgotten Varley’s warning about lipstick, a warning which her newfound tendency to start kissing Colin willy-nilly makes particularly apropos.)
“You look lovely, Miss,” Rae says with another smile. “Mr. Bridgerton won’t be able to help himself.”
In Pen’s experience men absolutely did know how to help themselves where she was concerned, but she smiles and nods. Her maid is only trying to help. “Thank you, Rae,” she says and the girl bobs a curtsy, throwing her an encouraging grin before exiting.
Pen feels something between touched and mortified at the sight.
Steeling herself, she takes a deep breath and makes her way downstairs. She keeps her head held high and her shoulders back, lest she should be tempted to shirk from whatever this interview has in store. She is still entirely convinced that it may end in heartbreak. She opens the door to the day room to find Colin on his feet pacing, hands behind his back. He’s wearing perfectly clean, perfectly snug breeches matched with a white shirt and a waist-coat of dark green silk which contrasts with her own dress perfectly- One night almost think that he dressed to match her, but of course that is ridiculous.
What is also ridiculous, Pen thinks, that he appears to have slept like a baby.
“Pen!” He says when he sees her. He rushes over to her, about to embrace her only to stop a foot short and remember his manners. He bows and she extends her hand to him.
To her delight he leans down and kisses it.
“You look lovely,” he says and as always Pen’s stomach twists at having to remind herself that compliments about her appearance are a mere social nicety and not a statement of anyone’s actual opinion- And certainly not Colin Bridgerton’s.
Still-
“Thank you, Colin,” she says. She can feel her cheeks reddening. “You look very well too.” He grins at her words and it’s adorable. That little voice from last night, the little voice which had told her to launch herself at him like Wellington launched himself at the French, it’s starting to whisper all sorts of mischief in her ear and it is only with great sternness that she manages to ignore it- She will ignore it-
“You’re here early,” she says instead, taking a seat.
She offers him a cup, trying to ignore the brush of his hand against hers when he accepts. Trying also to ignore the embarrassing way her cup and saucer shake slightly in her hand because of that touch.
She is not entirely successful in either pursuit.
Rather than dwell she turns her attention to breaking her fast. Cook- bless her- has provided a pot of coffee rather than tea this morning, as well as an array of her favourite pastries and some hot drinking chocolate. This is either an attempt to help her eat through her upcoming heartache or a vote of support from the staff and again Pen feels something between touched and mortified.
She’s not sure which is more embarrassing.
Nevertheless she ascertains what Colin would like- “Drinking chocolate, please,” he says, “I doubt more coffee is a good idea.”
Pen blinks. “You’ve had coffee already this morning?”
He looks chagrined. “Well… I have been awake since six,” he says. A sheepish grin. “I must own, I was rather too excited to sleep, Pen.” Another grin. “I haven’t yet spoken to Mother but I have spoken to Anthony about us.”
And he looks at her from beneath his lashes, that boyish grin still on his face. Pen’s heart skips a beat at his words, at the way he’s looking at her. At the fact that he says he actually told his elder brother of his plan to court her.
It all feels a little… unreal.
Without her quite willing them to, her eyes flicker down to his lips, parted slightly and looking just as kissable as the night before... Colin’s breath catches- so he’s noticed what she’s looking at- and he licks his lips in answer.
Suddenly, amazingly, the morning room seems rather… stuffy.
“Pen…” he says and his voice has dropped.
God, the things it does to her.
“Colin…” Trying to hold onto her sanity, Pen looks away and fusses over the pot of drinking chocolate, pouring a cup for herself and then one for Colin. Trying desperately to pretend that she’s neither rattled nor aroused by this charming little tête-à-tête of theirs.
“Was Anthony’s answer favourable?”
Colin grins. He looks delighted with himself, and despite herself Pen smiles.
“It was.” He puts down his cup and comes to kneel in front of her, taking her hand in his. “He said it was more than overdue, actually.“ And holding Pen’s gaze Colin takes both her hands in his and brings them to his his lips, kissing them. At her indrawn breath- she cannot seem to help herself- he starts stroking his thumb over her knuckles, his eyes hot and eager on hers. “To be honest,” he murmurs, “I think Anthony rather likes the idea of you becoming a Bridgerton- We all do.”
Pen flushes despite herself. “I should rather like to become a Bridgerton too,” she says, her voice breathless.
Colin leans in, his breath teasing her mouth. His eyes are burning on hers. “Well, since the idea appeals to you…” And slowly, slowly he leans in and, at her tiny nod, he kisses her. It feels every bit as delicious as it had the night before but gentler too. Sweeter. Less desperate. He sighs in pleasure, tilting his head and deepening the kiss; Pen reciprocates, her hands sliding shyly up to stroke his arms, his chest. One strays over his sternum and she can feel it, she can feel how hard is heart is hammering…
“Colin…” she murmurs.
“Pen…” he murmurs back. “God, Pen, you’re just so…”
The moment is broken by a loud bang in the hallway outside as the parlour door smacks smartly open. “This way, Ma’ame,” Varley says, her voice far louder than is needed. “They’re in the morning room.”
Recognising the warning, Colin and Pen spring apart like scalded cats, returning to their respective chairs.
Despite themselves they start giggling.
Lady Featherington sails in, looking distinctly irritated at being awoken so early and distinctly disinterested in pretending otherwise. (In fairness, Pen thinks, she may simply be bottle weary from the night before… Lord knows, Prudence and Phillipa are probably similarly afflicted this morning).
Her gaze falls on Pen, thence to Colin, and her eyes narrow.
They fix on her caller and (wisely) Colin stands. Swallows. Bows to her.
One does not bait a bear in her cave.
“Lady Featherington,” he says. “Thank you for seeing me at such an early hour, it is most gracious.”
She gives him a tight smile. “I am gracious by default, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says. “Now may I inquire why I you are in my house so early this morning?” A glance at Penelope. “And may I assume that it has something to do with my daughter?”
Colin nods, trying on his most charming smile. It has absolutely no effect on Portia, as Pen could have told him it would not. “Indeeed it does, Lady Featherington,” he says. He takes a deep breath, smiling at Pen before turning his attention back to her mother. “I have come here this morning to ask for your permission to court Miss Featherington.”
Portia cocks an eyebrow. “Have you, now?”
Her tone is not promising.
Colin notices but soldiers on. “I have already asked for my brother’s blessing,” he continues, “and the Viscount assures me that nothing would make him happier than my pursuing Miss Penelope’s hand in matrimony-“
“This is rather early in the morning,” Portia says flatly. “You were up before even the servants apparently, and you’ve already spoken to your brother.” Again she narrows her eyes, fixing Colin with a beady stare. “Mr. Bridgerton, may I inquire just what scandal you are trying to get ahead of here?”
Pen gasps. “Mama!” She says. “Please, do not be so rude.”
“It’s alright, Pen,” Colin says. “Your mother is just trying to see to your welfare, I understand that.” He turns his attention back to Portia. “I know that after last night my interest in Penelope may seem sudden, Lady Featherington, perhaps suspiciously so,” he says stiffly. “I know also that my behaviour this season- and some of the company I have been keeping- might give a mother pause when considering me as a prospect for her daughter-“
“Oh don’t be ridiculous,” Portia snaps. “Nobody will care about that- they thought it odder when you weren’t acting the rake.” Colin’s jaw tightens at the insult but he says nothing. “What I am asking you, Mr. Bridgerton,” Portia says, “is what piece of scandal have you attached to my daughter which I will now, presumably, have to manage for her?”
“Scandal?” Colin says. “Why do you assume that there is a scandal?”
“Because I am not an imbecile.” Portia throws her hands heavenward, standing. Pacing. Pen recognises the beginnings of a truly epic tantrum and she can’t think of any way to warn Colin or get him out of it. “Forgive me for being blunt,” Portia is saying, “but you, Mr. Bridgerton, are handsome, rich, charming and sought-after. My daughter is none of those things. You could have your pick of the Ton, so if you are settling for-“
“Settling for? SETTLING FOR?”
Pen blinks: she has never heard Colin sound so angry before, not even when he was dealing with Cousin Jack. Not even when he was dealing with Lord Fife.
Portia stops and blinks too, apparently shocked. She opens her mouth to retort but Colin speaks over her.
“Lady Featherington,” he bites out, “forgive me, but I must ask that you stop insulting the woman I wish to marry.”
Portia tries to interrupt again but he speaks over her again with nary a pause.
“Your daughter Penelope is kind, funny, clever and charming,” he says. “She lights up any room she enters and she improves any party she joins. While she may not be the sort of young lady whom the Ton regards as a Diamond of the First Water- and what an insipid phrase that is!- she is something infinitely more valuable, and more precious. She is herself. She is Pen- And she will be my Pen, if I have anything to say about it.”
He narrows his eyes at Portia.
“I need no scandal hanging over my head to want that, and any person of sense would understand as much.”
He straightens up, extending a hand to Pen. “Will you have me?” he asks.
There can be only one answer to that.
“I will,” Pen says. “I will, with pleasure.”
And without hesitation she rises and takes his hand. Her heart flutters as Colin presses a kiss to it. He looks deeply into her eyes and murmurs, “the only one settling here is you, Penelope,” before kissing her knuckles again. To her great embarrassment she feels her eyes prick with tears at his words.
“We are neither of us settling, Colin,” she says. “I can assure you of that.”
And then, in front of her Mama and Varley, she leans up and kisses Colin.
He kisses her back and It. Is. Glorious.
When they pull apart they’re both grinning like idiots. They’re both giggling. Colin tucks a stray curl behind her ear and presses his forehead to hers.
“I shall take such good care of you,” he whispers. “And I shall make you so very happy, Pen.” He glances at Portia and his eyes harden. “Have I convinced you of the ardency of my suit yet, Lady Featherington?” he asks archly. “Or must I extol your daughter’s many virtues further?”
For once in her life the redoubtable Portia Featherington looks shocked. No, Pen thinks- She looks lost for words. She keeps opening her mouth and closing it, rather like a fish.
It is an image which Pen knows will amuse her for the rest of her life.
“If my daughter is happy to court you, Mr Bridgerton,” she says eventually, “then I see no reason why I would stop her.” A glance at Pen. “It’s not as if I think she’s going to do better-”
Colin opens his mouth to argue but Varley of all people interrupts.
“Miss Penelope, Mr. Bridgerton,” she says. “Might I suggest a promenade through the park to Bridgerton House?
And you can share the happy news with any of the Bridgerton family who have not yet been informed.”
Colin looks ready to argue but Pen squeezes his hand and he stops. Looks at her. “Let’s go to Bridgerton House,” she says. “I should like to be present when you tell your mother, at least.” He peers at her in that way he has, that way that always makes Pen feel like she is the only person in the world he is interested in talking to. It has long been the bane of her existence, that look, for it has fed many an ardent fantasy which she had assumed would never come to pass.
Now though, she sees him raise his eyebrows in question: Are you sure?
“I am sure,” she says. She squeezes his hand again- trust me- and he nods, almost as if he understands precisely what she meant to say.
“Very well then,” he says more loudly. “Let us away to Bridgerton House- I shall wait while you collect a shawl for the journey.”
Knowing damn well that it would be unwise to leave Colin and her mother alone right now, Pen shakes her head. “It’s only across the park,” she says. “And it’s a fine morning: we can walk.”
She slips her arm into his, the message obvious: With a nod and a smile at her, as well as one at Varley, he leads Pen off to Bridgerton House.
A/N What do you think? Leave a lil review :-)