Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE: SNAKE STONE
The next few weeks pass peacefully- Well, as peacefully as can be when one is suddenly being courted by the love of one’s life.
And Pen can admit that she is certainly being courted: Colin calls almost every day (much to her Mama’s chagrin). He walks out with her, arm in hers while her maid and one of his brothers or Kate walks behind them as chaperone, almost every unmarried miss in the Ton shooting Pen glares.
She doesn’t like to admit it, but Pen loves that.
Colin still writes to her, too, though these missives are delivered to Rae and not to her. Now that they are courting, it would apparently be scandalous if their correspondence of more than five years were discovered- They both regularly joke as much in their letters.
Colin brings her small presents too, flowers and little cakes and books he thinks she will like. One day he turns up with a small, spiralling piece of rock which he calls an ammonite: Apparently such so-called “snake stones,” are to be found in abundance along the Dorset Coast. He bought this one from a girl who scoured the cliffs there, hunting them.
“Fascinating young woman,” he says as he shows the object to Pen. “The next time I visit I shall be sure to bring you along to meet her.”
Pen grins at that, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of Colin wanting to travel with her, even if only to Dorset. What else might be possible, if they were together and married? With gentle hands Colin takes out the ammonite and shows it to her: He has had it set in gold, with a small hoop through which is threaded a green silk ribbon.
“The ribbon is only for today,” he says. “I simply couldn’t wait to give it to you, but I must own that I’ve yet to find the right gold chain to hold it-”
“The ribbon is so pretty,” she says. She can feel a blush forming. “And, and you chose it for me.” She beams up at him. “I should really like to keep it as it is, since you chose it for me, Colin…”
“As you wish.”
And Colin grins down at her like she’s given him a bucket of treacle. Carefully checking that they are alone except for Benedict (who has singularly failed to behave as their chaperone all day), he leans down and kisses her. Gently. Tenderly.
As always, it had makes her toes curl in her slippers.
She breathes in deeply, kissing him back, her hands reaching up to stroke his nape as he playfully nips her lower lip…
And then Benedict clears his throat. Loudly.
“Sorry, lovebirds,” he says, “but we have company coming.”
And as if summoned by witchcraft, two young girls and their mothers appear to their right, having apparently spotted the Benedict Bridgerton and realised that he is alone and might therefore be both waylaid and husbanded.
Immediately Colin offers Pen his arm and joins his brother, pretending not to notice the disappointed mien of each debutante and Mama.
“Shall we, brother?” He asks and of course Benedict, he and Pen stride away, talking softly.
The debutantes glare at Pen as if she were personally responsible for their plight, and it makes her smile a little.
There’s a reason she’s Lady Whistledown.
They get approximately twenty steps away when Colin stops and turns to her. “Since you like the ribbon so much,” he says, “might I be allowed to place your present around your neck?”
And he holds up the ammonite. Pen blushes but nods, turning around so that he can slip the necklace around her neck. Gently he sets aside her hair, sliding it over her other shoulder before taking the ammonite and placing it against her heart. He takes the two ends of the green silk ribbon and ties them together before putting her hair back as it was and smoothing it out a little.
All this he does with the utmost gentleness while behind her, she can hear Benedict teasingly tell Colin that he’s adorable.
“If I murder you, Benedict,” Colin says, “then Pen will help me hide the body, won’t you?”
“Pen wouldn’t do that,” Benedict counters. “She clearly likes me better.”
And he grins that grin that sets all the girls a-flutter.
Pen shakes my head, amused. “For your information, my Bridgerton pecking order goes: Eloise, Colin, Kate, Daphne, Hyacinth and then you.” Both Bridgerton boys are scoffing now. She grins at Colin. “On the other hand, this Bridgerton has just given me a beautiful gift and is courting me, so he may be edging into the lead…’
Benedict playfully presses a hand to his heart. “You wound me, Miss Featherington,” he says, “but I understand: Eloise is clearly the most superior of Bridgertons.”
She and Colin laugh and he does that most Benedict of things: he beams as if he’s delighted with the entire universe. Pen sometimes wonders whether he’s figured out that that good-natured, boyish grin is precisely why so many Mamas have set their cap at him.
Judging by how often he does it, the answer is clearly no.
Still laughing he gestures courteously, indicated that Colin and Pen should go before him and he will once again drop back to the respectable(ish) chaperone position behind. All three are so distracted by his antics that they don’t even notice the figues in front of them until they nearly walk into them. Colin accidentally brushes against the woman of the pair and turns to apologise, only to come face to face with-
“Marina!”
Immediately he bows and apologizes. “Forgive me, Lady Crane,” he says. “I-I was distracted and did not see you.”
“And what has you distracted, Bridgerton?” The man beside Marina, whom Pen assumes is Sir Phillip Crane, gives him a friendly smile and holds out his hand in greeting. Colin shakes it, introducing Benedict and Penelope before engaging Sir Phillip in eager conversation concerning olive oil and the isles of Greece. When Benedict tries to wander off Colin and Crane rope him into the conversation, leaving Pen to try and martial her manners as she turns her attention to her cousin.
“Hello, Penelope,” Marina says mildly, a wary but friendly enough smile on her face. “You are looking well.”
“Thank you.” A glance down at her pale jade dress. “For once I do not look like I have been waylaid by a sunbeam.”
Pen looks up at Marina and she doesn’t want to, but she feels a little sick. Not for the sight of her cousin, exactly, but for the sudden reminder of who she is and what she’d done three years ago. For the sudden reminder of what her wayward, wild feelings for Colin had caused to her bring about. She knows she can’t say that, though, so she forces herself to smile and curtsy.
A fraction later, Marina returns the gesture, though hers is not so deep.
“You look very well, too,” Pen says, pretending not to notice. “What brings you to London?”
”A doctor’s appointment,” Marina says. “Sir Phillip- He is rather a worrier, and well…” She gestures to her belly, which is noticeably rounded.
“Oh, congratulations!” This Pen knows how to do. “You must be delighted: How soon are you expecting?”
“Quite a few months from now,” Marina says. Her tone is oddly… listless, it seems to Pen. Her glance strays to Colin, who is now busily conversing with Sir Phillip. “You appear to have something worth celebrating, too,” she says and Pen can’t hide her blush.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes, Colin and I are courting.” At hearing his name spoken he looks over at her and winks, making her grin despite herself, before he returns his attention to talk of olive groves. (Benedict appears to be planning some sort of escape strategy.)
When she looks back at Marina the young woman’s smile is softer though, more genuine.
“I am glad to hear that,” Marina says quietly. “And I am glad that he has finally had the sense to see you.”
“Thank you.”
A beat of silence stretches out, and Pen stares at this young woman for whom she had once held such vitriol, and then such pity. She just doesn’t know what else to say. Marina seems well: she still has her beautiful figure and gorgeous face, though both are fuller than they were when she lived with the Featheringtons. On the other hand, Pen muses, she probably has less worry in her life now that she has married and found a father for her first child, with another on the way. She probably has a perfectly normal, perfectly happy life now, one with few if any regrets…
And yet…
Pen looks at her and she cannot shake the sense that something is missing, no, that something is wrong in the way Marina looks at her. Gone is the fire in her eyes, which, however little she wanted to admit, Pen had so admired. Gone is the girl who had spit insults at her and schemed and wanted. Gone is the fierce girl she knew. Beautiful Marina might still be, and respectable certainly, but there is something about her which just seems… off.
She just can’t put her finger on it, and that is unusual for her.
“Well,” Marina says, clearing her throat. “I should go and rescue your companions before Phillip tries to ship them back to our estate as experimental subjects.”
It’s meant to be a joke, Pen knows, but there is still an odd bite to it.
Nevertheless she holds her tongue, nodding and taking Colin’s arm. He recognises the prompt and nods, tipping his hat to Lord and Lady Crane.
Benedict does too, only Benedict looks relieved by it.
“Lovely to see you both again,” Marina says to both she and Colin. A nod to Benedict. “And of course to you, Mr. Bridgerton.” There’s something unreadable in her eyes, something which Pen can tell Colin definitely sees.
She wishes she could ask him about it, but of course right now she cannot.
“The same to you, Lady Crane, Lord Crane,” he says, and then he’s strolling quite purposefully away, his arm in Pen’s.
Benedict walks on the other side of them.
“Well,” Benedict says bracingly, “that went as well as could be expected.” Pen and Colin hmm in agreement, but it is obvious that both their thoughts are elsewhere. The elder Bridgerton shoots his brother a look but says nothing; Pen would bet good money that he’ll ask him about what he’s thinking as soon as they leave her back to Featherington House.
At least he will have someone he can talk to, she thinks.
For Pen has nobody she can talk to about this, nobody at all. While she and Eloise’ friendship is on the mend, that is because neither of them ever bring up Lady Whistledown. The most that El has done is warn Pen that if she and Colin become engaged, he will have to be told. She hasn’t even threatened to do it, she has just made it clear it will have to be done.
The thought keeps Pen quiet the entire way home.
For it occurs to Pen that she hasn’t really let herself think about what it means, that she is Lady Whistledown, and that she is apparently in the running to marry Colin Bridgerton. If anyone had asked her she would have claimed that it’s because it doesn’t matter, but while Pen may be many things a liar is not one of them: However much the truth hurts, she always tries to face it.
And the truth is that being Lady Whistledown does matter, and will certainly matter to Colin. His own story is so mixed up in that of the woman they met today, in the scandal which had nearly enveloped both the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons, that there is no way his feelings would not engaged, were he to find out that Pen is at their root. Anyone who would let herself think that doesn’t know Colin at all, and if there’s one person Pen definitely knows, it’s Colin.
And yet, and yet…
Alone in her bedroom, Pen flops back onto her bed and thinks, thinks, thinks. Today has forced her to face something she has been running from since the courtship started: she will have to tell Colin her secret. But how will she do that? How will she tell Colin that she is Lady Whistledown? And what will he do when he finds out? That’s the real mystery. Will he accept her? Will he demand she stop? Or will he see her as mercenary and hard-hearted, as responsible for the much-altered Marina they met today? She doesn’t know, and she’s afraid to find out.
She can’t bear the thought of losing him.
Pen tosses and turns. She stands, paces, then flops back on the bed. She doesn’t know what to do, and she always knows what to do about Colin.
This confusion feels wretched.
As always, when she finds herself with a problem she picks up pen and paper and starts writing, churning out her thoughts, working her way through them. So long does this take that she falls asleep at her desk, flopped over her writing; when she jerks awake she has a long smudge of ink on her face and her fingers are blue. There’s even ink in her hair.
She shuffles off to bed, half asleep; more from habit than anything else she folds the writing over, lest anyone read what it says.
When she wakes up the next morning, however, the paper is missing- Because of course it is.