Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was a comfort, a peculiar solace, and a sense of familiarity that Colin found when he was traveling.

He’d come to love this sensation, the feeling of drifting upon a foresign sea from an untethered and unanchored vessel. This experience did not bring him comfort because it made him feel good, it felt comforting because it was familiar. Colin had never been a stranger to this feeling. Much like these ships, Colin Bridgerton had always meant to sail away and to drift further. He was never meant to find a harbor and make homes there. Colin Bridgerton was not made to belong. 

His parents had met in the bloom of youth, their friendship kindling into love, and soon after, his mother was blessed with his elder brothers, Anthony and Benedict. In those early years, his parents kept their family close-knit, a small, intimate circle of four. Anthony and Benedict grew inseparable, to the point where one might mistake them for twins were it not for their distinct physical appearances: each inherited features from their mother's side—Anthony bearing the visage of her father, and Benedict that of her maternal uncle.

Colin entered this world seven years after Benedict, by which time their parents had garnered enough wisdom from raising their two eldest sons, applying the lessons learned from raising Anthony and Benedict to him and his sisters, who were born in quick succession. Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca had arrived within five years after Colin’s birth. Father often jested that the four of them constituted Violet and Edmund Bridgerton’s second batch of children. Born and nurtured during the years when Edmund ascended to the title of Viscount Bridgerton and just as when Violet had finally established herself in society as the Viscountess, blooming from a wallflower to a glamorous lady, looked up and envied by others in the ton. 

But even then, amidst all the familial bliss, Colin already felt as though he were adrift in some unknown sea whenever he was with his siblings. Anthony and Benedict, being considerably older, often deemed him too young to partake in their pursuits. Their so-called ventures into the realm of ‘manhood’ were inaccessible to Colin, who, in Anthony’s very words, was “barely out of his nappies.” Never mind the fact those two were still on the cusp of childhood themselves, they had acted as though they’ve got decades above him. 

So Colin attempted to find solace in the company of his sisters. Much closer to him in age, Colin indulged them by playing with their toys and dolls, willing to be whatever knights or princes Daphne asked him to be. He pretended to be a tree so that Eloise could swing around him, he taught himself how to sing because Francesca needed him to harmonize her pianoforte. Colin let his sisters mold him into whatever or whoever they fancied; anything or anyone they wanted him to be, he did and he did not even mind being considered as one of the girls.

Well, until Benedict was quick to tease him that he might turn into one lest he spent too much time in their presence. Colin remembered the tears brimming, and how he’d vehemently forced himself not to cry because certainly Benedict would see his tears as a sign that Colin had already begun turning into a girl.

Colin did not even remember that Mother was within their vicinity until her reprimands to Benedict quelled the sting from his jibes. Yet, his brother’s words had already etched themselves deeply into Colin’s mind. Colin did not belong with the girls either. Far from just him not wanting to become one of them, they would never see him as one of themselves.

No one in the family had even realized that Colin was an outlier. He’s a solitary figure on the periphery of their presence. Always too young to earn the privilege of joining his brothers’ hunts and fencing matches with their father. Often left a bystander sitting by his mother’s side with a book on his lap as they watched the boys– no, the elder boys play fighting on the ground. Wishing silently that one day Colin would be deemed worthy enough of their inclusion. 

Colin watched from the sidelines as his father trained and taught Anthony to grow into a suitable Viscount and Benedict into his capable second. He watched them going on hunting excursions, fencing lessons, and horse riding, all the things that could be taught from a father to his sons were bestowed by Edmund to his brothers. Colin could only pray for the time to pass faster so his turn would finally come: so that Father would look his way and ask him to join them. 

Just for once, Colin had prayed, just for once that he’d finally feel that he belonged. 

Anthony would often whine and complain whenever the household received the rare visits from their Bridgerton relatives; the cousins, aunts, and uncles who had known Father since he was a mere boy. Anthony hated making small polite talks while Benedict despised being gushed over by the aunts, but Colin, rather pathetically, looked forward to these visits. For when they came, with their fond memories and discerning eyes, they would never forget to point out just how alike Colin was to his father. They resembled each other so much that one great uncle was certain Colin would pass off as Edmund’s much younger twin fifteen years from now. 

Colin still remembered vividly the feel of his father’s large hand ruffling his hair, the same shade that Daphne would always liken to chocolate, the same curls, his laughter ringing through the drawing with genuine joy and genuine pride. One that he often gave out whenever Anthony or Benedict almost bested him at fencing. 

“I only hope that he’ll be a better man than I,” Father had said, his voice filled with so much warmth that Colin regretted he did not cling to it any harder. 

“Anthony might be your heir and Benedict your spare, Ed,” the great uncle commented amusedly as he helped himself with another sip of tea, “But young Colin here is the first child of yours who looks like a Bridgerton! No offense, my sweet Violet, but your two eldest all bear the look of Ledgers” 

Mother did not find any offense at the comment, her eyes lit up as she gazed at Colin, the adoration in her eyes loud, her smile tender and filled with pride. Her eyes danced between her third son and her husband, she stared at them as if she was soaking every sight deep into her memories. Colin did not know much about love then, but he had seen how Mother would look at little Francesca in her arms, and Colin always wondered if she’d ever looked at him like that when he was a babe too. 

At that moment though, Colin had stopped wondering. For the first time, Colin understood the look of love and for once, he truly felt that he belonged. 

-

It felt as if the universe had listened to every one of his prayers: that time would soon pass. That he’d grow fast, and Father would finally allow him to be one of the boys, that Anthony and Benedict would look past his age and count him as one of them. And soon, they began to. Finally, Colin was allowed to go on their hunting trips, finally, Father gave him his first sword, finally Colin heard that laugh Father let out when Colin bested him in his fencing lessons. At last, Colin was part of the ABC of the Bridgerton boys. 

Oh, how Colin had immersed himself too much in these boyish activities that he had forsaken the books that used to keep him company whenever his siblings left him out. How he craved so desperately to be accounted as one of the boys he had forgotten the one lesson constantly repeated in those books: one must always be careful of what one wishes for. 

In his desperation to mature quickly and find his place, Colin had prayed for time to hasten its course. The universe had so generously granted him this wish, so generously that just as Colin was finally allowed to bask in the comfort of his father’s attention and approval, Edmund Bridgerton was no more. 

Later, the wise adults of their extended families and their neighbors in the ton would always say that Father’s death was nothing more than an inevitable tragedy. That it was simply his time—his time to end, his time to pass. There was nothing anyone could have done, nothing Anthony could have done to prevent the bee’s sting, and no doctor, however masterful, could have cured Father. There was no one to blame for Edmund Bridgerton’s death but fate’s cruel hands.

But they did not know about Colin’s selfish wish. None of them knew that it was Colin who had begged the universe to fasten the time. None of them knew that it was all Colin’s fault, that he was the one who wanted time to pass quickly and in doing so had let fate take their father faster than it should have.

He had watched from the stairs of their estate’s porch, petrified and helpless, as his father breathed his last in his mother’s embrace. His entire body was frozen on the cold concrete, his mind so foolish for thinking he had been equal to Anthony and Benedict, for imagining that his childish self could have done something to help. 

Colin was nothing but a weak coward, rendered immobile, unable to do anything but watch as his eldest brother, with bloodshot eyes, a pale face, and trembling hands, was forced to transform from an eager boy seeking approval into a traumatized Viscount expected to rule. He watched as Benedict took over Anthony’s role, transitioning from the silly second brother to the responsible eldest, ushering the girls and little Gregory back into the house, cradling them in his embrace while struggling to keep his own tears at bay. Colin could do nothing but watch as he was once again adrift in the sea. Of no help and no use. 

And then slowly, he witnessed a part of his mother’s soul wrenched away just as Father’s life had been. The once vibrant and cheerful angel faded into a mere shell of a mortal. Her smile was no more; her laughter was now a string of sobs and cries. Colin felt the boat that carried him back into the sea sail further away as the void left by his father grew larger, too wide and too dark, shrouding them all like a black cloud.

But it was not this void that finally drowned Colin in the deep trench of the ocean. It was his mother’s eyes. It was how even little Hyacinth could not rouse life back in her gaze, how her glances at Anthony and Benedict remained equally empty, her eyes bereft of warmth as they fell upon her daughters and Gregory. And perhaps most agonizing of all, was the pain emerging in Mother’s eyes whenever she looked at him.

It would forever be carved into his memory, the way Mother came down from her chamber, draped in all black– she would forgo her graceful blue Bridgerton colors in favor of mourning attire for the next year– as she braced herself to christen her baby daughter without the presence of her husband. Mother’s face was solemn; she paid the guests– close friends and family only– small, polite smiles and acknowledgment. They were all lining up from the entrance hall of the estate, carriages drawn ready awaiting at the gates to carry them all to the nearest chapel.

Mother forced herself to smile, her left hand clutching Anthony, her right hand on the back of baby Hyacinth’s nursemaid, keeping her youngest child close. Colin watched her trail her eyes around, as she always did when counting her children, a mother making sure her pack was complete. Benedict was a couple of steps ahead, ushering the girls to stand behind Mother, who sighed in relief as she saw them. Colin, carrying little Gregory, only came into her vision once the rest of his siblings had moved to Mother’s side.

Colin didn’t know how to describe what he felt then, but now that he’d experienced swimming in a nearly frozen lake, the cold, the tinge, was very similar. He remembered how time had stilled when Mother’s eyes went from relief to paralyzed with fear. Her pupils dilated, the color drained from her cheeks, and her hands trembled as they flew to her mouth, trying to hide her sob. She looked at him as if he were her greatest fear, as if Colin had the bearings of the monsters in Daphne’s bedtime storybooks. He did not even know why; he wasn’t given time to process why, when suddenly Anthony ushered him back to the house and he wasn’t allowed to attend Hyacinth’s christening.

Later, they told him it was because Gregory was too little to withstand such a long and tiring ceremony and that Colin, being his big brother, was needed to watch over him. Colin knew Benedict was making up lies; Gregory was a calm child, certainly calmer than baby Hyacinth. He had no trouble staying asleep through a rainstorm, and whenever he cried, it was not much of a task to calm him down. But somehow, as Colin pretended to understand Benedict’s string of excuses and made-up truths, he found no strength to rebuke him. Somehow, he knew that believing the lie would be much better than finding out the truth.

Even when he did not understand the reason, even when he had screamed at himself, trying to find the courage to ask, to beg Anthony or Benedict to explain to him why Mother refused to look at him now, why she always glanced away when Colin entered the room, why was she so repulsed by him– Colin still could not be sure if he could bear to know the answer. So then he repressed this confusion, telling himself that his brothers were preoccupied with adult matters and had no time to indulge in his foolish childish fears. If Colin had to muffle his tears into his pillow when he realized that it had been four months since Father’s passing and four months since Mother had held him in her embrace, no one was ever to find out.

Yet the universe, in its capricious manner, had never failed to pay attention to his needs. As if to mock yet another of his foolish wishes, it finally answered this gnawing confusion in the form of Uncle Thomas. 

He was Father’s youngest brother who had been staying at the estate to assist Anthony in his transition to taking on Father’s mantle as the new Viscount. Uncle Thomas was making his rounds to bid his goodbye to his nephews and nieces when he discovered Colin in Gregory’s nursery one evening after supper. 

Colin had steadfastly refused to leave Gregory's side since Hyacinth’s christening. He told himself it was because he did not want Gregory to feel neglected, now that all attention had shifted toward the new baby. But at twelve years old, his mind was not naive enough to believe his own fabrications, yet this did not stop him from trying to convince himself he was doing all these for completely selfless reasons. Colin had maintained the facade, sticking to Gregory at all times, reading his neglected books to his little brother, and eating whenever it was time for Gregory to eat. 

In these moments, he secretly hoped that Mother would burst into the nursery, demanding Colin return to dine with the rest of his siblings and with her just like she used to years ago when Colin had been too engrossed in playing with little Francesca. But she didn’t. Because back then Colin was the one who lit up Mother’s eyes with his cheeky comments during dinner. Back then, Colin used to bring her joy. 

Now, she saw him and all he could see in her eyes were sorrow and pain. Now, her eyes no longer searched for him. Now, he was a sight for her to avoid and glance away from. 

"You know, your grandfather was greatly disappointed upon realizing that none of his sons inherited his knack for reading," Uncle Thomas remarked, as he carefully approached Gregory's cradle. Colin blinked, returning to the present. His uncle bent over to caress his brother's hair, cooing as Gregory let out an adorable sigh. Then, he glanced in Colin's direction, the corner of his mouth curling up. "I daresay he would be quite pleased to know that at least one of his grandsons has inherited it."

Unlike his Grandpapa Ledger, there was little for Colin to know about his Bridgerton Grandfather other than the fact that he had passed away just a couple of months before Colin was born. He cleared his throat, just to fill in the awkward silence. “I like it,” he finally said, his throat hoarse from reading to Gregory for hours now. “It takes me away” 

Uncle Thomas raised an eyebrow, “It takes you away?” 

Colin swallowed, trying not to squirm under the man’s questioning stare. “Sometimes when I read…” he began, “I can pretend that I’m not here and instead I’m inside the books with the characters,” 

Uncle Thomas hummed, nodding as he got up from Gregory’s cradle, walked towards Colin, and sat on the settee beside him. Hands on his knees, he tried to make himself smaller until his eyes were on the same level as Colin’s. "I am aware that all of you are still grieving, but I do miss your cheerful self, Colin," Uncle Thomas said, a sad smile appearing on his face. "You always knew how to brighten everyone’s mood, always knew just the clever thing to say to make others laugh. I hope to see that side of you again soon."

Colin wanted to scream then, to cry out and shout that that side of him hadn’t left, that he would be so, so eager to return to who he was before. But whom could he make laugh if none of his siblings and his mother even wanted to see him? He wished so desperately that he could make Eloise and Francesca laugh again but they have attached themselves to Daphne who had refused to leave Mother’s side since Father passed away and Mother–

His mother did not want to see him. 

“Gregory, he–” Colin murmured, pathetically using his little brother as a shield, “Everyone is preoccupied with Hycianth and Mother and he’s spent too much time with just the nursemaids alone so I thought I should accompany him until…” 

“Until everything becomes just like before?” Uncle Thomas said helpfully. 

Colin shrugged, casting his eyes back towards his book, his fingers scratching the edges. 

There was a long silence afterwards, as Uncle Thomas continued to study him. It should’ve been awkward, but the feeling of being adrift returned to Colin, and it made his heart beat a little too fast, where else could he belong if Gregory woke up and decided that he did not want Colin, too? 

“I know it is almost expected for a child to take after his parents,” Uncle Thomas observed, his eyes still trained onto Colin, though it felt as if he was looking at something further than just him. Colin felt his chest begin to tighten, and all he could remember was Mother’s eyes on that day on Hyacinth’s christening.  "But looking at you now, it feels as if I'm peering into a memory, as if I am living in one. You are so alike Edmund, Colin, not just in your appearance but in the way you care for Gregory,” then he smiled, his stare growing distant, “Ed refused to leave my side when everyone was too preoccupied gushing over your Aunt Eleanor when she was born. He didn't even ask if I was lonely; he just knew."

“Uncle Thomas,” Colin couldn’t help but finally ask the one question he dreaded the answer the most. But he knew he had to, he needed to know. “Do you know how old Father was when he met my mother?” 

His uncle appeared slightly taken aback, evidently not anticipating such a question from Colin. Who’s now digging his nails into the leathered book cover, so deep that would surely leave permanent damage. Colin bit the insides of his cheeks fiercely– silently chanting prayers in his head, hoping for a different answer–

"I suppose around your age," Uncle Thomas replied, unknowingly that he’d just confirmed his nephew’s worst nightmare. "I think they met at a gathering, though I forget whose it was. It likely occurred just a couple of days prior to Edmund’s twelfth nameday."

Colin's heart sank as the realization washed over him like a cold, relentless wave. Drowning slowly into a deep, frigid sea must have felt exactly like this. 

It feels as if I’m peering into a memory, Uncle Thomas had said. 

It all became painfully clear then, the dreadful question he did not even dare to entertain had been answered. When Mother looked at him, she did not see Colin. She was looking at a memory, an agonizing one of a ghost from her past haunting her every glance. 

You are so alike your father, child, in all your bearings and countenance. 

It was almost unnerving, how the very words that had once brought him warmth, comfort, and even pride now had the power to make him feel as though he wished to escape his own skin.

Every feature that he used to like about himself simply because it reflected his father’s comely and handsome appearance now felt like a curse. All of them were now a constant reminder of someone who would never return. Colin finally understood now, why Mother’s gaze had turned sorrowful, why she had tried to avoid him. It was not disdain or indifference; it was the unbearable pain of reliving a love lost, of seeing her beloved husband in the face of her son.

And somehow it was so much worse. 

Colin wished his mother had hated him, even longed for her disdain. At least if she hated his character, there would be a path to redemption, at least Colin knew how to mend his manners.

How could he ever remedy this? Anthony and Benedict could at least pretend not to embody their father's traits, to rid themselves of Father’s wit, wisdom, and habits. But Colin could never change the color of his eyes, he could never change his face, his nose, his ears– his everything that reminded Violet Bridgerton of her dead husband. All that Father had bestowed upon each of his siblings could be concealed, if only for a moment, to grant Mother a respite from her memories—everything except what he had passed on to Colin.

So then, it was decided. If he could not free himself from the constant reminder of his father to protect his mother from the pain, then he would have to be the one to rid himself of his family.

-

The acceptance letter from Eton arrived as a perfect solution. What had once filled Colin with dread, now offered him an escape. Soon he quickly packed his attire and belongings without having to be told to, even managing to surprise the household servants, who found his trunks prepared and sealed before they could offer their assistance. As he bid his farewells, it was Colin who averted his gaze from Mother's eyes, mustering only a brief hug before turning to embrace the girls and Gregory. He hoped that Mother would finally appreciate that he no longer clung to her as he once had. That as his every being yearned for her embrace, she’d find comfort in never having to see him again for a long time. 

At Eton, Colin found it lucky that he flourished in his academic pursuits. He excelled in the study of classical languages, literature, history, and mathematics, and thankfully it earned him approval from his teachers (and saved him scoldings from Anthony). His good-natured charm endeared him to many, solidifying his place as a favorite among his classmates. It was easy, he’d discovered, to push the gnawing grief to the back of his mind when he was too engrossed in the activity and commotion of his new school. The lively atmosphere of Eton provided such a welcome distraction, that he began to extend his stay over holidays and important dates, drowning himself in this new life of the school.

Eton had become almost like a fortress for Colin. Here he had found his sanctuary. In here, he didn’t have to face his family and relatives who would lay reminders of something he wished to bury. Spending his exeat at school meant he had the freedom to explore the vast libraries and indulge in books he wouldn’t gotten the chance to enjoy during school periods. 

Colin did find himself in a constant struggle to evade Anthony’s persistent requests for his presence at home, particularly for Mother’s name-day celebration. But Colin could not bring himself to comply. How could he, when he knew that Mother deserved true happiness, a happiness that would surely be marred by his very existence? How could she find joy if once her gaze fell upon Colin, she would be reminded again of an irreplaceable loss in her life that had destroyed her? 

He could no longer endure the once comforting words: You look so much like your father. Now, they rang hollow, a bitter reminder of the void left by his father's absence. And somehow, in his effort to avoid resembling him, Colin had gradually found it increasingly difficult to recall what his father looked like.

It had become a cruel mockery that Colin had grown into the exact likeness of a man he could barely remember. The looking glass in his dormitory felt like a source of fear. He was too frightened to gaze into it, lest he found a reflection that echoed his father's visage—a specter of the past that had rendered Colin a living ghost to his own mother.

-

It was a fortnight before his sixteenth birthday when Colin was abruptly dismissed from class by his teacher. Puzzled, he returned to his dormitory only to find Anthony standing inside, a look of expectant annoyance etched on his face, a permanent feature that refused to leave him since he became the Viscount. Sometimes Colin could not believe that there were only nine years between them, all the world’s burden had made Anthony a lot older than he was.

“Miss me, brother?” Anthony tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned on one foot, the other tapping rhythmically against the wooden floor. He was practically glaring daggers in Colin’s direction. Surely he must be enjoying this moment, for Colin had never given him any reason to be scolded for the past four years and now he finally had one. “Or have you forgotten who I am, seeing that you have refused to come home since you began your study here?”

Colin shifted his gaze away, arms crossing in front of his chest as he felt the walls of his dormitory closing in, trapping him. He tried to steady his breath, but the air felt thick with the weight of his brother's reproach.

“Next week you turn six and ten,” Anthony continued, his voice a blend of irritation and disappointment. “That’s the age when you transition from boyhood to manhood, and yet you still refuse to return home and celebrate such a milestone with your own family?”

“It’s just a birthday,” Colin mumbled, barely audible, his shoulders slumping. “It’s not really important.”

Anthony let out a bitter laugh, harsh and mirthless. “So you’re planning to celebrate it by exchanging letters with the rest of us, then?”

Colin shrugged again, attempting nonchalance despite his voice brittling. “I rather like letters.”

Anthony’s expression hardened, “You’re coming home, Brother,” he finally snapped, his tone brooking no argument. “At least set aside your selfishness for Mother and be aware that she has been missing you greatly."

Colin could physically feel his heart clenching at Anthony’s words, the insult biting deeper than his brother could have known. There was this feeling of adriftness again, of being taken by the harsh waves, pushed away from the place he wanted to be. Colin wanted nothing but to shout out the truth, to make Anthony understand that his absence was not born of selfishness, this was Colin trying to ease their mother’s pain. Surely Anthony would know how much the sight of Colin would pain her? Had he not been the one who told him to stay back at the estate for Hyacinth’s christening because Mother broke down after seeing Colin? How could he not understand that Colin’s existence will always be agony for their mother?

-

The journey home was marked by a profound and solemn quiet. Seething with anger and distress at his brother's unceremonious extraction of him from his school, yet unable to fully succumb to his ire, Colin chose to spend his time with tightly clenched fists gripping the edges of his book, jaw taut and eyes refusing to look at anywhere but the tales written. Fortunately, Anthony, perhaps out of a discerning recognition of Colin’s need for moment respite, or maybe simply due to an indifference to his younger brother’s petulant sulking, chose to leave him undisturbed throughout the entire ride.

Colin and Anthony arrived in Mayfair without much trouble. The sight of their red-bricked house did nothing to stop the growing thud against his chest. Colin let out a long, tiring exhale as he stepped onto the porch, his fists clenching and unclenching. Not knowing what to expect made all his worst fears run rampant inside his head. Colin had annoyed Anthony enough with his absence, and yet he wouldn’t be surprised if his eldest brother was the one who bore the least discontent towards him.

There were two new footmen whom Colin did not recognize awaiting them at their house’s entrance. Colin could only nod in acknowledgment and give them a brief smile before Anthony grabbed his arm and led him to the family’s drawing room.

The room was the same as he had remembered it: the walls washed in a delicate hue of blue, with intricate scrolls and floral motifs dancing from the upper edges across the ceilings. Tall sash windows on the other side of the door, framed in white and draped with swaths of sky-blue damask, allowed the morning sunlight to filter through the glass, illuminating the unassuming people lazily lounging on the armchairs and sofas. Colin's breath hitched for a second; it felt as if he were merely a spectator watching a painting before his very eyes.

Then the haze was broken by Anthony announcing his presence, “Look who has finally graced us with his return!” he called out to the entire room, and in an instant, Colin was enveloped in a flurry of greetings. His siblings swarmed around him, their embracnes and hearty parts came flooding in like a warm summer breeze that had become foreign to him. Colin held his gaze on each of his siblings, trying to sink in the fack that the faces he once knew had subtly shifted as the years passed. But it seemed that his sentiment was shared too, there were gasps and astonished eye squints at his now matured face and taller stature. 

“You were barely half a palm taller than me the last time I saw you,” Daphne lamented, pulling back from their embrace to survey him with wide eyes. She glanced from Colin to Benedict, her mouth forming a playful pout, “Now you’re only half a palm away from Ben’s height!”

Colin offered a sheepish smile, grateful that the exhaustive hours spent with the Cricket team and playing Fives during his free periods had borne fruit. “And I might yet grow taller,” he quipped, casting a teasing glance at Benedict, “Unlike some.”

“Hey!” Benedict exclaimed, punctuating his words with a firm smack to the back of Colin’s head, “Not even an hour here, you already mocking me?” 

“Finally, we have someone more unbearable than you, Eloise,” Francesca remarked cheekily, causing Colin to emit a very ungentlemanly snort. 

“I see that Eloise’s cheek has rubbed off on you, Frannie,” Colin responded, voice laced with amusement. 

Eloise rolled her eyes and playfully hit Francesca on the arm, “Oh, she can only wish!” 

Their conversation soon devolved into a dissonance of overlapping voices, each sibling trying to outdo the other. Colin, who had almost forgotten how such informality was the norm back home, felt an unexpected warmth spread through his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his family until this very moment. Didn’t know how could he survive not being in their presence for this long. 

As the group began to disperse, Colin caught a glimpse of red hair in the midst of familiar shades of brown. He froze, recognizing a stranger who didn’t feel like one, surrounded by his siblings in the drawing room. He saw Eloise tugging on the girl, whose flaming mane danced behind her small frame as his sister dragged her further into the back of the room. It seemed as if Eloise were trying to keep her away from the rest of the family, from him. Colin’s mouth opened to shout for them to stop; he knew this girl, and remembered her vividly. He—

“Colin!” His mother’s cry wrenched his focus away. The sound of her voice, which he had both yearned for and dreaded to hear, pulled him back to his surroundings with a jolt. Time had aged her, he could see subtle wrinkles on the corner of her eyes, but even so, it still stood no chance against her beauty, for she was not just as, if not more beautiful than she had ever been. 

“Oh, my son!” she cried out once more, pulling him into her embrace. Her arms, which once could wrap around him completely, now barely met each other on his back. He felt her hand travel from his nape to his shoulder, ruffling his locks as she pulled him closer, until he could breathe in her familiar scent. He felt his eyelids began to burn as his throat tightened. An overwhelming urge to cry surged within him. It had been precisely four years and five months and three days since Mother had embraced him like this, and it had been just as long since Father had left them all for good. 

A sudden realization dawned upon Colin, and it made the blood in his veins run cold. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to reel in the warmth of his mother’s embrace, not when she would still feel pain if she saw him. He couldn’t bear to witness them again, the hurt and the agony, especially knowing that it was he who inflicted it on her. 

So, just as swiftly as Mother had drawn him into her arms, Colin wrenched himself away. Keeping his gaze downwards to avoid her eyes. “Forgive me, Mother,” he murmured, his voice strained. “I should like to return to my room and freshen up. I do not wish you to see me in such a state.”

He didn’t even dare to allow himself to see Mother’s confused gaze and his sibling’s questioning stares as he ran upstairs to his bedchamber. 

Colin could only hope that she would be grateful for him sparing her another moment of anguish.

-

Before Colin knew it, his name-day arrived in a blink of an eye. 

He afforded himself no moment of rest. He made sure to arrive late to the breakfast room after Mother had left for the modiste. He spent the entire day bothering Daphne until she practically expelled him from the music room. He then played rounds with Gregory until the sun set and read to Hycinth until supper, which he devoured from the comfort of his own bedchamber. Thankfully, both Anthony and Mother were too preoccupied with household matters to question Colin’s absence from the dining table. 

And soon, the day before the grand event was upon him, with every relative Colin could remember from both the Legders and the Bridgertons’ sides arriving. With every cousin, aunt, uncle, great-aunt, and great-uncle present, the realization that his name-day party would be a grand affair—grander than he had ever imagined—finally dawned on him.

Even Great Aunt Elizabeth, the terrifyingly proper and uptight Great Aunt Elizabeth, whom Mother herself had complained of ever having to entertain, was invited. She, the only living child of the 6th Viscount, was invited to Colin’s birthday party by his own mother, who Colin remembered vividly detesting her presence the last time she visited their country residence.

It all bewildered Colin. Why was there so much fuss over his birthday party? He had never asked for this. He knew that turning six-and-ten was a significant milestone in a young man’s life, but he did not recall Benedict’s celebration being as grand. Anthony, he understood, for he was to be the Viscount then, but Colin held no such importance in the family.

“Look, for the first time since Father died, she has taken an interest in these trivial floral arrangements,” Anthony told him pointedly, sitting at his desk, wincing at the length of the ledgers filled with Mother’s requests for flowers, fine china, musicians, and other accouterments. “For the first time, she is excited to meet Father’s relatives. Just humor her, will you? Let her do whatever pleases her.”

Colin swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to suppress the looming dread, knowing that soon the questions and comments he hated most would be directed at him once he was forced to greet all the guests. But Anthony was right—nothing was as important as Mother’s happiness. If it meant he had to spend his entire name day interacting and making polite conversation with people he barely knew, enduring the remarks he had loathed since Father’s passing, then so be it.

-

Dinner time came far too early than Colin would have liked. He knew he had no choice but to dine together with the entire family. Overhearing from the servants that many relatives who had arrived today for the party preferred to dine in their chambers due to exhaustion from travels at least provided Colin with a slight sense of relief. He hoped he would only have to interact with few family members. 

He made his way out from his chamber down the grand staircase to the dining room in the ground floor, but as he descended the steps, he encountered his Uncle Thomas, who seemed to freeze in his tracks as he noticed Colin in his vision too. And then, it felt as if he was back in that moment, from the way his uncle’s face paled and eyes widened in astonishment– a ghost of the past flickered in his gaze, he was not looking at Colin, no, he was… 

Colin forced himself to smile, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms as he did so. He stood still, cursing himself for allowing his valet to tend to him, to help with his hair. He should have left it untamed, done anything to look less proper, to look nothing like his—

“Good evening, nephew,” Uncle Thomas finally managed to say, blinking rapidly as if he was forcing himself to return back to the present. Colin took in the sight before him, and for a brief, glimmering second, he felt a strange sense of relief. Uncle Thomas bore no resemblance to his father, and thus, Colin was spared the painful reminder of his loss, one that haunted him whenever he gazed into his own reflection. 

Colin cleared his throat, bowing politely. "Uncle," he said, "it is good to see you."

Uncle Thomas offered a sincere smile. "It has been years," he remarked, patting Colin on the back. The gesture felt somewhat awkward now that Colin had nearly reached his uncle's height. The last time Uncle Thomas had visited the family in Mayfair, Colin had been small enough to ride on his back. "You've grown so much, Colin. I almost thought I was seeing—”

"I heard Mrs. Wilson told Eloise the Cook is making kidney pies for dinner," Colin cut hurriedly. "They're your favorites, are they not?"

Uncle Thomas's brow furrowed at the abrupt shift in conversation. His eyes darted momentarily before a knowing gleam passed across his eyes. "Oh, yes, they are indeed," he said with a polite smile, the corners of his mouth curving upwards. "I shall have the best of times ravishing my entire plate then, manners be damned!"

"Surely, Uncle," Colin began, a faint smile playing on his lips, "that for as long as you've known us, courtesy should no longer be required."

Uncle Thomas laughed heartily, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I do like you the best, Colin," he said, his voice warm with affection. "Let us hope Aunt Lizzy's bones are too stiff and weary to descend to dinner. Heaven knows we shan't enjoy our meal with her berating us for our table manners” 

They both made their way down the dining room as Colin exchanged anecdotes about his time at Eton. Apparently, Uncle Thomas had joined the same house Colin was in now, while Benedict and Anthony shared Father’s. Uncle Thomas was highly impressed to find out that Mr. More, the school’s groundskeeper was still very much alive and in good health. He swore that the old man must be secretly imbibing some magical potion concocted by Yorkshire witches to have lasted this long.

Dinner soon commenced without much fuss. Colin was relieved out of his wits to know that there were only three other relatives other than Uncle Thomas who were joining the family at the table: Aunt Winnie, his mother's sister; Cousin Emily; and her husband, Louis, who came from his father's side. His mother and Anthony were seated at the other end of the table, an empty chair to his mother's left and another which was two seats away from Anthony's right. Colin quickly made his way to the vacant chair near his brother, silently praying that the empty seat next to his mother was not left intentionally so for him. 

Uncle Thomas might very well have been Colin's favorite relative, for he greeted Mother with an exuberance that startled her from her seat. The boisterous cheeriness of her brother-in-law might have seemed odd to others, but if Mother found it peculiar, she concealed it with practiced grace. She immediately delved into conversation with Uncle Thomas, setting the tone for the other relatives to follow suit with their adult discussions. Anthony sent him a funny look and Colin raised an eyebrow in silent challenge, but after a moment, his eldest brother conceded, returning his attention to his wine.

Colin had truly forgotten the spectacle that simply sharing dinner in this house could create. The dining room was a scene of opulence, the large table adorned with an embroidered tablecloth, glittering crystal glasses, and polished silverware that caught the flickering candlelight, mingling with the golden hues from the chandeliers above. The clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversations blended together, creating scattered melodies that Colin knew he would carry with him back to Eton. He truly missed this—this togetherness, this family.

But before he could truly be sentimental over his longing, the smell of warm dishes entered the room, aroma of roasted meats, buttery vegetables, and rich gravies made the pit of Colin’s belly rumble. He was practically drooling as his eyes trailed the dishes presented: tender beef Wellington, succulent roast pheasant, and of course, the kidney pies, golden brown and steaming, their flaky crusts hiding the savory filling within. Colin made a mental note to come down the kitchen before bed to thank the Cook himself. 

Soon after, Anthony politely urged the guests to begin eating, everyone was engrossed in their meals. Colin, perpetually hungry, attacked his plate with a fervor that would have made Uncle Thomas proud. He savored each bite, the rich flavors and hearty textures a welcome change from the fare at school. Colin’s appetite was insatiable, and he ate with so much gusto that amused glances and affectionate smiles were drawn by his relatives towards him. 

Aunt Winnie let out a chuckle, her eyes twinkling as she observed Colin. "You might want to slow down, dear, lest you choke on your food," she advised with a gentle smile.

"Oh, pay no heed to her, Colin," Cousin Emily interjected with a laugh. "She doesn't realize you've inherited your father's hearty appetite. I remember how Edmund was constantly scolded by Old Lizzy for practically inhaling his plate. Thank heavens the old crow is too frail to climb the stairs more than once a day and she’s not here to scold you instead"

Colin felt his throat constricted, suddenly the food before his eyes felt less and less appetizing. He grabbed the chalice from his right and chugged down the water. Uncle Thomas paid a careful glance in his direction, his smile stopped reaching his eyes. 

“It is true what dear Emily said though,” Cousin Louis chimed in, head titled as a nostalgic smile forming on his face. Thin lips hidden by a bush of greying beard. “It is rather uncanny how alike you are to your father, Colin. It seems that you’re growing into his exact mold,” 

The entire room burst out into a row of fond chimes and murmurs. All faces were drawn to look in Colin’s way; none of them seemed to bear any sign of discomfort or pain, and it made everything all too confusing for Colin. Should they not….shouldn’t they refrain from talking about Father? How could they not pay any heed to how Mother might feel? 

Cousin Emily nodded, eyeing Colin teasingly, “Surely you must be Violet’s favorite–” 

“Pardon me,” Colin leaped from his seat, fists clenching onto the tablecloth. Gone was the warmth, the budding comfort that had started to seep into the dining room. Everything became cold and brisk and Colin could not bear to spend another moment in here. “I-I think the pie does not sit well in my belly” he mumbled, pushing his chair away, “Please excuse me,” he bowed his head a little towards Mother’s direction, “I should like to retire to my bed chamber” 

Mother got up and walked towards him, frowning, “Are you ill, Colin?” her hands cradling the sides of his head, pure concern growing in her eyes and she was looking at him, searching for any signs of ills, her eyes on his face, she’s staring at him, she’s seeing–

Colin cringed as he ducked away, and feigning a cough, “Hopefully I won’t be if I manage to rest now, Mother” 

“Should I accompany you to your room?” 

“No!” Colin shouted, causing her to flinch as she took a couple of steps backward. Colin clenched his eyes, taking a sharp breath to steady himself, “I’ll be fine, Mother” he told her much gentler this time, forcing a smile with his eyes trained on the small tiara resting upon her head. “Please excuse me” he begged again, before sprinting out of the dining room. Darting to avoid hearing more of the murmured concerns.

As he made his way upstairs toward his chamber, Colin yanked his now-suffocating cravat away from his neck. Chest heaving, he opened the door to his room. He knelt as he took off his shoes, this was a mistake– as when he titled his head up he was met with the sight of his reflection from the tall mirror hanging on the wall. 

If he were to tell anyone that he had managed to survive years of never truly taking time to look at himself in a mirror, none would believe him. How could they when Colin had put on such a facade of confidence that surely those who bear any ill feelings towards him in school would not be so far from accusing him of vanity? But Colin had never dared to stare into his reflection longer than ten seconds, longer than what was needed to make sure that he appeared at least presentable. He never had the bravery to let his eyes linger. 

Not when every time he looked at himself, all he could see was Mother’s look of horror, Mother’s petrified face of seeing the ghost of her past, of seeing a living reminder of someone that she had lost forever. Because that was all he could see now. All Colin could see was the face of his father staring back at him. The difference in their ages was striking, of course, but Colin carried all the same countenance that his father carried. And with all the blurred memories inside his head, the fragments lost were finally filled one by one by the sight he was seeing now.

The color of his hair was exactly like Father’s, dark brown, like the candied chocolate Eloise and Francesca had fought over yesterday. His eyes the same shade, dark-blue that turned almost black in darknened room, or whenever Colin failed to keep his emotions at bay. His nose, his lips, even his ears, elvish little ears that always managed to rouse a laughter from Daphne’s lips each time Colin pretended to be one, just like father used to do when he recited their bedtime stories. 

And for the first time, since Father breathed his last in Mother’s embrace since time had stilled for them all. Colin let out his first sob. Small, pathetic as it escaped his lips. He let himself fall onto the floor, his back resting against the side of the bed. His chest heaved from the now failing efforts of holding back all his sobs that he had kept in, the floodgates of grief and helpless frustration finally bursted open. 

Each day as he grew, his reflection in the mirror became more and more like his father’s, until it became like a taunt, and felt a lot like a looming threat, that when Father died, Colin’s existence would soon be erased like his too. After all, how could he continue to live with his family when his own bearings brought nothing but painful longing for someone they could never have back? 

The universe should’ve taken Colin when they decided to wrench Edmund Bridgerton away from his family too. 

-

At the far end of the grounds at Aubrey Hall, there was a pond marking the boundary of the Bridgerton estate. This body of water was, in truth, too expansive to be called a pond yet too modest to be deemed a lake. It lay upon the lower terrain, and those who sought to reach it were obliged to walk past through a steep incline, which was, paradoxically, too brief to be properly named a hill. Francesca had always loathed crossing this treacherous ground, for somehow she would invariably catch the hem of her dress, especially when Hyacinth and Gregory were engaged in their boisterous wrestling matches, causing one or the other to fall and inadvertently push the other person before them, which somehow had always been poor Frannie.

Yet, despite her countless complaints about this perilous ground, it was Francesca herself who most frequently visited the pond. On those occasions when the household grew too busy and bustling, only to suddenly quiet down, it would not take long for someone to note that Francesca had been missing all the while. Colin would always be the one who knew that if she were not ensconced in the music room, the pond was where his sister would most likely be found.

It feels like an entirely different world, she had confided in him. At the pond, time seemed to pause, and for once she had been allowed to break so freely and be away from the world. 

But Colin had never truly understood her affinity for the tranquility the place offered. Though he appreciated his solitude, Colin had always delighted in being part of a crowd. He loved conversing with others, relished learning new things that were foreign to him. He had always loved being part of a crowd. He used to thrive in the midst of it. 

That was until the crowd began to swarm him, suffocating him with praises that did not feel like ones and questions that he could never know how to answer. 

And so, Colin ran.

He fled from the crowd he once loved and way to seek refuge in a place his sister claimed to be a world unto itself, hidden away in the estate's backyard. He ran, stumbling over the uneven ground, his great aunt Lizzy's voice echoing in his ears. "I thought God had taken me away, and I was seeing Edmund for a moment!"  

Her words taunted Colin as he tripped the way Francesca had been, it echoed in his mind like it had in that drawing room where everyone gathered. Reminding them that Colin bore the countenance of someone they loved so dearly who could never return. Reminding him that his existence would always be an admonition of the grievous loss that had ruined his mother’s life. 

Violet Brigderton could always marvel at her eldest’s face and see his resemblance to her own dearest father, she could see Benedict’s comely face and swoon at his beauty but all she could ever feel when she beheld Colin was pain and sorrow. All he could offer her was pain and sorrow. 

Colin let out a cry, guttural as it rumbled from the pit of his stomach. He was sprinting down the hill now. The afternoon breeze grazed his skin as his speed increased, disheveling his neatly styled curls, yet he paid no heed, not when his cravat felt like fingers tightening around his throat, squeezing the breath from his lungs– and so he threw it away, discarded on the ground as he continued his run until neared the small pond just before the orchard, where he had last ventured at the beginning of the off-season in the year Father passed away. He couldn’t help but remember how his parents used to bring all the children there for a picnic. Mother, then pregnant with Hyacinth, was being painted by Father as she reclined against the old oak tree by the pond's edge.

He did not remember much about that day, except for Benedict’s constant hovering and relentless comments about how their father was painting Mother wrong. How he was blending the oil paint in all the wrong hues and how Father just further mucked it all up because he loved seeing Benedict losing his calm by the second. 

Colin let out a loud huff as he reached the pond, both hands on his knees as he panted. The sun's rays from the west gave him a blind spot, blurring his vision as he struggled to discern what shape this blur of yellow and fiery red formed before his vision. Colin squinted, his hands above his eyebrows to block out the sunlight.

There he saw, nestled against the sturdy trunk of the very same tree where his mother had once sat, a small, plump girl bathed in the afternoon sunlight that made her flaming mane of hair cascade like a waterfall of fire down to her waist, catching the light and shimmering with every soft breeze. Her nose was practically buried inside a book, and yet still could see the warmth of the sun reflected in the soft pink hue of her cheeks. The girl was donning a yellow muslin dress that fluttered gently against the wind, with her small feet protruding from the hem, they danced as she hummed a melody that sounded familiar to his ears.

It was then that Colin realized this was the girl who had knocked him off his horse and so jovially teased him about it. He had befriended this girl, and she had called him her friend. Memories of their brief time together flooded his mind, Colin chasing her around the park, her hair dancing behind her back. It felt fleeting as if he were living someone else’s dream. It had been such a long time that even Colin himself felt awful for forgetting her—forgetting someone whose memories he had of her were filled with nothing but happiness.

Oh, it felt as if the earth was taunting him again. The last time Colin had seen Penelope was the spring before his father’s death. Before he was sent to Eton, before everything happened. 

Colin felt his mouth going dry as he approached Penelope, his fists clenching and unclenching as if to mimic his uncertainty on whether or not he should talk to a girl he'd thought of as a friend. Bracing himself with a deep inhale, his words already escaped his lips rather brusquely than he had intented. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Penelope peered up from her book, blinking rapidly with her eyes narrowing as she attempted to discern his figure through the glaring sunlight. 

“Sitting?”

“No, I meant,” Colin began again, his throat suddenly parched, “What are you doing here, at my name-day party?”

Penelope frowned, looking affronted. “Lady Bridgerton invited me.”

“Why?”

Penelope wrinkled her nose slightly, a hint of defiance in her posture. “Because I’m best friends with Eloise.”

“What?” Colin asked incredulously, “Since when?”

“Well, you did promise that I should come and visit your house once you returned from here that season, but when I came along with my Mama and Papa to pay our condolences, your brother said you’re already going to Eton,” Penelope explained, her bright blue eyes staring right up at Colin, she was so small yet Colin had never felt so little underneath her gaze. “And well, Eloise was there, immediately dragging me from your family’s drawing room to her chamber, and we’ve been best friends since” 

Colin blinked, pursing his lips flat, trying to ignore this bitter feeling that was clawing at his chest. He had known Penelope first, and he had befriended her first yet somehow Eloise was now her best friend? How could he forget of ever having such friendship with Penelope that he had let his own sister took her away from him? 

“I–” Colin started, words failing him as he realized that it was really all his own undoing. Penelope did not owe him any friendship, he was the one who had made a promise and failed to keep it. “I’m sorry.”

Penelope shrugged, her smile radiant and sincere as if Colin hadn’t practically admitted that he had forgotten about her, “Don’t be,” she replied with a lightness in her voice. “I rather like being friends with Eloise.”

Colin felt a pang of guilt wash over him, he really should’ve tried to write Penelope a letter in the very least. But he couldn’t even recall anything that had happened before his father’s death, he had tried to put all his memories from before to the back of his mind that he had let himself forget her. 

A moment of silence had gently crawled to the empty spaces between them and Colin turned his gaze away to the pond before him. Dragonflies darting playfully over the water’s surface, like children gliding through a frozen lake in wintertime. A gentle breeze stirred the wildflowers framing the pond, sending petals and leaves astray.

“Are you alright, Colin?” Penelope asked, her voice just as soft as the breeze. 

And he did not know why, but for the first time since his father’s passing, he had no strength but to finally answer this question truthfully. 

“No, I’m not,” he confessed, plopping down beside her. Sighing wearily and rather pathetically. He dared himself to glance at Penelope. 

Her eyes were soft and kind, as she asked him. “Do you wish to talk about it?” 

Colin bit the insides of his cheeks as he pondered. He didn’t know if he should talk to her about something so personal, something that he didn’t even dare to voice to his family. But… she should be different, should she not? Penelope didn’t know the pain of losing a father, maybe she’d not think him selfish and weak? He couldn’t remember much from the brief time they’d spent as friends when they were children, but he knew that she had been kind. Kinder than most people he knew. 

“Everyone keeps saying that I look exactly like my father,” he finally said, low under his breath, “but I cannot even remember how he looked.”  

Penelope stared at him, her brows meeting each other as she mulled over his confession. “Well, you just need to look in a mirror, then?” She replied frankly, blinking at him.

Colin couldn't help but let out a rather ungainly snort at her frank answer. His snort was so loud and ugly that he knew he’d earned a disapproving glare from Anthony if his brother was around to see it. Penelope did not even look offended at his reaction, she joined him instead– her laughter melodic and infectious.  

“I’m sorry,” Penelope said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, her frame still shaking from her laughter. “I don’t know what else to say.”  

Colin shook his head, grinning, “You have said it perfectly, Pen.”  

Penelope beamed in return, her cheeks glowing like the setting sun slowly descending upon Aubrey Hall.  

“I suppose you don’t wish to look like Mr. Bridgerton?” Penelope inquired again after a prolonged silence, closing her book to focus on Colin.  

Colin nodded, fingers plucking out grass underneath him.

“But he was rather handsome,” Penelope blurted out, only to realize her own words, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. “I—I mean, he… he was—” she stammered, coughing slightly, “compared to my father, Mr. Bridgerton was very pleasant to look at!”  

Colin laughed again. “I think Baron Featherington looks just fine, Pen.”  

Penelope scrunched up her face, making her cheeks look like those ripe apples Eloise always asked him to pluck out from the orchard and Colin clenched his fists to stop the sudden urge to pinch them. 

Now it was Colin’s turn to cough, a nervous clearing of his throat as he averted his gaze from Penelope. He busied himself by sweeping imaginary lint from his trousers, stalling for time before speaking. “My mother…” he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, “she used to love looking at me before Father died. Then she began to avoid my gaze, and I could see the pain and hurt in her eyes whenever she did look at me,” he continued, words cracking as he said them, flashes that of that day of Hyacinth’s christening were forcing themselves back into his head, “I wish she could look at me and love what she sees again.”

“Oh,” Penelope finally said, the credence of her breathing gently brushed against his ears. “I…” she began, then stopped herself, she was frowning as she fumbled with the edges of her pages, “I’m so sorry, Colin,” she confessed softly, her own voice trembling with emotion. “I wish I were wise enough to give you advice, but I—I,” she choked out, her fingers clenching the cover of her closed book with a white-knuckled grip, “my mother, she…” Penelope bit the inside of her cheek, staring at him with a pained look across her face and Colin had to hold his hands together to keep them from caressing her cheeks. “She does not like what she sees when she looks at me, either,” she mumbled, small and forlorn. “And I don’t know how to stop that. I wish I did so I could help you, but I don’t, and I—”

Colin’s nose flared as he felt a surge of anger– hot and bubbling, rising within him at the thought of the Baroness Featherington's treatment of her daughter. He remembered that she had been such a cold woman, rarely giving smiles to Penelope, scolding her out loud for an honest accident even after Father and Colin themselves had repeatedly told her that they did not blame Penelope for his fall.

“Your mother, I mean, the Dowager Viscountess, is very kind and understanding,” Penelope continued, her eyes growing distant as if recalling a cherished memory. “Even when she is grieving, she always tries her hardest to give comfort to others. I think if you tell her what you feel, she’d understand. I don’t think she realizes what she’s been doing, Colin.”

Colin let out a shaky breath, sinking into Penelope’s words. Mother was indeed the kindest and most understanding person he knew. Even when he’d ignored her pleas to come home for years, she did not greet him with any coldness when he returned. If he were to tell her, surely she’d not be offended, would she? She had never berated any of her children unless they truly had been the naughtiest. Colin felt something light washed over him, like a gentle tide, but it did not take him away, instead, it came and soothed the ache settling in his chest.

“I think you’re more than pleasant to look at,” He blurted out, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them. Penelope’s eyes widened, her pink lips parted in surprise. Colin swallowed hard, feeling a rush of warmth flood his cheeks. “I—I mean, when you walk into a room, you just,” he stammered, searching for the right words, “you just brighten everyone around, you know? I see that Eloise stops brooding when she sees you, and Gregory loves to trail after you because you’re so kind to him. If your mother doesn’t see that, then it’s her loss because I—” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “we, erm, my family clearly love having you around here.”

Penelope’s apple cheeks took on a rosy hue that rivaled the petals of the roses Mother had displayed all over the house. Her eyes shone bright as she peered at him, a shy smile blooming on her face, she ducked her head, glancing away. Colin reveled in the way her hair fell like a curtain of gold and copper shielding her face. Colin knew that he should’ve shifted his eyes off her, but he couldn’t help but admire the way the sun had cradled Penelope so gently, he wished he knew how to paint, she’d make the most perfect painting. 

“COLIN!” a booming voice startled them both out of their serene silence. Colin saw Eloise sprinting down the hills, panting as she reached the pond. Her face flushed with clear annoyance as she glared at her brother. “You must hasten back to the drawing-room! Everyone is looking for you!" 

Now it was his turn to turn red from embarrassment, he grimaced as his sister continued her scoldings. "Honestly, Colin," Eloise huffed exasperatedly, "do you have any idea how tiresome it is to be sent running about like a servant just to fetch you? You might consider being where you are supposed to be when you’re at your own party!" 

-

Mother truly had put everything into his birthday celebration. Her floral arrangements had transformed the ballroom into a sight so splendor it left Colin gaping and wondering if he had walked into a painting. Melodic strains of a string quartet mingled with the laughter of guests who roamed around from the gardens and parlors. Anthony and their mother gave their brief toasts and birthday wishes for Colin, the rest of the guests raising their glasses at him. Colin gave them his best smiles, noting his gratitude for their presence and Mother’s efforts. 

Soon Colin felt tables groaning under the weight of abundant feasts as if they were calling him. His belly let out a rather loud and embarrassing rumble at the lavish display of cakes and pastries, thankfully the crowd had dispersed as they began to mingle with one another. Colin wasted no time and immediately helped himself to a slice of lemon tarts, practically moaning when the buttery crusts and silken curd filled his mouth. 

He then moved through the bountiful spread. There were delicate slices of roast pheasant, glistening with a honeyed glaze, and asparagus spears draped in velvety hollandaise. Every morsel seemed to sing with the flavors of the season, and with each bite, Colin felt the weight of his earlier disquiet slip away, food truly could make everything better. 

As the evening progressed, the exchange of gifts commenced. Colin preened in delight with every present he received; leather-bound volumes of the latest literary works from his cousins; a handsome pocket watch with the Bridgerton crest engraved from Great Aunt Lizzy that made Colin forgive her from her comments earlier; a finely wrought set of gentleman's cufflinks from Uncle Thomas. 

Among these treasures, Colin found a new quill and a set of exquisite parchment given to him by Anthony,  the edges of them adorned with gilded filigree. His face lit up with a smile at his brother, who nodded in return. Colin’s gaze instinctively sought Penelope across the room. He would definitely use it to write letters to her from now on. Eloise might had been her best friend but Colin would rather eat a toad than not be friends with her at all. 

As the festivities drew to a close, the guests gradually retired to their chambers, and before he could process it, Colin found himself alone with his mother in their drawing room. 

Violet approached him with a gentle smile, she looked positively exhausted but so satisfied, her eyes crinkled as she pulled out a small, velvet-lined box from the folds of her gown, its lid adorned with a simple monogram of ‘G.L’. 

“This,” she began softly, “was your father’s, and before that, it belonged to my father, your Grandpa Ledger. He gifted it to Edmund on our wedding day.”

Violet carefully opened the box to reveal a ring, with a lustrous silver band embellished with engravings of scrollwork patterns, surrounding a rounded-cut red stone. On the underside, a hidden cartouche bears the initials of its original owner. Colin took it and wore it on his finger, it felt heavy and rather big, but not too much that it could easily slip away. 

“I know you must be tired of hearing this,” Violet said, her gaze tender as she regarded him, “but you truly look so much like your father. More and more, as you grow, it feels as if I’m looking at a memory when I look at you.”

Colin went utterly still, the familiar dread and fear rushed over him once more, paralyzing him with cold, unforgiving taunts, of his mother's aversion to seeing his face, of her avoidance glances– Colin felt his breath constricted at the thought that after all these efforts Mother had given him to celebrate his birthday, he still brought her nothing but pain. How could she even love him if all he did was just give her a reminder of whom she had lost? What if she–

“I’m sorry,” Colin croaked, his voice trembling as he finally succumbed to the torrent of tears he had held back since the tender age of twelve. Taking a couple of steps away from Mother, eyes jutted close in a pathetic attempt to stop himself from crying. This day was supposed to mark Colin’s transformation into a man, yet here he was wailing like a stupid boy. “I—I’ll try to grow my hair out,” he promised, his words faltering amidst the sobs, “I—I’ve taken up fencing now, and perhaps I’ll join that boxing club, so when my face gets injured, I might stop looking so much like Father—”

Violet let out a gasp, and Colin felt her hands gripping his arms as if trying to wrench him away from a haze. Colin dared to open his eyes, his mother was staring up at him with her mouth agape in confusion, “What on earth are you saying, Colin?!”

“I know I hurt you,” Colin cried, “Every time you look at me, I know I hurt you, and I—I’m so sorry, Mama. I’ll return to school as soon as Anthony allows me. I’ll be out of your way, and you won’t have to look at me again. I’ll join the army after I graduate, anything so you won’t have to see me—”

“Stop it, Colin!” Violet exclaimed, her own eyes brimming with tears as she cradled his head in her hands. “Is this why you refused to leave Eton?” she demanded, “Is this why you didn’t want to spend the holidays with us all these years?” She held his face firmly, forcing him to meet her eyes. Now, as she looked up at him—Colin having grown to tower over her—he realized it had been years since his mother had held him so. The last time she did this, it was he who had to crane his neck to look up at her. 

“Because I remind you of him,” Colin whispered, his voice barely audible, “I remind you of someone you loved and lost.”

“Oh, my dearest child,” Violet sobbed, drawing Colin into her embrace until he bent his knees to rest his head upon her shoulder. Her arms enveloped him so fiercely that he could feel her touch in his bones. “Forgive me, Colin, if I ever made you feel such a way. You have never—” She paused, pulling back slightly to meet his eyes, “You have never hurt me, never, do you understand? When I look at you,” she murmured, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face, a cry caught in her throat,“I see the very reason I must stay strong. I look at you, and I am reminded why I must carry on.”

She tucked the hair behind his ears, her fingers trembling, “When I look at you, I am reminded of how fortunate I was to have been blessed with your father’s love.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and Colin could feel the tremor of her lips against his skin, then he let out another sob too, it had been so long, it had been years, since he was cradled in her embrace. Colin had missed her so, so much. 

“I look at you, and I thank God that I can still see Edmund in the flesh, vibrant and alive, rather than mere still images in paintings. When I look at you, I see countless reasons to live, Colin.”

Overwhelmed, Colin cried again, his hands clutching onto the sides of her dress. Desperately hoping that this wasn’t a dream. 

“I am so sorry if I have ever made you feel otherwise, but you bring me nothing but love and joy when I look at you,” Violet assured him, her hands stroking his hair as he continued his crying. “I am eternally grateful that you carry your father within you, not just in your appearance, but in every aspect of your being. Everything that was good and noble in him lives on in you—your gentleness, your selflessness, and your willingness to give of yourself so completely. I am so grateful that I can see him alive in you, and it only makes the love I have for you grow, dearest. You could never bring me pain.”

“Sometimes it vexes me when people won’t stop with their remarks that I resemble him so much,” Colin admitted, his words muffled against the fabric of her dress, “Because the memories I have of him have grown hazy, and I can’t remember what he looked like. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin every time I am reminded of it.”

“Oh, Colin,” Violet lamented, withdrawing slightly as she gently wiped the tears from his cheeks with a tender hand, concern etched upon her face. 

Colin didn’t want to upset his mother further, so then he tried to jest, “Pen told me all I had to do was look into the mirror,” he said sheepishly, his voice tinging with a rueful smile. “It seems like such an obvious solution, but I was too busy wallowing to notice it.”  

Violet blinked in surprise before a peal of laughter escaped her lips, her eyes still glistening with tears, “A smart girl,” she remarked, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “That Penelope.”

Colin nodded, making a mental note to thank Penelope for their talk near the pond. They would have years, and Colin would spend all of it talking her ears off, he just prayed that she would find his words as witty and entertaining as he found hers. He smiled at his mother, nodding in agreement. 

 “She is, indeed.” 

-

Penelope’s letters lay scattered across his desk, some had accompanied him on his travels through the streets of seventeen cities, the ones sent by her on his first adventure to the sun-drenched shores of Greece. They had kept company during those forlorn nights when no response arrived from her quill to his most recent inquiries. These were the letters she had penned when she’d become the famous Lady Whistledown. But beside them, were another neatly stacked and opened notes from when they first started their correspondence right after his sixteenth birthday. Replies to the letters he'd sworn to send her from the moment he realized he couldn’t lose her friendship to Eloise. These were the ones she’d written before she became Lady Whistledown. 

Colin had read her words so many times that he could recite each sentence with a clarity as vivid as her voice resonating in his mind. The sting of betrayal was a mere pinprick compared to the aching realization that her wit, her cleverness, her humor had been steadfast companions to her soul long before she assumed the persona of the woman he’d declared to hate with such fervent loathing. Her letters brimmed with compassion, vulnerability, and unyielding honesty; they had never faltered nor wavered. She had remained unchanged, always constant. 

Ought he not to despise her, though? For all the words she had penned about his family, about him ? Had she not profited from the ink that stained their reputations? Was it not she who, with the deft strokes of her pen, captivated the ton, weaving her tales with such skill that her words became gospel, her columns revered as scripture? Society, in its blind worship, had elevated her to a deity, longing for her divine notice, yearning for the illumination of her quill upon their mundane existences, wishing for her benevolent grace to alter their lives irrevocably, all while praying that they would not encounter her wrath and ruined them as she had ruined him.

This girl—this seemingly demure maiden of nine and ten—sweet, sweet Penelope, who shrank beneath the weight of more than two pairs of eyes upon her, had ascended to a godlike stature amongst them all, unbeknownst to them. Colin wondered if even she comprehended the magnitude of her own power.

“I suppose we all owe her our lives. From naming Daphne the diamond of the season to driving Nigel away, from softening the blows of Anthony and Edwina’s disastrous wedding to saving you from that Thompson girl, and even keeping Eloise from drifting too far from her senses,” Violet's voice, warm and gentle, pierced Colin’s reverie, drawing him back to his surroundings. He had been so ensnared in his thoughts that he had failed to notice his mother’s entrance into his study.

Violet's eyes, twinkled as she continued, sitting on the chair across his desk. “You know, your father once said that if one wished to find the truly clever and perceptive ladies, they ought to look among the wallflowers. At the time, I thought he was merely trying to sweep me off my feet with that comment, but it seems he was right all along.” Her smile widened, an amused glint appearing in her countenance, “Smart girl, your Penelope.”

Colin absorbed the words of his mother as a gnawing guilt clawed at his conscience. He had been so absorbed in his resentment over Penelope's concealed identity that he had overlooked the multitude of sacrifices she had made for his family, for him. Shame and regret crashed into him, Penelope had done so much for them, yet Colin was too busy wallowing in his own humiliation to even notice all the things she had saved his family and himself from.

Violet's gentle, probing gaze met his, “What has troubled you now, dearest?” she asked softly, reaching for his hand that rested above the scattered letters. 

Colin hesitated, the words caught in his throat like thorns. The very thought of voicing his fears seemed insurmountable, yet this was his mother. She had never judged him for his missteps, nor had she ever turned away from his struggles. No one knew him so well other than her, well, save perhaps for Penelope. Lying to her would be a futile endeavor. 

"I do not deserve someone as great as her," he admitted dejectedly, "She has built this empire entirely on her own, her life set woven with purpose and accomplishments so grand that even the most brilliant minds among the ton have never dared to imagine such feats. And I am just—" His voice faltered, and he ducked his head, shame clawing at his neck again. "I am a man of little consequence, Mother. I have nothing to offer her that she couldn't already provide for herself. What if my presence becomes a mere burden she is too kind to acknowledge? What if she wakes one day to the realization that I am of no use, that I am but a shadow in her light, and she stops loving me?"

Violet's expression softened, "Oh, Colin," she got up and walked around the desk until nothing stood between them. She took his hands into hers again, "You do not need to be useful to deserve love. Love is not some transaction of services rendered and received,” she said, one hand patting his cheek, “It is a gift, freely given, without condition or expectation and it certainly transcends all earthly measures of worth."

"Look at me, Colin," Violet urged again with gentle firmness, tilting his chin until he’d no choice but to stare up at her, "I know you must have felt a sense of betrayal through all of this. Her secrecy must have wounded you deeply, but I ask you this: does your love for her lessen because of it?"

"I—"

"Does it, Colin?" Violet pressed, her gaze steady and unwavering.

"No," Colin replied, shaking his head, "I still love her,” he croaked out, “so much that it hurts, so much that it tears at my heart with each moment I am near her and cannot touch her. So much that I feel utterly helpless, I-"

"Then why would it be any different for her?” Violet interrupted, “If you love her through all her faults and wrongs, why would you think it won’t be the same for her?” 

“I know her too, you know,” Violet said, “She’s not just the love of your life or Eloise’s best friend, she’s my daughter too,” a fond look appearing on her face, her eyes focused on the opened letters on his desk, “Even before you married her, Penelope has always has been one to me, and we wallflowers–” she returned her eyes to Colin, her eyes glimmering with tears as the corners crinkled with her smile, “we love fervently and unconditionally, our love latches on through the bad and the good and it never wavers, it grows slowly and quietly until it roots deep within the earth that not even an earthquake could kill it. You do not need to be anything for her to love you, her heart already belongs to you the moment she was brave enough to let it. You just have to show her and let her know that yours belong to her too” 

Colin shifted his attention back to the letters, he let his eyes wander until they fell into one of the last letters Penelope had sent him when he made his return from Greece to London, on it was written:

I yearn to voyage across the vast continent too. To step aboard a majestic ship, feeling the sway of the vessel beneath my feet as it glides across the endless blue expanse. I want to peek into these sights that would await me beyond those cerulean waters, to drift upon the ocean, so free and unburdened by the worries on the land. I must admit that sometimes I lost my afternoons imagining myself as your amiable companion on such a journey. I promise I won’t be such a burden and surely would make the most entertaining guest so that you won’t feel so lonely. Oh well, I’m sure I can find a way one day, I must think hard on how to do it instead of just dreaming it. 

I still pray for your safe return, and please do return, Colin, don’t forget that you still belong to the land, to us!

Colin found himself lingering on the last sentence, mouthing the words repeatedly, the warmth of her voice echoing in his ears. He felt his throat tighten, glancing at his mother whose eyes were also trained on the same letter, a single tear traced a path down her cheek just as he felt them on his too. Yet none of them made any attempt to wipe the tears away, too lost in such simple words written by a girl who had made homes in each of their hearts. 

He had always belonged– to the land that had cradled him since birth, to the family whose love had raised and anchored his being, and most profoundly, to Penelope. He had always belonged to her. He had never been an unmanned vessel drifting away in the vast ocean, purposeless and aimless. No, not when Penelope had been her compass all these times. He belonged to her, just as much as she belonged to him. 

Colin Bridgerton had always belonged.