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Chapter Text

After marrying Colin and after everything he put her through, Penelope felt as if she was in an impossible place. He said he loved her. But the words were hollow in light of his actions. He talked of love, but his behaviour reeked of resentment. He accused her of trapping her and pulled back from her, even when he knew she was ignorant of the ways to entrap a man. She couldn’t help but remember he forgave Marina, who was actually willing to trick him into marriage.

His cousin deserved grace, but not she. No, all she got was disdain and condemnation. With every conversation, every fight, every moment he showed her that she didn’t know him as she thought she did. She had put him on a pedestal, and the fall had been hard. After a hard night full of reflection, she found that her love for Colin didn’t survive the descent.

She was filled with dread.

She had built a fairy tale of what their lives would be together. They had been so happy during the days before he found out about Lady Whistledown. Then, he treated her like she was the devil himself.

She will owe that she made mistakes. Plenty of them, in fact. But he wasn’t blameless either. Yet, she was the only one punished. Over and over. And every time they fought, every time she had to defend and explain herself, every time she had to remind him she loved him and ask him to love her in return, she lost a piece of herself.

She regretted marrying Colin Bridgerton with all her heart. The words her mother said, rang in her mind. She had been cruel but had been right, nonetheless. No amount of the unsteady love Colin offered beat the settled and comfortable romance she was offered before all this mess.

Penelope, then, had a startling, heart-breaking realization as she stared at Colin’s dark blue eyes, filled with love, but also contempt and resentment, as she asked yet again for love and understanding that he refused to give, both of them hidden away in the study of his mother’s house, after Francesca and Lord Stirling’s wedding.

If she could turn back time, knowing then what she knew now, she would have chosen Lord Debling.

“Penelope! Are you listening to me?” She was pulled out of her reverie abruptly, whipping her head so hard that she felt a painful crack in her neck. “Penelope!”

“Yes, Mama?” Her voice was sharp, the answer instinct after so many years of being subjected to that tone from her mother. Portia Featherington looked surprised at her harshness, and while she recuperated, Penelope took the time to calm herself. She took in her mother’s appearance before looking down at herself, still feeling wrong-footed, trying to understand how she had awakened that morning, months before the night she went to sleep.

Her day was passed in a confused haze, trying to make sense of the impossible, completely senseless to the happenings around her until now. As Penelope sat inside the carriage, accompanied by her mother, wearing the same clothes as the one they were wearing the night she realized her biggest dream and her life went completely off track.

“I don’t understand why you are in such a mood. This is a good night. Lord Debling will surely ask for your hand, and all of our problems will be solved. You will have one of the biggest houses in Mayfair, not to mention one of the biggest estates in all of Somerset. And I’ll have all three daughters married. Now, if your sisters would just help themselves and get pregnant already. I hope you won’t be mad at me for not including you in the run, dearest. You will be a Countess after all. Leave your sisters something.” She gave a merry laugh, visibly filled with joy, while Penelope could still barely comprehend her surroundings. She looked around, swaying with the soft back and forth of the carriage as if something inside could give her an explanation of what was happening.

She brought a hand up to her neck, where the pain from her sudden movement was dulling slowly but seemed to be creeping up to the back of her head.

“You are not feeling sick, are you?” Her mother’s cool hand pressed against her forehead and then neck, feeling her temperature. “Postpone it if you are.”

“How does one postpone illness, Mama?” She sighed, her smile full of indulgence in the familiarity of her mother’s silliness, even if she was still confused. Could this be a dream, perhaps? She wondered yet again.

She had been wondering the entire day, since she was first awoken by Rae's soft words, back in her maiden rooms, her mother fluttering behind like a nervous hummingbird, throwing orders about and making lists of everything needed to prepare her for that night’s ball.

“Find a way! You need to be present at today’s ball to accept Lord Debling’s proposal!”

“He hasn’t proposed yet, Mama.” She thought it might be easier to go along with the dream. If it even was one. It didn’t feel like a dream.

She felt off-kilter, but beyond that and the fading throbbing in her neck, she felt well. The carriage was sturdy under her hands. The fabric of her dress was soft against her skin, the comfortable support of her stays, the net of her tulle glove. Her hands looked normal, and so did her mother’s. She had long noticed that her hands always looked fuzzy and weird in dreams.

They tend to jump around, too, never staying long on the tediousness of the daily routines. The carriage ride would’ve just been skipped altogether if this was a dream. But how else could she explain this? Wasn’t she married to Collin just the previous day? Bitterly regretting the choices she had made?

She had cried herself to sleep after the realization of how late her courses were. The thought of being with child, of subjecting them to what she had grown up to absolutely unbearable. She had no control over Collin’s actions, but she vowed to herself she would never become like her mother. Honestly, after a few weeks under his condescending treatment, she had a better understanding of why her mother acted the way she did if that was what her parents’ marriage was like.

“You are not seriously thinking about rejecting him, are you Penelope?” She was brought back from her musings by her mother’s steel tone. Taking a second to study her mother, she saw something in her eye beyond the judgment of her voice. She was concerned. Portia Featherington was genuinely concerned about her. It would’ve come as a bigger surprise before, but she had a deeper understanding of her mother from her dream. They had managed to build a good relationship with each other in it and she promised herself she would try to do so again.

“No, Mama. Should Lord Debling make a proposal tonight, I’ll accept with alacrity.” She looked away from her mother’s surprised relief, down to her hands, flexing her fingers, studying their movements carefully, still unsure if this was some type of dream or if the future she remembered with Collin was some sort of premonition.

If this was a second chance, she had decided she would take a different path. The one she saw, dream or not, was too painful and it felt too real for her to try again and change things. She knew she would break Collin’s heart with this choice and maybe it was unfair of her to do so because of knowledge of a possible future that might never come to pass. But the sight of his eyes full of judgement and derision haunted her.

“It took me a moment to understand what you meant yesterday. About love and romance. But it’s clear to me now. You were right.”

“I was?” Her mother’s voice was high. “I mean, I know I was but-” She stopped herself, not knowing how to continue and Penelope smiled, reaching across to take her hand.

“I was taken aback by what you said. It took the better part of last night to work through it and understand.” Months, actually, even if in her dream. “Love isn’t magic. It can be a beautiful, lovely dream but it can also become a cruel nightmare. It depends on who you choose. And if you keep choosing them or not. And if they choose you too. Because that is what love is, isn’t it? A choice. To love someone, to help and uplift them. I understand now. And I think I comprehend some of your choices a little better too. Even if I don’t agree with every single one of them and even if I have my criticisms about how you handled some things. I know that everything you did was for us. Because you love us, and you would do anything to see us safe and healthy. I cannot thank you enough for your efforts, Mama.” She smiled, squeezing her mother’s hand at the end of her speech and was surprised again to see her tearing up. She opened her mouth to say something but shook her head fanning one of her hands over her face. “That being said, you are not living with me.”

“Penelope!” Her mother admonished her.

“I mean it. I love you, and if it is in my power you’ll never want for anything. But we are too similar to live peacefully together for much longer without falling back into habit.” She watched her mother study her with a curious look. Before she could say anything, their carriage stopped, and they were handed down by a footman.

If this was not a dream, then tonight would be a turning point for Penelope. She needed to make sure nothing and no one interfered in her future happiness. And that included Colin Bridgerton, Cressida Cowper and herself.

The ball went much like the one she remembered. Lord Debling welcomed her and her mother at the bottom of the stairs when they were announced and escorted them both to her sisters and their husbands. He excused himself and headed to his place to watch the performance. She had already seen and been moved by it, so, she made a point of letting her eye wander towards Lord Debling’s form.

She remembered remarking something to Collin about him not being unpleasant to the eye. That had been an understatement of the greatest kind. Perhaps, being as blindly in love with Collin as she had been had made her biased, but now, that she understood more of the world, relationships, desire and love, she could see both Collin Bridgerton and Lord Debling clearer.

Both cut striking figures, dressed in the best clothes money could buy, standing tall and imposing in a way men of consequence were taught to from their infancy. She believed they were about the same height, but there was something in Lord Debling’s posture that seemed to make him taller. Perhaps the same thing that made Anthony Bridgerton a bigger presence than his brothers, despite being the shortest of them – except for Gregory, of course, though he was quickly catching up. They were both experienced travellers, though Collin preferred to roam cities, and Lord Debling to lose himself into the wilderness of nature. However, Collin seemed to have a wildness about him that she had yet to see in Lord Debling. A contradicting contrast as distinctive as their dark and fair complexions.

The Earl seemed politely interested in the performance in front of him, but she could tell he was a bit distracted. His eyes remained firmly on the couple on the floor, as though he had forbidden them from moving away, but his usual staid and still posture was missing. He seemed restless, though it was subtle enough that she doubted for a second. Until she caught sight of his hands, fidgeting, fingers twisting his lordship ring before moving to touch his chest, where she imagined his breast pocket must have been. His eyes moved and met hers, their gazes locked until applause rose from the crowd around them, breaking their connection.

They finally looked back to the dancers, joining their peers in their ovation, stealing glances at each other. Lord Debling moved just a second before the rest of the crowd, single-mindedly making his way towards her. He seemed particularly affected by their silent exchanges, his posture slightly different from last time. He wasted no time in securing three dances with Penelope, signing her dance card for the opening, the quadrille and the closing waltz - the one Colin interrupted. She made a point of keeping the conversation as close as she remembered as she could when talking to him, trying to change as little as possible about it up until the waltz. And she made sure to keep her attention solely on him.

This time, there were no wandering eyes desperately searching for Colin Bridgerton. Her gaze never strayed away from Lord Debling as they were talking, and dancing unless it was to look down and blush, trying to hide a smile when he was particularly charming. He seemed pleased and emboldened by these reactions, and she realized how much her obsession with Colin had stopped her from recognizing how truly endearing the blond man was.

She also used the knowledge from her prophetic dream – that was what she decided to view it as – to work on some enticing of her own.

She had been completely innocent about the particulars of the carnal relations between men and women before that night. She was thankful yet again for her knowledge of the future because now she understood the power that certain looks and touches could have. And she took full advantage of it.

Penelope was careful to maintain a façade of innocence, with just a hint of something more throughout the entire night. She recalled how flustered she had gotten at his comment during Lady Danbury’s Ball. About her being able to make someone wither, if she chose to, his eyes dark, voice lowered into a purr and a teasing smile on his lips. She had giggled in confusion, not knowing what to make of the increasing beating of her heart or the warmth that spread on her face and bosom. She couldn’t understand then the true meaning of his words, the response of her body to them, but she could now. And he was right.

She did it slowly, drawing attention to her bosom with her fan like her mother had tried to teach Prudence and like she had tried to use it earlier this season.

The problem with her previous attempts was that she didn’t fully understand the purpose, or what was so enticing about it to man. Now she did. She held back many a triumphant smile when she caught his gaze fall to her cleavage, behind a curious look and an enquire after his wellbeing if he appeared particularly flustered. She also made a point to highlight her lips from time to time and her neck, carefully brushing her hair back from it or stretching her head to the side to highlight the tendon there and her collarbone, remembering how good attention to that area had felt. She wondered for a moment, how different it would feel to have Lord Debling’s lips against her, with his full beard dragging across her sensitive skin and had held back a shiver at the thought.

But her biggest triumph of the night so far, started as they were preparing for the final waltz. She made an off-handed comment on their way to the floor about his size in comparison to hers, using their hands as an example. She put her hand over his, sliding their hands together, showcasing how much bigger his was, her fingers only just passing his first knuckle. She then, pressed between his digits, intertwining them together for a second before gliding them over his palm, her thumb lightly dragging across his pulse before taking the proper stance for their dance.

As the first notes began playing, and they took a step towards each other, he pulled her closer than before, his eyes black surrounded by a ring of blue, his hand heavy and possessive on her waist, instead of safely on her upper back. They were a bit closer than appropriate for society, but it was still passable as they were publicly courting. They probably gave the impression of being very much in love to the untrained eye. To her, however, it seemed clear that the passion he had restrained during their courting period was being freed.

So, she asked her question about love and got the same answer as before. Instead of shying away like she had done, however, she smiled up at him, pleased with his honesty.

“You look especially beautiful tonight, Miss Featherington.” She caught Collin entering the room and slowly making his way and was about to take the final step to guarantee the man dancing with her wouldn’t allow for the interruption when he continued. “I cannot deny that these past few weeks, without my knowledge or even my permission, you have been constantly on my mind. I cannot guarantee you anything beyond an amiable life, but I am not opposed to trying to build a deeper relationship, something more than just amiable affection, if that is your wish.”

For the first time in the night, she gave him a full, completely honest smile, free of the careful thought and calculations to further endear her to him.

“I would very much like that.” His eyes softened, a pleased grin adorning his lips, as the hand on her waist relaxed. And as satisfied as she was with his answer, with the soft look in his eyes, it would not do. She needed his possessiveness back and her time was running out. “I have another question for you, if you don’t mind, Lord Debling.”

“Alfred,” he offered, the corner of his eyes crinkling with his smile as she nodded her acceptance. “You may ask as many questions as you wish.”

“I just have one for the moment, Alfred.” She offered a sweet smile at his clear pleasure, before continuing. “During Lady Danbury’s Ball, when we introduced ourselves, you made a comment that made me flustered. I didn’t understand the meaning of your words then, milord. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, for all I could not fully comprehend it.” His hand tightened again as he understood what she was talking about, his eyes lowering to her lips, pulling her a bit closer.

“Is that what brought on these little moments tonight, Miss Featherington?” His voice was a purr like it had been that first night, a now wicked, pleased grin on his lips. “Have you decided I’m the one you chose to make wither?”

“I only know as far as I could figure out on my own, Alfred.” The implication made a wild type of noise rumble in his chest, his nostrils flaring at the thought. She caught movement in the corner of her eye as he turned them around and she glided her left hand from his strong bicep towards his chest, resting it over his heart, her eyes guiding him to watch the movement with her. “So, I can’t tell how successful I have been with my attempts. But that is not my question.”

“And what is your question, Penelope?” She could feel his muscles contracting underneath her hand, against the light fabric of her gown and beneath her hand as he pulled them even closer together.

“I suppose I have two of them.” She dragged her eyes back to his face, deliberately looking at his lips before asking. “Can you make someone wither too, if you chose to? And if so, am I to be that one?”

“Do you mind if I interrupt.”

Chapter Text

“It’ll only take a moment.”

“I very much mind.” Penelope ground her teeth to keep herself from smiling as Lord Debling – Alfred – pressed his hand against hers on his chest before looking at Collin, who seemed taken aback at the denial of his demand.

“Pen, I-“

“You have your answer, Collin. We can talk later. When it’s appropriate.” She was still looking at the blond man, refusing to let her eyes go to their interloper.

“But I-“

“You’ve heard the lady, Mr Bridgerton. Now, if you would be so kind.” There was a steeliness in his voice that heated her core. He didn’t give Collin another moment of his time, instead, pulling her slightly to the side and continuing their dance as though there was no interruption.

“I apologize for that.” She offered, glancing quickly to Collin’s retreating back, as he left the dancefloor like a forlorn pup, but not the ball, as she had hoped against all hope. She had been aiming a bit too high with that one.

“You are not at fault for other people’s actions, Miss Featherington.” There was a confused frown marring his brow, as he looked at Collin on the side of the dancefloor.

“No longer Penelope, then?” She teased, successfully bringing his attention back to her.

“If you so wish.”

“I’d like for nothing more.” A smile broke out from his lips before his eyes wandered back to Colin. “I supposed I am a bit to blame for that, unfortunately,” she offered with a sigh. “We didn’t start the season on the best of terms and while we tried to resolve the issues impairing our friendship, I’m afraid I made a mess of things.”

She had decided to be honest with Lord Debling. It was honesty that had brought his attention to her, and he had always endeavoured to tell her the truth as clearly as possible as their courtship progressed, slowly sharing and revealing pieces of himself. She had decided to follow his example and not make the same mistake twice.

“There were a few interactions between the two of you where I wondered if you had had a falling out, but it didn’t feel like it was my place to ask about it.”

“You can always ask, milord.” She gave him the choice. There wasn’t enough time to explain everything that she needed to about her relationship with the Bridgerton Family before the song ended and Collin inevitably intercepted them. But she thought she should tell Lord Debling about the kiss they shared, knowing Collin as well as she did, she knew he could be childish enough to bring it up as an attempt to ruin their courtship.

“I am curious how you could have made a mess of things.”

“Yes, well…” She hesitated for a moment, still set on being honest with him, but unsure how to say the words out loud. “Before we met for the second time and talked at the party, the entire ton had discovered that I had asked Collin to help me in securing a match this season.”

“I remember that conversation. You very gracefully offered me shelter in your corner, even if you denied me your pity,” he teased, seemingly trying to put her at ease and she couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“The moment word got around; it was during a ball. Everyone was talking about me, laughing behind their hands and I thought that I was done for, to be honest. I’ve been the object of derision long enough to have developed a thick enough skin to weather whatever was thrown my way, but that was a new low I hadn’t experienced before.” She lowered her eyes, unable to look at him and see pity. “I was embarrassed but most of all, I was despondent. I never thought I had high hopes of finding a man who’d be interested enough in me just as I am, but I felt completely hopeless then. That night, Collin snuck into the garden of my house, to apologize. He had told his sister about our agreement and apparently, she wasn’t very careful with the knowledge.” With a fortifying breath, she looked at him again, not stopping to analyse his expression as she carried on. “I thought I was destined to become a spinster after that night. So, amidst my sadness and confusion, I asked him to kiss me. I didn’t want to grow old having never truly knowing what it is like to be kissed.” She looked down again, anxiety filling her body.

The song ended and they separated to take their bow of each other.

He offered his arm to her, silent, and hesitated for a moment before guiding her across the dancefloor, away from Collin.

“Is that all it was?” His voice was soft and guarded, but there was no judgment in it, and she raised her eyes, nodding before averting them again. “And you did not… wish for more?” There was a temptingness in his tone that belayed the unsureness the information brought to light.

“Maybe one day, in another life. But that was all I thought I would ever have and that was enough, Lord Debling. I confess I was tempted to conceal this information from you. I didn’t know how you might receive it, what you might think of me. But… it was honesty that made us close, and you’ve been nothing but forthcoming with me in our interactions. I thought it was only right that you knew. So, you could make an… informed decision, milord.” There was a small pause and he brought them to a halt, in an unoccupied corner of the room, moving to stand in front of her.

“No longer Alfred, then?” He teased and she let out a shaky breath of relief.

“If you wish so.” He stepped closer, using a gentle touch on her chin to lift her face.

“I’d like for nothing more, Penelope.” She couldn’t help the smile that formed on her face as she nodded her acceptance. “Did you truly believe I’d condemn you for it?”

“I know how society would twist it and how some men would react, and I was afraid that you’d be upset. But I dearly hoped you wouldn’t.” She was comfortable enough again to look into his eyes as she spoke, assured of his lack of judgment.

“I am not without a history, Penelope. It would be hypocritical of me to begrudge you one, especially with a kiss being the worst of it.” He offered his arm to her again, guiding her towards her mother.

“It was just a kiss, I assure you.”

“For you, maybe it was. I cannot say the same for your friend.” He stole a glance over his shoulder. “How would you like to handle this situation? I would like a word in private with you, but I fear your Mr Bridgerton is relentless in his pursuit and I very much doubt we will get a moment to ourselves before the night is out.” She couldn’t help the dry laugh that burst out from her lips, and he gave her an asking look.

“Honestly?”

“As you’ve said it, that is how we’ve made it this far.”

“True. Had you told me at the beginning of this season or maybe even a couple of months ago, I would have been overjoyed at the thought of Collin Bridgerton seeking me out with that look in his eyes. It would’ve been my biggest dream come true, to be honest. But-” She stopped herself, trying not to get sucked into the memories of her dream and how everything went so wrong there.

“Not anymore?” Penelope looked at the man by her side, taking in his gentle expression and his understanding eyes.

“No. Not anymore.” She held his gaze unwavering. “It has been some time now that I would like nothing better than to go back to being his childhood friend. To go back to being, as he put himself once, just Pen.”

“You are never just anything, Penelope.” His eyes were dark again, his voice but a rumble coming from deep within his chest before the wicked smirk was back. “Should I call on you tomorrow, then? Visit you in your garden, impart some more honesty between us and maybe even steal a kiss?” He dragged his eyes down to her lips and she couldn’t help but feel breathless, her face heating up and her bosom heaving.

“Make no mistake, milord, we would have an audience. I would refrain from stealing anything unless you want to be married tomorrow before the day is out.”

“That, my dear, is not the discouragement you may think it is. I can think of much worse fates than to be your husband by tomorrow night.”

“Pen.”

“Collin.” She took her time looking away from Lord Debling after his rather forward declaration, fighting and failing to conceal the smile that appeared on her lips. He looked away first, his face falling into a pleasant but stoic expression, even if his eyes held an amused glint.

This was the first time she truly looked at her childhood friend that night. Even in her odd premunition, she couldn’t truly remember this night, being pulled from all sides and left unbalanced by what took place. But now, it was clear that Collin was troubled. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes indicating sleepless nights, his face had a light stubble, and his hair had been brushed back but without the usual care, he had been taking lately to look artfully dishevelled. His movements were jerky and nervous, a stark difference to the suave, seductive man he had been playing the entire season.

“I need to speak with you. In private.” He threw an angry glance at Lord Debling, and she saw the man fight back an entertained grin.

“Should I fetch you a refreshment, perhaps, Penelope?” He enunciated, seemingly savouring every syllable of her name, as he turned to her, ignoring Collin's bristling, giving her a clear choice on how to handle this.

“That would be most kind of you, milord.” She smiled sweetly at him, flushing when he raised her hand to his lips and placed a light kiss on her pulse point, acting as though Collin wasn’t in front of them. Penelope speculated for a moment, what brought on this obvious display of masculinity.

She thought back at the way he had closed himself off the other time, his posture stiff and his eyes blank as he questioned her feelings for Collin. She wondered if it was his ego that had taken a hit or if his affections were more engaged than he knew or was willing to admit and had been genuinely hurt by her then. And if now, he was playful out of confidence in his place in her life or if it was a show of dominance. She could work with either, at the moment, but she made a mental note to examine it further for later.

“I look forward to continuing our discussion when I return. Penelope. Mr. Bridgerton.” He offered Collin a challenging smile and excused himself from them. She watched him leave for a moment, catching Cressida rushing forward to intercept him, but this time, there were no worries. Whatever it was the blonde had told him the other time, she had pre-emptively nulled them by being forthcoming with him.

“Penelope? Are you two so familiar that he’s allowed to use your Christian name?” He lashed out, barely modulation his tone and she hissed in displeasure, looking around to see if anyone noticed the tension between them.

“What’s it to you, Collin?”

“Has he proposed?”

“He has not had the chance, now, has he? Not with the way you’ve hounded us since we finished our dance.” She bit out, stiffening at his tone. She remembered far too many times we he turned to her with that self-righteous look in his eyes, that insufferable tone of voice as he berated and condemned her choices and actions.

“Well, perhaps it is for the best.” He looked so pleased with himself. She took a moment to reflect on why she was so endeared to him for so long. She almost couldn’t hold back the frustration from her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Pen. You cannot marry him. You hardly know him.”

“I know him well enough.”

“And I hear he is leaving. For three years.”

“I know that already, Collin. It takes a year alone to get where he is going.” She saw him look up to where Lord Debling was, and I followed his suit. Cressida had one of her fake little smiles in place as she talked, while Alfred nodded from time to time, his eyes briefly meeting Penelope’s. He offered her a smile before sighing and forcing his attention back to Cressida. “I know exactly what Lord Debling has to offer. He has been exceptionally clear about his intentions from the very beginning of our courtship.”

“And you’ll accept this?”

“I see no reason not to.”

“I said I would help you find a husband, but I cannot watch you make a mistake.”

“And who are you, Collin, to determine whether I’m making a mistake? Are you my father? My brother? What right do you have to interfere?”

“Pen, I- I’m your friend.” He seemed taken aback by her questioning. “It is my obligation to care for you. Lord knows your mother won’t care enough to make sure you are making the right choice.” She took a moment to just look at him.

“It is also your obligation to respect me and my choices. And yet, for all you seem to care about me, your respect is curiously absent.”

“That is not-”

“And I’d thank you to leave my mother out of this. As many mistakes as she has made, she has always strived to care for me and my sisters as well as she could.”

“I only meant-“

“I know what you meant.” He looked frustrated by the change in dynamics, but she had let him dominate the first part of the conversation and say his piece. In fact, he had dominated the entirety of their acquaintance and while it wasn’t all bad, she needed to stop choosing him over her. “Not everyone can be Violet Bridgerton, Collin.” Her voice was impossibly soft now, sad at the loss of the relationship between her and the Bridgerton matriarch and probably the rest of the entire family. “What is your objection with Lord Debling?”

“He is too particular. His behaviour is odd-”

“Legitimate grievances, Collin.” She interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Is there anything wrong with him? I know for a fact he doesn’t gamble; I asked him about it when I noticed he tends to steer clear of the men’s room during parties. He is kind and compassionate, not only to the animals he wants to save but to all manner of creatures. His character has been vouched for Lady Danbury herself at the beginning of the season. So, Collin. Do you have any insidious knowledge about Lord Debling that would make my attachment to him objectionable? Is he a drunk? Is he secretly vicious? Does he force himself onto young women or maids? Has he sired any bastards? Does he frequent unreputable places, brimming with disease, and waste his time and money on loose women?” He paled and flinched at that, and Penelope felt a sharp, pointed, cold satisfaction pierce through her.

She hadn’t known about it before, but now she was well aware of how Collin chose to spend his nights and was enraged by his irresponsibility. He could have put her life in danger as well as his own. It was by pure happenstance that he had remained healthy after sowing his wild oaths in the more unsavoury parts of London.

“So?” She pressed, seeing him prevaricating.

“No. Nothing of the sort.” He responded begrudgingly.

“Then what, exactly, makes him the wrong choice?”

“He does not love you, Pen!”

“Keep your voice down!” She hissed, looking around to see some curious eyes staring at their way. “And how do you know that?”

“I-”

“Is the idea of someone seeing me as a potential love interest still so abhorrent to you?” She was being unfair, she knew that. She wanted to hurt him and now she had the leverage to wound him as much as he had in the past and the potential future. But this wasn’t right. And she promised herself she would be better.

“No, Pen.” His voice was rough and tortured, his eyes reddening as he visibly fought back tears. “There is no one more deserving of love than you. It is for that reason I can’t- Pen, I l-“

“Please, Collin. Don’t.” Her voice was not above a whisper, but it seemed to cut through him like a shout. “There was a time when I would’ve given everything I have to hear you say those words. But I’ve been hurt by you so often I started to lose myself. I can’t-” She thought she could hear his heart breaking as the tears ran down his face and she held back the urge to touch his cheek. “I need to put myself first and, for once, be the most important person in my life,” she begged him.

“I understand.” His voice was choked and small and she had to look away for a moment. “Are you happy then? With this choice?”

“I am.” She looked at him again, hating the way his shoulder seemed to cave in.

“Then I will be happy for you.” He promised, forcing a painful smile. “Lord Debling.”

“Your refreshment, Penelope,” the voice that had been full of mischief when he left earlier was now courteous and compassionate. He had positioned himself in such a way as to use his stature to conceal them from the gaze of others. She thanked him, reaching for the glass, using the moment to softly brush the tears that had escaped her eyes.

“I shall leave you, then.” Collin turned to leave, then hesitated for a moment. “There is no worthier person I know than Penelope Featherington, Lord Debling. She is deserving of everything that is good and more. She loves with her whole heart, and she deserves nothing less.”

“You have my word, Mr Bridgerton, that I will give Penelope everything that is in my power to give.”

“See that you do.” He looked at her again, eyes full of tears and sorrow, a heartbroken smile on his lips. “Goodnight, Pen.”

“Goodnight, Collin.”

“I just need a moment, please.” She accepted the handkerchief he offered, not raising her face yet trying to get her breathing under control.

“Take all the time you need.” Was all he answered, his voice soft and light, offering his hand, which she took gracefully, accepting the silent support.

“That was worse than I imagined,” she found herself saying after some time, trying to soothe her heartache. “The Bridgertons have always been kind to me. They’ve always offered me refuge when it all became too much.” She couldn’t help trying to explain. “I grew up with them and they mean as much to me as my family does. With my fight with Eloise and now this-“

“You feel as though you’ve lost them.” She nodded, before taking a deep breath and a sip of the lemonade. She raised her eyes to see him looking at her with a soft, hesitant expression. “There is still time if you want to- I can withdraw my suit and step aside if you wish.” The offer seemed to pain him greatly and she took a moment, just taking him in, before shaking her head, a soft hand meeting his cheek.

“You are a remarkable man, Alfred Debling.” He gave a relieved sigh and a small smile, pressing his hand over hers for a second, before guiding her to his arm and slowly leading her to her family.

“I thought to invite you and your mother for lunch tomorrow at my house. For some privacy. But if you need a few days to recuperate from tonight, I understand.”

“My mother wouldn’t.” He chuckled with her, and she took her time before answering him. “Tonight was rather stressful, but I have already made my peace with it. You may invite us at your leisure, milord.” He nodded in acknowledgement, and they remained in silence until they reached her mother. He offered to escort them to their carriage and was accepted with enthusiasm, her mama filling the void in conversation between them.

She was still reeling from how painful her conversation with Colin had been and mourning the loss of her friendship with the family who had practically adopted her, and Alfred seemed to understand and respect that. He offered his support silently, engaging her mother when she demanded to be answered and deflecting the attention from her, while his hand covered the one placed on his arm, anchoring and supporting her as she was finally able to let go of her love for Collin Bridgerton.

Chapter Text

Penelope took a deep breath, keeping her eyes closed as she felt the sway of the carriage. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t be bothered at the moment; the previous night had already been spent trying to soothe her mother’s nerves and assure her that everything was still alright. The ball just hadn’t been the best time for a proposal. It was all for nought, of course. Portia was still jittery and anxious, as she would remain until an offer had been made and accepted. Or until the papers were signed, and they were declared husband and wife.

Thankfully, Lady Featherington seemed to realise that Penelope needed time to herself, and the carriage ride to the Debling townhouse was blessedly silent. Gathering and organising her thoughts, yet again, gave some comfort to the young writer. She had been unsure and agitated about revealing her secret to Lord Debling, but she would not be able to accept an offer from him until he knew. She could not subject herself to that level of disdain once more. Her hope was that the man had said he didn’t read her papers, so maybe he felt less inclined to be angry or outright reject her. She didn’t think he would, but it was hope for the best while preparing for the worst.

With that in mind, she looked at her mother, who was making a poor show of pretending she wasn’t worried. To solve the problem of the solicitor and the money her mother had taken from Cousin Jack’s deceit, she would have to confess her identity to her as well. Her mother had been livid in her premonition, about the secret, about the writings, about the money. Penelope wondered whether it was preferable to tell her mother sooner and rehash their fight or later and use the opportunity of the man threatening her mother to gain the upper hand and mitigate her anger by giving her a convenient out.

Before she reached a conclusion on what level of deceit and manipulation she could live with, the vehicle stopped in front of the Debling House. If one could call what could pass as a country estate inside London simply a house.

“One of the biggest houses in Mayfair indeed…” Portia murmured, eyes darting around the sprawling vegetation that formed the front garden, which seemed to go on forever. Only the Danbury house in town could even begin to compete with the sheer size and opulence of the place in front of her. It looked more like a reproduction of a Grecian temple, with the tall, imposing pillars supporting the cupola on top, than a house. Unlike the usual townhouses of London, the building only had three floors, but the structure seemed to sprawl towards the back and the sides of the main entrance. It was truly a sight to behold.

The moment the carriage stopped, Alfred made his way down the stairs to welcome them. He offered both of them his arms and guided them through the foyer, towards the back of the house, to a gazebo where he had lunch organised. Penelope tuned out her mother’s nervous chatter about the entryway, the house and the furnishings, taking the luxury around her. Their host seemed to notice her disquiet.

“My great-grandmother was very interested in ancient Greece,” Alfred explained with a light flush on his cheeks as yet another temple-like structure came into view. “There was a fire that compromised a good deal of the structure of the house, requiring it to be rebuilt. So, her husband gave her complete control over the minute details. She may have gone a bit overboard.”

“She had great taste. And an eye for detail.” Penelope chose to say with a small smile. “It is all very grand. I imagine it takes some time to get used to it.”

“Hopefully, less than you’d imagine.” She offered him a small smile, and they joined her mother on the gazebo.

Lunch was stilted and carried through mainly by Lady Featherington’s ability to answer most of her own questions. Alfred would interject here and there when it became apparent her mother was actually expecting an answer, and Penelope would guide the conversation to a different topic when she felt her mother was being a bit too prying or Alfred seemed uncomfortable with the subject.

All in all, it was a blessed relief when it was over, and Alfred asked for a private audience. Penelope couldn’t hold back the nervous laughter as soon as they were out of sight, hidden away by the blooming plants of the greenhouse.

“That was very uncomfortable,” Alfred commented with a sheepish grin, and she barked out another laugh.

“I am sorry about that. Mama has been most eager for me to marry, and I suppose last night’s interruption made her nervous.”

“You haven’t met my parents yet. I assure you, your mother’s nerves aside, she is rather transparent. I know where I stand with her, at the very least.” He offered his arm, and they walked slowly amongst the greenery.

“You have mentioned you don’t get along with them.”

“I do not. My parents did their best, but they have a hard time accepting… well, me. My quirks.” There was a self-deprecating tone there that indicated how much the word must’ve been used against him. “Much as I love them, it is easier to maintain that love from afar.”

“I understand. Expectations can be suffocating. Especially when you are doing your best, going against your own nature, and it is still not enough.”

“You seem to reflect my thoughts perfectly, Miss Featherington.”

“I thought we were past that, Lord Debling.” She offered him a cheeky grin, sitting down at a stone bench, and he laughed, sitting beside her.

“Correct again. I suppose I am a bit nervous.” He fidgeted with his hands, reaching into his coat and retrieving a small, velvet box from within. Penelope reached for his hand, stopping his next movement.

“Well, seeing as we are in a garden, should we impart more honesty between us, as you suggested last night?” He turned to her, his smile holding something wicked in the curve of his lips.

“I remember the mention of a stolen something, as well.” She blushed and squirmed a little.

“If what I have to tell you doesn’t completely discourage you from me, I… I wouldn’t be opposed.” She got up from the bench, turning to face him, trying to gather the courage to say it. Penelope realised at that moment that she had never actually revealed her secret to anyone before. Everyone who knew found out by themselves or, in her mother’s case, by someone telling them. But she had never confessed her alter ego to anyone.

“You are nervous.”

“Yes. This particular piece of information has not been received very well when found out.” Just breathe, she thought.

“I can’t help but be very intrigued.” She offered him a tight smile before gathering all her courage.

“I am Lady Whistledown.”

“I see.” He answered after a pause, on his lips a confused grin.

“You… see?” Penelope was holding her breath, bracing herself for his reaction.

“Yes.”

“… And?”

“Well… You seem to be expecting… May I get a hint, perhaps, on what reaction I’m supposed to have?”

“I-I was expecting some anger, at the very least. Feelings of betrayal, a good deal of admonishment.”

“Ah. You seem to be doing that just fine by yourself.” Alfred offered a smile, and she huffed, incredulous. “I apologise for disappointing you. I did tell you I don’t read Lady Whistledown. Which, I can!” He rushed to offer. “Now that I know you write it, I’ll make sure to acquire the entire catalogue and-“

“I’d prefer you didn’t. I’m not proud of everything I’ve written in it.” Penelope confessed, still feeling wrong-footed by his mild reaction. She had been ready for fury, resentment, or at least a little bit of irritation. She was unprepared for the blank stare and easy acceptance, however.

“I can’t promise that. Now, I’m curious about all the fuss.” Alfred’s voice was a little teasing, and he reached for her hand, pulling her back to sit beside him. “You can’t expect never to make a mistake. That is not realistic. We start our lives making mistakes. We crawl and stumble before learning to walk. We babble and slur our words before being about to speak. That is the truth of not only human nature but all animals. You can only endeavour to learn from your mistakes and try again.”

Penelope found herself tearing up, her eyes glued to Alfred’s gentle expression, his blue eyes so impossibly soft as he looked at her.

“You don’t know what I’ve done. I’ve… I’m ashamed to say that my mistakes have ruined people. People close to me, people who trusted me. For the sake of keeping my identity secret from everyone.”

“I don’t know the details of the situations you are referring to, but you seem to be intent on getting a negative reaction from me.” He took a pause, bringing a hand to her cheek. “Is this because of what you said? About your hidden identity not being well-received?”

“I suppose… I suppose I might be trying to get your reaction, so I’m not- So, if you are angry, I am not…”

“So I don’t take my anger out on you.” Penelope nods. “I can’t say I’m an explosive person. And I don’t have any opinions on Lady Whistledown, having never read it before. Honestly, I find society as boring as society accuses me of being. I find le bon ton a den of liars and hypocrites who’d stab you in the back as soon as the opportunity presented itself. So, I don’t mind the idea of some of them, the worst offenders, for example, having their exploits widely known. I can’t say I would be the one exposing them. I suppose it makes me as much of a hypocrite as I accuse them of being, but I prefer to keep my affairs private.” He stopped for a moment, and she took the time to take in his reaction. “That being said, I don’t think it is my place to punish you for anything, especially something I don’t fully comprehend.” He really was completely unbothered by the revelation. The knowledge that had wrecked her dreams before, that had destroyed her friendship, and supposedly destroyed her chance at love, meant nothing to him. Didn’t phase him at all.

“Well, I-” She stopped herself, looking away, fighting against tears, her heart feeling both heavy and light at the same time. He didn’t care.

“Here.” Lord Debling took a handkerchief and, with the kindness one would have with a rare flower, dried the tears that had escaped her eyes. Penelope studied him, taking in as much as she could. A strand of his usually perfectly coifed hair fell on his forehead, his face calm and impassive as his roughed finger stroked her cheek, a glint of concern and kindness in his gaze betraying his inner thoughts. “I have something to say. But I do not wish for you to take it badly or as though I am trying to direct you in any way. It is simply a thought,” he murmured, cradling her face in his large hands.

“Alright.” She looked on, curious, and he hesitated for a moment before gathering his thoughts and speaking.

“I know very little of your work, but given the amount of strife and anxiety it seems to cause you, is it worth it?”

Penelope’s first instinct was to shove his hand away and defend herself. But, unlike the memories still swirling in her mind, his tone was inquisitive. No accusation, no demands, just curiosity.

She felt wretched, basing so many of her responses on Eloise’s reaction to her identity. Or Colin’s jealousy and contempt, even if she couldn’t truly count it as a memory, but as a dream.

“I’m… not sure. It used to be. My writing gave me a voice. A voice I didn’t have - I still don’t truly have - in my life. No one listens to me, and no one sees me, not truly. But they listen to her. They hang on to her every word.”

“Your every word.” She looked at him in confusion. “You talk as if you are two different people, but you are not. She is you. Her power, her influence is yours.”

Penelope looked down, trying to control her breathing.

She had not even realised she had been separating herself from Lady Whistledown. Just as she had not truly thought about her feelings about being Lady Whistledown. When Eloise found out it was her, it was as if she had vanished. She was no longer Penelope, her childhood friend, or her confidante. In Eloise’s eyes, she was only Lady Whistledown. When Colin found out, he fought tooth and nail to separate the two, but Penelope had also faded under the shadow of the author.

The two people whom she held closest, who she had thought her friends, could not fathom, could not accept that she was more. More than what they saw, more than what her clothes suggested, more than them. They could not accept that she was quiet, soft-spoken, kind, and she was ruthless, shrewd and powerful. She loved them unconditionally; she loved their good and their bad. But they didn’t.

Yet, in front of her was Lord Alfred Debling.

They’ve known each other for less than four months, closer to three, considering the time she spent hiding from society. And yet there he sat, in front of her, looking at her without judgment, without expectations, just curiosity and openness. She had just confessed what she felt was her deepest secret, her greatest sin, and he had given her grace.

“I-” She stopped herself, trying to find the words. “I suppose, given your reaction, that if you haven’t changed your mind…” She trailed off, not knowing how to put into words, her eyes drifted instead to the velvet box sitting innocently beside them.

“Ah, yes…” He took the box, lifting it towards his face, turning it around for a bit. “Such a small thing, isn’t it? So light, yet so impossibly heavy,” he mused, and she cocked her head, studying his expression. He seemed anxious. “I suppose,” he started, taking a deep, fortifying breath, “given the circumstances, that it is my turn to impart some honesty of my own.”

“Oh?” For the first time in their acquaintance, his eyes didn’t meet hers. He seemed sheepish and ashamed.

“Though not as dramatic as yours, I do have a secret. One, I’m afraid, that might cause you to change your mind.” Penelope didn’t answer, beyond raising her eyebrows. Nothing had come up when she looked into Lord Debling - she was Lady Whistledown, after all. She wouldn’t simply marry a man she knew nothing about - so for him to have a secret that escaped her research was more intriguing than worrying for her. She could think of nothing that he could say that would be so very bad, that wouldn’t have come up in her investigation of him, so she was very curious.

“Well… I will give you the same grace as you’ve extended to me, milord,” she maintained her tone carefully, even, with a hint of polite curiosity, and he grinned, still avoiding her eyes.

“There is a reason why I came into the ton looking for a wife this season, specifically.” He started after a deep breath, his words slow and carefully chosen. “During my last voyage, on our way back, we were met with a storm.” Penelope watched worriedly as his eyes grew dark and sorrowful, his voice heavy. “I’ve never seen such an angry storm in my life. The winds alone felt as though they could pierce through the ship, the rain felt like a whip against our skin and the sea… The waves were so tall that they threatened to turn the ship every time one broke over us. I’ve- I’ve been through storms before - bad storms - but nothing like that.” He seemed to get lost in a memory, his breath heaving, and Penelope reached for his hand, wanting to offer some comfort.

“What happened?” It felt like the wrong thing to ask, but she didn’t know what else to say. Regardless of how unfit her question had been, it prompted him to continue.

“The ship sank. My crew and I… We spent three days adrift on the wreckage, two of which the storm went on. Thirteen men died, their bodies lost in the sea. Four others died after we were rescued from lung infections.” He fell silent, his eyes red, glistening with tears, a shiver running through his body as if he was back to the cold of the storm, and Penelope couldn’t help but draw closer to him, her hand tight against his.

“Alfred…”

“I no longer wish to go on the expedition to the Arctic,” he blurted out after a sharp breath. “I am… afraid. I am terrified,” he confessed, running a hand over his beard roughly before getting up, his movements agitated. “I thought I was going to die. I condemned the lives of everyone in my crew. And all I could think about was how I didn’t want to die like that. Stranded in the middle of the ocean, delirious with thirst and cold, with no hope in sight and no one to miss me.”

He started pacing back and forth, still avoiding her eyes, and Penelope was struck by how different the man in front of her was from the usually cool and collected Lord she had grown familiar with during their courtship.

“I- Surely there are animals here to be studied and protected as well. And I have more than enough money and connections to help fund other such endeavours here and in other places. I need not be personally involved. I need not… I need not embark on a ship again. So, while I was recovering, I decided to return to England. Take my proper place in society and stop running from my responsibilities. Find a wife, find someone I could, perhaps, build a family with. Find someone who would- someone who would miss me.” He stopped abruptly when his voice caught, turning his back on her, breathing deeply. Penelope felt at a loss for what to do, choosing to stay quiet as he struggled with his feelings and words. Feelings and words he had clearly kept tightly locked within him, that now that been given space, could no longer be contained. “I don’t know how the journey to the Northwest Passage became public knowledge.” He continued after a while. “I was… taken aback. I didn’t know how to react, so I just… Went with it. I suppose I tried to convince myself I was overreacting. I have invested too money in this voyage to back out. I was simply being a coward. What would I tell society? Much as I’d like to believe I do not care, how could I face my peers? The male ego, I suppose. I am terrified to go, but I cannot bear the thought of being branded as a coward. I-” He finally turned around and looked at her. “I sold to you an amiable marriage with an absent husband. With an adventurer who would spend more time away than near you, but I… I don’t know that I can…” He was more dishevelled than she had seen him before, which admittedly was very little. A bit of sweat on his temples, moist, reddened eyes, heavy breathing. He barely had a hair out of place. But his eyes… His normally calm and clear eyes were dark and despondent.

Looking at him, struggling with his thoughts, with his fears, Penelope was stuck with a terrifying thought. In her dream, her premonition, whatever it had been, Lord Debling had left town that very morning. He had gone on his voyage. She had noted the previous night how much more open he had been with her clear interest, how much more affected he had seemed with the security of her affections. Had her acceptance of Colin’s proposal pushed the man in front of her into the jaws of his overwhelming fear? Had he been so affected by their courtship, by Colin’s rude interuption, that he had willingly walked towards something that caused him such terror?

“That will not do, Lord Debling.” She shook herself from her thoughts, unwilling to allow herself to get lost wondering about something that didn’t happen. That would not happen. “That will not do, at all,” she went on, not giving him the chance to interject. “You are the last heir of the Debling line. Therefore, you must have an heir, at the very least. Preferably an heir and a spare.” He blinked at her deceptively light tone as if trying to comprehend what she meant. “After all, not only will that secure the continuation of your family line, but also the security of your future wife. My mama says - and as you, yourself, witnessed today, she is very difficult to ignore - security is romantic. And as her daughter, no one would think me any different.” His shoulders seemed to relax, understanding dawning on his face, and Penelope offered him a pleased smile. “Your wife would need, at the very least, a year to beget you an heir. Since there are no guarantees on the sex of the child, you would need to wait for the birth. Then, your wife would not wish to become with child again for some time, I would imagine. Not with a baby to take care of, on top of learning her responsibilities as a Countess. She would need another year still, getting acclimated to her new reality before even considering adding another baby in the mix. Which, of course, would take yet another year to make sure you’ve properly secured your line and your wife. She would not want you to leave so soon after her having another child either, so you’d be land-bound by another half year, at minimum. That is all supposing those babies properly follow this schedule, for which there is no guarantee they will. My sister has been married for an entire year, and only now is she with child. So, you see, milord, that will absolutely not do. Your wife will need you for the foreseeable future. Five years, at the very least, if not a decade full.” She finished her little speech, a satisfied little smile growing on her lips as she turned her head to face him, only to be surprised by the look in his eyes. The awe in his face swiftly morphed into hunger, and he stalked forward, his steps slow and measured as he approached her. Penelope felt her body light up in response to his expression, watching as he kneeled in front of her, lifting a large hand to her cheek, the movement deliberate, almost hesitant, as though he feared she might dissolve beneath his touch. His palm was warm, his thumb trembling faintly as it brushed along her jaw. There was hunger in his eyes, yes, but more than that, there was also reverence. He looked at her as one might behold something fragile and impossibly precious.

“You… Do you mean it?” He asked, his voice raw, still stripped of the composure she had grown accustomed to. “Even knowing what I am, that I cannot bear the sea again, that I wake at night hearing the storm still?”

“I would not have said it if I did not.” Her breath trembled, but her voice was steady. “I will indeed need you here for the foreseeable future, will I not? Not lost to some icy abyss, proving your bravery to men who wouldn’t weep for you.” She offered him a soft smile, taking his large hands in her palms. “I would rather have you here, afraid and breathing, than brave and gone,” she murmured, the words spilling from her with quiet conviction. “There is no shame in wanting to live.”

“You make cowardice sound almost noble.” He laughed softly, the sound breaking on something raw.

“If survival is cowardice, then may we both be cowards together.” She shrugged, brushing her fingers through his hair, coaxing them back into place.

He made a desperate sort of sound and leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. For a long moment, neither moved. The world beyond the greenhouse was silent save for the faint rustle of leaves and the rhythmic sound of their breaths mingling.

“I thought,” he whispered, “that I was too old for fantasies. That I’d outgrown the hope of someone seeing me so clearly, and still wanting me. Yet here you are proving me wrong as easily as breathing.”

“I could say the same.” She met his eyes, her fingers tracing his. “Here you are, not running away from me after learning I’ve made a career of scandal.”

“I should think,” he said, voice low, leaning back and cradling her face into his hands once more, “that between your scandal and my cowardice, we make quite the formidable pair.”

“You are extraordinary,” he whispered, almost to himself. “You offer me sanctuary and do not even realise it.”

“You make it sound as though I’ve saved you.” She said it, chasing away the implications. She would not think of a future that would not come to pass. He would remain on land. He would remain safe by her side.

“Perhaps you have.” She had not driven him to a doomed, fearful journey. He was safe.

For a while, neither of them spoke. His thumbs rested at the corners of her mouth, his gaze fixed on her face with a kind of reverent astonishment, as though he scarcely dared to believe she was real.

He drew a slow breath, releasing it as though it steadied him, then reached for the small velvet box beside them. He turned it once in his hands, studying it with a strange tenderness before meeting her gaze again.

“Penelope Featherington,” he began, her name carrying the full weight of his intention, “I have no promises but honesty and gratitude to offer you. And this faint, trembling hope that we might find peace in one another. If you would allow me that chance. Will you marry me?”

For a moment, she could not move. Her heart beat painfully against her ribs, the sheer sincerity of his tone rendering her utterly still. He was not promising passion or perfection, not the dizzying fantasy she once mistook for love.

“Yes, Alfred.” She nodded, her voice soft and steady. “I will marry you.”

He exhaled sharply, almost in relief, and opened the box. The ring gleamed in the soft light filtering through the glass overhead. He took her hand as though it were made of porcelain, sliding the band onto her finger with reverent care, then turned her palm upward and pressed his lips to its centre. The kiss lingered there. Warm, grounding, and something inside her shifted, the ache of old wounds easing under the weight of gentleness.

“Well, then,” she whispered, not wanting to break the sincerity of the moment, but feeling a little overwhelmed by it all. “We are in a garden.”

“Yes, I suppose we are,” he grinned, reaching up to brush a curl away.

“And we’ve imparted a good deal of honesty.”

“More than I expected, if I’m being honest,” he huffed, his hand once more caressing her cheek.

“I suppose there’s only stealing a kiss left in your list.” He chuckled, and she felt her heart race.

“I would never dream of stealing anything from you, Penelope,” he murmured, his eyes impossibly soft and warm. “I would only ever dare to take what you offer freely.”

Her heart gave a traitorous flutter. For once, she did not allow herself to overthink. She simply leaned forward and kissed him. Slowly, hesitantly at first, her lips brushed his in a question rather than an assertion. He exhaled softly and answered her in kind, deepening the kiss by degrees, his touch careful, reverent.

When they parted, their foreheads touched again, breaths mingling in the warm, green-scented air of the greenhouse.

Perhaps things might have been different, she thought, if she and Colin had begun with such honesty, quiet and painful though it was. Perhaps love between them might have survived the truth. The thought stung, but she did not flinch from it. She had no regrets about choosing Alfred this time around, because in choosing him, she chose herself. And that it hurt, the possibility, the what if, but she had been given a new chance, and she could not take the same path knowing how much it would strip her of herself and her dignity.

And though she knew pain would find her again, as it finds everyone, she would meet it standing tall beside a partner who would face the storm with her. Not one who would become the storm himself.