Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Colin`s Plan
`Ah, are you mad? I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington.
Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife!`
No matter how much time passed, it scarcely healed wounds that confirmed one`s sodden perception all at once. It was a sentiment Penelope Featherington was quite aware of. Same few words ran through her head constantly, no variations, no room for bargaining. Altogether final and definite. They prickled and probed, akin to the thorns adorning mama`s prized red roses. Her ample body shifted further, seeking respite between white linen and silenced gasps. She had considered herself well past the stage of possible distress, yet as the skin tightening around her knuckles would prove, that boot was quite on the other leg. In no way was she fit to continue her nightmare, thus, with little care, Penelope reached for the candle near her person, and set out onto the terrace.
It was a cool spring night, in the middle of Social season, the streets around Grosvenor Square empty and inviting. Fresh faced débutantes long taken over by sleep and promises of chaste romance and marriage. A world this woman of five and twenty, within ames-ace of society, knew quite well. She placed her hand on the black railing, enjoying further refreshment it afforded to her blushed skin. Aftereffects of the night terrors persisted. Eight years. Five years had passed since that inopportune moment in the Featherington Estate gardens. Penelope cast a look to the left. Just two streets over. Her grandest failures and happiest moments were housed there, all at once. A frustrated sigh escaped, tainting clear skies with doubt for only but a moment.
A voice.
Voices, in fact. There were several, and quite loud as well. Boastful, rather. Several young men dotted the pavement below, screaming and belting at the top of their lungs. Some were hitting the notes of tunes long gone, whilst others scattered about, their shadows faint, helped in visibility only by the whisper of the coming morning. With their steps prancing about, the whole affair created a song Penelope came to appreciate, despite the chaos. But one stood out as decidedly peculiar. That tone, color and sound could never escape Penelope, as it was seared in her brain forevermore, hidden between the walls of the Bridgerton drawing room. And she need not try, for as quickly as it was revealed to her, the voice quieted, replaced with a hearty cough. A certain gentleman would let out the same cough when Hyacinth would jest in the exact moment he`d take a sip of his afternoon tea, just to vex him. Though she might be older now, Penelope was certain this habit stayed the same. It was a sound she got so used to, even presently her body reacted with fervor. The group was now passing below the terraces of her humble residence, which called for swift retreat, lest she risk the chance of becoming the most talked about aspect of her forthcoming issue. Her mind did pay heed to this command, and yet, her tiny feet would not. The commotion ceased for a second, men dispersing, heading to their families no doubt. Two or three libertines set out for Vauxhall Gardens instead, all still on the cut - for as prudish as some have come to describe her over the years, Penelope was still Lady Whistledown, and Vauxhall was often of most interest to her reports.
She could not decipher Colin`s stance or reasoning as to why he seemed struck by thunder, nor why she shared this predicament in the utmost measure. Once their gazes met, it felt like an indecent situation. The kind of which they have had every time he would touch her forearm, or jest indecently. Vauxhall Gardens came across as a place of holy word in comparison. Unlike the view he had of her, Penelope`s view of Colin was barely satisfactory. In fact, she thought it quite possible that she would not have recognized him at all, had she not known of his demeanor and voice. She could not see his hair, though she could deduce it still added to his height. Tallest of his siblings by far, Colin`s height only added to Penelope`s feelings of distance, as he was just beyond reach. His body was adorned by dark fabric, and she had hoped it was navy blue, for she loved him dearly in that hue. She loved him dearly all muddied, with her yellow head covering by his side. She loved him angry, in front of the Featherington estate, when he addressed her as…
“Are you quite alright, Bridgerton?” one of the men inquired, reaching out and patting his back, the only movement their shadows seemingly made.
But he remained. Colin remained standing. Frozen still, snow of the twelfth-month winter last be damned, and he knew this could not be possible, for the weather they have been graced with as of recent has been continuously pleasant. Most invigorating. It was her, he decided. Or, his soul decided. She, who was now standing, narry a hair length taller than the railing she was grasping, only steps away from above his head. As if to prove his point, she stomped twice and, in spite of her adult disposition, she appeared just like a doll. Her face remained the same, but the expression gracing her features seemed very foreign to him. Somewhat obscured by the darkness of the night, it was equal parts solemn and hopeful. In order to steady himself, he studied the rest of her, trying to focus on something plain. The dilemma was, in fact, that Penelope Featherington, Penelope he knew even in his drunken stupor, was anything but plain. The beauty she was blessed with was of such great importance, artists he convened with on his travels would raise a breeze at the drop of a hat for a chance to paint her. The unassuming vision of this woman. In her linen shift and thin dressing gown, Penelope`s body manifested as prophecy in Colin`s eyes. He was mad, he was delighted. Sad and utterly destroyed. But he was not prepared. They had come across one another a few times in these years, an occurrence stifled by her sudden change in residence.
When he had heard about Penelope taking up residence in one of terrace buildings, he thought it a terrible idea for it was an opinion, universally held by most people in Mayfair, that such row of residences had been all but reserved for blue stockings and spinsters, visited only by a stray family member or a grateful abigail. The woman looking down on him, an embodiment of a goddess in flesh, was neither. She was Penelope Featherington, his friend, whom he had wronged terribly. And who betrayed him in the cruelest of ways.
Seeing her this way felt like a sobering experience. He had to ignore it. He had to ignore her beautiful hair, her eyes, the most enchanting shade of blue and whatever she ponders. Hopefully she does not open her mouth. Hopefully no voice comes out at all. He turned to Lord Baxter as time started passing in a usual manner.
“Yes, I think so. Just a touch bottle weary is all. Let us leave.” He placed his palm on the other man`s shoulder and with all the grace of a drunkard down on his luck, Colin kept walking, past her, past her home and past memories set on haunting him upon return. Another tour might do him well, after all. Perhaps to a place where there are no red-headed apparitions of perfection sleeping in his chest, close to his heart.
As the street all but swallowed the men and their cheers, and as the few cobblestones lying around wildly reflected the first signs of a new morn, Penelope retreated, unsure of how to proceed.
…
“It has been five years, Brimsley.” Queen Charlotte retorted, with a quite lackadaisical attitude, as her fork kept pilfering the insides of a fig, the shipment of which seemed as pointless now as her matchmaking endeavors, she bitterly concluded. At least her George might find solace in the sweet taste. He has always preferred sweets.
No personnel dared tear their eyes away from the light meal the Queen had been consuming, as another flighty command might grace the tip of her tongue soon. The manner in which Queen Charlotte broke her fast each morn was coated in authority as much as tight panic sweeping across the richly decorated room.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Precisely five years.” Stab.
“And still no word from anyone?” Stab, stab.
Brimsley, not zany by any stretch of the word, could not hide his befuddlement either. For as long as they have been searching for the illustrious Lady Whistledown, in all of the morns and nights, all they have concluded as certain is this - she must form part of the Bridgerton family. That piece of information had been as fresh as the fish gracing the stalls of Billingsgate Market. Brimsley knew of the family, what with their reputation and some misgivings surrounding it. Outside of Her Majesty`s matchmaking, he rather liked them, for as high in the instep as they were supposed to appear to the Ton, Dowager Countess Violet Bridgerton had only shown reverence and apt conduct. On-dits regarding this family have been constant, with Brimsley taking the knowledge as Queen Charlotte is - a pleasant diversion. However, with each passing day, Lady Whistledown became more of a bother than a diversion, and the rest of the palace agreed. Her Majesty`s mood has been souring for a dozen of months. She is in no need of another failure. It would be most reminiscent of certain previous pursuits. And that shall not do.
“Brimsley, have someone deliver this fruit to my bed chambers. And call on Lady Danbury. I shall need more of her guidance.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
…
“Come now, she is quite the definition of a spinster, dear Lady Danbury. Whatever could be so confusing about that notion?” Anthony Bridgerton inquired, pushing the most succulent of red grapes in his mouth during the same morn. Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount and current head of his family, had been lounging about, enjoying moment`s peace, away from his overgrown pile of documents. Once a smart beau, the eldest son of Lord Edmund Bridgerton swapped his boyish charm and became an altogether more pleasant presence. No doubt due to his beloved wife, Viscountess Kate Bridgerton. Viscountess, who was presently sending the most fatal of glares in his direction.
“I have always had a penchant for spinsters you see. I do not consider it a sour word.”
“But others might. I should think it in your best interest to cease such jests at once, lest your wife corrects your behavior accordingly.” Lady Agatha Danbury replied, ever the picture of propriety and regal stance. The words rolled off her tongue between measured pauses, simply adding to the theatricality Bridgertons have come to appreciate with years. Anthony cleared his throat at the sole mention of his wife, in delight or fear, one might never be certain. Younger Bridgerton siblings, with the exception of Colin, had their share of worries as well. Hyacinth, who was now gracing her marriageable years, hung onto the older lady`s every word with bated breath, memorizing them with much the same reverence. Her skirts have been long since lowered, and modiste Sloan has enjoyed her full attention. For Hyacinth did entirely find herself in need of excitement constantly. On the other hand, Gregory excelled at many hobbies since graduating from Eton, though in his own right, he did consider himself an `Eton man forevermore`. Neither Colin nor Gregory, much to Anthony`s dismay, had taken an interest in settling down. Gregory had time, much time indeed whereas Colin did not. Colin resulted as quite worrisome in particular.
“Have you taken tea with my mother recently, then? I shall think she would have much to say in our dear Penelope`s defense. Perhaps even persuade her to take up residence at the Featherington estate once again. Lord knows my letters have not been helpful in the endeavor.”
“It was only my dear husband who saw it fit to start a correspondence with an unmarried woman with narry a suitor at her doors, Lady Danbury.” Kate explained further, as Lady Danbury`s face painted with confusion at Anthony`s words. He tried to shrug this pointed implication off, yet even he had to admit it was rather foolish, all things considered. It was most improper of a gentleman, who was not one`s family member or betrothed - in the best of circumstances - to send word as he has done.
“You have been sending word to Penelope Featherington still?” the older woman asked, her skirts making a sound of disturbance as she adjusted her posture.
“Several, in fact. Two just this sennight last. I do wonder what you could have asked Pen, considering all your previous inquiries had remained unanswered, dear brother.” Hyacinth chimed in, disappearing as fast as a bird upon having a smell of freshly baked scones. Anthony did not like this unveiling of his secret, rather clumsily kept. As to prove this point, Anthony kept his steely gaze on the spot Hyacinth occupied moments before.
“How interesting. Not the most proper of your showings is it?” he nodded in agreement, yet the feeling of guilt prevailed. None of the older Bridgerton siblings have been entirely correct in their comportment towards Penelope, despite everything that occurred five years ago. He has this on good authority, for he formed as much part of it as others did.
“I do wish to apologize, yet I cannot completely separate this festering scar she has left on this family. You might call me pedantic, but I am the head of this household. Even if a conversation should be had.” With this, he left his wife, siblings and dear guest, heading for his cabinet. The crisp steps of this eldest son with a purpose were followed by a short silence and then -
“He is still so wearisome, however do you manage, my dear?”
“Truth be told, I understand his reasoning, as much as I do not hold the same view. He has been irked, I will not say betrayed.” Kate mediated, ruminating further. They have had this conversation many times, in privacy of their rooms. She has consoled her husband to the best of her abilities, and even she could not separate herself from the same sentiment. However, years have passed, and with them, all the ire and desperation on her part. Now it was Lady Danbury`s turn to sink into thought, for this secret was much her own as it was Penelope`s and Bridgertons`.
“I do speak with her, you see. She finds her life quite satisfactory at present. She has even accepted my invitation to tea this coming week.”
“Are you referring to Penelope?”
“So you are awake, brother.” Kate retorted with a polite smile, approaching Colin, whose headache borne out of last night`s shenanigans has yet to be nursed. That is to be minded later, for Lady Danbury has just piqued his interest in the most unbecoming manner. He was like an animal lost without his owner. Even five years since that blasted day have done nothing of note to his feelings. Hard as he may have tried, the notion of Penelope stopped him in his tracks every time. Granted, her unbecoming title of a spinster, a title he deemed a bag of moonshine on any given day, aided the distance she was aiming for. By all accounts, she was avoiding him, and he could not confirm, in good faith, that he was not doing the very same. When they did come across one another, he was the only one looking back. Noticing how divine of a silhouette she commanded. How her demeanor only seemed to mature, not change outright. He would seek her out unwillingly, evenings passing quickly if he could have laid his eyes on her, and painfully slow if he was unsuccessful, for she was not there.
She was not by the lemonade table, drinking the liquid slowly, so it stopped for a moment in her throat, rolling down, a hill Colin would follow with the same eyes he trained painstakingly so they stayed on her at all times. One evening, he recounted, she had taken precisely five gulps of the refreshment before setting it down and disappearing. Not only did her mulberry-toned gown imprint itself in his memory that night, a certain sign of acceptance of her current social station, but it was her apparent distaste for the rest of the Ton that stood out further. He understood where it came from. It was always there in a sense. From her forlorn expressions she would take on when she was just presented, to outright downcast how she would appear the years that followed. And now, everything had coupled, leading to an attitude simultaneously familiar yet strange. He had no shame in standing in that same, cold spot she occupied, simply reveling in her lingering presence. Colin was a rather befogged man on the best of days now. Promenades proved to be nothing but polite conversations with young girls. Nights would either lead to Vauxhall Gardens or, and this has been the case as of late, empty contemplations on the cobblestone streets west of her building. He yearned to tell her any right architect was abhorring the residence she seemingly adored. It was dangerous, he would try to communicate. Let her see reason. Maybe smile at his flimsy jest regarding architecture. She did always laugh in his presence. He longed for hers. No matter how many glimpses and moments he was afforded, it was not enough. So, with a decided change in outlook, this already tall man straightened out, eyes firmly set on befuddled women in front of him.
“Lady Danbury, have I ever told you how much I enjoy a cup of good afternoon tea?” Amused by his change in attitude, Lady Danbury simply chuckled, reminded of someone else. In that very moment, Colin looked exactly like her most revered man.