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1819

Penelope looked around the Bridgerton House foyer in awe; it had been years since she was last here, her mother insisting on spending every season since she was 16 away from Mayfair and especially, in her words, “that third son”.  Now however, with Portia called to Ireland to care for her ailing sister and Colin tucked safely away on the continent, she found herself returned- safe in the care of Violet and the Viscount whilst she attempted to navigate the marriage mart and secure an appropriate husband.

Her mother had, of course, drilled a definition of appropriate into her long before the trip- titled (or failing that heir, preferably to a fading elderly relation); rich enough that she would not require a substantial dowry; decent reputation and … oh that was it.  Penelope had immediately queried her mother’s lack of attention to personality and even kindness only to be laughed at and called naive; she hadn’t bothered to ask about love.  For Penelope love was the centre of the world, for Portia it was a fairy tale, the pursuit of which had let her down and now would only place her third born daughter in jeopardy.  Portia had drilled that into Penelope as well, since she was a toddler: men are dangerous, a woman looks after herself, love does not exist.  Over and over again, from nursery to schoolroom to debut.

It hadn’t been entirely negative- unlike many young ladies her age Penelope’s tiny dowry wasn’t caused by familial poverty but by her mother’s insistence on ensuring a significant jewellery inheritance for each of her girls when she was no longer around to protect them (“girls, you can sell a diamond behind your husband’s back but you can’t stop him losing a dowry in a gambling hell”).  Instead of being cast into the marriage mart as a child she had made her debut at 18 and then been whisked back to the country to wait until her mother had deemed her sufficiently old and wise enough to compete at what was, essentially, a man’s game.  Younger Penelope had been kept as a child for far longer than biology allowed, her generous curves squashed beneath the most revolting and terribly constructed dresses her mother could find- yellow chosen as particularly unflattering to her pale skin and Titian hair, waists sewn so that they cut her off at the bosom and formed her curves into a peculiarly squashed shape that, together with her short stature, gave her an appearance not unlike a fleshy cube.

Now, however, at 23 years of age she was finally in the Mayfair of her youth, newly kitted out by the relieved modiste who had assisted her mother all these years and free from her mother’s supervision.  Her mother’s plans had indeed kept her safe from some of the atrocious matches that befell her peers, her mother exclaiming in horror as one newly debuted friend was sent to the country weeks after her dowry was secured by an avaricious spouse, and another made to debut at 16, a whole eighteen months too early, and then managed to conceive on her wedding trip.

“What we do to our children!” her mother had exclaimed as others celebrated an early marriage mart success and a new heir.

Aged 23 it was just her,  and self proclaimed ‘trainee spinster’ Eloise, Cressida having been married to the ancient and (it later turned out) impoverished Lord Twombley on her fourth season.

There was just one flaw in her mother’s carefully executed plans: Penelope didn’t just believe in love, she’d been in love for over a decade and with the third (oh how her mother would weep!) son of this very house.

She heard the muted brush of slippers on the stairs and looked up to see Violet rushing towards her, smiling widely and holding her arms out in welcome.

“Penelope! After all these years!”

Violet had been her refuge during her strange childhood and up to her sudden removal to the countryside, when the curse of the yellow gown had caused bullying and unkind comments and existing alongside her mother’s eccentricity grown tiresome.  Eloise and Violet had sneaked her out for picnics and taught her to play pall mall and chess, Fran had educated her in the rudiments of piano forte and even much older Daphne provided a gentler, more nurturing life view than the one at home across the square.  Anthony and Benedict had fulfilled the role of older brothers- simultaneously irritating her at every opportunity and quietly squaring up to the bullies whenever they found her.

Colin

well yes.  Then there was Colin.

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1792

The Delaney carriage sped across the countryside, Portia bouncing up and down in excitement whilst her father snoozed and her mother watched her in increasing irritation; her sister curled up in the corner with a book, oblivious.

“Portia could you please control yourself!” Her mama looked at her in frustration; they’d had this conversation many times during this journey already, and the answer so far seemed to be a resounding no.

“I am sorry, mama- it is just that I am so excited!”

“Calm yourself please,” her mother insisted in a rather whiny tone.  “You are making me rather nervy, and if we stop at another inn tonight it is unlikely we will be present at the opening of the season, I am sure you do not wish for that!”

“No, mama.”

Chastened, Portia tried to sit calmly, hands neatly folded in her lap and eyes fixed ahead.  Her father, bundled up in blankets, opened his eyes and winked at her in a very exaggerated gesture of support.

“Mr Delaney! I should have known it was you leading your daughter to distraction!” her mother snapped.  “Kindly return to your slumber.”

Laughing her father closed his eyes and smiled as Portia’s mama tucked the blanket tighter around him.

Portia considered herself entitled to a measure of excitement: 17 and about to visit Mayfair for the first time to undertake a season and search for a husband- how could she be otherwise? Her new wardrobe followed in a carriage behind and she was due at the Modiste tomorrow for extra gowns- a young woman’s dream first season surely?

Portia’s family never travelled to London, her father’s health was shaky and her mama would not previously allow the family to risk the air she deemed poisonous.  Portia and had come of age this season, however, and her father had insisted, leading them to this exciting moment.

By the time their carriage reached the Mayfair street where they had taken a house Portia had found herself forced to sit on her hands and actively will her feet to stay still in order to avoid further aggravating her mama.  They only had two days until her debut and then the first ball, held by a Lady Danbury- someone it seemed her mama was not fond of and remembered only as cantankerous and somewhat bullish.  Portia was already old enough, however, to be aware that her mama was not fond of many people, and did not see that as a stain on the Lady’s character at all.

The carriage pulled up outside their rented home in Mayfair and staff hurried to unload both the family and the first of their luggage, the rest following behind with their maid and her father’s valet.  Portia took the hand of the footman and allowed herself to be guided to the entrance, where her mother was already being introduced to the staff hired for the duration of their stay.

The housekeeper introduced Mrs Delaney to the assembled staff; her mother ignored the introductions and stared at the woman instead. “Are you not rather young to be a housekeeper Mrs- what was your name?”

“Varley, madam.  Perhaps I am on the younger side but I assure you I am most competent.  Would you like me to escort you inside to take tea and refreshments?”

Her mother huffed her agreement and Portia’s heart sank; falling out with the staff within minutes of arrival was so typical for the matriarch, and Portia knew from experience how very crucial happy staff were to a happy home.

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Penelope had first fallen in love with Colin at the age of 12, a fact that never failed to cause consternation: 12 indeed! Even her mother hadn’t thought to separate her from the world at that age, although the lemon toned frocks were already a staple.  A mishap with her bonnet had sent him flying off his horse and into her life- and (after an embarrassing amount of apologies) she’d never looked back.

She’d also met Eloise that same day: Eloise whose worldview and opinion on the males of the species wasn’t so different to her own mother’s, but who, instead of wanting to retreat from the world, longed for adventure and opportunity instead.  Perhaps Penelope could be satisfied with the life of a spinster if only she were able to travel and study, but even Eloise with her fabulous privilege and supportive family was unable to achieve that- and whilst Eloise was content to sit and share pamphlets discussing how unfair the world was, Penelope rather thought her best chance of excitement might just be a husband who wanted to experience the world with her- and fortunately for girlhood Penelope that was precisely what Colin decided to do with his life, setting off in exploration as soon as he was allowed access to funds.

Indeed, that was exactly where he was still, aged 26 now- he’d return for part of the season to visit his family and persuade Anthony to top up his resources, pacify his mother, then off he’d go again.  Fortunately for Penelope that admistrative visit had coincided with her exile to the country estate, she was sure Colin’s presence would have been sufficient reason for her mother to drag her to Ireland and postpone the season yet again, and if her chances of making a good match at 23 seemed shaky they’d be even less secure at 24!

“Eloise will be back shortly,” Violet interrupted her reverie and guided her towards the drawing room where tea and her childhood favourite butter biscuits has been laid out ready.  “I have had your things laid out in your old room”.

Penelope beamed.  It hadn’t been her room for so many years now and she was so glad Violet remembered.  All her favourite childhood memories had centred on this home and this family, she was overjoyed to be back.

She walked into the drawing room to be met by a fine young man who quickly stood to greet her.  “This can’t- this cannot be Gregory!” she said in shock, her memory of the young boy he’d been when she last saw him so clear.

“One and the same Miss,” he bowed.  “How lovely to renew your acquaintance.”

Violet laughed: “come now Gregory, do not stand on ceremony with Penelope! She is quite a member of the family even if she has been absent for too long!” . He laughed as his sister Hyacinth dashed in to join them, almost knocking the teapot off the small table in her exuberance as she threw her arms around Penelope’s neck and screamed.

Penelope’s hands went to cover her ears but she too was laughing; she’d known this young lady since the lass was just a babe, and they had occasionally exchanged letters over the last few years, via Eloise.

Eloise’s friendship has been a constant during Penelope’s time in the country: her mama allowed Eloise to make prolonged visits in the off season and they corresponded frequently- Eloise’s letters had been a source of comfort not just in themselves but because she’d smuggled letters from Colin inside her own, reluctantly at first but Penelope had begged and, more successfully, Colin had bribed, until there was almost as regular a correspondence between the two as could be possible with his travels.  It was entirely inappropriate of course but Colin reasoned that Penelope was as good as family and Penelope- well Penelope loved Colin: what could be more essential than that?

Settled into a comfortable chair with her tea and the biscuits (which were as delightful as she remembered), Violet and Hyacinth excitedly regaled her with all the family news from her time away.  Most of it she’d known about from Eloise of course- Daphne had been recently married when she left but she’d missed the birth of her children and indeed the marriage (and preceding catastrophic courtship) of Anthony, and the arrival of their own babies; she’d known all about Benedict’s search for the mysterious lady he’d fallen in love with via Eloise’s letters but he’d settled outside London so she did not know if she would get to meet him this season- she was optimistic however, Violet drew her children close around her and she couldn’t imagine them being separated for too long for the sake of a carriage ride.

It wasn’t long before Penelope heard doors slamming loudly and excited feet charging up the stairs; Violet rolled her eyes but smiled. “I assume Eloise has returned…” she stated as said young lady barrelled into the room and threw herself at her friend in glee.

“You came! I was so worried your mother would find a reason to cancel at the very last minute!”

Penelope had also expected the same, at least until the new gowns “we must attire you appropriately if you are to be sold off” had been procured, but all the worry had been worth it- at long last she was back in the only place that had ever felt like home.

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Excited, Portia threw herself onto the bed in her new room and squealed, able to make a little noise now she was away from her mama.  The room was everything she’d hoped: a comfortable bed, bright windows overlooking the square- and best of all a dress stand on which hung the most glorious dress Portia had ever seen, prepared especially for her debut. Portia gently lifted it off the rail to hold against her in front of the looking glass: the delicate golden embroidery caught the evening sunlight filtering in the window and that lit up her own golden brown hair and just for a moment she felt beautiful: that someone might choose her this season, someone she could admire and maybe even love.  Returning it carefully to the hanger she smiled optimistically and went to stare out of the window at the square below.

The house the other side of the square was much larger than the one they had rented, with wisteria and ironwork flanking elegant high steps.  As she watched an older man entered, arm in arm with a young lady about her age, elegant dark hair and fair skin contrasting nicely against her pale blue dress. Perhaps this might be a friend she thought, promising herself that tomorrow she would find out the name of the family and beg her father to arrange a call.

Portia pulled the curtains closed with a sigh and walked next door to her sister’s bedroom.  Primrose was a year younger than her but lacked her good health,  in recent years she had needed to use a bath chair on occasion and so had been placed in a room on the ground floor, where she and her mother would make regular visits to entertain and assure themselves of her well-being. Portia and Primrose were as different as two sisters could be, Portia loving fashion and dancing whilst Primrose much preferred her books and the company of her two pet cats, yet they had a deep love for each other despite that and sought each other out often.

“Primmy? Primmy? Are you awake?”

Portia crept into her room quietly, not wanting to wake her if she was at her rest after such a long day travelling.  When Primrose saw it was her sister and not her mother, however, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh it’s you! I thought it was mama come to tell me to stop reading again, lest it damage my health further.”

“Oh Primmy, she’s just worried about you.”

Primrose tutted.  “Nonsense, she’s terrified I’ll need the use of ‘that awful wheeled contraption’ whilst we are in polite society,” she sighed and closed her book after marking the page carefully, “and that it will cause questions about your marriageability.”

Portia could not argue; mama had often postulated that eligible young men might think Primrose’s condition catching or carried in the family,  and think them tainted.  In fact the physicians had assured mother that the vulnerability was due to Primrose’s overly long birth and chance alone; she wished mama could at least hold her tongue around Primrose, even if the situation did cause concerns.

“Mama has a sharp tongue at times Primrose but I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Checking her sister had all she needed for the night Portia retired to her room to allow the ladies maid to help her change, excited about what this new phase held in store.

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Eloise and Penelope were ecstatic to be in each other’s company again, quickly abandoning Violet in favour of a turn around the gardens, far from the judgemental eyes of staff and siblings alike.  Once they were past the threshold Eloise started fumbling with her reticule and pulled  out a carefully folded square of paper, which she passed to Penelope with a grumble.

“I cannot for the life of me see what interest you could have in corresponding with my fool brother,” she complained; “of all of us he is quite the most irritating- your insistence is behind my comprehension.”

As she said this she flopped down onto a bench, throwing her arms in the air.  “Enlighten me then! What does Colin have to say about his travels this time? Can he manage to make it any clearer that only he of us is permitted such adventure?”

Penelope laughed; this was the Eloise and Bridgerton house she remembered so fondly, that she had longed for.  She carefully unfolded the note, knowing she would be keeping it carefully with all the others he had sent.

“Oh- it is quite an old note, Eloise; it must have been delayed on its way to us.  It says very little indeed except that two months ago he was exploring Pisa- see? He has included a small illustration of the tower and the Campo Santo- although he has urged us to seek out better drawings for he is no artist.”

Eloise sniffed.  “That he is not!”

“I think his sketch is charming,” Penelope said as she folded the letter and placed it inside her own reticule.  The letter had in fact contained much more- Colin professing his wish that she were able to join him on the trip and not be separated by the whims of society and her mama- but she did not wish to share those with her friend, who would think such thoughts foolhardy.

“He writes to me of course,” Eloise said, “but I rarely respond- do you not find him tedious?”

“Oh no Eloise, I find his adventures to be exciting.”

Eloise shook her words off with a laugh but if she’d been facing Penelope she might have seen her eyes take on a girlish and far away look, as she reflected on a childhood love that had never quite faded even over such time and distance.  She had thought it might be hard staying at Bridgerton House without him but somehow it made her feel closer to him, especially with the rare fortune of a letter on arrival even if it were one that had been so badly held up.

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Colin read and re- read the missive from his mother.  Here he was, stuck in the north of France, growing tired of the embellished adventures of travelling companions and cold comforts of endless inns, and somehow his home- the place he had needed to escape- had been brightened by the presence of Penelope, of all people; he felt as if he should have somehow just known she had returned, felt it in his bones. 

He sighed and downed his brandy in frustration.

19 year old Colin had longed to travel, and prove to himself that he was capable of stepping out into the world alone.  Always somewhat different to his siblings- too sensitive, too eager to please, never quite enough- he’d needed to get away and find the man he knew himself to be; to create him really, to take the foundations he’d been blessed with through chance and experience, the traumas he and his family had endured, and build someone with a place in the world. He felt he had succeeded as well- his first tour had been so successful that Anthony had been pleased to set him on his way again after only a brief sojourn in London.  In truth he knew that Anthony had not known what else to do with him: he had not the artistry of Benedict or the duty of Anthony, he would make a terrible soldier and he lacked faith enough to even consider taking up holy orders as so many of his fellow extra son school friends had done: he was quite the problem indeed, and it was with some relief that Anthony had packed him up with sufficient funds to last another twelvemonth, asking only that he write often so that their mother did not worry and return before the year was out.

The first few years had been blissful- he saw places he’d only read about in Bridgerton House library whilst escaping tedious tutors, had dalliances with women his mother would never have approved of and generally led the life of a well to do brat.

The trips, however, had slowly become more lonely and lately he had found himself sustained by the letters from  Penelope, an inappropriate correspondent to be sure but faithful, entertaining and something more.  He had travelled with a Welsh fellow on his last trip who had explained the word hiraeth to him and he’d been struck by it: it was the nearest he’d come to defining how he felt whenever he received a letter from Penelope.

Colin knew that his bond with Penelope was something rare.  So many of those he associated with had nobody, so many of  his friends- for a traveller friendship was altogether more transient: a friend used to be someone he’d known since childhood, their families enmeshed in years of generational camaraderie or rivalry; now a friend was someone you had shared a drink with at a port some months ago, some chap whose brother was in your year at Eton, a fellow who’d sailed on the same ship: friendship was grasped wherever possible because otherwise it was just you, with no place in the world around you. Colin had seen out several generations of grand tour traveller now, on several occasions being asked by newly ascended nobility he’d spent time with on his first trips to extend a welcome and advice to a much younger sibling; outside of these traditional groups though he moved with a different set- a set where everyone had a story, everyone was running away from something, trying to forget, to become, to escape.  Not Colin though and they all knew that: Colin had become years ago; Colin now was the man who waited.

There had been several occasions where a former contact had entered an inn to find Colin there, looked at him and simply asked: “still?”.  Colin would just nod, take out the latest epistle and talk easily of her.  When he spent time with female companions- never referred to as lovers, never choosing women who had hopes of him, always just transient companionship- they would hear him talk of her and bid him good luck.  Penelope had never been his but he’d frequently find himself asked “how is your girl” or even, without context, “still no closer?” and he’d smile, settle into a chair and tell them again about her. There were possibly more people on the continent who knew her as ‘Colin’s girl’ than there were people in real life who knew her face, especially without a season to her name.

Perhaps if Penelope had not been whisked away so suddenly by her mama he would have felt more of a draw back to Mayfair- certainly he’d felt lost those first few months without her presence.  They had shared a strange friendship: ostensibly simply the brother of her best friend and therefore afforded a few privileges beyond social norms, a part of him had wondered if - when the time was right, when she was out in society- he might choose to court her.  That had never been an option though- she had been long gone by the time of her debut and aside from a fleeting glance and word that day (she had debuted with Eloise’s cohort and his mother had insisted on his presence) his only continued link with her had been via these illicit letters and Eloise’s tales of her stays with the Featherington family.

Of course here, with the space of several years and having turned her into something of a fantasy goddess, he believed he knew that he would not only have courted her, but that they would have been soulmates, with several children by now; separation had a way of embellishing reality and setting it into a certain light.  No matter though- it might not have been the thoughts he left with but it was his certainty now: most long term travellers chased a dream, even if that was just to forget- he chased away time.

He read the letter from his mama yet again: Penelope was headed to Bridgerton House for the season, without the interference of her mama, with the intention of finding herself a husband.

Colin did not know whether he would still feel the bonds they used to share, if they existed outside of his imagination  at all, but he was not going to miss this chance to find out.  The world seemed so different at 26 and he placed so much more value on connection: most of all he was ready for change.  He asked the innkeeper to arrange a carriage to take him to Calais on the morrow, and started to gather his possessions.  Heading down to the inn, popular with travellers of class and fortune, he shared a last drink with friends old and new: a few raised a curious eyebrow and he simply smiled and nodded as he told them “she is back.”

Colin does not know whether he has imagined this love or whether his memories and years of writing have combined with their strong young dreams to create a true love- but Colin does know that he intends to find out. 

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Portia woke early and asked her maid to help her dress long before her parents ceased their slumber.  Tiptoeing past their rooms she snuck into her sister’s chambers and, whispering their giggles, she helped Primmy into a pelisse and wrapped her blanket tight,  assisting her into her chair for their regular morning escapade.

“Portia! Do you really think this is a wise idea?”

“We do it every day at home Primmy.”

“Yes but here…. what if someone sees, Portia? What if mama is right…”

“Oh tosh, Prim.  None of these toffs will leave their beds for hours yet, it will simply be you, I and the glorious blue sky this morning!”

Biting back their excited chatter the two girls quickly wheeled their way out through the servant’s entrance (why would mama even think of renting a home with so many steps out front, she thought- a ridiculous choice to be sure).  Darting across the road they wandered for a few minutes until they reached Berkeley Square, where Portia parked the chair and sat down on the damp grass next to her sister.

“Are you enjoying London?” Primrose asked her sister.

“I don’t- I do not- it’s too early to know isn’t it?” Portia sighed.  She was excited certainly; as with every other debutante the charms of a season and romance filled her thoughts but alongside that she worried about the life Primmy would have without her, she missed her friends back home that she may very well never see again and somewhere deep down she wondered “why now?”  Her parents had not raised her to expect a season, she had thoughts of seeking a love match in her own time and community- her mother had said this was a gift to her, a chance to raise her status and seek security and mayhap that was truth; her father’s health concerned her however, she has noticed he seemed frequently tired and whilst he felt old to her at nine and forty he had many acquaintances of similar age who did not travel wrapped in a blanket or need the regular attention of a physician; she knew something was amiss.

Portia shook her head briskly to chase the melancholy away.  “No, I am being churlish,” she said brightly to her sister; “I am grateful for this chance and I must not question the fortune that has been extended to me.”

Wrapping Primmy right against the early morning damp Portia rose to return her sister home before they might be observed; Portia pausing for a minute to skate and stomp through the dewy grass for a minute to amuse her sister and lighten her own spirits, Primrose pointing out some fashionable flowers outside some of the more grand mansions.

As they arrived back Portia noticed a gentleman watching her from the house opposite, the same man she had seen with the young woman yesterday.  Smiling he tipped his hat at them as they entered their new home.

Portia had barely managed to sneak her sister back into her room before her mother swept through, uncharacteristically early.  “Portia! There you are!” she muttered in frustrated tones.  “We have a busy day ahead! We can expect new neighbours to call upon us I am sure and then this afternoon we have to collect your reception gown from the modiste.”

In fact there was but one caller for Portia- she noticed how quickly her mother became flustered when the butler announced the arrival of a Lord Ledger and his daughter Lady Violet. Her anxious feelings were quickly relieved however when the gentleman who had smiled at her that morning walked into the drawing room, introducing the cheerful young woman she had seen him with previously.

“Good morning my ladies,” he greeted them.  “I was aware a new debutante was occupying the house this season and as my own daughter also makes her debut tomorrow I thought it might be fortuitous to make an introduction.”

Mrs Delaney scattered herself around pouring tea and bothering servants whilst Violet and Portia sat together discussing their dresses and excitement.  Portia smiled; maybe she had just found a friend.

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Violet was, by nature, a confident woman, she thought.  Not in the same way as her friend Lady Danbury who had learned how to face down any challenge by the force of sheer will and personality alone, and definitely nothing resembling the Queen, whose word carried so much might that right and ethics bent to match her: Violet’s confidence was another sort altogether.  Violet had survived much, and made mistakes- the sheer weight of her grief after her widowhood carried a high cost for her children and although she had no intention to cause harm, being bereaved and then birthing her youngest child within weeks, accepting that and forgiving herself took many years.  She was fundamentally a good mother, was an excellent Viscountess and wife in her time, was a good friend.  Her quieter confidence suited her well, was hard won and she took pride in it.

For Violet, knowing her children was a big part of that: she strove to understand them and whilst some were so very different to herself- Eloise, Anthony, Hyacinth- she made the effort to know them.  There was only one child that sometimes escaped her now and that was Colin.

Oh that didn’t mean she didn’t love him: in many ways Colin was the child she held closest to her heart, her most sensitive child certainly: he took the softest parts of both her and Edmund and turned them into something unique, something so delicate she always feared it would be squashed by the realities of life. If duty had been Anthony’s word, freedom Benedict’s then Colin’s was devotion: everything he did was coloured by love.

Colin had, also, been gone for the better part of many years- travelling, seeking, searching- never fulfilled or seemingly any closer to his answers, returning only for the briefest, dutiful periods.  Violet thought she knew why, but it was instinct- nothing she could argue as fact or present to the Viscount as a reason to refuse him yet another tour, to keep him at home.

Violet’s very bones told her that Colin was meant for Penelope, that when Penelope had been whisked away Colin had been lost: it was as if his soul had become detached and he was forced to seek it endlessly- the notion of her son spending his life on an odyssey with the hope of a Penelope at the end was not lost on her.

Violet had therefore made the decision to write to Colin to let him know Penelope had returned.  She crafted the letter carefully, endeavouring to create something that could be read as either a newsy missive from home or an urgent summons, depending on the reader’s mindset, doubting herself as she despatched it but feeling it must be done.

Violet’s bond with Portia was a complex one.  They had been deep friends, briefly- there were days when she looked at Eloise and Penelope and was reminded of that short period of her life: perhaps if they’d met earlier it would be much more of a settled thing.  Instead their friendship had developed at the most turbulent time of a young woman’s life, finding themselves on the mart and learning the paths their hearts would take, and how that would change them- and change them it had! Violet had found Edmund, a security that had helped her bloom into the best version of herself possible, a soul bond that still persisted now, even years after his loss: when troubled she could still ask for his advice or comfort and she would just know, could just feel his arms around her if she closed her eyes and breathed in the quiet for a minute. Violet had found her true other half.  Portia had not.  Portia had done nothing differently to herself, had not deserved less, had wanted the same things and had ended up with-

Violet searched for the word. Portia had children she adored, a home that might not be as secure as most of the Ton but was still grand and comfortable, she had status - it would be hard for an outsider to see what damage Portia carried with her.

Damage, yes- that was the right word.  Portia retained the same will, the same ability to love, the same purity of intentions but somehow the damage was ingrained: a bent embroidery needle, last season’s debutante fashion, as Colin would say a guide to a country published before Napoleon invaded- all  fundamentally unusable for the task they were designed for.

Violet knew that she could have refused care of Penelope this season, that by accepting the task she might have knowingly placed herself between her former friend and her son.  She hadn’t spoken to Portia beyond the basics of what had become shared parentage of Penelope at times for years now, didn’t really even acknowledge the past knowing that it could lead to questions that could be dangerous for Portia’s standing in the Ton and her family, yet she felt a deep sense of loyalty to the girl she once was- she’d chosen to break that trust when she wrote to Colin. That affected her deeply.

Whenever her family had been hit by scandal or pain there had been things she wished she could have gone back and done differently- kept a closer watch on Eloise, told Anthony early on that she knew who he truly loved and that he would always have her support, asked Anthony not to make the donation that had made Benedict give up his painting- she could not think of a single thing she or Portia could have done that would have saved her.  Oh they could have been wiser certainly, both of them; she knew that! But the only choices denied love- either for Portia all that time ago, or their children now.

So, Violet made the decision to breech trust, to meddle, to take a chance: she could not save the woman who had lost the most but wanted to try and prevent that pain from poisoning another life. She did it for her son, she did it for the young lady she had always adored, and deep down she knew she did it from frustration that she had been so very powerless. If it meant lying then so be it, she could only try and make things a little bit better, restore balance. She had found Edmund, safety and love; Portia had found Jacob, love and fear- and deep down it still caused Violet pain.

Violet felt that Colin’s entire life so far had been waiting: to be old enough to play with his brothers, to learn to live with bereavement, for love, for something to stay still for. She missed her son, she worried that he would spend his whole life waiting, she made choices to bring him a change. She would absorb any consequences as best she could, but it was time.

Chapter Text

Portia had never been more nervous: today was the day when she’d get to wear her dress to make her debut, where she’d get to whisper with Violet, take peeks at the available gentleman looking for a match, attend her first royal reception- today was a big day indeed!

Waking early as usual she hastened to take Primmy out for air, knowing that since they had moved to London she was the only one to make such efforts- her mother described it as protecting Portia but why would she want someone unable to accept her sister? Surely the right young suitor would be one who also loved her sister, would be willing to show her kindness and familial friendship?

Their walk took them to the park, empty except for a few labourers and household staff about their business. They fed the ducks with bread purloined from the sympathetic cook, and watched the purposeful movements of those around them.

“I am so disappointed that you are not able to support me today Primmy,” Portia complained.  “It is the only blight on this day.”

“Oh Portia,” Primmy sighed, frustrated.  “You know why it’s this way, mama has explained.  It’s to protect you. You have to listen to her wisdom, what do we know of the Ton?”

Portia huffed.  Her sister was too sweet and accepting in her book, too willing to accept her reduced status.

“If you would only…”

“Portia I will not stand up to mama! She is right.  Your role is to be a wife and mother, give someone an heir: you need to be of good stock.”

“I will not accept you are anything else.”

Primmy took her hand; “and I love you for that sister but we are not the Ton, we have no power, you must look out for yourself.”

Annoyed, Portia crossed her arms and sat back against a tree, frustrated.  “Why did we even have to do this anyway? It was only ever thought of mere months ago…”

“Portia, you know why.” Her sister’s voice was low, sympathetic; her hand squeezed her own tightly.

“Papa?”

Primmy nodded.  “I hope he gets well but if he doesn’t- we need you to make a good match Portia, for mother’s sake.”

“And you?”

“Mama has written to Ireland, with hopes of finding me a match in her old town but she thinks it will be easier to arrange if you fare well on the mart.”

Frustrated, Portia stamped her foot into the tree roots beneath her.

“Why should I have a choice and you be sent off in some arranged…”

“Arrangements are nothing new, sister.  I am glad to have the chance at all, before I become entirely dependant on this chair and make even less of an attractive proposition.”

“Primmy! Don’t say such a thing. Any man would be lucky to have you as a wife.”

“Portia my dear, on such a symbolic day I say this to you with love only: it is time to grow up, to view the world as it is. You have the world at your feet, enjoy it instead of trying to change it. Love is poetic but security is romantic ”

Portia huffed as she clambered up from her improvised seat to return home before the world woke, but she stored Primrose’s words to consider later.

The presentation traffic was heavy and the excitement in the dressing room palpable- Portia fussed as her mother arranged and rearranged her gown, looking out for Violet’s arrival, squealing as she entered and running over,  ignoring the crash as her mama failed to catch the combs she was placing into her hair as she escaped.

Violet grabbed her hand and they ran off to the only quiet corner, bouncing up and down in excitement.

“Oh Portia! We’re out! Finally!”

Portia started dancing a waltz and Violet joined in laughing, the other girls  grinning at them, divided into those who were just as excitable and those who were terrified of the attention.

“Violet- please tell me about the young men! You grew up here, mama has not even showed me any miniatures, she says I must take my chances as they are.”

Violet tucked Portia’s arm under hers.  “Well, there are several this season who are appealing but really it’s the others you should know about- Mr Grant for example, he has outlived three wives without an heir and is looking again.”

Portia gasped.  “He must terribly old!”

Violet grimaced. “Indeed. Lord Firth, he’s a rake with a terrible reputation and Viscount Bradbury- he is reputed to have been extremely cruel to his mother so who would want to be his wife?”

Portia shuddered. “And the nice ones? Is there someone at whom you might set your cap, Violet?”’

“It is a secret Portia”, she smiled, “you must promise me…”

“Of course Violet; I’ll be a safe confidante I assure you.”

“Viscount Bridgerton.” Violet sighed.

Portia pulled her friend close.  “Is he very handsome?” she whispered dreamily.

“Oh he is Portia! I have known him since I was in leading strings, we have been friends for so long- I have watched two seasons come and go terrified that he might make a match, but not yet. He is a bit of a rake I am afraid.”

“Oh dear!”

“But I suspect I should enjoy helping him to reform.”

“Violet!”  Portia giggled.  “How scandalous!”

“My chances are slim of course, why should a young man wish to tie himself down so young? He is but twenty.”

“That is very young for a gentleman to marry, if it were us our mamas would be positively desperate to make a match.”

“That is the way of it Portia, if we think too much we should grow bitter.“

“If Edmund is reserved for you then my friend,” Violet gave her a shy smile, “who must I consider?”

“Your home this season is rented from the Featherington family and they have an unmarried heir so he is a possibility but- oh Portia….”

“Violet?”

“I cannot explain; I would just urge caution.”

“That is useful information.”

“There is Mr Clarke of course,” she said thoughtfully, “he might suit- and his cousin, perhaps I should point those out?”

Portia started to reply to her friend when everyone started panicking and assembling into formation, her mama calling for her.  “Violet! Good luck!” she called as she took her place in the line.

The presentation itself was simple; Portia had no designs on any particular distinction (indeed her mama had warned her that too much scrutiny might complicate matters), so she suffered no undue pressure; Violet however, naturally shy as she was, looked terrified as she stepped out and Portia’s heart went out to her.

The presentation was followed by a garden soirée to introduce the new debutantes to the Ton and Violet assisted Portia by pointing out the various eligible bachelors, Portia guessing which one was Edmund from Violet’s smile alone- and grinning herself because if she wasn’t mistaken Edmund clearly felt the same way- this could make for an interesting season indeed, she thought.

For herself the pickings seemed slim; there were several eligible older gentlemen who made a beeline to her, enough to mollify her mama, but nobody who caught her immediate attention. Violet pointed out the least suitable matches, and they circulated together making a quiet note of those in attendance.

“Oh- who is that?” Portia stood captivated as she observed Edmund in conversation with a young man of similar age.

“Jacob- sorry, Lord Drake?” Violet stopped and looked at Portia; “Why Portia- yes! He is Edmund’s best friend. As with Edmund he is young but oh yes! Let’s secure an introduction!” Violet ran off to a young lady nearby and whispered in her ear, she then promptly whispered in Edmund’s ear (“Edmund’s sister”,  she whispered back to Portia).  Edmund looked up with a grin and walked towards them, taking Violet’s hand and dropping a kiss on her gloved hand; Portia was inclined to think Violet might swoon for a moment! Fortunately they were temporarily without chaperone, her own mama having been distracted by her papa needing to sit.

“Miss Bridgerton, how lovely to see you. Who is your lovely friend? I’m afraid she does not look familiar.”

“Viscount Bridgerton this is Miss Delaney, she is a new neighbour of mine, she has made her debut today.”

Edmund bowed to Portia. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.  How are you finding life in the Ton?”

Portia lowered her head and curtseyed. “Thank you Viscount.  I am enjoying it immensely so far.”

Edmund smiled and called his friend forwards.  “Lord Drake, you know Miss Ledger I believe?”  Jacob tipped his head towards Violet in acknowledgement.  “May I introduce her friend Miss Delaney? She is new to London.”

Jacob stepped forwards and made a deliberately over dramatic bow to Violet,  causing them all to laugh. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

It hadn’t been done properly of course, didn’t fit any of the etiquette books her mama had made her study for hours when they knew she was coming to London, but it didn’t matter: as Portia watched the poorly hidden affection between Edmund and Violet, saw the humour and kindness glimmer in Jacob’s hazel eyes- she knew she was lost

Chapter Text

Every debutante recalls her first ball.

For most it will have been the culmination of years of preparation- dancing classes (often alongside the young men that one would now consider too young to be a suitor), trips to the modiste, lessons in everything from elocution to etiquette, acquiring lists of accomplishments that might just impress the right enquirer (or their mother)…

It could be argued that everything in a young debutante’s life led to this moment: her role was to secure a match, and for most this was the start.

Penelope however was not sure how she fit into this well trodden path. She was not a debutante, yet had never attended an evening ball or soirée; she was new yet of an age many would already regard as approaching spinsterhood.  She was of relatively low birth within the Ton, yet presented by the Bridgertons- surely held in as high esteem as one might be without royal status.

She was an enigma, an anachronism, all things confusing.

She knew her mission, it was no different to that of every other unmarried woman (except perhaps Eloise, much to her mother’s chagrin), but was it attainable?

Was it even what she wanted?

As a young woman her dream had been to secure Colin, her host’s son, but that wasn’t possible now- they’d maintained their illicit correspondence but he did not even share the same continent, let alone the same ballroom- and if she were honest with herself her dream was to be married to him, not stuck in his mama’s house (or worse, her own mama’s) whilst he spent a lifetime exploring: she was not particularly innocent and knew that her dreams of children and a shared hearth could not be acquired through letters alone.

The letters though were her everything; she knew a husband would not be able to allow them and so she was conflicted- loneliness and spinsterhood with the letters from her love, or marriage to someone she did not love but who brought the possibility of children and even fondness at the high cost of that correspondence?

This was not the choice her mother claimed to want for her.

Her mother, Portia, had kept her from society claiming that her youth had brought only vulnerability, that a mere stripling was but prey to the men of the Ton, that she had no hope of knowing her own worth as a teen.

Her sisters had still married- young gentlemen they had met through other means, church and neighbouring families, but Penelope had always had her head caught in a book or journal; she had not had that same easy match.

Today however was the day where she had to make those choices: to decide what would best fit her future. She had never pictured her wedding day without Colin beside her but here she was and it was time to be brave.

Lady Danbury’s ball was always the first of the season; her close friendship with the Queen herself ensured that she held that continued honour, and nobody could argue that she did not do it justice- the preparations took weeks, the event was always spectacular and rarely was it outdone by any subsequent performance.

Penelope felt confident in her attire: Lady Danbury had chosen a Time and Tide Wait For No Man theme to start the season, somewhat appropriate for an aged contender such as herself, she thought wryly; she had consulted with the young women she regarded as sisters and been advised with sly grins that perhaps it was a hint from Lady Danbury that she should play up her natural assets to make the most of her remaining youth- Daphne in particular had been enthusiastic in her support of this path.  She had resisted however and chosen to bear her mother’s criticisms of the mart in mind: she was better off with no man than one attracted by plumage that would surely fade. Instead, then, she had chosen to embrace the tide part of the theme, selecting a dress that blended sea blue and sand silk with a twinkling overlay, cut demurely.  She did however have her jewellery with her, the set given to her by her mama on her twenty first birthday in lieu of a hefty dowry. Aquamarine and diamonds picked up the colours of her dress beautifully.

Dismissing her maid with thanks Penelope headed for the marble foyer where the Bridgertons and Hastings were gathering to share carriages. Daphne was married to the godson of the hostess so she was particularly finely turned out, the silk gauze of her overdress embroidered with tiny clocks, her husband the Duke in a matching waistcoat. She hurried Penelope into her own carriage, explaining that they wanted to help greet guests but that Lady Danbury had expressed a wish to welcome her back to the Ton before  things became too busy; Violet smiled quietly and whispered that Lady Danbury was particularly noted for her love of her status as unofficial Grande Dame and would see Penelope as a curiosity, Penelope felt that she held the same view of herself.

Daphne spent the journey sharing details and gossip about all the eligible suitors expected to attend: her mama had given her background details that were all some years out of date and focussed entirely on the wrong matters for a giddy young woman (Daphne spoke of good looks and dancing ability, mama financial reputation and age- her mama preferred an older suitor. believing fervently that a long marriage with someone in his youth was a curse: Penelope tried not to consider what that said about her time with her own father, a man with very real problems but whom Penelope had loved nonetheless).  Inclined towards romanticism as she was Penelope much preferred to giggle and discuss the merits of the dashing younger men, knowing that it would take someone special to retrieve a heart that had long ago been lost.

Descending from the carriage Penelope was entranced by the sight before her.  The house was lit by flaming torches and candelabras, deep red silken swathes and flower garlands draped across the exterior.  A regal looking older woman approached them waving her cane at them in such a bossy manner that it could only be the hostess herself.

“Duke, Duchess- I am so glad you have arrived! Please introduce me to our new guest, I do like some novelty to start a season”

Penelope had heard horror stories about this woman: her mama, quite the bossy character herself, had disliked the existence of another similar minded and much more powerful contemporary.  She herself however was entranced- the Dowager Countess, whilst being advanced in age (she dare not enquire!), was a ball of energy and wit, grasping Penelope’s elbow and pushing the Hastingses to the side with a vicious swing of her cane.

“Miss Featherington as I live and breathe! Stolen from civilisation by the actions of her unique Mama!”

Penelope had to work hard not to gawp at the older woman’s self assured speech.

“Now Penelope- and you will allow me to call you Penelope, I feel you will need an ally this season- are you aware that I have a particularly close friendship with your sponsor Lady Bridgerton?”

Penelope nodded in awe as Daphne giggled only to be chased away to oversee long complete flowers in the house. The Bridgerton carriage pulled up and Violet hurried over with a worried expression.

“Agatha…”

“Yes yes I know, later,” she sighed. “Go then Penelope, fill your dance card with young Eloise here.”

Her dance card did fill- she was a novelty after all, her mama had been something of a character in her time.  Penelope danced with a stream of bland young men, increasingly worried more for the state of her new slippers than her marital status.

The last dance before the interval however was claimed by a Mr Rogers, second son of an Earl, and she was pleasantly surprised to find herself rather taken with the sense of humour that shone through his eyes and the friendliness he exuded.

“Thank you for the dance Miss Featherington, may I call on you?”

Penelope murmured her agreement and thanked him before seeking lemonade and respite.

Daphne and Francesca gushed excitedly over the turn of events but Penelope grew increasingly concerned at the looks both Violet and Lady Danbury were giving her from their seats near Queen Charlotte.  As Daphne withdrew she felt Violet’s hand at her elbow leading her away to a quiet private area for what was obviously a planned interlude; concerned and curious Eloise tagged along, making herself inconspicuous at the doorway whilst listening carefully.

“Penelope how wonderful! A suitor already!” Violet proclaimed, a strange tone about her voice.  Lady Danbury sighed.

“Violet we shall get nowhere if…”

“Will he be coming to call?”

Penelope nodded with a small smile and the Dowager Countess huffed irritably.

“Penelope it is just-“ she felt interrogated by Violet, especially in front of the unfamiliar older Dowager-  “we wondered if there might be some interest in more absent young men?”

Horrified Penelope felt herself clam up; she had deliberately not mentioned Colin once since her arrival at Bridgerton House, scared to raise concerns that might see her despatched to her mother

“I am quite excited by my call tomorrow, whatever must you mean?”  She reached for her lemonade and gulped it in a most unladylike fashion.

“Yes yes and we must make the most of any suitable prospect- but should a different opportunity…”

Quickly Penelope stood: “I beg your leave, I find myself in need of….of….”, turned bright red and ran.

Violet and Agatha stared after her, Agatha being the first to speak

“Well! That was intriguing.”

A cough at the door alerted them to the presence of Eloise who stepped forwards quietly, slightly wary.

“Are you insinuating that my dearest friend might have some interest in my brother of all people?”

Violet coughed. “Oh now Eloise…,” Agatha interrupted her “do you have an opinion girl?”.

“I have no opinion,” Eloise replied, “only the information that I have been acting as conduit for their correspondence for several years now, expecting it to peter out but finding it only increased in frequency, curious don’t you think?”

Smiling Eloise turned and walked out of the room, her mother and the Dowager Countess staring at each other open mouthed.

Chapter Text

Sitting alone in her room Portia gazed at the last embers of the fire as she daydreamed; her maid had set her hair in rags and assisted her into her nightgown, but she was not yet tired enough for repose and so her mind wandered, her copy of Cecilia lying open on her lap, Portia giving up after reading the same chapter three times and still being unable to recall a single happening.

She picked up her diary and started to record the events of the day; her first proper society event, her introduction to the Ton- momentous event.  She lingered over her descriptions of the Queen and the presentation, determined to capture each splendid gown, fresco and tapestry in detail, to share with Primmy and to keep for her own future.

As she attempted to describe the joy she’d found in the feeling of shared sensibility she experienced in Violet’s companionship, her mind wound its way to her new acquaintances, recalling both the look of devotion she had witnessed as Edmund’s eyes caught Violet’s and the new awareness she had felt on being introduced to his friend, Lord Drake- Jacob.

Lady Jacob Drake.

She caught herself: she barely knew this man.

She was however getting to know and trust Violet, and it seemed that they would make quite the party, should the opportunity arise.

Sketching an image of Queen Charlotte and her wonderful attire, Primmy blew on the book to help set the ink and reached for her robe and slippers before peering through the door to check the halls were clear before making her way to Primrose’s chambers.

She did not knock; no servant would be concerned about her sneaking into her sister’s room and a knock would serve only to alert her mother that she was ignoring the matriarch’s wish for her to distance herself from her sibling.  Primrose was alone, propped up on her mattress with the means to create correspondence without a lady’s maid needing to be spared to move her from desk to bed when the task was complete, her mother having deemed time spent on the younger sister to be of less importance than the new debutante.

“Primrose that must be terribly uncomfortable, I know mama is rationing your support but there must be a way to alert me so that I may assist?”

“Never mind that Portia! Come, see what I have here!”

Excitedly her sister waved a sheet of paper in her direction, “Portia! I have had a letter from Ireland… from a young man…”

Portia’s heart sunk.  She wanted so much for Primmy: marriage, friends, children- yet every part of that dream was being allocated to the whims of others.

“Primmy please- you have no possible way of discerning his character from a lone missive, I beg you to exercise good sense.”

“Portia!” Primmy giggled.  “I am not proposing to the poor man! I am simply- in a ‘girlish state of excitement’, as mama would say, at a letter from a possible suitor.”

Portia rolled her eyes at her and took the letter.  “Let us see what this…” she scanned the paper for a name… “Mr Kennedy has to say for himself.”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas? Oh Primmy that is very forward! He could be a monster…”

“As could any of these men of the Ton you are being introduced to: I suspect I can gain more knowledge of the man from a correspondence than a few conversations at balls and chaperoned calls.”

Portia was shocked. “Well! that’s-“  she sat down in the chair next to her sister.  “Actually a very well reasoned argument.”

Primmy laughed. “I was always the wiser of the two of us! What have you brought with you?”

Portia remembered the diary in her hand and passed it to her sister.  “I quite forgot! I thought you might like to read about the party today, whilst you’re reading that I can peruse this letter, see what I make of your Thomas here.”

“He’s hardly my Thomas,” Primmy responded quickly- but Portia caught the faint flush on her sister’s throat.

They read for a few minutes, Portia trying to see between polite phrasing and Primmy gasping at Portia’s description of Edmund and Violet, before looking at each other and speaking at the same time-

“Who is this Lord Drake, Portia?”

“Mr Kennedy does have a certain sweetness about him…”

They laughed, Portia dropped her eyes- “you first sister.”

“Portia! Who is this Lord you met? You seem quite taken…”

“It is meaningless…”

“Portia!”

Eyes shining, Portia leaned forwards as she described Jacob to her sister, embellishing her descriptions of his appearance and manner to turn him into the romantic hero she had felt he seemed. Her sister smiled “a successful first day on the mart then?”

“Perhaps.  Now your turn- Mr Kennedy?”

“He certainly has the warmth one would hope for in an arrangement of this type.”

“Are you already betrothed?” Portia was shocked.

“No! His mother was a childhood friend of our mama, it is simply- an introduction.”

“It is a start; perhaps today is a day of new starts for the both of us.”

Chapter Text

In anticipation of the season Portia had trained her daughter thoroughly in as many aspects of being a deb as she could recall- with her mama’s unique viewpoint that meant both dancing and how to avoid a gentleman insistent on an unchaperoned walk in the garden, appropriate styles of dress and how to spot a suitor overly interested in the value of one’s dowry.  What Penelope was quickly realising, as she took yet another turn around the room on the arm of an unsuitable match,  was that her mother had educated her well- for a season two decades ago.

She had the knowledge, she had the graces but in a manner that all felt so antiquated.  Eloise had coached her through a few newer dances and etiquette hiccups but it had left her feeling slightly uncomfortable and almost frumpy, her country manners would mark her out as an oddity even if her age and flame hair had not.

It was a conundrum.  She could ask Violet for help certainly but then that would cause her to draw attention to the other reason for her deep sense of confliction- the fact that  the man her heart wanted was not only not here, he might not exist at all beyond a few letters and memories interpreted through a childhood lens.  It was bad enough when she’d worried that Eloise might guess after being asked to act as a secret ally in their correspondence-  that Violet seemed to know was mortifying, but Lady Danbury?

Surely not, that was beyond embarrassment, she hardly knew the woman, despite the dowager’s bizarre interest in her romantic hopes. 

It was bad enough that they’d confronted her as they had, but now here she was a day after being called upon by her first ever suitor and obliged to face them yet again.

Mr Rogers had been very diligent caller- flowers (yellow roses- oh how she hated yellow, the poor man), perfect manners, a gentle sense of humour and always solicitous-

and so very, very tedious.

She had accepted his offer to promenade in a few days, a declaration of intent in the eyes of the Ton, but really, it would be like being leg shackled to a piece of furniture for all the excitement she felt in his company.

Leg shackled- her mama had taught her to use that phrase: “the men use it,” she would say, “so do the same yourself: forget the romance and excitement, if you cannot see yourself happy being  shackled to the man in twenty years when he has grown old and portly, do not offer encouragement.”

She had spent most of the last two days avoiding Violet, faking a headache that first morning then begging Eloise to accompany her to the bookshop after her visitor left.  Her embarrassment was of such severity that she had in fact managed to avoid any conversation until the carriage on the way to tonight’s ball.

Her companion turned to her and thanked her for her company- she realised she’d been wool gathering and not offered any conversation for the entirety of their time together but he seemed unaware and had not paused in directing his talk to (at?) her.  ‘Another bore’, she thought: perhaps this whole endeavour was foolish and she should return home, her mama would not be displeased to have her worldview confirmed.

She looked around the room taking a mental note of those in attendance: there were few men she had not now dismissed, and if her fears proved right she was being observed closely by those she’d never consider- groups of older, grey haired men assuming she’d lost the attention of better contenders and sizing her up for their own approach.  The thought made her dizzy- had she really made such a mes of the whole mart in just two balls? How was she going to survive an entire season without catastrophe? 

Taking her leave and heading to the lemonade table she watched the crowd as she drank her refreshment.  The ball was a crush; so packed that she had long lost sight of her companions; chaperone free and forgotten in the corner she looked longingly at the outside gardens- cool air and space but forbidden to one such as her.  She wondered if anyone would even notice if she skipped out for just a minute, certainly not by the main entrance- she may as well announce her intention to ruin herself- but the little staff route to the outside had been opened to allow air in, she could use that.

Quietly she moved towards that door and stood against the curtains, gradually slipping behind them whilst watching the ball to see if anyone had even noticed.  After ten minutes of apparent invisibility she stepped sideways and silently out, taking care to avoid the pathways and corners where amorous couples and predatory men might hide, instead taking the steps to the walled kitchen garden in her attempt to find solitude.

Penelope still felt uncertain about the risk- it was one thing to feel sure of one’s station when one was a Bridgerton and  creating rumours against your good name risked bringing down the wrath of a formidable and well connected brother, it was quite another as a Featherington, country raised and no reputation- she knew she must be careful, and silent.

She lifted the gate on it’s hinges, taking care not to make a noise that might alert others to her presence, and moved to the facing wall where a stump looked to be  a promising prospect for a seat.  Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath she immersed herself in the cool silence, feeling the peace wrap around her soul, bringing respite. 

She sat that way for some minutes, only opening her eyes as she sensed the presence of someone else in her sanctuary.  Wary now she looked around but found nothing; reassuring herself she relaxed again, almost dozing off only to be awakened by the sound of a stick breaking underfoot.  Darting upright she stepped back to the safety of the wall, turning away in disbelief as soon as she saw the person facing her, before gathering herself and turning again to meet his eyes. 

Colin.

He was here.

After so many years, hundreds of letters- he was here.

She’d often wondered whether a reunion would bring her back to her senses, the reality of his person ending the dreams of cherubic features and impossible eyes- but no: she sighed.  He just seemed- better.

Older for certain; wiser, perhaps even a little world weary- 

real.

Fearing she’d become one of the exasperating heroines in her sister’s books she huffed and allowed herself to fall back onto her stump, grateful that she could be alone but frustrated that her girlhood imaginings hadn’t turned out to be just that- the products of a youthful mind restricted by geography and one’s unusual mama to a world where even the most mundane offering seemed exotic.

Mundane? Colin? If only!

The way he gazed upon her- if one could be ruined by a glance then she was already shamed; he had no business looking at anyone that way, especially the maiden friend of his sister- because ultimately, that was all she was to him, everything else was in her head.

He leaned on the garden wall, stubble on his chin and a thick camel coat covering his travelling clothes- a marked  contrast to the tailored and flamboyant costumes the Ton usually chose to peacock in at these events.

He watched her for a brief moment, silent.

“Hello Penelope.”

Instinctively her feet carried her towards him, arms starting to reach out before she remembered herself and stepped back, flushing bright red.

“Shame.”

His arms crossed in front of his chest and he smirked.

Penelope lowered her eyes and spoke. “Mr Bridgerton! I hadn’t expected you back from your travels- I- I’m- is your mother aware of your return?”

He stared at the spot on the ground she had trained her eyes on and gave a little laugh.

“Is that how we’re playing this then? I can manage that, Miss Featherington.  No I regret to inform you that I have not yet been able to make myself available to my kind and no doubt welcoming family, I thought I would make myself known to my intended first.” He bowed.

“Your intended? Mr Bridgerton I beg to ask…”

He winked! One wink to her then he turned his back and walked- sauntered -away. 

She sat down, flustered.

As soon as he’d left her line of vision, heading towards the edge of the estate rather than inside and his family, she darted back into the ball, Eloise linking arms with her as she rejoined the throng.  She could barely breathe with the shock of it all- his audacity.