Chapter Text
The first time Penelope met Prince Colin Bridgerton, it was entirely by accident.
It had been years ago, during one of her first grand royal gatherings. She was only sixteen, still awkward in her fine gowns and out of place amidst the sea of elegant nobility. Her older sisters, with their beauty and charm, had seamlessly integrated into the world of suitors and court intrigue. Penelope, however, had not.
It was during one of those interminable balls, her family distracted by lords and ladies of importance, when she’d slipped away, overwhelmed by the noise and the endless pressure of pretending to belong. The library of the visiting palace had called to her like a refuge. It was a sprawling, quiet sanctuary, filled with towering bookshelves and plush chairs. Here, amidst the scent of leather-bound tomes and the soft hush of pages turning, Penelope could finally breathe.
She hadn’t expected to find anyone else in the library that night, much less a prince.
But there he was—Prince Colin—lounging in one of the armchairs, a book splayed open across his lap. His jacket had been discarded, and his cravat was loosely tied, as though he had abandoned all pretence of formality the moment he entered this room. He looked up in surprise when she walked in, his mouth slightly open as if caught in the middle of a thought.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Penelope, embarrassed at the intrusion, quickly stammered out an apology. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s fine!” Colin interrupted, sitting up and closing his book. His smile was easy, a contrast to the stiffness of everyone else in the palace. “It’s not every day someone finds this place. Most people are too busy pretending to enjoy the ball.”
Penelope blinked at him, surprised by his casual demeanour. “I… needed a break,” she admitted, glancing around the room, trying to calm the nervous flutter in her chest. “It’s a bit overwhelming out there.”
Colin chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. “You’re telling me. All the bowing and curtsying. You’d think people were allergic to having a normal conversation.” She laughed at that, genuinely amused, her tension easing a little. “I don’t think I’ve had a normal conversation all night.”
“Then let’s change that,” Colin said, standing up and offering her the chair next to him. “Sit. What brings you to the library? Besides avoiding the ball?” Penelope hesitated for a moment, but the warmth in his eyes made her feel safe, like she wasn’t being judged for the first time in hours. She sat down, smoothing her skirts before glancing at the book in his hands. “I wanted to find something to read,” she admitted shyly. “It’s always nice to escape into a good story.”
“Ah, a fellow book lover.” Colin looked delighted, his gaze brightening. “You have excellent taste. I was reading this,” he gestured to the book he’d been holding, “but I’ve finished it now. Would you like to borrow it?” Penelope blinked, surprised by the offer. “Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Please,” he insisted, holding it out to her with a grin. “I promise it’s good. Just… try not to judge me too harshly if you don’t like it.” Tentatively, she took the book from him, the leather cover cool against her hands. “Thank you,” she said softly, touched by the gesture.
“Actually,” Colin continued, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “if you have a book you really love, maybe we could exchange? I like discovering new reads.”
Penelope’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of sharing her favourite books with someone, especially someone like him. “I… I could bring you something tomorrow?” His smile widened, and he gave her a little nod. “Deal.”
And so it began—a tradition born out of an awkward escape from a ball. They exchanged books that night, Colin slipping a little note inside the one he gave her before he handed it over the next day. When Penelope opened it, she found a short, playful message:
Here’s hoping this book keeps you as entertained as your company kept me last night. Until next time.
Colin.
From that moment on, Penelope found herself looking forward to see him during the twice-a-year royal gatherings.
---------------------------------------------------
Years had passed since that first meeting, and though their interactions remained brief and often surrounded by layers of courtly decorum, the bond they shared over books and notes had only grown stronger. Colin always seemed to be waiting for her when she arrived at these events, and despite the months between their meetings, their connection picked up as though no time had passed at all and tonight was no different.
Princess Penelope stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, watching the swirl of nobility around her. She was used to being on the outskirts, an observer in her own life. As the third princess in her line, she was practically invisible, her family’s eyes focused on her elder sisters, eager to marry them off to prestigious lords.
Her role, however, was clear: wait patiently until someone suitable made an offer. Until then, she was to smile politely and be seen, but never heard. Penelope didn’t mind as much as she should have. There was one thing, one small comfort she clung to at these gatherings—the twice-yearly meetings with him.
And there he was, Prince Colin was charming a group of diplomats, effortlessly drawing smiles and laughter from everyone around him. Penelope’s lips curved into a small, private smile. He was just as magnetic as ever, though he never seemed to notice his effect on others, always acting as though the attention was accidental.
He caught her gaze from across the room, his eyes lighting up with recognition. Penelope’s heart fluttered—a familiar sensation by now. They had an unspoken agreement at every royal event. Twice a year, they would meet, exchange books, and share brief moments that felt infinitely more important than anything else around them.
Colin excused himself from the diplomats, weaving his way through the crowd until he stood in front of her. “Princess Penelope,” he greeted, his tone warm and teasing, as though they had just seen each other yesterday and not six months ago. “I almost feared I wouldn’t see you tonight.”
“I always make it to these events,” she replied softly, her smile widening. “Not that anyone would notice if I didn’t.”
Colin raised a brow, as if to argue, but then his expression softened, his eyes gleaming with a warmth that always seemed reserved just for her. “Well, I would certainly notice.” Her heart skipped at that, cheeks flushed at the quiet sincerity in his words, but she quickly masked it with a laugh. “What mischief have you been up to since we last met?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Only the most respectable kind of mischief,” Colin quipped, before reaching into his coat pocket. “Speaking of which, I brought something for you.”
Penelope’s eyes sparkled as he handed her a small, leather-bound book. The cover was worn, the pages slightly yellowed, but it had that particular scent of old paper and wisdom, a scent she had always loved. She turned it over in her hands, knowing that within its pages, there would be something more—a note just for her.
“You spoil me,” she said, already eager to devour the words he had left for her.
“It’s hardly spoiling,” Colin grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s only fair. I hope you brought something for me as well?” Penelope pulled a small book from the folds of her gown. “Of course. I’d never show up empty-handed.”
They exchanged books like old friends passing secrets, each hiding a private smile as they did so. Colin glanced at the title she handed him, the obscure collection of poetry from a distant land, and nodded approvingly.
“I know you’ll like it,” Penelope said, and then added more quietly, “I left you a little something on page seventy-three.”
“And I left something for you,” Colin replied, his voice dropping conspiratorially, “on page fifty-six.”
They exchanged their gifts, the air between them charged with the promise of what lay hidden within the pages. It was a quiet ritual, but one that had grown into something infinitely more personal over the years.
Their eyes met again, and for a moment, the noise of the ballroom seemed to fade away. There was a shared understanding between them, one that didn’t need words. In a world where they were surrounded by people and expectations, this was their secret—the books, the notes, the moments they stole away from the chaos of royal life.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of formality and pleasantries, but Penelope’s thoughts lingered on the book in her hands, eager to discover what Colin had written this time. She waited until later that night, when the palace halls had quieted and her family was no longer watching. She slipped into her chambers, lit a candle, and opened the book to page fifty-six.
Tucked between the pages was a small slip of parchment. His handwriting was familiar, slightly messy but full of character, much like the man himself.
My Penelope,
This book reminded me of you—something about the way the characters find beauty in the smallest things, even when the world doesn’t see it.
I thought of you when I read the part about hidden wonders. I think the world is full of people who are too blind to see what’s right in front of them. But I see you.
Always,
Colin.
Her breath caught as she read the note, her heart swelling with warmth and something she dared not name. She flipped back to the beginning of the book, running her fingers over the well-worn cover, trying to imagine him picking it out for her. Did he know how much these small moments, these small gestures, meant to her?
Penelope bit her lip, already plotting what she would write in response when she saw him again. Perhaps something about how he was the only one who had ever truly seen her, in a world where she had always felt invisible.
She tucked the note safely into the book and placed it on her bedside table, already counting the days until the winter gathering, when they would meet again and exchange more than just books. They would exchange pieces of themselves, one note at a time. At least for now, that was enough.