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Portia Featherington had a problem. A rather persistent, grinning, tousle-haired, blue-eyed problem that went by the name of Colin Bridgerton.
She knew the boy was trouble from the moment he entered their lives and began staking his claim on her youngest daughter, Penelope.
It all began when the Featheringtons moved in across from the Bridgertons, back when her daughter was just six years old. And on that very same day, it happened!
Penelope was playing with her sisters in the backyard. Being the curious, wide-eyed kid she was, fascinated by pretty much everything under the sun, Penelope did what any child would do when she spotted a butterfly – a male brimstone. She followed it, only to run straight into a bicycle. The boy riding it swerved, lost control, and fell into a puddle of mud.
Portia remembers hearing the commotion and rushing outside to check, only to see a tearful Penelope being comforted by a seven-year-old boy. “That was not very well done of me, was it?”
Her daughter looked up at him, her cheeks streaked with tears, and whispered, “Sorry,” before planting a kiss on his cheek to make him feel better.
So began the friendship of the century. Colin's younger sister soon joined their gang, and the three of them became inseparable.
And, naturally, the trouble started.
ʚ♡ɞ
Searching high and low for biscuits she had baked to give their guests?
Of course her daughter had taken them out to give them to Colin.
When Portia found them later, they were by the pool house, sitting cross-legged on the ground, giggling.
Penelope was wiping crumbs off Colin’s face, while the boy, with his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk, looked up and mumbled, “Tankyum,” his words barely intelligible through the mouthful of biscuits.
It was adorable, she’d give it that.
“But Mama,” Penelope began, when caught red-handed, “Colin loves them! He needs them so he can become tall like his brothers,” she reasoned, stretching her hands upwards as if to really drive her point home.
The boy nodded beside her, wholeheartedly agreeing with whatever clever explanation Penelope had come up with.
A smart cookie, her daughter.
She let it go then. But that was just the beginning of the mischiefs these two were about to cause.
ʚ♡ɞ
Not long after, Portia remembered the day Colin and Penelope came home looking like drowned rats – soaked uniforms, muddy shoes, and a suspiciously lumpy shirt.
They had burst through, Pen’s voice calling out – "Mama!” – to declare that they had adopted a puppy. No discussion, no hesitation – and that’s how she ended up sharing custody of what was practically a child with the Bridgertons.
In the coming years, Penelope herself would say how much her mother came to love the Yorkshire Terrier they rescued that rainy day, making it a true featherington with ruffled collars and bows.
That she did – because Pomie was her baby!
But that still didn’t change the fact that this Bridgerton boy was pure mischief – just wrapped up in a sweet smile and far too much charm for his own good.
ʚ♡ɞ
More serious trouble started when they entered middle school.
With it came bullies.
She was grocery shopping when she got a call from the school.
When she arrived, Penelope was sitting on the bed, cradling her right hand, while Colin hovered beside her, eyes full of concern. The nurse explained that a boy had pushed Colin on the playground, and Penelope – a fiercely stubborn, tiny Penelope, had swung at him. Falling to the ground and scraping her knees in the process.
"It's just a little cut, Mama," Penelope assured her, but Portia was too busy watching Colin as he took her daughter’s hand and pressed a soft, innocent kiss on the wound.
"There," he whispered. "All better."
Portia’s heart did a funny little flip as she saw the way her daughter blushed, a rosy tint creeping across her cheeks. At that moment she knew that this might be heading in a direction that could one day lead to heartbreak. And if that happened, the Bridgerton boy would know her wrath for hurting her sweet girl.
But for now, she kept quiet.
Just keep watching, she reminded herself, like a hawk.
ʚ♡ɞ
She had always thought they'd grow distant with age, but Colin was always there. Whether it was weekends, birthday parties – too close, too comfortable.
She suspected he even knew her cycles, the way he would materialize on those days at their doorstep, eclairs from a shop downtown and apple juice in hand.
When Penelope turned 15, Portia began to notice how the boy’s eyes seemed to roam a little too freely over her daughter – sometimes focusing on places that definitely weren’t appropriate. The fact that Penelope was blessed in certain areas probably didn’t help either.
God! She wanted to gorge his eyes out!
Each and every day it seemed like the boy came up with even more innovative ways to spend more time with Penelope.
When Pen was struggling in math, Colin, ever the eager helper, had volunteered to tutor her. This made him a permanent fixture on the evenings of Tuesdays and Fridays for tutoring sessions. Not that he wasn’t around on other days – no, the boy practically lived in their house.
Did he even have a home?
One afternoon, she caught him absently tucking a curl behind Penelope’s ear as they sat together, their heads bent over the same book. She also caught him once standing behind her two apples tall daughter's short frame, explaining a problem, too touchy for Portia’s liking.
Did he have to stand that close?
Penelope loved it, of course! Her daughter had certainly inherited a few of her qualities.
The way she batted her eyelashes when asking questions, the oversized sweatshirts that conveniently slipped off her shoulders – making that Bridgerton boy stare like a fool and stumble over his words. The way she’d casually touch his forearm, leaving the poor lad gulping down lemonade at a rate that was nothing short of a choking hazard.
Portia noticed all of it.
Then what she dreaded finally happened.
She’d seen it coming for years from the way his eyes always found her daughter in a crowded room, the way he trailed after her like an overeager golden retriever, the way he laughed a little too loudly at her jokes and looked fascinated by the most mundane things she said. And now, at the grand ages of fifteen and sixteen, Penelope and Colin had become something far more dangerous than childhood friends – they had become…
Teenagers in love.
And thus began the stage of major, perpetual headache for Portia.
ʚ♡ɞ
What happened next shouldn’t have been a surprise to Portia – not with that boy.
And yet, Colin Bridgerton still managed to shock her.
Because there he was, climbing the English oak tree in their yard, using a branch that stretched a little too conveniently close to her daughter’s window.
She had walked in on him, breathless and perched on the windowsill, bidding Penelope farewell with what seemed to be an innocent goodbye kiss – except for the way his hands seemed to be reaching under her shirt, practically drawing her into his lap, making Portia want to claw her own eyes out.
Her entrance had been so sudden that the sheer surprise of it sent the gangly teenager tumbling down.
God bless the branches – he escaped with nothing but a few scratches and a sprained arm.
Unfortunately.
Portia would be lying if she said she didn’t get a little satisfaction from the turn of events, but still she felt bad for the boy.
Anyway, the situation was even more vexing because it only drove them closer. Penelope visited an injured Colin daily after school, bringing him his favorite biscuits and whatever his heart desired, being the lovely girlfriend that she was.
Her daughter, who had never shown even an ounce of interest in cooking, was baking all of a sudden.
Good God! A day Portia never thought she’d live to see.
It wasn’t that she thought Colin Bridgerton was a bad choice for her daughter. He was kind, polite, and occasionally funny – though Portia would never admit that to his face.
The boy was already smug enough. No, thank you!
The kind of boy who would carry the groceries in without being asked to.
But, boys like Colin didn’t break hearts in one clean swoop. No, they shattered them piece by piece, unknowingly, with their endless charms, making a girl believe she was their entire world before leaving them behind to sorrow.
And, of course, there was another looming possibility – one that kept Portia up at night, dreading the prospect of a scandal before university applications were even sent out.
If they were this touchy under her ever-watchful gaze – always, all the time – God only knew what that boy did to her daughter when they were alone.
And then it happened.
One Friday after school, a nervous seventeen-year-old Penelope approached her, looking pale and wringing her hands, with Colin hovering behind her. "Mama, I think I might be pregnant."
Portia almost dropped her wine glass – on her plush Persian rug, no less.
The fury, the panic – it all combined into one singular thought.
I will end Colin Bridgerton.
But before she could launch into a full meltdown, Colin, who had been standing behind her daughter, equally as pale, came forward.
"No matter what, I’ll take care of Penelope and our baby, Miss Featherington."
And then, as if he hadn’t just upended her entire world, he launched into a meticulously thought-out five-year plan. He talked about overcoming this hurdle, balancing their future, and – God help her –Portia was fairly certain she heard him mention becoming a stay-at-home dad.
Was he planning on sending her daughter to work?
What followed was a morning of pure absurdity, with the two of them playing the role of expectant parents. Colin fussed over Penelope, guiding her gently toward her room like she was made of glass – only for Portia to cut him off halfway up the stairs with a glare.
No way was that boy getting alone time with her daughter. Not today. Not after this.
Not on her watch, at the very least!
So, the entire morning was spent in the living room, with Portia playing the ever-diligent chaperone while the two of them sat on the couch, deep in a very serious discussion about baby names.
Penelope wanted to name the baby Elliot – after her best friend – while Colin, for reasons Portia couldn’t fathom, kept referring to the hypothetical child as Baby Lord Featherington insisted on naming him Thomas.
Naturally, this led to a heated argument, with huffs, exaggerated eye rolls, and Penelope dramatically stomping away – an attempt at looking intimidating that only made her resemble an angry duckling.
Colin’s response? To chase after her – mind you, she had barely taken two steps – before dropping to the ground, kissing her nonexistent belly, and declaring, “Whatever you want, baby.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he dared to steal a quick peck right in front of her.
Portia could only sit there, wondering what sins she had committed in a past life to witness these theatrics.
That same day, she had accompanied them to a doctor’s appointment, and of course, it turned out to be a false alarm.
But that incident made her realize – Colin Bridgerton was in this for the long haul.
It was as if he was mocking her with that crooked smile of his, silently declaring: No way you’re getting rid of me, Lady. Me love your daughter.
And with that incident came peace and a sort of agreement between them to coexist.
ʚ♡ɞ
But still she didn’t make it easy for him.
After the pregnancy scare had nearly sent her to an early grave, she enforced a strict no boys upstairs rule.
But Colin just leaned against the staircase with a smile, waiting for Penelope to come down.
Then came the no going out with boys after 8 PM rule. That boy found a loophole – sending his sister to get Penelope instead.
She knew this because she once caught them at a town fair, sharing a plate of pasta and holding hands, while an utterly uninterested Eloise did some serious damage to a claw machine.
And then came one morning when Portia walked into her own kitchen and found Colin standing there, cooking.
Cooking! In her home! With her daughter!
It was his first break from university, and the very next day, he was on her doorstep.
As if Portia hadn’t already suffered enough. Weeks of Penelope’s relentless moping – the tragic sighs, the excessive ice cream consumption, the smudged mascara from dramatic crying over absolutely nothing. Random, bone-crushing hugs that caught Portia off guard.
The half-burnt cakes that set off the fire alarm twice, the impromptu room reorganizations that led to three stubbed toes and a missing earring. The girl even started helping with dinner – though "helping" was a strong word when she nearly mistook salt for sugar.
And, of course, the endless late-night calls – whispered giggles, random walks in the garden that once ended with Penelope getting attacked by a raccoon, sprinting inside with the creature hot on her heels, ultimately causing some damage to Portia’s beloved china collection.
Colin Bridgerton wasn’t physically there, yet he was everywhere.
Somehow both absent and ever-present at the same time.
He and Penelope were laughing over something, flour smudged on her daughter’s cheek while Colin stood behind her, his hand hovering entirely too close to Penelope’s waist as he guided her through mixing something.
Portia cleared her throat. Loudly.
Colin turned with his ever-present smile. “Mrs. Featherington! We’re making pancakes.”
“I see that.” Portia gave him a quick once-over before heading straight for the coffee machine. She was going to need a lot of caffeine to deal with this.
“Oh! Don’t bother,” Colin said, handing her a cup. “I already made you coffee – two sugars, one cream.”
Portia glanced at Penelope, who was watching the exchange, her eyes practically begging her mother to accept the offering – before turning back to Colin with a gaze so lovesick.
With a deep exhale, Portia took the coffee, muttering a quiet thanks.
And just like that, he went right back to cooking with her daughter, now standing even closer, completely unbothered by her presence. Touching her. Playing with the batter they were making for pancakes. And then, with a ridiculous amount of ease, he lifted Penelope onto the counter, telling her to “sit pretty” while he took over.
The audacity of that boy! …Dude? Man? Whatever he was now, with that bit of stubble he suddenly seemed to be sporting.
“So, Colin, where exactly do you live?” Portia asked as he skillfully flipped a pancake.
He grinned, looking a bit confused. “Ehh… right across the street,” he answered, running his fingers through his tousled brown curls.
“And yet,” she said, crossing her arms, “you spend an awful lot of time here.”
“I like it here.” Colin shrugged. “You have good snacks.”
Portia’s eye twitched.
“And Penelope is here,” he added with a wink, looking at her daughter – who, of course, immediately turned as red as a tomato.
Portia inhaled sharply. “And why, pray tell, do you feel the need to be near Penelope at all times?”
“Mama!” Penelope exclaimed beside Colin, clearly exasperated by the early morning interrogation.
But Colin simply placed a hand on her thigh – a silent reassurance that he’d handle this.
He blinked, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “Because she’s my girlfriend.”
Portia stared at him. This boy.
“I see,” she said slowly. “Well, Colin, if you like Penelope so much, perhaps you should start by respecting her mother’s rules.”
“Oh, I do, Mrs. Featherington.” Colin nodded solemnly, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “That’s why I’m staying in the kitchen.”
Penelope, for her part, looked torn between laughing and melting into the floor.
Portia took a deep breath. “Colin, dear, I’m going to ask you this once, and I want you to be very honest with me.”
Colin, to his credit, sobered slightly. “Of course.”
She leveled him with a mother’s most powerful weapon: the Knowing Stare. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
Colin’s expression shifted – still warm, still unmistakably Colin, but quieter now. “Marry her, of course,” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I think I’ve had intentions with Penelope since we were twelve.”
Portia felt faint.
Penelope definitely squeaked.
Colin, realizing what had just come out of his mouth, suddenly looked alarmed. “I mean – respectful intentions! Honorable ones! I – I would never – I mean – Gah! Gah!”
Portia held up a hand.
She exhaled, staring at him for a long moment before sighing. “Just… just stay where I can see you.”
Colin's grin returned in full force “Of course, Mrs. Featherington.”
With that, Portia Featherington accepted the inevitable.
Colin Bridgerton wasn’t going anywhere.
ʚ♡ɞ
Finally, at twenty-three and twenty-two, Portia watched with teary eyes as her daughter walked down the aisle, beaming at the same boy who had been following her around since childhood.
The same adoring gaze seven-year-old Colin had worn all those years ago was still there, unchanged, sixteen years later.
And, of course, he was crying – tears welling in his eyes as Penelope walked toward him, her arm looped through her father’s.
She was probably thinking how ridiculous Colin was for crying, but Portia saw the way her own eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Every moment of their lives, from the second they met, had led to this.
Now, it was undeniable – these two were meant for each other.
All of her fears, all her worries, had been for nothing.
That boy she had once worried would break her daughter’s heart had only ever loved her – probably more than anyone had ever loved anyone in this world.
And somehow, against all odds, Colin Bridgerton had wormed his way into Portia’s heart too, carving out a soft spot and making himself comfortable in there – sipping a Piña Colada, her favorite drink and, as it turned out, his too.
And now, as Colin kissed his bride, she hoped that they would soon give her little redheaded babies to dote upon.
Preferably with those squishy cheeks her lovely, ridiculously charming son-in-law owned!
