Chapter Text
"What happened? Why did Penelope run off? Is she even well?"
Those were the questions Colin had asked, and for once, Anthony could not deny that his brother had a point.
He never should have remained in that room.
Had he left the moment he saw Kate, none of this would have happened.
Then Benedict had entered, smiling, inquiring after the happy couple . And that had been the final blow.
It had been a ploy. A scheme Penelope had certainly been aware of. A test.
One he had not only failed but one that had cost him his child.
How long had she known?
He could not allow himself to dwell on it. He had to find her.
And then it struck him — Penelope would not have stayed, not at Hastings House, not after Daphne’s role in all of this.
Where would she have gone?
Certainly not his bachelor lodgings. That much he knew.
Which was why, as soon as he stepped into his carriage, he ordered the driver to take him to Featherington House.
The ride was torturously slow, and with each turn of the wheels, realization sank its claws deeper into his chest.
Penelope must have known of his mother’s and sister’s scheme for days — perhaps even longer than she had known she was with child.
That was why she had kept silent.
And then another struck.
Penelope would leave him if she believed he still loved Kate.
Had she not lost their child, would she have told him there had never been one and left him regardless?
The thought sent a sharp pang through his ribs, leaving him breathless.
And after what she had seen — dear God, there was no way she could believe otherwise.
His stomach twisted violently. He had been a fool. A blind, unworthy fool.
That wretched kiss had sealed his fate, but not in the way he had once thought.
It had been nothing, an empty relic of a past long buried.
But she had not known. How could she have known?
A strangled sound escaped his throat, something between a sob and a curse, as the carriage lurched to a stop.
He barely had time to grasp the handle when he saw another carriage pull away from Featherington House.
His pulse pounded against his skull.
"Follow that carriage. Do not lose sight of it," he ordered, climbing back in.
He did not know where she was going, but he was certain of one thing.
It was her.
His throat tightened when he recognized the streets of Bloomsbury.
"Wait here," he instructed as they halted, stepping onto the pavement.
Then he heard it.
Inside the printing shop, her voice carried, calm and measured.
She was negotiating the publication of Lady Whistledown’s final column. Stating that her employer was unwell, unable to continue writing. That she was using this last scandal as an opportunity to retire.
The blood drained from his face.
He could read between the lines.
She was running.
His knees nearly buckled, and for a moment, he saw nothing but the blinding white haze of panic.
No.
Before she could emerge, he turned sharply on his heel, striding back to the carriage.
"Follow her," he commanded, his voice hoarse. "Do not let her out of your sight."
The wheels lurched forward once more, and as the streets blurred around him, Anthony reached a decision.
He would follow her.
And if she refused to return, then so be it.
He would run toward her.
Benedict would shoulder the weight of the viscountcy.
It was the least he could do after his betrayal.
***
As Anthony reached the docks, he saw her boarding the ship.
His steps quickened, urgency tightening his chest, but just as he was about to follow, he heard his last name.
He turned sharply, finding an unfamiliar man speaking to his brother.
The sight of Colin took him aback. His brother seemed equally surprised, though there was an odd sense of calm about him.
"What are you doing here?" Anthony demanded, ignoring the other man entirely.
"I followed Penelope," Colin replied, his tone unreadable.
It unsettled Anthony. There was only one way to quell the unease taking root in his chest — he had to follow her from Featherington House to the printer to the docks.
Something in his expression must have betrayed his thoughts, for Colin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Anthony, allow me to introduce Captain Smith. I was just inquiring whether he would permit me passage on his ship, so that I might get to Penelope."
Anthony tensed, but Colin’s voice remained even, measured.. "But perhaps you would prefer to take my place?"
"This is not a passenger vessel, my lords, " the captain interjected. " Though we do accommodate a few on occasion."
Colin turned back to the captain with the easy confidence that made him a Bridgerton. "My brother is Viscount Bridgerton," he said smoothly. "I have spoken of you at length, Captain. I daresay he will find your crew a worthwhile investment."
Anthony knew an opportunity when he saw one. "Indeed," he said, barely sparing his brother a glance. "Colin, you will remain here. I shall send word as soon as I am able, but I must—"
Colin’s grip on his shoulder tightened. " I know." He exhaled, the weight of disappointment clear in his voice. "You have wronged her, that much is undeniable. But I also know she was never merely duty to you."
A weight lifted from his chest.
"Winning her back will not be easy." Colin’s voice softened, yet remained firm. "But she loves you. If she did not, none of this would have come to pass."
Anthony swallowed against the emotion tightening his throat.
"Show her that you love her, Anthony. Not just in words, but with actions, even if you have to do it for the rest of your life."
"If she will have me still, I shall do exactly that," he vowed, his voice steady as steel. It was a promise — to himself, to Penelope, to the brother who had proven himself an unexpected ally.
"Tell no one about my departure."
Colin gave a dry chuckle. "I will not. You have erred, but they—" He exhaled through his nose. "They all but ensured you would fail."
"We must go, my lord," Captain Smith interrupted.
Anthony inclined his head, clasping his brother’s arm in a brief but firm embrace. "Thank you."
Two words that conveyed far more than he could ever say.
He had thought Colin a rival for Penelope’s heart. Instead, he had proven to be his greatest ally — despite what he had undoubtedly discovered about her nome de plume.
As he ascended the gangway, he turned to the captain. "Tell me, Captain, where is your final destination?"
"India, my lord."
A laugh escaped him, sudden and incredulous.
"India," he repeated, shaking his head. Of all the places, of all the possible destinations, Penelope had chosen a ship bound for India.
It was utterly, absurdly fitting.