Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton believed it to be fate.
When a stray bonnet struck him squarely in the face, sending him tumbling most ungracefully into the mud, the first vision he beheld upon opening his eyes was that of his future bride—at least, so he fancied. She was enchanting even then, her face dusted with freckles, her hair aglow like embers kissed by the setting sun, and her eyes as vast and brilliant as the clearest morning skies. Her name, he soon discovered, was Penelope Featherington, a spirited seven-year-old who resided in the house just across the way.
From that moment, Colin resolved to make her his closest companion. Much to his surprise, he found her company far more enjoyable than the raucous games of his elder brothers. Penelope was kind, her laughter a melody that warmed his young heart, and even at such a tender age, her wit and cleverness utterly charmed him.
One afternoon, after considerable deliberation, Colin mustered his courage and marched into his father’s study, his countenance alight with determination. Gently, he rapped upon the door, which stood slightly ajar.
“Father? Might I come in?” he inquired, peering tentatively through the gap.
“Come in, Colin,” Edmund Bridgerton replied from behind his desk, glancing up with mild curiosity. “What is it you need?”
“Do you know the baron who lives across the street?” Colin began solemnly, standing tall as though about to deliver a matter of grave national importance.
“Baron Featherington?” Edmund raised a brow. “We are acquainted, though not closely. Why do you ask? Have you quarreled with one of his daughters?”
“No, Father,” Colin replied hastily, clearly affronted. “I am a gentleman. I treat Penelope with the utmost respect.” He hesitated, his cheeks colouring. “I was wondering if you might speak to him on an important matter.”
Edmund leaned back, intrigued. “And what, pray, might that be?”
Colin clasped his small hands tightly together. “Would you ask him if, when Penelope is of age, he might allow me to marry her?”
Edmund blinked, caught entirely off guard. He coughed to mask his surprise. “Marriage?” he repeated, amusement flickering in his voice. “My dear boy, you are scarcely old enough to consider such things. And Penelope—why, she has eleven years yet before she is even presented.”
“I know that, Father,” Colin said, undeterred. “But what if another boy from Mayfair marries her before then? She is my best friend, and I love her. One day, I should like to love her as you love Mama. And we could have eight Bridgerton children too.”
Edmund rubbed his temples, his lips twitching as he tried to contain a smile. “Colin, perhaps you ought to go and play with your brothers for a while. I shall speak with your mother on the matter. No doubt she will wish to have a word with you herself.”
“But do you promise to speak with Penelope’s father?” Colin asked, his gaze earnest and imploring.
“I can make no such promise, my boy,” Edmund said gently, though firmly.
Colin’s face fell, and with a dramatic stomp of his foot, he cried, “You do not love me anymore! You wish to give my bride to another. You won’t even help me!”
With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Edmund in a state of amused exasperation.
He had just risen to summon Violet when, most conveniently, his wife appeared in the doorway, her expression one of bemusement.
“May I inquire as to why our son is stomping through the halls, muttering that no one loves him?” she asked, folding her hands before her.
Edmund exhaled, half-sigh and half-laugh. “Ah, Violet, my love, Colin has come to me with a most earnest plea. He wishes for me to approach Baron Featherington and secure an arrangement for his eventual marriage to Miss Penelope.”
Violet’s brows lifted in amusement. “And what did you say?”
“I informed him I could make no such promise. He interpreted this as betrayal of the gravest kind and declared that I was attempting to give his future bride to another gentleman.”
Violet let out a quiet laugh. “Well, Penelope does suit the family rather perfectly, does she not? Have you seen the way Colin looks at her? That smile of his whenever she is near—it is quite telling.”
“I do not disagree,” Edmund said, though his tone retained a note of caution. “But they are still very young. You know as well as I that youthful attachments often shift with time. Soon enough, he will be off to Eton, and she to her debut. What he feels now may not endure.”
“Perhaps,” Violet conceded, nodding thoughtfully. “Still, I shall speak with him.”
“Good luck, my dear,” Edmund said, chuckling. “Our son is possessed of a most formidable will—much like his father.”
“And his mother,” she returned with a wry smile before sweeping from the room in search of their passionate little suitor.
After consulting her other children, Violet soon discovered that Colin had locked himself within his chamber. She approached the door and knocked softly.
“Colin, it is your mama. May we speak?”
“You may come in,” came his muffled reply, “but you cannot change my mind.”
Violet entered to find him seated on the edge of his bed, his small frame rigid, his eyes filled with both defiance and sorrow. She sat beside him, smoothing her skirts with care.
“My darling,” she began in her gentle, soothing voice, “your father and I believe that what you feel for Penelope is sincere. But you are still quite young. Feelings can shift as we grow older, can they not? Soon you will be off to Eton, and in time, Penelope shall have her first Season. It is not unthinkable that she may draw the attention of another gentleman. You are both too young to speak of such matters with finality. Marriage is a vow for life, Colin.”
Colin furrowed his brow, frustration evident in his expression. “Are you saying my feelings will disappear? That I might fall for another? That I might betray her?”
“No, sweetheart,” Violet said kindly. “That is not what I mean at all. Only that, at your age, feelings may feel very large and very certain. But they are still growing. I ask only that you give yourself time. Do not be so possessive of her, hmm? Enjoy the friendship you share now. And remember—if something is meant to be, it will find its way to you.”
Colin was silent for a moment. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “But what if she falls in love with someone else, Mama?”
Violet gave him a warm, understanding look. “And what if you fall in love with someone else, my love?”
Colin shook his head resolutely. “I do not think so, Mama. Pen had my heart from the moment her bonnet knocked me off my horse. You say it is not love, but I feel it. The more I come to know her, the more I wish to take care of her—just like Papa takes care of us.”
Violet blinked, visibly moved. “I did not know you felt so deeply already, Colin.”
He looked up at her, the weight of his young heart written plainly upon his face. “So what will happen if she falls for another?”
Violet placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Then, my darling, it shall be because it was meant to be. But if your love for her remains steady as the years pass—and hers for you—then there shall be no force on this earth strong enough to keep you apart.”
Colin gave a solemn nod, his heart still heavy, but comforted—if only slightly—by the tender wisdom of his mother’s words.