Chapter Text
I
Dear Penelope,
Don't be alarmed. I know you won't recognize the handwriting writing this letter, but I assure you it's me. I had a minor accident while walking through the busy streets of Rome. I don't need to go into details, but the important thing is that you know I'm fine. I only sprained my wrist when I fell on it, and the doctor recommends rest and not using my hand for some time. Luckily, my new friend and traveling companion (I told you about him in my last letter, remember?) has agreed to write down my dictations (I assure you he's an extremely trustworthy person and won't divulge the contents of my letters or the fact that we correspond during my travels).
How are you, Penelope? Did you finish the book I recommended? I look forward to discussing it in person when I return; I'm almost sure I can guess who your favorite character is. As for the one you lent me before I embarked on my trip, I must confess that despite not being a big fan of romance novels, I really liked it, and I think I understand why you liked it so much. I'll reserve my comments to discuss when we meet again.
For now, I say goodbye and hope to be able to write my own letters soon.
Sincerely,
Colin
“Once again, thank you very much, Alfred” Colin said as he stood up and stretched out the arm that wasn't supported by the splint.
"Nothing to be thankful for, Colin," Alfred replied distractedly as he folded the paper and prepared his pen to write down the address where the letter would be sent.
"No, seriously, this is very important to me. I can't let Penelope worry about not receiving my letters."
"I know, I know. You've told me several times and made me promise on my dear mother's grave that I won't tell anyone you're writing to an unmarried lady."
"Please don't use that tone. You're making it sound like something indecent."
"You're the one who seems to think so. I didn't comment on it," he turned and placed the letter in his good hand. "On the contrary, you know very well that I don't agree with many of the absurd rules society imposes on us."
Colin didn't respond; he just smiled and practically ran off to deliver the letter to his valet.
What a curious character Alfred Debling was, a rather peculiar lord, vegetarian, lover of science and travel, defender and promoter of women's rights, solitary yet very kind. Their paths had crossed on an expedition to Mount Vesuvius, and a friendship had blossomed almost immediately, so much so that they decided to modify their respective plans and continue their journey together. Colin trusted his new friend so much that, after his unfortunate accident, he didn't hesitate for a moment to confide his most precious secret: his correspondence with Penelope Featherington. Debling didn't judge him, although at first he found it hard to believe he wasn't courting Penelope. Once it was made clear that they were just very good friends, he agreed to write down his ramblings while he couldn't do it himself.
Three weeks later, Colin still couldn't write; his sprain was much better, but the doctor still recommended not using his hand. Alfred, meanwhile, continued to act as scribe, without questioning the content of the letters or expressing any opinion.
Two months later, Colin was preparing to return home, his wrist fully recovered, and he was excited to be reunited with his loved ones.
My dearest
Penelope
Hello! I can finally pick up my pen again. I apologize if my strokes are still a bit sloppy; it takes a while to get back into the habit of writing. This letter will be brief; I just wanted to let you know that you should no longer write to me at this address. I'll be on my way home in a few days, so I'll soon have the pleasure of being in your presence. I look forward to
seeing you
going back as much as I looked forward to leaving ten months ago.
See you soon, Pen!
Yours,
Love,
Colin
Colin contemplated his words, seriously considering rewriting the letter. It wasn't very polite of him to send it with so many crossed-out words, and he was afraid Penelope might decipher the words hidden behind the ink blots. After thinking about it for a while longer, he finally decided to send it that way; his wrist still bothered him when he wrote, and he was a little embarrassed to ask Alfred for help. Lately, he didn't want to depend on him; he felt like Alfred was an intruder even if he didn't know it, and it hurt him to think that way about his friend, when he hadn't done anything wrong. Sighing, he opened his desk drawer and took out the last letter he had received from Penelope.
Dear Colin (and Lord Debling),
I'm so glad to hear you're almost fully recovered. I can't wait to hear about all your adventures. You have such a beautiful way of describing things, Colin. You always find the right words, and I often feel like I'm right there with you (and Lord Debling), wandering through those narrow streets of Rome or climbing those imposing mountains. Silly of me, isn't it? Considering I'd never be allowed to join you on your travels; although dreaming costs nothing, and luckily, I have a great imagination.
I don't want to bore you with the details of my daily life. I'd rather you tell me what you (and Lord Debling) are up to, so I eagerly await your next letter.
When will you be back, Colin? Your family (and I too, of course) miss you terribly and look forward to seeing you soon.
Sincerely, Penelope.
And Lord Debling… Those three words had begun to appear constantly in all of Penelope's letters. Colin didn't quite understand why, but it bothered him; he wanted to erase them. Why did Penelope have to include Alfred in her letters? She must have been under the impression that Alfred not only helped him write, but that Colin also shared the content of her letters with him. Yes, that was certainly it, and Penelope—sweet, polite Penelope—didn't want to seem rude by ignoring Alfred.