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Penelope sits in his bed, dressed in her night attire. Despite her frown and the fact that – Colin is quite certain – she has never been in his room before, she looks like she belongs there.
“We did not get a chance to speak this evening,” she states, looking somehow sadly at her own hands.
Colin can’t help but gaze at Penelope under the light of the candles. Her transparent gown does very little to cover her curves, and he has to reprimand himself for staring lower than her face. “You were busy with Debling.”
“I thought you liked him.”
He is about to say I did, then thinks better of it. Although the mere thought of Debling has come to make his blood boil with hostility, he does not wish to upset her. “I do not like that he now has a monopoly of your time, I suppose.”
That is the closest to the truth he can confess right now. He is not sure himself, what the truth is.
Penelope’s eyes finally raise towards him, lips curved in a slight smile. By heaven. She looks beautiful in this light, the auburn of her hair glowing against the fire of the candles. “I am here with you now,” she whispers.
“Yes,” is all he can respond.
Oxygen seems to have flown away from his lungs as Penelope moves closer, so close that he can now count the freckles on her nose and stare at the cherry tint of her lips. Her gaze also slips lower to his mouth, and that is the last straw - he can’t help but spring forward to close the distance between them.
Slowly, ever so slowly, holding his breath as not to scare her – it feels like any second she might jump and disappear into thin air, like a vision.
Everything is warm, Penelope’s scent fills his nostrils as he breathes through his nose and angles his face to kiss her, placing his hands in her hair. Colin feels her smile against the kiss, and this is all so good, so right, that he gathers the courage to grab her waist and pull her in his lap.
He kisses her neck, slides her shawl down her shoulders and then lifts her night gown – so that they are skin on skin, the line of her neck exposed and her hair flowing freely down her back. He moves frantically, like he can’t decide which part of her to touch – her shoulder blades, her waist, the lengths of her hair – nothing can ever be enough.
She looks so beautiful, and he is so entranced that he almost misses her giggle, as she hugs him closer and pushes their foreheads together. “I saw you dance with a few debutantes earlier,” she whispers, and Colin is pleased to find that she is flushed and out of breath too. “I… thought you might be interested in one of them.”
“I do not care for anyone else. I only want you.”
The words flow so effortlessly on his tongue that they almost surprise him as well. But he can’t be all that surprised, really; not when Penelope is smiling at him with so much love, he is caressing her bare shoulders, and he knows with the certainty of a lifetime that he has never wanted anything as much as this: Penelope, in his bed, letting him savour every part of her body, saving her smiles only for him.
Colin traces her lips with his thumb just like he wanted to do at the ball earlier today – she always bites there when she’s nervous, draws blood sometimes. Now her lips are only swollen from his kisses.
“You know,” she whispers. “Maybe you should tell me that.”
I just did, you ninny, he is about to reply, but in reality he is ready to repeat that a thousand times if she asks. I want you. I want you. Only you. Suddenly her face is almost sad, and he follows the trail of her gaze to the night table near his bed.
There is a golden hourglass that he has never seen before.
It is sheltered by the darkness, but even in the shadows he can see the sand flowing through the glass, from the upper bowl to the lower one. It is moving fast. Too fast.
Colin jumps up in his bed, the sound of the sand still echoing in his ears.
There is only silence and darkness in the room – and his ragged breath and sweat, and the feeling of Penelope’s body still all over him.
*
“There you are.”
With darkness falling around them after dusk and a few minutes to put himself together, Colin hopes his distress will not be quite so obvious anymore. Penelope is radiant, moonlight shining against the blue silk of her dress and a relaxed smile adorning her face. She is happy, he forces himself to think. I want her to be happy.
So he also forces his mouth to curve in a smile. “The lady of the hour.”
That earns him a giggle. “That all happened so fast. I could not quite believe it.”
In this corner of the garden, far enough from the crowd in the ballroom, Colin can still hear the violins muffled by the walls, see traces of the warm, reddish lights cast by the chandeliers through the windows.
“Do not be silly,” he comments, trying to hide his face away. “Everyone could see that Lord Debling is smitten with you. People were placing bets on how fast he would fall on one knee.”
As much as those thoughts make his stomach tighten in knots, he thinks he is doing quite a good job at playing the part of the elated best friend. But Penelope must sense something in his tone, because she frowns. “Has something happened, Colin?”
What do you mean has something happened, he wants to ask. You accepted Debling’s proposal, that's what happened.
In all truth, he does not even know where to pour his rage. Not on Penelope, of course – she bears no responsibility for his own stupidity. Not even on Lord Debling - it was just a matter of time before someone else came along and noticed how lovely Penelope is.
His mind feels too full; in the tide of thoughts he only manages to stare at her like a fool. Her worry does not take away one inch from the beauty of her face; her eyes are glimmering, the colour of her dress making the blue pop out as if to outshine the stars in the sky. There’s no one else around, everybody is cheering and dancing in the ballroom. His head is somehow shaken from the wine and the scene he has just witnessed, and he does the most foolish thing he could do at this very moment.
He kisses her.
He has to bend over as he places her hands on her shoulders, and he can feel them tense under his touch. She remains petrified for a long second. And then he feels it – her lips moving under his, her face angling ever so slightly to give him better access.
His heart leaps with joy. This is like rising to the celestial skies after plunging into the deepest of darkness, all in the space of a short hour – but he can’t even dwell on that knowledge, because he is only overwhelmed by the softness of her waist as he draws her close. And lord, the warmth of her breath on his face – this is not another dream. She is kissing him back.
Emboldened, he passes his hands behind her neck, and revels in feeling the goosebumps on her skin and the locks of hair falling from her elaborate bun. He wants to unleash it and sink in the perfume of her loose hair, as he did in his dreams (they have nothing, nothing on reality), but before he can even dwell on that thought, he feels Penelope pulling back.
He opens her eyes to find her locks falling away from his hands, Penelope’s eyes blinking like she can’t quite believe what happened. He can’t, either – he realizes it has only been a matter of seconds, although that kiss promised an eternity of bliss.
“I do not understand,” she says in a breath.
And just like that, he feels his heart sink again. Because her eyes are welling up, and his mind is slowly coming back into focus – he has just kissed Penelope Featherington, in a dark corner of a garden, in the middle of the Red Ball, minutes after her engagement to another man.
“I am sorry, Penelope,” he hears himself saying, and even though the fog in his head makes it feel like it’s someone else speaking, he can sense the truth flowing from his body, like a weight is finally being lifted. “I have been wanting to talk to you for weeks, but I was confused… and you seemed so happy about your suitors and your prospects lifting up, that I was afraid to ruin it for you.”
Penelope is still looking paralyzed, so he just continues his speech like a river in flood. “Tonight I came here with the intention to tell you… and I found everyone rejoicing about Debling’s proposal. My timing has been all wrong. I am so sorry.”
“Tell me what?” she asks, and even in the tragedy of the moment, he can’t help but admire the fullness of her parted lips. “What did you want to tell me?”
“Penelope. You know. ”
His tone is pleading. This has gone all wrong – he can see her confusion slowly turning to a wall, rising to keep him at distance. “I don’t want you to marry him,” he says, lifting a hand to her cheek. “I want you for myself.”
In the dream, Penelope had encouraged him to confess. But this Penelope, his Penelope, is not having any of it – she is moving his hand away, stepping backwards, distrust building in her features. “Since when?”
That question stings.
It does not even want an answer – it is more of an accusation (you had every opportunity, his head is reminding him again, you had years). He opens his mouth to defend himself (how?), or maybe plead, but suddenly the distance between them seems insurmountable.
She raises her hand to stop him from talking, and her voice is wavering when she says: “I… I have to go.”
And then it’s all over.
She runs away from him, all but disappearing in the shadows of the garden.