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Chapter Text

Penelope was left speechless after seeing the gift delicately nestled in the beautiful box that Colin had given her. Her eyes were fixed upon the contents, her thoughts going in a whirl. She was so overwhelmed with the emotion that he had taken the time to choose anything for her, that it took her a moment to realize she didn’t even know what she was looking at.

On the silk-covered pillow inside the box, there were two golden needle-like things, their ends engraved with delicate white flowers and short chains hung finished with beautiful stones. They looked like some kind of jewelry, but Penelope couldn’t quite pinpoint how she could use them.

“These are Chinese hairpins, which I noticed in one of the Parisian stores. I immediately thought how beautiful they would look in your hair,” Colin explained, giving her a full-toothed smile, clearly pleased with her awe-struck expression. His chest was puffed out, like a proud toddler who presented a hand drawn  picture to their mother.

“These are beautiful, but I could not accept them,” she finally said, even if she selfishly wished to accept the gift. Immediately, Colin’s face fell.

“But why?”

Her voice was calm and even, as if it were not the first time she had to explain it to him. “Colin, it’s improper.”

“Improper would be not bringing you anything. All my siblings and mother got one souvenir each. Why should you be the exception?” The young man seemed unable to grasp the concept that she was not, in fact, his sister. But Penelope was used to it. Being an honorary Bridgerton, always there, ever at Eloise’s side, one could truly confuse her as a part of the family if not for her distinct looks that made her stand out in the lanky group of chestnut-haired Bridgertons.

Deciding there was no use in explaining it to him for the hundredth time, she accepted the gift and thanked him with a shy smile. Just as with any of his family members, Colin threw his arms around her and hugged her close, exclaiming with exuberant happiness, “You're very welcome, Pen. I hope they will be your lucky charm during tonight's ball.”

Penelope had never learned how to say no, and so her expectantly stressful preparation for the first ball of the season became even more taxing. Her lady's maid, Rae, had never even seen such pins, so figuring out how to style Penelope's long, lush hair into something presentable was a challenge that took much more time than any of them expected. However, when Rae finally managed to pin all the red tresses into an elegant updo, the pins elevated the look and made her mistress look dazzling. The maid pinned in some sprigs of baby's breath for good measure, and finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, she was ready.

Penelope looked in the mirror, pleasantly surprised with her reflection. She was glad for tonight's dress code for the debutantes—they were to attend in the gown they were presented in before the Queen, which meant she did not have to wear any of the garish yellow ones her mother loved to put her in. The dress she had on was ivory, with soft, golden embellishments. They were modest and tactful, something that was rarely seen on any of the Featherington women. With long matching gloves, a delicate floral necklace of gold and the pins from Colin, her look was complete. She felt beautiful, and for a moment she dared to hope that perhaps the evening might not be so dreadful, even if Eloise would not be by her side.

As the ball progressed, Penelope realized she was naive to think that a different color gown would help distinguish her from the crowd. She didn't necessarily wish for attention, but a tiny spark of hope ignited within her that maybe, just maybe, there would be at least one gentleman who would invite her for a dance. Yet, her dance card remained embarrassingly empty and no one seemed to be paying her any mind. Even her own mother had forsaken her to peacock about with her other two daughters, leaving Penelope alone by the refreshment table to fend for herself.

She looked for the Bridgertons, but as missing the first ball would be scandalous, the entirety of London's Ton attended, making spotting them almost impossible. She believed she caught a glance of Daphne on the dancefloor, but as quickly as she spun into Penelope's line of vision she disappeared, leaving the red-haired girl feeling even more lonesome. The eldest Bridgerton girl at least had her three brothers and mother by her side, but Penelope was certain she was not by their side for long, as her dance card must be full, with her being named the Queen's Diamond. Penelope, on the other hand, would made a good use of someone offering her some moral support.

Finally, she found herself tired of the stifling air and decided to step outside for a moment of respite. She sat down on one of the stone benches, her view mostly obscured by a tall hedge. She looked up in search of the moon, yet thick clouds buried it somewhere in the sky. Just when she thought she had found solace, a voice from behind startled her.

It was a woman, Penelope could tell, but since the lady was facing away from the windows, there was insufficient light to make out her features.

“Miss Featherington, is it? And how does one’s very first ball treat her?” Her voice seemed familiar, but Penelope couldn't quite place it yet. Before she could second-guess herself, she admitted with a faint smile, “Like a novel someone else is reading aloud, my lady.”

There was a pause before the woman asked, “Meaning?”

Penelope sighed and with a hopeful note in her voice explained, “I can hear all the words, but I’m not entirely part of the story. Not yet.”

That was when the wind blew the clouds away, letting the moon grant enough light for the red-haired woman to recognize the lady before her.

Lady Danbury’s face held a slightly intrigued smile as she questioned further, “And yet you hide in the garden instead of turning the page?”

Penelope’s face burned with shame that she had allowed her tongue such liberty in front of such an esteemed person—the Queen's right hand, no less—but it was too late to retreat. “Sometimes the most interesting passages happen between the chapters.”

At that, Lady Danbury’s eyes seemed to glint as if she had learned the most fascinating news. “Not what I expected from the youngest Featherington,” she admitted, her brows rising as her mouth widened into a full smile.

It made Penelope feel a surge of confidence, that she mirrored the smile and with a surprising boldness, even for her, admitted, “It’s terribly dull to be exactly what people expect.”

Refreshed and rejuvenated after her little talk with Lady Danbury, Penelope went back to the ballroom to procure a glass of lemonade. She hoped she would finally see Colin and show him how beautifully his gift looked in her hair, but she was not graced with such luck. Instead of catching a glimpse of her dear friend, she ran into the person she would least like to see—Cressida Cowper. A tormentor from her girlhood, who Penelope was sure, would be even more ruthless in the ballroom, where the stakes were so high.

“Penelope, fancy seeing you here,” Cressida purred, without an ounce of truth in her words. Penelope resisted the urge to sigh, but deciding to remain civil, answered shortly, already planning her escape, “Cressida.”

“I noticed what beautiful hairpins you have in your hair. I have never seen anything like that before.”

The comment surprised her. Never would Penelope expect to hear a kind word from Cressida of all people. It made her guard fall slightly, a mistake she would never repeat, as the blonde circled her to look at her sophisticated updo. She felt her touching the pins, but what came next was so unexpected it tore a gasp from her loud enough that the few people nearby stopped talking and turned their way. The quiet around them made the sound of the first hairpin that Cressida pulled out and dropped to the floor resonate in Penelope's ears. The clink echoed in her head and was soon followed by the other one, which fell on its own. Penelope's long red tresses fell down her back like a waterfall and a mortifying heat flooded her cheeks. She felt eyes registering her every movement, the quiet judgement hidden behind fans.

Having her hair down like that was indecent in the eyes of the ton. And the longer she let herself be seen that way, the greater the potential for a scandal. And so, not even stopping to pick up the pins, Penelope fled the scene, her heart in her throat and eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Chapter Text

The very next day, Penelope sat in the drawing room with her openly snickering sisters and a furious mother who was lecturing her. Portia was not there to see what had happened, but the running mouths of the Ton wasted no time. Before the ball was over, she knew her youngest daughter, the one she least expected to create any problem, was the talk of the evening—and not in the good way, like the Bridgertons' eldest girl, who had charmed even the Queen herself.

Penelope sat on the window sill, looking out the window at the house across the street that belonged to her most favored family. Only then, as she pondered what they had heard about her, did she realize that she never picked up Colin's gift. The thought of losing such a valuable piece made the situation even worse, her feelings mixing into a tumultuous mix between anger at Cressida and herself, and powerlessness. Whatever she might have done, she was the one facing public scrutiny, even if she were the victim. And now, on top of being mocked by society, she had to deal with her enraged mother, who would not hear any excuses.

Portia’s words were muted by her own thoughts, when their butler's voice sliced through both her internal and external noise.

“Lady Danbury and Prince Friedrich of Prussia for Miss Penelope Featherington,” he announced, and without wasting time, escaped the scene. Penelope felt as if her legs would give out if she were not already sitting. The same must have been the case for Portia, who staggered at the butler's words. She snapped her head and only managed to mouth in Penelope's direction, “what have you done?!”, her face a mixture of fury and anxiety. Yet the moment their guests stepped in, she schooled her expression into one of pleasant surprise. It was such a quick and deliberate shift, Penelope was distracted by it and did not manage to compose her own mask of emotions.

“Lady Danbury, what a delightful surprise. You have brought a Prince, at that!” Portia sauntered to the newcomers, offering her hand to the handsome blond man, who gracefully took it and placed a gentlemanly kiss upon her glove.

“Lady Featherington, this is Prince Friedrich of Prussia, our Queen's favorite nephew. It was brought to my attention that the Prince did not get to meet your lovely daughter, a mistake I must rectify at once.” Confident as ever, Lady Danbury informed the woman of the house and sauntered off to sit on the nearest couch, directly in front of Philipa and Prudence, who were now quiet and stiff as boards on their own settee. Behind them, on the window sill Penelope silently observed the scene, not truly understanding what was happening.

The awkward silence that engulfed the room was suddenly broken by Lady Danbury, who turned sharply to the standing man and with a sigh commanded, “Go and introduce yourself, boy. Do not stand there like a statue.” To hasten things up, she used her cane to push him in the direction of the window. The Prince stumbled in his step, not expecting such a rude gesture, but swiftly straightened himself and approached Penelope, who had at least enough common sense to jump from the ledge and stand straight.

“Miss Featherington, it is so very nice to meet you.” The Prince bowed his head slightly, and Penelope could not help but think how dashing he was, especially up close. She made the mistake of looking into his eyes; not even noticing the blue of the irises that were fixed upon her, she was lost in how kind they appeared to be. The man noticed the dazed look she was giving him, which created another awkward beat of her not exchanging pleasantries. Yet the Prince chuckled good-naturedly, which helped her spring into action.

Penelope curtsied, and seeing how the Prince slightly cocked his head, as if he were trying to wordlessly tell her something, she realized what he meant. She quickly, not exactly graciously, presented her hand to him, and the man hid the smile that was threatening to split his face in her gloved hand. He planted a gentle kiss on the back of it and patiently waited for the question that she should have asked by now.

Penelope's whole face was burning red at that point. She was making an idiot of herself in her own home, in front of her whole family and a Prince. However, she was only seven-and-ten, barely a woman, not previously exposed to the world of courting. Was he courting her, though? Why was he even there? That was when she realized it was exactly what she should be asking.

“Have I done something, Your Royal Highness, to merit this unexpected attention?” Penelope managed to ask, her teeth immediately working her plump bottom lip, a nervous habit she had not yet learned how to forsake.

“I happened to overhear a very interesting conversation during yesterday’s ball,” the man started, and there was not an ounce of doubt in her mind that it must have been something about her shameless appearance, yet she could not understand why a member of the royal family would care enough to address the rumors.

“Miss Featherington, are you much of a reader?” The question caught her off guard. She cocked her head to the side, trying to understand what it had to do with the scandal she was now facing. Not finding the connection, she answered the surface-level question, hoping there was not any underlying one hidden in plain sight. “I am. I mainly enjoy fiction, yet when the mood strikes, I find myself lost in poetry, too.”

“Would you like to be a part of the story, though?” he inquired, the corner of his lips lifting as if he were privy to a secret of which she was not aware. The girl’s brows drew together in confusion while she looked for an answer in the clear blue of his eyes. They still were gentle, as if he held no ill meaning, yet the situation and the exchange itself were making the usually smart and quick-witted woman sceptical of the Prince's true intention behind his arrival.

Not wanting to give much of herself away, Penelope answered with a question of her own. “Do we not all?”

At that, the man's face broke into a wide, yet kind smile. Not taking his eyes off her, he slid his hand inside the breast pocket of his dark blue tailcoat. Presented on his open palm were the very two pins she had lost, the ones she had been given by her dear friend.

A gasp of surprise and gratitude tore from her lips before she managed to politely cover it with her hand.

“I managed to see the exchange with Miss Cowper as well. It would have been a shame to lose such a beautiful piece of jewelry, do you not think?”

“Sir, I do not know how to thank you enough.” Penelope searched his face to find something, anything that would let her understand the man and why he took the time of his day to collect the pins for her. How would he even know to whom to bring them?

Friedrich put the pins into her gloved hand and closed her fingers around them. His own hand lingered over hers as he made his request. “Please, reserve the first dance for me during tonight's ball.”

To say that Penelope was nervous would be a profound understatement. Before, she had only to worry about the pointed looks of the members of the Ton scandalized by her loose hair, but now, the promise she had made to the Prince himself overshadowed those silly thoughts. She was in no position to reject his request, being the one in his debt for his kindness. And so tonight, she would dance. With the Prince. In the middle of the dance floor, where everyone and anyone could see them.

She looked in the mirror, dressed in the only soft pink dress she owned, one that her mother despised. Penelope had been too absorbed in her exchange with the man, but apparently, Lady Danbury had suggested that the Prince was partial to subtle elegance and delicate pink gowns. It worked wonders, as Portia rummaged through Penelope's wardrobe the moment their guests left, only to procure that particular dress and send it with her youngest and her maid for last-minute alterations at the modiste. Penelope assessed herself for the last time and found that she liked what she saw. She giggled at the cunning idea that she ought to befriend Lady Danbury if she had such power over her mother. Together, they could make a united front against Portia's questionable fashion choices.

The hushed whispers that greeted her when she entered the ballroom made her blood run cold. She was not used to this kind of attention—or to be frank, any at all. She believed herself to be a wallflower, and the looks she was earning almost made her wither. There was one thing, though, that made her feel better about herself, a bit naughty even. In defiance of the people who were so scandalized by her hair, she had Rae pin up only a portion of her tresses, the rest falling freely. It was enough to be appropriate, yet it was still a bold enough statement that she did not care for the events of the previous night.

As she descended the stairs, she met eyes with Lady Danbury, who looked as if she were fighting hard not to laugh at the guts of the young debutante. She sent her an encouraging wink and with the end of her cane, she tapped the man who was standing next to her.

It seemed to successfully pull the Prince out of his daze before he confidently approached the end of the staircase, waiting for his dance partner to reach him.

“Miss Featherington.” The Prince bowed his head in greeting and took Penelope's arm in his. “I believe you have arrived just in time for my promised dance.” The blush on the girl's face was darker than the shade of her dress, and the heat of it radiated from her in waves. She was at a loss for words still, working on instinct, but even that started to fail when she felt his hand on the small of her back as he led her to the middle of the dance floor. Penelope was too bewildered to notice the surprised murmur of the crowd, her eyes planted solely on the charming man before her. She knew if she let herself look around, the unimpressed faces would crumble what little confidence she possessed; so she did not.

The first notes of the music flowed through the vast room, pulling the partners across the dance floor into an embrace. She was an excellent dancer, a fact known only to the Bridgerton family as she was often asked to fill in for Francesca, who was living in Bath for a time, and had trained with Colin in her stead. The kind comments Violet Bridgerton bestowed upon her echoed in her mind and helped her to loosen up. It allowed her to enjoy her first public dance, in the arms of a future king of Prussia, no less.

She did not realize the man was watching her, and upon noticing how her shoulders relaxed and her moves gained a fluidity that was not there a moment ago, a gentle smile bloomed on his face.

“Are you enjoying the evening more than the last, Miss Featherington?”

Penelope shyly looked up into his face and admitted, as a soft pinkish hue dusted the apples of her cheeks, “It is… considerably different, Your Royal Highness.”

Without missing a beat in their dance or their talk, he exclaimed, “Different is good. Though I must confess, these events often make me feel… like a character in a play. Speaking lines that have already been written for me.”

The sudden depth of the admission surprised Penelope. She would have missed a step if not for the man’s secure hold on her, guiding her forward.

“The false pleasantries, the mundane small talk on irrelevant topics, the things that are expected of royalty. It leaves little space for anything honest, anything that holds true meaning.” Friedrich searched her eyes, looking for the flash of understanding that he hoped to see, but she averted her eyes and glanced around the glittering ballroom. Penelope took in the couples twirling around them, most wearing masks of expected politeness, but some in their own world, genuinely radiating happiness. Then her eyes landed on the gentry watching closely as the events of the night unwound, each and every one a discerning member of the audience.

When finally her eyes found him again, she held his gaze with a newfound confidence.

“That is the paradox of our world, is it not, Your Royal Highness? To be at once the absolute center of one’s own story, and a complete irrelevance to the rest.”

The music slowed, and before the man could come up with a response, Penelope was claimed by a new partner for the next dance.

He found her much later in the garden. She was talking animatedly with two gentlemen and the Diamond of the season, with whom his aunt had tried her hardest to arrange a match, laughter echoing freely between the four of them. Yet his eyes were only on the red-haired woman, who in his mind was undoubtedly the rarest gem of them all.

Friedrich approached the group confidently, exchanging the boring pleasantries he so despised, but having that out of the way, his whole body turned to the one person he sought. Benedict, Colin, and Daphne understood the cue and moved out of earshot, giving the couple privacy yet still providing the necessary chaperonage. Not even the future king of one of the most powerful nations in Europe could escape the rules of society.

“You surprise me at every turn, Miss Featherington. And I must admit, I admire your resilience.”

“My resilience?” Penelope cocked her head to the side, causing one of her tresses to slip down her face. It only made the Prince's smile widen as his fingers involuntarily tucked the tempting strand behind her ear. It seemed that Daphne's soft gasp of surprise reminded him of the impropriety of such an action, and his hand snapped behind his back.

“After what happened yesterday, you arrived with your beautiful hair worn in such a fashion. It takes a great deal of courage to make such a bold statement.”

Penelope decided to ignore the man's faux pas and looked away for a moment, gathering the courage to repeat his earlier honesty with her own. A flicker of insecurity crossed her face as she finally admitted, “I am not certain it was courage, sir. So much as it was... a quiet defiance. I find I am tired of being what people expect.”

His head nodded as if he agreed with the truth of her words. His smile softened and his voice grew quieter, so no one could overhear him. “Your defiance is admirable. But it is not what truly captured my attention. Nor was it your hair, as beautiful as it is.”

Before she could say anything, he continued, “I happened to overhear a conversation in the garden last night. A rather brilliant young lady was explaining to a friend of mine that the most interesting passages often happen... between the chapters.”

He gave her then a small, secret smile, the same kind she had shared with Lady Danbury only yesterday. At that, Penelope's breath caught, a rush of understanding flooding through her.

“You are quite right, Miss Featherington. It is terribly dull to be exactly what people expect. So, I must ask. Now that you have found your way out from between the chapters... would you permit me to be there when you begin to write the next one?”

The breath she had been holding finally escaped her in a quiet, shaky sigh. The incredulous expression on her face gave way to a slow, wondrous smile that brightened her whole countenance. It was an answer without words, a promise without voice, and the beginning of a story she was now ready to write herself.