Chapter Text
She could not do it anymore. Watching Marina plot for Colin’s social demise was too painful, too devastating. Penelope should do something. She was debating writing about it in her column, but decided not to. As familiar and easy as that was, Pen just couldn’t do it in that way. Colin was her dearest friend and, frankly, the love of her life. She needed to tell him in person, face to face, even if it meant that he would be cross with her.
That’s why Penelope was nervously sipping her tea in the Bridgertons’ drawing room, trying her hardest to listen to Eloise, who was going on and on about some book she just finished reading. On another occasion, Pen would be engrossed in this conversation, she always had something to say about books, that’s for sure. Not today, though. The pink porcelain cup was clanking every time Pen tried to steady her shaking hands.
“Pen, are you even listening?” Eloise huffed with annoyance.
“Yes… to be frank, not really, sorry, El, I was…”
She didn’t finish because the door softly clicked, announcing someone coming in. It was Colin in all his disheveled glory from whatever he was doing that day with his brothers. He saw the ladies and smiled so brightly, Pen could’ve been as well as blinded. Oh how she loved that man, it was truly mortifying at times. Today though she was more nervous than usual. Today marked the day everything could change. The news about Miss Thompson could very well ruin the friendship they’ve carefully built over the years. Will he refuse to listen or, worse, will he resent her? Pen felt nauseous all of a sudden, but there was no turning back now. She made her mind.
“Good day, Colin.” She tried to sound cheerful as usual but her voice cracked a little. “Can we… Can we talk in private, please?”
Her question seemed to rattle Mister Bridgerton, he cocked his eyebrow, losing his bright smile at once. Eloise was looking even more confused and less annoyed than before. Her dear friend could always sense Penelope’s slightest change of mood. She stood up at once and ran her hands over her skirt to straighten it.
“I’ll go fetch that book I told you about.” Eloise made up a poor excuse and they all knew it, but Penelope was so very grateful for her understanding.
As soon as she left, they were alone. It was improper, sure, but the rules of their friendship were sometimes more lenient than society allowed. Everyone in the Bridgerton household was so used to the constant presence of Miss Featherington in their house, they considered her a relative, another sister or daughter.
Colin, still very confused and concerned, sat down on the settee across from his friend and shoved a biscuit in his face. He ate when he was nervous. Or when he was happy. Frankly. Colin ate whenever he had the opportunity and Penelope adored that.
“Whatever is the matter, Pen?” His voice was full of worry as he watched her shakily put down her cup on the table.
“I do not know how to tell you, Colin, but I must. It is about Miss Thompson.”
“Oh, she is delightful!” Colin chimed in, a boyish smile on his face. “I think I am going to ask your father for her hand in marriage.”
All color drained from Penelope’s face. She felt so weak for a second, she feared she might swoon. The feeling passed and a sense of determination washed over her. She must tell him before it is too late, until he is trapped in a loveless marriage with a child he did not father. It would kill him; sweet, caring Colin would have no other choice than to honor his duties as a gentleman.
“Colin, she is with child.” Penelope blurted out, not able to contain herself anymore.
She regretted her bluntness the second it happened. Pen clapped her hand to her mouth, as if it could take the words back in. As if Colin’s deep green eyes weren’t staring at her with so much hurt in them, she couldn’t bear it. Penelope looked down at where her hands were nervously tugging at her gloves.
“What?” Colin’s voice sounded distant, as if he was miles away. “But we did not… She could not be… Unless…”
He was a stammering mess, unable to form a full sentence and it nearly killed Penelope. Colin, a man of many words, who wrote such detailed descriptions of his travels in their correspondence, was too stunned to speak now. Pen looked up once again and saw tears welling up in his eyes. What had she done?
“Colin, I’m sorry” Her voice shook as her own tears streamed on her cheeks. “I am very sorry, you have the right to resent me and never speak to me ever again. I’ll take that dreadful fate over seeing you suffer. I shall go now”
Penelope rose from the chair she was sitting in, clumsily wiping her face. She turned around and left as quickly as she could, not capable of looking back. Her world shattered by her own doing and it was too much to handle. Pen practically ran (or walked as fast as was proper for a young lady) to her home, dismissing the footman’s offer to call for a carriage. She needed to get home as swiftly as she could so the tears could fall freely again, not bothered by anyone seeing them.
“I’ll be in my room” Penelope informed Varley as soon as stepped over the threshold of her house.
Pen threw herself on her bed and started to cry as hard as she had never before. She sobbed and sobbed, knowing that somewhere across the street Colin’s family was being informed on her own family’s wrongdoings. They all would despise the Featheringtons now. She would never have tea with Eloise or chat with Violet at the modiste’s. Penelope was sure that from now on she was utterly alone in this world.
She did not regret her actions though, not for one second. Colin was now free from the potential burden and it was all that mattered to her. Still, the pain in her soul was so unbearable, Penelope felt like it was ripping her apart from inside out.
Pen did not know how long she had been laying there, all puffy-faced, her hair a mess. She was not crying anymore, not really, it seemed that she had no tears left. The skies outside were turning pink, a clear sign that it was almost evening. A soft knock on the door startled Penelope, but she didn’t move. Her maid, Rae walked in, looking rather alarmed.
“Miss? Are you well?” She inquired, promptly closing the door behind her. “Lady Featherington is requesting everyone to join her in the drawing room. I could tell her you have taken ill.”
“No need, Rae, I am well. I will be.”
Penelope’s voice sounded foreign to her; her eyes were stinging from tears and exhaustion. Still, Pen rose from her bed and allowed her maid to fix her curls and splash some cold water on her face to look somewhat decent. She could not deal with Mama’s reprimands today, so Penelope sighed and gathered all her willpower to go to their drawing room. She was sure that Mama just wanted to discuss yet another social gathering they must attend or some suitor she wanted her daughters to charm. But what was waiting for her on the other side of the door was not what Penelope expected in the slightest.
“Finally!” Portia Featherington was pacing back and forth, while her other two daughters sat quietly (for once) on the settee.
Marina was there too, but she was not quiet. She was weeping, face covered by her hands, shoulders shaking with each sob. Penelope stood there, unsure, but terrified. There was only one reason Miss Thompson would be so upset. Colin told her everything.
“Penelope, sit down at once!” Ordered Portia and continued her pacing. “Mister Bridgerton has just left. He told us he would no longer court your cousin as he had learned the news about her… predicament.”
Penelope could not move a muscle, standing in the doorway like a statue, face pale, eyes wide. Their family was ruined, tomorrow the whole Ton will know and it will be all over for them. Such a scandal could linger over a family for years.
“Mama, I…”
“Oh sit down and let me think!” Lady Featherington did not care about her youngest daughter's words or feelings, as always. “He assured us his family would not tell anyone else about this. But the question stands: how does he know? Everyone who knows about the folly of this girl is in this room and neither of us are willing to ruin our family. Unless…”
And then it clicked. Rage was painted all over Portia’s face as her eyes scanned Penelope. She noticed her pale complexion and finally looked at her properly.
“You.” She breathed and stepped closer. “You and your so-called friendship with the Bridgertons. You were careless enough to babble about our family secrets. You insufferable, foolish girl. Tell me I am wrong.”
But Penelope could not. She could not lie anymore. Her face showed it all: the paleness, the fear in her bright blue eyes. It was all painfully obvious.
“Get out!” Shouted Portia, stepping closer once more. “Get out of my house!”