Work Text:
It was a silly thing to picture himself haunting a garden, waiting for Penelope to pet his hair and sit on his lap. It was even more silly to risk a good, respectable marriage for a diverting half hour of daring. But Colin missed it when there was a need to hold back. He didn’t want to think of Pen’s bare toes tucked into bed alone. He didn’t want to think about the nights she left all her safe-keeping aside from Mr. Evan’s vague good wishes for an Irish maid's bold stride in a charming bonnet.
Portia Featherington was fond with a full dinner served and something she could brag about with the other ton mothers. Having Colin over for dinner was presently a small accomplishment, as was letting him linger on her good sofa with iced cakes and the risk of stained gold brocade. He was about to be her newest, richest son-in-law. He knew he didn’t show up early and unexpectedly. He was welcome to show himself at her door, but he must also make a show of leaving his bride respectably to her mother’s all-female household overnight.
Colin was not concentrating on much outside of his own musings about Penelope when he sat at loose ends before a family meeting the next day. He wanted to do better, but he trusted Anthony’s need to have him settled and safe. He couldn’t entirely leave behind Pen across the street. He had gone home to make sure the dog was let out one last time before bed, though a bedtime was a misnomer.
Freddie did not go to bed and sleep. He had been spoilt with a bed next to a valet, in a small room off Lord Debling’s own bedroom. If the valet was not in to take him out, Debling would do it himself. Freddie had been a bit coddled, since for a while he was symbolic of the man’s marriage hopes and his desire to dote upon Penelope.
Looking after a dog should not have been so irksome. Walks were pleasant. The days were not so heavy and hot early in the morning. Freddie was polite, as dogs went. But his manners didn’t make up for the fact Colin had a dog instead of a wife. He imagined there would be no discipline issues once Pen was there. Freddie seemed very content to do nothing but sit at her feet. A man’s company seemed to be inadequate.
“I cannot throw the ball, Freddie,” he said, refusing to stand from his desk. “I am writing letters to the solicitors.”
It was possible the dog’s pacing about was a reminder he was forcing himself to be peaceful. To appear worried was to doubt his lady, and her plans were reasoned and measured. If Alfred Debling had no appreciation for her, he had said nothing to anyone about finding Pen near a print shop. She would be able to take the alibi of hunting Lady Whistledown herself, even if it would embarrass her to be known for chasing funds. But sleep had not been quick to wrap over the loud pump of a heart in love.
“You do not need to be petted forever, you furry beast,” Colin told him. “You will see your mistress later, and her love will be more than you and I deserve just in a half-hour with her.”
He stood up to find a book. It was trying to maintain a little bit of general knowledge, but charm depended on some preparation. One kept a few innocent topics at top of of mind for a lull in conversation. Colin didn’t anticipate he would be lost for words with Pen, but he might need to change topic from Lady Whistledown with somebody.
“You have eaten very well, and you also have a pig ear that is simply a treat,” he said. “I am already ruining my new rug for you, and we shall have to replace them when we have babies crawling here. You are expensive for all that you didn’t cost anything to buy.”
Dogs could sigh, and he felt a little guilty. However, the morning walk had been dutifully done too early and without enough hours in bed. It was hard to leave Penelope. Her scuffed hands and scabbed knee were nothing next to the fear he could sense in her. She was still nervous of him. She was still apologizing for who she was. She had been forced to exit by way of coal chute, like some strange reverse delivery of unwanted goods.
The Penelope who had debuted to great disappointment and no outside notice beyond her friends the Bridgertons was a neglected young lady. She had found an opportunity that must have felt like a lifeline at that moment. Colin had been courting Marina, and he knew he had made a fool of himself. His advice would not have been welcome. His own naivete would have been painfully obvious to the women in his life.
He could not have saved her before Lady Whistledown existed. It could be argued Lady Whistledown might have been a passing whim she tried and let go of before he had been embroiled in a scheme to trap him into sheltering another man’s children. If he and Daphne had not stumbled into inappropriate engagements, Penelope would have written a few caustic jokes about fashions of the season, made some extra pocket money and put her attention to enjoying her evenings.
To look back was forever to know what could not be found out until a secret was exposed, and Colin did comprehend his view of the world was not that of a woman seeking matrimony. He might have the same risk of being shamed to the altar, but it was not at all the same proposition. He was permitted to keep what he had once he was of age. She would have been looking for a man of means if only because that was the only way her fortune for writing might ever be spent openly. Colin’s lack of caution and Eloise’s snub of valuable confidences had made Penelope their vital guardian in a season when she was uniquely ill-prepared to be courted. She had to be observant, because her mother had dressed her to hide her figure and wait for her elder sisters to go first.
“Courtship is not neat,” he told the dog. “And one can be quite in the thick of it without knowing enough. If I had unfortunately thought it was a meager chance I would meet someone, it would be a very long season for me.”
He caught himself patting the dog and grumbled at it. The animal must not be made the centre of the home. As a nearly married man, Colin wanted to be fussed over. He wanted Penelope to realize exactly how much wealth and foolish gift-giving would come with the ceremony. He wanted to write to her, even though it was not their tradition in town. He had romanced her only as much as one season had allowed, and found he was suffering from the longer summer days rather than enjoying those lengthy hours. His habit of visiting the garden after dark had misappropriated his own time. His rivals had distracted him, putting his mind on them instead of on Penelope.
My Darling Pen,
I have thought back over things in the past few years, as one cannot help but wonder how I did not court you earlier and better. Yes, better, too! I know you will argue you were fed cakes with walnut icing only last evening, and I sang a sad love song to express my wrenching ache at leaving you for the night. I did not sleep holding you, and no long curls went into my face to make my nose itchy.
I feel it must be said I was blind to you. It was in part to foster that innocence you carried and the nerves you felt about men and marriage. I would never have rushed you and I am more certain than ever you should not have been brought out early. When I tried to test your interest in my flirting, you would always turn away first. I used that as my reason I should take my appetites for masculine flattery elsewhere. With you I looked only for jokes and common ground. It later meant I missed some jealousy and worry when I was fallen in (intemperately and without love at all) with a lady to whom you had particular knowledge.
It should never have been up to you to save me from anyone. I regret you were forced to side against one friend over another, whether that is Eloise, myself, or third parties who are no longer of our circle. You acted in a way you felt was best. You loved me when I knew little about how one dealt with adversity. You cared more for my reputation and lifelong hopes than your own. And I came to the knowledge only years later.
I struggle with ingratitude to this day. I wish you did not have to soil your hands on my behalf. I can also recognize you made choices and do not want your mind to be lesser and unused. So here we are, about to be married. There is rough water underneath us. I fear for you more than myself and that makes it easier to think back to a Penelope Featherington of two years ago with no idea how the season would end.
I have no doubt you knew I was about to elope with the lady I had chosen for myself. You were pushed to action in a way that a man would never be. And I recall you were often my source of information for how to make such a match, though I took your help and disregarded your warnings. I was a short-sighted young man, and the sunrise over many lands had to burn away that naive layer that told me women could not fool me. I have come to realize it is not formal education that gives men better information, and that I am not superior in knowledge to any young lady just out. There is a male perspective that will miss that which is obvious to a woman with half the facts. Our conversation was always so smooth I could not see there were topics that were not permitted past the mental block of friendship.
You can fool me three times a day and I should not question it. It is not a castigation of some failing in your morals but a measure of the way I must know you truly. Even if you were to tell me a great, whalloping lie, I cannot help but know it for some sacrifice you make to keep a confidence but change my mind in a necessary way. I am powerless to my love for you, and I give myself up. You need only tell me how I may serve, and I will do as you see fit.
I must also indicate there will be a family strategy from the Viscount and his Viscountess for our escape, but they will go a predictable way. We will have passage on a ship - perhaps several to create some misdirection. We shall be a bit of a magic trick, but I will never disappear from you. Should all plans fail, we will simply honeymoon. It will blend in with our private circumstances and no one could imagine we do not have a need for some privacy and a lack of family shared quarters while we acquaint ourselves with all the daily privileges of a couple permitted to live together.
Freddie misses you. He is a good dog but knows three things one says to him: walk, food, and Penelope. He whines for food or his exercise, but to hear your name makes him restless. I fear he will have to travel with us, along with some permanent helper to keep him occupied while I satisfy my own requirements as a new husband.
I do not have any real purpose to write to you, as we will meet almost within the hour. But I find myself full of words that need to be imparted, and that does change how I think about some of your use of the last few years. Sometimes one cannot bear the weight of a secret, and to tell everyone is the only way to make sure it gets to the one correct person. I do not like to think to my past self who was so unaware he could not absorb the truth when it was given gently. I think about how it would wound me if I had told you my feelings and you refused to believe I was in earnest.
I love you, and I will marry you very soon. It is a wonder to me that it is something we both want. I desire to hold you and know you live. To be this close to living as your husband is like being in a wartorn land. It feels a danger I cannot point to but grips me like icy water. I turn to you over and over, in desperation the act of looking will defeat the fear.
You have always been there, and you gave protection without hope that love would follow. I will always be here for you, in the unlikely manner that I have now begun to allow your dog to sit on my legs across the shedding fur over our fine rugs. I was determined to hate him for much longer, and find a way to gift him to the country house where he could be wilder and delight in more rabbits.
I cannot wait for you to see our house and notice all the details. I hope you will find it pretty and comfortable. I hope you will find ease with me. And I hope you know I do not see your person in sections and acceptable losses. If a part of your life must end upon marrying, that distinct entity must be mourned according to her worth. To steal from my bride would be disgraceful, and I could never look at the candied rose furls of your lips and make them frown with anything but my deepest regret.
Your unpaid dog walker,
Colin
Her reply was slipped into his pocket that evening, after yet another dinner shared with Lady Featherington - this one hosted by Viscount Bridgerton and his wife at their home.
Sweet Colin,
You did not deserve your troubles, and anyone who saw you made a target should have guarded your innocence. That being said, you are years older and very forward for a dog walker. I think it is prudent you ask me for my hand, else I will have to kick up a fine scandal and demand you follow through with your implications.
Sincerely but with no promise of future wages,
Your Pinchpenny Employer