Chapter Text
“I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington. Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife.”
It was cruel enough that Penelope Featherington was condemned a wallflower by society. It was cruel enough that she was born into a family so superficial and unappreciative of her. And it was cruel enough that she was and always had been the laughingstock of the ton ever since her debut.
But even crueler was Colin Bridgerton.
The one person she had believed was different from the rest of them, whom she trusted and loved as a friend, a companion… as more than a friend.
It hurt. It hurt because all these years, in which Colin had behaved towards her with nothing but brotherly affection, she had spent dreaming about him realizing his true feelings for her, so they could have their happily ever after. But those delusions were finally crushed. If not his fist, then at least his words had punched her in the face and had woken her up from her dissociative state.
Colin Bridgerton was just like the rest of the ton. He would never ever have feelings for her and she would grow miserable in the household of her mother, whose kindness and generosity she would be forever depending on. She would forever have to endure her nagging, the mean comments of her sister Prudence and this awful yellow color of her gowns.
Except… If she was to marry, a respectable gentleman, who will leave her enough freedom and a home to take care of, she’d be able to stay away from her family and the Bridgertons and live the rest of her life in tranquility. She’d be able to continue with Whistledown, without vigilant eyes and ears around her.
That’s what she had to do.
Marry.
This season.
She could not endure another. She couldn’t bear to face Eloise, nor Colin once he’d get back from his travels. She hadn’t answered a singular letter of him in the entire time he was gone and knowing him as she did, he’d surely inquire about the reason why. More importantly, she couldn’t remain a spinster and live in this godforsaken house yet another year.
No, she must marry. A man that was not Colin Bridgerton, of course. Too many days and far too many nights had been wasted on the same foolish dream: that he would one day fall to one knee and utter the question of all questions, while she would stand in front of him, with tears lingering in her eyes, only able to see his handsome face through a veil of water, before she uttered in a trembling voice “I do”.
So, that was set. She’d spent many weeks contemplating whether this was the right decision, the right path for the course of her live. Even wrote down all the argument for and against this decision, weighted her options against her dreams and figured that her final conclusion was the one that ensured her the most pleasant life she could hope for.
But then her next question was the how. In her three years of being out in society she could count the entirety of her past suitors on one hand - which was zero. Never had a gentleman called on her, gifted her flowers or had taken her out for a stroll around the park. The only time she had been asked to dance was when the Bridgerton brothers came to her and she was sure Violet’s skills in persuasion and commanding helped a lot with those occurrences.
She needed to change, or better said, her reputation needed to change. She could no longer be a wallflower, standing in the corner of the ballroom and pretending she stood there by her own choice, because she didn’t want to dance with anyone, not - how it was in reality - because nobody wanted to dance with her.
The yellow, it was this awful yellow in which her entire wardrobe was designed in. Hideous color on its own, but on Penelope’s skin it morphed into something grotesque.
She needed new dresses, in any color but yellow. And this was easy to do. She had earned enough money to buy multiple wardrobes and a close friend who was quite skilled with needle and threat.
Madam Delacour was immediately enthusiastic about the news that she was to design at least a dozen dresses for Pen, and in less than two months, Penelope had everything set for her next entrance into a ballroom.
Silky white fabrics, garments in shades of deep sapphire blue, soft blush pink, and rich emerald green, each piece crafted with the finest materials directly imported from the coast of France.
She imagined her evening dresses with a softness that feels like the brush of a butterfly’s wing against the skin.
For daytime affairs, light gowns in dusky rose muslin, its fabric airy and smooth, like a gentle caress.
Delicate gloves of pearl-white satin. Every piece whispers of luxury, elegance, and the quiet indulgence of a world devoted to beauty.
Genevieve really was a masterful artist when it came to fashion.
The next thing Pen had to work on was herself, no, not her appearance, but her personality. Not so much to change it, but she had to grow more confident if she wanted to be able to survive the judging eyes and meaningful whispers that were exchanged among the members of the ton.
She wasn’t sure how she would be able to achieve this, as there had never been a time in her life when she had been confident in her own skin. Now, that Eloise had dumped her, she also wasn’t in the possession of a singular friend whom she could ask for an advice. Hence, she just needed to learn by pretending. Surely it was just as much of a skill as reading or dancing. One you could learn over time and with neatly practice.
So this newly founded character of hers paired with her new attire was as much of a promised comeback as there ever had been before. Penelope Featherington would marry this season and there was no one who could get in her way.