Archive of Our Own

one - hiding from her family 

year: 2005; p: 7; c: 12

Penelope Featherington was used to hiding.

To be entirely fair, she was never one to draw attention in the first place, deliberately or not. Being the third of four daughters, with a considerable age gap between both her older and younger sisters, didn’t do her any favor, and she quickly became used to being ignored or, worse, looked down upon. 

That Christmas, however, the girl was more than willing to simply… disappear.

It was still startling how, growing up, it took Penelope a while to notice her family was not like the ones she constantly read on books, granted with happily ever after in the end. To understand that their fairy tale lacked an important ingredient, one pretty much every relationship in the house was directly influenced by: love.

Archibald and Portia Featherington did not marry for love, and it showed. A couple of years later, in a conversation with the housekeeper, Mrs. Varley, Penelope would discover her dad wanted the children, and her mom needed the money. It was all very transactional, and yes, at one point, there was hope their relationship could turn into something more. That feeling was soon vanished, though, by her father’s gambling problems and her mother’s “incompetence” to provide him with a son, as he so eloquently liked to put it. And so, the resentment came and, soon enough, the hate. They didn’t even try to conceal it from the household anymore. 

And, by the way their yells could be heard from the closed doors on the second floor of the house those last few weeks, it looked like they were growing less and less concerned about letting the entire new neighborhood know as well. 

That day, the 24th, the first one since the family moved, for the sake of the holidays maybe, her parents managed to stay away from each other’s throats for pretty much the entire day, which was some sort of special Christmas miracle if you asked the girl. It did help that, early in the morning, her father announced he had business to attend and would only come back in time for dinner, leaving before anyone could mutter a single “goodbye”. Over time, Penelope would come to understand (not justify) fleeing the scene was his way to cope with the hollow his loveless marriage created not only in their house, but in their lives. That and, well, squandering their assets with booze and bets.

Her mother, on the other hand, dealt with her own feelings by constantly trying to shut them down, building the facade of a perfect family and clinging to superficial things so as not to think about all the wrong ways her life turned out to be. That’s why, during that day, she spent every moment either yelling at the staff about dinner preparations or making sure their garden had enough Christmas lights so it could be seen from space (and, more importantly, by her rich friends). 

So, when night came, the dinner table was set and Penelope was called downstairs, just to notice Archibald had not arrived like he promised, she joined her sisters in a silent wait, stomach rumbling both from hunger and anxiety, knowing full well what was about to happen. And yet, neither of them was prepared for the scream Portia let when, two hours later, the front door opened and their drunk father walked in, already matching her tone. So much for a peaceful holiday.

Without a word, the girls left the table and ran to the furthest room on the second floor, which happened to be her eldest sisters’. Once inside, Penelope closed the door behind her and clumsily reached the dressing table by the window, trying (and failing) to calm her heart. Even between ragged breaths, she could muster bits of the fight happening on the first floor, the usual “you have a responsibility with this family”, “what I do or not is none of your business” and, of course, “marrying you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made” etching themselves in her memory forever. Was that really what life looked like once the princess finally kissed her prince and the book ended? Did the authors just choose not to tell people about the ugly parts, leaving them hoping life could be full of joy and magic only to figure out all by themselves that was not how it worked?

“Please stop, please stop, please stop”, she whispered repeatedly, eyes closed, not even noticing the tears falling until, at one point, maybe seconds, maybe minutes later, her sisters brought her back to reality in their usual (in)considerate way.

“Are you really crying again? Your body is going to run out of water any time soon, baby Penny”, Prudence mocked from the other side of the room. Embarrassed, Penelope rested her head on the table and brought her hands to her face, holding back the tears that had yet to fall.

“Haven't you gotten used to it already?”, Phillipa said, looking unphased. “It’s been what? The fourth fight only this week?” she added, acting as if its frequency would somehow make it less unbearable to witness two people they loved tearing each other apart. “It didn’t”, Penelope thought. 

“Why can’t they just… talk to each other? Yelling never works”, she asked shily, earning a loud scoff from Prudence.

“Because that’s what married people do, they fight”, she answered matter-of-factly, like their parents’ shouts from downstairs were nothing but an unchangeable fact. The sky was blue, Christmas happened every December and parents were always gonna fight, simple as that. “Life is not always sunny and bubbly like the books you read, Penelope. You need to grow up”, her sister scolded on her customary high horse tone, the one that made the girl feel smaller than she already was. “Now, move”, the eldest sister ordered, sounding much closer than she had a second ago.

Finally looking up from the table, Penelope was surprised to see that both her sisters had changed into sparkly sequin clothes, purses and coats laid over the bed, and were waiting by the dressing table to primp, as if they had every intention of spending the rest of the night somewhere else. Without her.

“You guys are leaving?”, she asked, suppressing the “me” at the last minute in an attempt not to show how upset she felt by the prospect of being left behind. 

“Alicia is having a party, and we are still the new girls, so we can’t really miss it”, Philippa explained, making her way to them from across the room before continuing. “We were gonna sneak out later after mom and dad went to bed, but Christmas dinner is busted anyway. At least now it will be so much easier to flee”.

“Take me with you! I’ll be quiet, I promise”, Penelope pleaded eagerly, rushing to get up and give them space. 

“Sorry, Penny, children are not allowed at the party. But hey, why don’t you go stay in the nursery with Felicity, since you can’t stop crying just like a baby anyways?”, Prudence spoke, batting her lashes innocently.

“Don’t leave just yet though! We still need someone to take our pictures”, Phillipa complemented, smirking in a conspiratorial manner with Prudence, like they had so many times before.

Just like her parents, Prudence and Philippa had soon learned how to deal with the family’s dysfunctional dynamics in their own way, finding support in each other, and eventually closed themselves in the make believe their mother had created as if nothing was amiss. Their ability to conform soon made them Portia’s protégés, as spoiled as it can get, and just as cold as her. After all, it’s particularly hard to replicate a love you’ve never experienced in the first place.

And that usually left Penelope… alone. Alone because, unlike the rest of them, the seven-year-old girl still wasn’t ready to accept a world in which true love was not granted to everyone, including (obviously) herself, even if her entire family made it really hard to believe so.  

So, she started to hide in the infinite lives she could live through her books, and in the stories she could experience through the movies, conjuring a reality in which she didn’t have to endure her sisters’ constant mockery, or her mother’s endless disappointment on her for simply refusing to conform to the possibility that neither of them were deserving of real happiness, family and love, unlike the ones they constantly faked. For refusing to give up on finding that kind of happiness, of family and of love. Because spending Christmas tucked in a room to avoid your parents’ yelling downstairs could not be it, and she just needed proof that it wasn’t. 

And proof came, much closer than she would’ve thought, in the form of a family that would eventually become her own.

As if in cue, Penelope’s eyes were drawn to the window, landing on the unusually abandoned swings from the garden of the Bridgerton house. And somehow, for the first time that day, the redhead knew exactly where she wanted to be. 

…

A few minutes later, Penelope had to agree with her sisters; escaping their house was worryingly easy, even for the seven-year-old. She managed to leave through the front door, mostly because all the staff had retreated to the kitchen in order to avoid the fight still happening in the dining room, to her utter misery. Eager to run away from it all, she headed to the mansion across the street, making her way from its gates straight to the garden until coming to an abrupt stop as she spotted a familiar face in one of the swings, looking directly at her. 

The Bridgerton clan was the first family she’d met once they moved to the new neighborhood a couple of months before and, though she might admit the encounter could have gone a little more… smoothly, looking back, she wouldn’t change a single thing. 

It was a windy day when Portia decided to take her daughters to see their new school, choosing to dress Penelope in the most uncomfortable yellow dress she could find, adorned with this horrendous hat that she had to keep holding in her head so it wouldn’t fall. So naturally, at the simplest distraction on the way over, the wind carried the thing away, right into the face of this brown-haired boy riding his bike, landing him flat on the street. Horrified, the redhead ran to his side, apologizing profusely and ready to face his justified wrath, only to watch him slowly stand up, fix his gaze at two girls who couldn’t stop laughing through the entire thing, then turn back to her with this boyish grin and murmur “this wasn’t really well done of me, was it?”. 

Needless to say, her heart didn’t stand a chance. After all, kindness was not something she was used to, and neither was that sudden burst of camaraderie emanating from who, she would quickly learn, was only part of the eight siblings who lived in the beautiful house across the street. As she was introduced to Colin (the one she knocked off), Daphne (the eldest sister, if that alphabetical order was really a thing) and Eloise (who she would become classmates with, apparently), Penelope wasn’t really certain that they hadn’t come straight from one of her books, looking like these real-life princes and princesses, just to light a day that so far was painted grey. And that feeling remained as she met the rest of the family. 

Soon, she and Eloise became good friends, and her constant presence in the Bridgerton house was no longer a surprise to the staff or the other siblings, which is also why she was made aware of the recent passing of their father, Edmund. Eventually, the brunette would become comfortable enough to share about her nightmares and, in turn, Penelope would confide in her about her family’s distance, earning an invitation to come around whenever she felt like leaving her problems behind. Which didn’t stop her from being embarrassed when caught doing so by Colin Bridgerton, on Christmas eve of all days.

“It’s a little late for you to be crossing the street, don’t you think, Miss Penelope?” he asked while raising his brows, and she could feel her cheeks burning, both from the question and the person asking it. They’d talked multiple times since they met, and somehow, she had yet to find a way not to blush whenever it happened. 

“I… I just… wanted to hide for a moment, I didn’t think someone would be here. Sorry”, she said, figuring it would be best to return home, but dreading it already, as her father’s voice reached her ears in a particularly loud shout. 

“Hey”, she turned around to realize he had stood up, as if planning to reach her for a moment, before giving up on the idea. “There’s no need to go. Come on, have a seat next to me”, the boy added, patting the swing next to his.

She sighed in relief, glad that her presence was finally accepted somewhere. As she took a seat and let herself breath, the yells from her house caught her attention once again, and the girl put her hands on each of her ears to muffle them, glancing at Colin while doing so, and wondering for the first time what brought him out in the swings that night, all alone. Her thoughts were silenced, however, as he took her hands and brought them to her lap. They stayed quiet for a while, looking at each other. 

“Where are your sisters?”, he asked eventually, and she winced. 

“Went to a friend’s house. Said I was too young to join”, she answered quietly, failing to stop the sigh that left her lips. She didn’t want him to know how being left behind by them affected her. 

“Well, their loss”, Colin said, and her heart lost a beat at the honesty in his voice before he continued. “I could really use the company, though. We’re having Secret Santa and I’m pretty sure my brother Anthony will come looking for me in the next five minutes. Probably to kill me. Thoughts on hiding spots?”, he gave her his best devilish smile, holding out his hand for her to take and laughing as she gasped, trying to imagine what he could possibly have given as a gift, just as a scream came from what she assumed was the living room.

“Colin Christopher Bridgerton!”, yelled Anthony.

“Well, so much for hiding. Be my shield?”, he suggested instead, and Penelope couldn’t help but giggle, knowing full well she would take the hand he was offering, even before doing so. And, by the time they entered his house, being greeted by an excited Eloise and chased by one equally amused and pissed off Anthony, the last hours of her life were quickly forgotten, replaced by the warmth of a family where, she was happy to discover, there was never shortage of love.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · 

two - hiding from her bullies

year: 2015; p: 17; c: 22

“Talk in front of an audience, eat only salad for an entire month, face any of the Bridgerton siblings first thing in the morning (grumpy didn’t begin to cover it), spend time with Pippa and Prudence…”

“Wow, Featherington, calm down” Penelope thought to herself, masking her own surprise from the people around by taking a sip of the lemonade the waitress had just served. “Nothing could be so bad that you would rather spend time with your sisters instead”, the redhead pondered. And normally, she meant it. Except that, at that moment, as she tried yet again to tune into the conversation happening in front of her, the seventeen-year-old started contemplating the perks of spending time with the Featheringtons, which was worryingly, to put it mildly. At least they usually let her be. God, she truly was bored. 

“What about you, Penelope?”, came the voice of Mrs. Cowper, bringing her back (sadly) to reality. The woman, along with her husband and daughter, lived down the street from her house since before her family moved there, and was part of the Mayfair community group along with both her mom and Violet Bridgerton, which was the only reason the girl could think to explain why she kept being invited to every year’s Christmas parties even when nobody was able to stand her for more than five minutes. Herself included, apparently. 

“Uhm…excuse me?” she asked, searching Eloise for a clue as to which topic of conversation was currently being discussed: the weather, clothes, or …

“Anything new in your life? A boyfriend, maybe?”, another woman, who Penelope soon recognized as a distant Bridgerton cousin, provided the answer for her, and she turned one more time towards her best friend, whose face was suddenly looking a lot like an excellent dartboard.

Don’t get her wrong. Penelope loved Eloise dearly, so much as to consider her more of a sister than her own (well, except Felicity). But right now, she wasn’t really sure why she liked the brunette less for: making her stay through the entire afternoon entertaining guests or taking her away right in the middle of a conversation with Colin to do so. An important one, no less, about his future since he’d dropped uni. 

The irony of the question was not lost on her, even more so for coming from someone related to the Bridgerton family. For years now, what initially started as a simple infatuation turned into a crush and, at that point, unless the person asking to be her boyfriend was six foot tall, with wavy brown hair and the most gorgeous blue eyes she had ever met, she wasn’t really interested. Not that anyone was lining up to date her, anyways. 

“Ahh… not really, no. Just getting ready for uni, I guess”, she answered, and watched (predictably) as everyone soon lost interest in her. This time, she was not going to complain, though.

After a beat, the girls made their excuses and left the group of women, deciding it was time to take a break for the sake of their sanities. “Can one’s brain atrophy for lack of decent conversation?”, they joked, earning side eyes from a few people. Just then, Violet waved in their direction, silently asking Eloise to come over.

“If I run really fast, do you think she will remember she even saw me?”, the girl questioned, trying, and failing to hide a smirk. 

“Not even an invisible cloak would help you escape from Violet Bridgerton, El. Don’t you know that by now?”, Penelope quipped back.

 “Ugh, I suppose you’re right”, her friend sighed, defeated. “Wait for me?”

“Sure”, she said, watching as the brunette made her way to her mother. As soon as she was left alone, however, Penelope became painfully aware of her position in the middle of the room, taking a few steps and moving next to the beverage table, just as the most annoying voice in the planet reached her.  

“Well, look if it isn’t the Bridgerton’s charity case”, the voice became closer, and she turned to see a bunch of girls coming in her direction, effectively corning the redhead between the table and the nearest wall. “Tell me, Penelope, does your mom still pick your clothes, or is your taste just as bad as hers?”.

“What do you want, Cressida?”, she retorted sharply, suddenly regretting her choice to leave the only outfit her mother allowed her to buy (a beautiful red skirt with black crop top) in the last few weeks to wear later that night. At least now she could think of a conversation she dreaded even more than the previous one, Penelope thought. Like mother, like daughter, after all.

Cressida Cowper was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Cowper and, sadly, were Penelope’s age, sharing most of the classes with her since she moved to Mayfair. At the beginning, the blonde was quite pleasant, even offering to show her around the neighborhood with Eloise, whom she was good friends with. Gradually, however, as the bond between the Featherington and the Bridgerton girls grew stronger, Cressida soon started antagonizing her, and made sure to turn her experience in the new school the worst one could possibly have by constantly bullying her, as well as encouraging others to do the same. Just like in that moment.

“There’s no need to get defensive, darling. We were simply observing your and Eloise’s efforts to socialize from afar, just like two good hostesses”, a dark-haired girl, Clara, replied innocently, earning a few giggles from the others around her.

“Not that anyone would ever mistake you for a Bridgerton, of course”, Cressida added, turning the giggles into full open laughs. She really didn’t miss them, Penelope thought, trying hard to control her breaths so as to not seem bothered by what they were saying.

By then, Penelope should’ve been used to it, having known Cressida and her group of followers most of her life so far. Objectively, she knew anything they said came from a place of hatred, mainly fueled by the blonde’s inability to share Eloise’s attention with her many years ago. That, at the end of the day, the opinion of people who regarded her so poorly shouldn’t matter to her, just like it seemed not to bother El. And yet, deep down, every once in a while, she was afraid that bitch was right.

She wasn’t a Bridgerton. Of course, one at a time, they had all welcomed her into their lives, a feat she was most proud of, and made sure to reciprocate in every way she could. And yes, she did spend the majority of her time across the street away from her own home, whether gossiping with Hyacinth, talking with Gregory, posing for Benedict, playing chess with Anthony, acting like a patient for Daphne’s sake, listening to music with Francesca or cooking with Violet, not to mention the copious amounts of time she hung out with Eloise and Colin, separately and together. They even started calling her one of them and refused to listen when she referred to her presence as anything less than a pleasure, just like Col had done a couple of hours before. 

But it took just a glance at her to know she couldn’t be related to those siblings. Years passed, and yet, from Anthony to Hyacinth, including Violet Bridgerton, every single one of them still looked like the kind of people authors described as the leads of their stories, beautiful in their individualities, and ready to live the most extraordinary adventures. Penelope, on the other hand, was no more than a supporting character. No one truly special, even if she did have her moments.

And it surely didn’t help that her family finances were in shreds since her father’s passing four months ago, forcing the girl to wear clothes that had once belonged to her sisters, and normally made her look like a pineapple cosplay, or worse, younger than she truly was. No wonder Colin still saw her as a child. 

As if somehow summoned by the sheer force of her thoughts, a cologne she recognized reached her nose, sparing her from mustering an answer to Cressida’s mockery.

“Everything alright here, Pen?”, Colin appeared by her side, concern in his face, looking between his friend and the group of girls surrounding her. Just like her and Eloise, he was aware of how Cressida could be mean, even more so when accompanied by her “minions”, and made sure to stay away from them.

“Colin, babe! I was beginning to wonder if you decided to spend the holidays somewhere else”, Cressida exclaimed, feigning an intimacy that, by the way the man beside her stiffed, Penelope knew was non-existent. 

“Afternoon, everyone”, he greeted politely, then turned to Cressida, unimpressed. “I was simply tending to some last-minute problems, that’s all”.

“Well, in that case, I was wondering if you would give me a tour of this year’s decorations. Your mom tends to outdo herself every Christmas, I’m sure this will be no different”, the blonde said, leaning into him in a manner that was supposed to be alluring. To Penelope, it looked like she was suffering from neck pain, an opinion Colin seemed to share, if his hidden laugh was any indicator.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to offer you that tour, Cressida. I’ve already promised to walk Penelope around, as she also recently arrived at Aubrey”, he lied, and offered his arm for her to take, as if challenging her to expose him. And lose the chance to touch Colin’s biceps? Never. 

Taken aback by Colin’s unexpected refusal, Cressida lost her composed manner entirely.

“Are you seriously ditching me in favor of your sister’s insignificant friend?”, she lashed, regretting her words immediately as the man’s expression turned stone cold, and he slowly opened his mouth, ready to reply.

(Un)fortunately, though, at that very moment, the Stirling family arrived, creating a big enough distraction that Penelope managed to reach his friend’s arm, whisper a single “It’s not worth it, Col” in his ear, and leaving the room entirely, not once turning back.

…

As she wandered through the corridors of Aubrey Hall, Penelope was reminded once again of her first visit to the Bridgerton ancestral home a few years before. At the time, she was still a child, and remembered thinking she’d only ever read about places like that, big enough that people got lost in it, and with enough rooms to shelter a battalion. Not that she didn’t know, even back then, which one would be her favorite. 

The Bridgerton library was probably one of the only spots in the house where quietude reigned, even if only because it was mandatory. They were allowed to speak, of course, as long as not aloud or over each other, which, in a family with eight siblings, was quite a feat. And that also usually meant that, on occasions such as holidays, when the house was full of laughter and conversation, the room was not much used. Making it so much easier for someone to notice one’s sobs once inside.

“Pen?”, asked Colin through the half-open door, rushing to sit by her side the second he realized she was crying. Almost instinctively, he opened his arms in a welcoming gesture, and she wasted no time burying her face in his chest. 

“Hey, I’m here, I’m right here”, the man spoke in a smoothing tone, rubbing circles in her back. “It’s okay”. They stayed like that for a while, before the girl extricated herself from his arms, face red and eyes swollen from all the tears.  

“Better?”, he checked, and she gave a shy nod, before apologizing for the state of his shirt.

“There’s no need to be sorry, Pen, come on. You know my shoulder is yours whenever necessary. Well, not that your head can actually reach it most times, but you get the idea”, he joked, earning an eye roll from the redhead, who couldn’t hide a small smile, though. 

“Jeez, you’re insufferable. Good thing you’re leaving”, she said, bumping her side to his. 

“Don’t lie, Featherington. You’ll miss me endlessly”, he retorted, locking gazes with her. She really would, she thought, thankful for the way her previous tears made an excellent excuse for her cheeks to be turning pink. 

“Okay, okay, we’re getting distracted here. I guess it’s my turn to ask you the same question you did earlier: do you wanna talk about it?”, Colin spoke after a while, and watched as the girl shrank into herself, fixing her eyes on the ground. That would not do.

“You know what those girls were saying is bullshit, right? That they got absolutely nothing on you”, he tried a different approach, and watched as she turned back to him, finally ready to talk.  

“Yeah, I know. It’s just so tiresome to be constantly undermined by their mere perception of me, based on looks or on my family. They don’t even know me, Colin. And the ones that do, only know me because of my friendship with you guys. It’s like I’m invisible, and no one, not even my mother and sisters, care about what I have to say”, the girl confessed, just as a new wave of tears wetted her face. 

“I care”, he stated immediately, and her heart almost leaped out of her body. “You’re Penelope Featherington. Of course, I care. Don’t ever forget that”, he spoke clearly, making a point to look her in the eye the entire time while reminding the redhead that she was, in fact, good enough.

“You should just hand it to him at this point, Featherington”, she thought to herself. She really was down bad.

The thing is, falling in love with Colin was the easiest thing she’d ever done. Learning how to handle that sentiment, on the other hand, was the tricky part. 

At the beginning, when she was only truly friends with Eloise, he was this gentle boy with an easy smile and kind words, often making the girl laugh or blush and enjoying every minute of it, she was sure of it. With time, however, their interactions became deeper, more meaningful, and so did her feelings, which she worked hard to understand.

To Eloise’s utter annoyance, her friend and her third brother had a lot in common, and a genuine interest in listening about things they didn’t. The three of them could spend hours talking about books or movies, but, when El soon lost interest in hearing about Colin's love of travel, Penelope didn’t. In turn, Colin would listen for hours about Penelope’s new obsession with cooking, even more so when she put it into practice (she cooked, he washed). 

But it was not only that. As their friendship progressed, she couldn’t help but notice how similar they also were in their fears of not being enough, even if for completely different reasons. While the Bridgerton greatness hunted Colin, and people expected him to live up to that, Penelope felt the constant need to prove herself to everyone who didn’t believe in her, mainly because of her own family history.  

And so, what started as a crush on this ideal real-life prince she barely knew turned into love for the person she did know, and whom she shared some of the most important moments of her life. Could he ever see her as more than a friend, though? A girl could only hope.

“You’re my friend, Col. You’re supposed to care. Now tell me, which publishing house will hire a girl who’s not even taken seriously?”, she questioned, touching the cold floor in an attempt to calm the warmth that suddenly possessed her body from his words.

“You decided on a degree in English studies? Pen, that’s amazing!”, he exclaimed, deciding for the both of them it was time to stand. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”, he asked, already up, holding his hand for her to take. 

“It didn’t come up, I guess”, she shrugged, motioning for them to sit on the sofa. “To be quite honest, I’ve only just made up my mind. Thanks to your godmother, actually”.

“Agatha?”, Colin raised his brows. 

“Yeah. She took me on a tour in the magazine company, explained how everything worked, said I’m always welcomed to come back, and told me the story about how her father built it from nothing, and left it for her, the only daughter in the family, to take care of. Quite the responsibility, right?” 

“Well, if anyone could’ve handled it, I’m sure it was Agatha. The woman is intense. Sometimes even I’m scared of her, and I grew up with her by my side”, he admitted, and they both chuckled, agreeing on the matter. When the laugh died, the remaining silence was not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, really. Being with Colin felt natural and, most of all, safe. She trusted him to talk about pretty much everything. 

“I like to think he would be proud of me”, the girl whispered. She didn’t need to explain who she was referring to. “He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only dad I’ve had, you know?”, she added, and he nodded in understanding. 

“For what it's worth, I’m really proud of you too. And I know a lot of people will want to read what you got to say, Pen. After all, as someone I truly admire told me not long ago, you’re an intelligent resourceful girl, whose light shines on its own, and of course, even more bright when you’re with the people you love”, he spoke, repeating the words she told him earlier that day, which made both of them smile wide. “Someday, when you publish your book, I’ll be right outside the closest library, ready to snatch the first copy, and making sure everyone knows how special you are”, Colin finished, as if he’s already picturing the scene.

“I’m pretty sure you’ll have at least a few relatives as competition on this one, brother, including myself”, a male voice said, and they turned to see Benedict, Colin’s older brother, by the door, eyeing them with a mischievous smirk. “I would probably bet on Hyacinth, though. That girl has ways”. 

“What can we do for you, Monet?”, Colin asked teasingly, referencing his brother’s job as a painter. 

“Our sisters were looking for you, Penelope. They’re upstairs getting ready for dinner”, Benedict answered, finally entering the room, and coming in their direction.

“That’s my cue, I guess”, she nodded, trading places with the Bridgerton brother, who seated next to Colin, and heading towards the exit, stopping only to add a “See you guys at dinner!”. 

“Hope he likes my outfit for tonight”, the girl muttered excitedly as she ascended the stairs to the second floor, two steps at a time, remembering that, from the moment they left the floor till mere seconds ago, Colin had not let go of her hand.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · 

three – hiding from her heartbreak 

year: 2018; p: 20; c: 25

“Penelope… Penelope, come on, time to go”, a voice, which sounded remarkably like her mother’s, made its way into Penelope’s subconscious, urging the woman to – begrudgingly – wake up, even if she’d yet to open her eyes.

“It’s almost eight a.m., honey. If we don’t hurry, you’re gonna end up bumping into one of the Bridgertons on their way to the restaurant”, Portia Featherington, she was now sure of it, called her again, closer this time, and the girl felt a hand insistently rubbing her arms, causing her to finally decide to start the day. 

What a mistake that was. 

As soon as the bedroom’s lights reached the redhead, so bright she felt her brain would explode, Penelope winced, narrowing her eyes, and brought her hands to her head in a vain attempt to ease the pain. 

“Ouch”, she managed to say, feeling more than seeing her mom sit by her side at the bed. 

“Here, drink some water and take these pills, it’ll have to do for now”, Portia whispered gently, handing her a glass and the medicine. “As soon as we get home, I’ll make something for you to eat as well”, she added, running her hands through her daughter's braided hair. “That is certainly strange”, Penelope thought, leaning towards the touch, nevertheless. 

“What’s going on, mom? Why are you in my room in the first place?”, she questioned, swallowing the pills, and finally faced her mother, who, in return, was staring at her with a concerned face. 

“That’s not your room, Penelope. You’ve slept here with me in mine. I’ve already packed your things and brought everything here so we can leave the hotel, just like you asked”, the older woman answered, watching as the girl’s memory finally caught up to her. 

The hotel. The Christmas gala. Talking with Colin. So much alcohol. Holly … 

… 

(A couple of hours before)

A loud thud from the corridor outside had Penelope jumping in bed with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. Slowly, due to the way everything was spinning, the redhead realized she was in one of the hotel’s bedrooms, dimly lit by a lamp in the bathroom. Startled, she was just asking herself how the hell she’d managed to get here from the gala when a light snore to her right answered the question for her. 

Fife. 

“Why do I hate myself?”, she cursed, immediately distancing her very much naked body as much as she could from the man in the bed, while clumsily searching around the room – as silent as her inebriated state allowed her to – for the beautiful black dress she’d worn to the Christmas gala organized by Daphne Bridgerton only a couple of hours ago, as well as for her dignity, which apparently, she also left on the floor somewhere. “I’m never drinking again”, the woman muttered, escaping to the bathroom for a moment to gather her thoughts. 

The first few hours of the event had been great, even if a little dull. After all, she knew a bunch of people in attendance, mostly the Bridgerton family and aggregates, and had spent the best part of the evening talking and drinking with Eloise at one of the tables. Just then, a call from an unknown number – something the redhead made a mental note to look into later – had the brunette racing to one of the balconies, which gave Penelope the perfect opportunity to walk around in search of a distraction. Preferably one that involved the sibling she’d really needed to speak with. 

The truth was, she and Colin hadn’t been close those last few months, as much as that pained her, who’d grown accustomed with their daily conversations over the years, whether by messages, memes or even video calls. He’d withdrawn from one side, and she’d done the same, pretty much for the same reason, she’d suspected: Marina.

From the moment he’d met her cousin the previous Christmas, things had changed. The third Bridgerton son had had serious relationships in the past, but never with someone she knew, let alone someone related to her. At the beginning, Penelope had done her best to stay away from anything related to the new couple, scared her body would break just like her heart was at the prospect of closely watching the man she loved fall in love with someone else. 

Over time, however, it became obvious that having Marina as his girlfriend came at the cost of his relationship not only with his family, but with his friends and his work. In her case, it didn’t help that the girlfriend in question had with no subtleties ordered Penelope to stay away, being aware of the girl’s feelings for her boyfriend, which she’d threatened to expose over and over again. According to Marina, the redhead’s affections were an unrequited fantasy, never to become a reality. And the worst part was that, at the end of the day, she wasn’t even wrong about that. 

Colin didn’t love her in a romantic manner. Jeez, he didn’t even consider her an option, barely seeing her as a grown-up, let alone a potential partner. He still referred to her as Penny, for crying out loud! It’s a wonder how the man had not yet noticed that the nickname made her grimace. 

Besides, he’d sworn off woman for the time being, which was understandable, of course, after being so bluntly deceived by her cousin. Not that she should be worried by that, cause apparently, she didn’t even count as one. God, how many times can one be friend-zoned before going completely nuts? 

“Today many times, it seems”, Penelope sighed, looking in the mirror with tears in her eyes, before splashing a handful of water into her face and putting her dress back (panties nowhere to be found). Reentering the room, the redhead crawled until she located her phone, picked her shoes, and left, ready to make a run to her own bedroom, only to stop short when she came face to face with… her mother. 

Just like Penelope, and pretty much because of the affection the Bridgerton family held towards the girl, Portia was invited to stay in one of the rooms rented for the gala, allowing everyone to party for as long as they wanted, and go home safely on the next day. Unlike her daughter, however, the older woman was already in her pajamas, opening the door to what seemed like her room, with an ice cup in her hands. 

“Are you okay?”, she asked, showing pretty much all of her self-restraint not to ask the question her raised brows was screaming: “What were you doing in there?”.

“I’m…”, began the girl, sensing her face starting to burn from embarrassment, before being interrupted by voices she soon recognized coming in their direction all the way from the elevators.

“Are you sure no one saw her since you left the dance floor?”, inquired Colin, whose tone was laced with worry. 

“Absolutely. And I’ve also tried her phone, but it went straight to voicemail. It’s not like Penelope to disappear, Col, no matter how drunk she may be”, Eloise replied, adding “If we don’t have any luck on this floor, I’m calling mom. She’ll know what to do”. 

Panicked, the petite woman looked around for an escape route, too dizzy to deal with Eloise at that moment, and certainly not sober enough to face Colin. Sensing her dilemma, Portia quickly took the girl’s hand, leading her daughter inside the bedroom before whispering “Stay quiet. I’ll handle it” and closing the door beside her. 

Too wasted to stay and listen to what was happening outside, Penelope made her way to the bed, stopping midway when she realized the carpet floor was so much closer and looked really cozy. She stayed like that for who knows what time, staring at the roof, until, eventually, her mother’s face appeared from above her. 

“Why are there two of you, mom?”, she questioned, stretching her hands as if trying to reach both versions of the older woman. 

“Cause you drank enough alcohol to fill your car’s tank, honey”, Portia answered amused, bending down to help her up. “Come on, let’s get you a shower”, she added, walking the remaining distance to the bath before placing her daughter on the tub. Slowly, they managed to strip Penelope from her dress, turning the water on, and the girl leaned back, absently playing with the soap. 

A couple of seconds later, she felt her mother’s hands reaching for her hair, still in a messy ponytail, and letting it down so she could comb and braid it. The action, so tender and yet so foreign to both of them, caught the redhead by surprise, and for the first time in a long while she let herself be cared for like the child she once was craved so much. So, it didn’t really come as a surprise when all it took was her mother whispering “Do you wanna tell me why you just ran away from the two people you love most in the world?” for her to fall apart. 

She didn’t remember crying that much in a while, especially in front of her mother. In the Featherington home, emotion was perceived as weakness, and, though not as fast as her sisters, Penelope had long learned to hide her own in the best way she could, even if that meant sometimes hiding herself. And yes, things had gotten better since Archibald’s passing and their unexpected financial problems, causing them all to find solace and support in one another, but some habits didn’t leave you that easily. Not trusting Portia Featherington was one of them.  

“They both care for you deeply, you know?”, the now head of the family said matter-of-factly, coming to sit by her side on the bathroom floor. “More often than not these last few years, I’m grateful for all the ways that family could provide you the love you’ve always wished… even if it’s not in the way that you wanted, sometimes”.

“Am I that obvious?”, the girl winced, red-faced, watching as Portia shook her head negatively, apparently struggling to find the right words to say.

“As a child, you’ve always had so much hope within you, darling. You’ve dreamed of love, and of happiness, and believed like no one else that everyone deserved to be accepted as they are, mostly because of the books you read, I suppose, since that was certainly not how things worked around our house”, she smiled sadly, as if the past years were playing like a movie in front of them. “But slowly, and I take my share of responsibility for that, you started pushing that version of yourself into a box, thinking somehow that kind of future was not in the cards for you. You hid in a shell, afraid of not being enough as you are”. 

“Yet somehow, through all of that”, the woman continued, searching for her daughter’s hand to hold, “you’ve always been most yourself when you are with those two. And when it happens, for a moment, I see the Penelope you once were shine through the one you are now, and that’s not something everyone can note. Especially those who are so used to unconditional love like the Bridgertons”, she finished, and they stayed like that for some time, both lost in thought. 

“Why did you do it, mom? Push me away, I mean”, Penelope asked at last, making the best of the courage those extra glasses of booze gave her.

“Because, of all my daughters, you’re the one who reminded me most of myself”, her mother confessed with teary eyes. “And I guess, in a way, I stopped believing your lives could be different from the one I lived, trapped in a reality so far from the one I’d once envisioned for my future”. 

“Unlike me, however, your ability to dream and love never wavered, even after everything you’ve been through. If anything, you love even deeper because of that. And you deserve to be loved by someone just as much, Penelope, whether it is Colin Bridgerton or not. Not only for a night, and certainly not by someone like Reginald Fife”, the older woman scolded with a raised brow, finally standing up and motioning for the girl to do the same. “You just have to let that person know the real you, because you are enough”, she added, wrapping her daughter in a towel, and taking the opportunity to hug her.

“I don’t think I’m ready to give up on this feeling yet, mom”, the younger woman whispered after a moment, snuggling close to her mother. It felt good to be able to do it without second thoughts.

“That’s alright, darling. Just don’t keep yourself from the opportunity to find love elsewhere, ok?”, Portia answered, stepping back into the bedroom to look for something the girl could wear for the night.

“Can we leave early? I really don’t want to face anyone in the morning”, she asked eventually, once they finally laid down, facing one another.

“Of course, baby. I’ll arrange for that. Now sleep”.

…

“Regretting those last glasses of wine, aren’t we?”, her mother’s quip took Penelope out of memory lane, and she sprinted out of bed, rushing to the bathroom to change her clothes.

“Shut up”, the girl answered quickly before disappearing inside, her light chuckle betraying the newfound camaraderie between both women. 

“Would you like for me to knock on the front room and ask for your undergarment back?”, Portia added, handing her the clothes from the bath’s door, her laughter reverberating all around the bedroom. 

“Mom!”, the redhead whined, feeling her face become an embarrassing shade of pink. “You’re worsening my headache”, she pouted, coming back into her mother’s view, and grabbed the bag and suitcase she brought, motioning for them to leave. 

“Don’t blame me for that”, the older woman retorted lightheartedly, and was about to say something else when they both noticed a figure seated on the carpeted corridor right in front of them. 

“Colin?”, Penelope gasped, and the man in question opened his eyes, clumsily rising from the floor.

“Pen! Good morning”, he yawned, smiling tiredly before giving Portia a curt nod with his head, promptly reciprocated. “Mrs. Featherington”.

“Colin, what are you… were you asleep?”, the girl questioned once all formalities had been exchanged.

“I was worried you’d leave before I had the chance to check on you” the brunette said, pointedly gazing at Portia, who’d turned to give them some kind of privacy, but didn’t go very far.

“Oh, I’m okay… exhausted from all the partying for sure, but otherwise, nothing to worry about. Mom found me alone at some point and brought me to her room in case I needed anything.”.

“Yeah, she warned us”, the man stated, adding after a beat “you didn’t actually think you’d vanish from the gala, and neither I nor Eloise would notice, right, Featherington?”

“Of course, not”, she replied genuinely, feeling her heart fill with love and gratitude for her friends. “I’m surprised it hadn’t already overflowed with it”, she thought, smiling to herself. 

“Are you heading for breakfast?”, Colin prompted, grinning – as usual – at the prospect of food. 

“Actually, we were planning on going straight home”, Penelope spoke, watching as the man deflated a little.

“And miss the best part of being in a hotel? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”, he joked, earning an eye roll from the redhead. “Besides, I was kind of hoping to take one more minute of your time”, the Bridgerton son stated hopefully and, sensing her hesitation, added with mopey eyes “pretty please?”

And that, as usual, was her undoing.

“Alright”, she conceded, turning to her mother, who was, predictably, already ahead of her.

“I’ll head down to the restaurant”, she said, reaching for the girl’s suitcase on her way to the first floor. Before she could leave, however, Penelope held her arm gently, stared at the older woman and whispered “Thanks, mom”, to which Portia only nodded, placing a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. They watched her go, only resuming the conversation once the elevator’s doors clicked closed.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”, the petite woman inquired eventually. 

“Well, I didn’t have a chance to give you your Christmas gift”, Colin answered, reaching for a package from where he was previously sitting. 

“Col, come on, we don’t do gifts. I have nothing for you!”, she exclaimed, surprised and curious in equal measure by what could it be.  

“It’s actually something I've been working on for a while now if I’m being really honest. We didn’t see each other much this past year, so I’ve never got the chance to give it to you”, the Bridgerton smiled excitedly, offering her the item. “Hope you like it”, he added as she unwrapped the gift to reveal a beautiful blue notebook with her name engraved on its cover. 

“You’ve been working in the magazine for almost two years now, and while I know you’ve always said you’d probably wait until graduation to start working seriously on your ‘own stuff’, every article you’ve done so far is equally important, Pen”, the man explained, watching as the redhead flipped through the pages of the notebook, each of them filled with everything she’d written so far. “And needs to be celebrated”, he continued. 

“At the beginning, while I was still travelling, I used to make mom buy all issues of the magazine you’d worked on so she could send them to me”, Colin kept babbling, leading Penelope to finally leave the book aside and face him. “And yes, I know they also have the online version, but…” 

“It’s not the same”, they both stated at the same time, beaming at one another. 

“And then, once back, I had the idea of turning what you wrote into an ongoing book of sorts, as you can see”, he reached for the gift to show her the blank pages still left. “So, we can keep filling the pages until you have an actual book of your own”. 

“Colin… I don’t even know what to say”, Penelope declared, feeling her heart doing acrobatics inside her ribcage. “I love it!”, she added, closing the distance between them to give him a hug. 

“I’m glad you did, Pen. You’re special to me”, she heard him whisper softly into her hair, and wondered, not for the first, and certainly not for the last time, if he realized what every single one of his words did to her. If he knew how, by being the biggest Golden Retriever man ever, she craved for something more, and couldn’t help but imagine a world in which said “something more” was real – full of movie nights, coffee dates, cozy sleepovers, among other things. A world full of him.

“That’s only the way he is, though”, the girl reminded herself. Colin had always been like that around her, since they were all but children, and because of that it was hard to distance his actions (like making her a fucking book!) to his real feelings of friendship towards her. She would just have to try harder, it seemed.

“As are you”, Penelope eventually spoke, dreading to dissipate the little bubble they’d been in those last minutes, but knowing full well it’d do no good to let her mind wander in that direction. “So… ready for breakfast?” 

“Is that an actual question?”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · 

four – hiding behind her words

year: 2020; p: 22; c: 27

“Are you coming for Christmas?”, Penelope finally typed and sent, quickly closing the app, locking her phone, and moving as far away from it as her tiny flat allowed her to. She wasn’t really sure what answer to hope for, after all.

“You’re being ridiculous”, the girl thought to herself, chopping some vegetables for lunch. There was no reason to be worried. If Colin decided to spend the holidays at Aubrey, she’d just introduce him to Alfred, and nothing would come out of it. “With luck, he won’t even notice I’ve been pretty much hiding my boyfriend for the last couple of weeks, well, months, by the time he gets here”.

Even she didn’t believe that.

Truth be told, this entire mess started months ago, and it was all Colin’s fault. Since that fateful Christmas’ gala two years before, they’d resumed their friendship as it was before Marina, and, even with the man’s constant travelling, managed to become closer than before, sharing from their day-to-day lives to important milestones that happened during the period.

Colin was the first to know she had been offered a permanent job at his godmother’s magazine (“I had no doubts that spot had your name on it, Featherington”) and followed closely the moment she finally decided to start writing her first book, still unfinished, at the end of the previous year. For her part, Penelope was privy to her friend’s own hopes to write a book, and knew better than anyone the man's itinerary, so much so that the Bridgertons often came to her when they needed to locate him.

Something changed after last Christmas, though.

One day, they spent the 25th talking late at night until she fell asleep in a guest room at Aubrey Hall, while he did the same in a hotel bed in the Netherlands. The redhead remembered waking up with a smile on her face, more rested than in a long time, holding onto the third Bridgerton brother’s promise to call on New Year as well. Over the next couple of weeks, however, Colin began to act strange, looking at her in a funny way or for long periods of time without saying a word, avoiding her eyes constantly and, at some point, avoiding her altogether. By the end of March, she’d collected enough missed calls or lame excuses to realize he’d met someone.

It had to be the only explanation, right? Why else would he be that reticent about spending quality time with her? They hadn’t fought, and the girl couldn’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary lately to warrant such a reaction from him. Besides, the same had happened when he dated Marina. The guy was probably distracted by some beautiful Australian woman, and here she was, suffering yet another moment because of it. Enough was enough.  

Tinder, Penelope had discovered over the years, was even worse than clubbing, which made the Featherington daughter decide to hit the bars, whether with one of the Bridgertons or her own sisters. (Un)fortunately, most of them already had a relationship and were annoyingly happy, but encouraged and supported her newfound desire to meet new people, even if it took Eloise a couple of weeks to stop eyeing her suspiciously. She kissed a few and came as far as to go on a date with one or two, but nothing came out of it.

A couple of months later, things seemed to come back to normal. Colin stopped avoiding her, and Penelope, on the other hand, continued her outings, choosing to keep the eventual dates from his knowledge for the time being. He didn’t tell her about his flings either, so it was only fair. That was until, mid-October, Eloise dragged her to her boyfriend Phillip’s company party, and she was introduced by them to Alfred Debling, one of his coworkers. The redhead recognized the setup from miles away but didn’t really care. The man wasn’t hard on the eyes, after all. She could do without the blond hair, though.

And yes, she would quickly come to realize Alfie wasn’t the most exciting person in the world, and had no knowledge of any pop references whatsoever, which led him to rarely understand her jokes about a book or a meme, at least not in the way someone else did. But he was passionate about the things he loved (even if they usually involved some kind of bird), had a somewhat stable life, and made his interest in her clear from the get-go, keeping constant contact up until she accepted meeting him for drinks. Soon, they’d begun to actually date.

Penelope didn’t really know why she kept it from Colin. In a way, it felt like a betrayal to her love towards him, which rationally made zero sense, of course. But mostly, she suspected letting her friend into this new part of her life she worked so hard to achieve would simply let it to shreds, and the girl would be back at square one, hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t love her back. 

Therefore, after subtly checking with the Bridgertons, who had no idea of Colin’s plans for the holidays, she decided to find out by herself. And if a part of her was disappointed when he said he probably wouldn’t make it, that was only for his family’s sake.

So, imagine her surprise when, on Christmas eve’s morning, the man walked into Aubrey Hall, bags in hands, a smile on his face, telling he’d changed his mind about coming home. The redhead followed his movements as Colin greeted the entire family, one at a time, searching for someone in the crowd, and appearing confused as his eyes landed on her. “Is it something on my clothes?” she pondered, turning her gaze to look for whatever it was and landing it on Alfred, who was by her side in the corner of the room. “Oh. That”. 

After successfully hugging his mother, siblings, in-laws, and niblings (everyone had already arrived at Aubrey by that point), Colin made his way to them, an unreadable expression on his face, and introductions were made. Quickly. Awkwardly. On both parts, it seemed. She made a point to leave soon after, afraid her friend would bluntly ask why she hadn’t mentioned Alfred before. “To give them space”, the girl explained to her boyfriend as they reached their shared bedroom, when in reality the only person who needed space was herself.

A couple of hours later, the annual Christmas party had just started, and Penelope had yet to decipher the look on Colin’s face when she introduced him to Alfie. It didn’t help that the redhead spent the entire day avoiding not only him, but the Bridgerton family altogether, lying that she had a deadline to finish before the celebrations began, which gave her enough time to think of nothing but that. Was he upset? Only surprised? Did he even care?

“Stop”, the woman chastised herself for the hundredth time. She was done letting what Colin Bridgerton may or may not have thought affect her that much. She needed to be.

“Are you enjoying being back in the country, Alfred?” Francesca’s voice took Penelope out of her rumblings, and she turned once more to the conversation, lacing her fingers through her boyfriend’s and waiting patiently for him to speak.

“Very much. I’m thankful for the opportunity to run my research lab in London, and don’t plan on leaving the big city for now, but being close to nature… nothing compares”, he answered shortly, giving the girl a polite smile. The man was not the greatest conversationalist, her friends were well aware by then, only addressing him every once in a while for the sake of being polite.

“You boys and your beloved nature”, Eloise, standing next to her sister, whispered, looking around the gardens they were currently in for her boyfriend, who had yet to make an appearance. Knowing Alfie wasn’t about to make small talk, Penelope rushed to turn the subject to something else.

“How was Brasil, Francesca? Or was it Spain? I’ve honestly given up keeping track of where you and Mika are these days”, she chuckled lightheartedly, referring to her friends’ constant travels so that Michaela Stirling, Francesca’s girlfriend, could compete as a professional handball player.

“And here we were calling Colin ‘Mr. Worldwide’”, Eloise jested, amused, just as Alfred excused himself to go fetch them something to drink. When he left, the Bridgerton girl resumed the teasing, turning her gaze to her sister. “The title is clearly yours, Fran”.

“You lot talk as if we spend the entire year in a different country. And yes, Brasil was wonderful. Beautiful country, amazing people. And the music! I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many different styles. Came back really inspired”, the brunette exclaimed, excited by the memory of the trip.  

“Maybe that’s where I need to be, then”, Penelope retorted grumpily, earning giggles from the other two. “I’m in a serious relationship with my book, but I don’t think it knows about it yet”.

“That bad, uhm?” her best friend asked, rubbing her hands on the redhead’s arm. Eloise knew talking about her ongoing project was hard for Penelope most of the time and didn’t normally push unless the girl herself brought it up.

“Writing wasn’t that hard before”, she confessed, and really meant it. Over the years, unlike in any other area of her life, Penelope found her worth in the work she knew how to do and in the stories she effortlessly wrote, be they news or articles for the magazine, or mere drafts hidden in her desk. The words had always been her safe place, and they didn’t usually desert her that easily. That’s how the better part of her first – and current – romance novel had been born, after all. And yet, recently, the closer the book got to its end, the harder it became for the girl to decide which path her main characters would lead.

“Can I finally ask what it is about, or should I shut up?” Francesca cautiously prompted, looking at her sister to be sure she wasn’t overstepping. Finding little reproach and matched interest in Eloise’s eyes, she turned to Penelope, who was already staring at her, pondering how much to let on.

“Hmm… it’s a romance, as you’ve probably already guessed. A regency romance”, the redhead forced a chuckle, trying to ease the way her heart constricted with every information she considered giving. Apart from Agatha and one or two coworkers who weren’t exactly privy to her private life, she’d never told anyone about the story of her book, especially the Bridgertons. Not even Eloise, and definitely not Colin. She was too afraid they’d see right through it.

“At first I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to go with, modern or regency, nor the location where everything would take place. And I really didn’t want the plotline to be something forced, you know? Those kinds of grand love stories or out of the world experiences”, she kept blabbing superficial things, moving her body as she normally did when excited or nervous, while noting from the corner of her eyes that Alfred had just come back with two glasses of… orange juice. Would it be too much to ask that he remembered she preferred lemonade?

“Anyways…”, the woman continued after accepting the beverage, thanking her boyfriend for it, but refraining to take a sip. After a beat, she realized both her friends had been waiting patiently (or with as much patience as Eloise could muster) for her to go on, holding into every word she muttered, curiosity pouring out of them. She might as well get that over with.

“It follows a couple, two people, I mean, who’ve known each other for most of their lives and struggle to navigate their feelings towards themselves and towards one another. They both carry their own baggage and have their internal struggles living up to society’s expectations, and those keep throwing them apart and then back together over and over again”, Penelope paused, exhaling deeply, eager to find a hole in which she could simply hide in and not feel that exposed. “Their friendship grows over the years, and of course, so do their feelings, but it never seems like the right time to face them or find out if they are reciprocated”, she finished, finding a sudden interest on the grass beneath her feet.

The thing was, the Featherington daughter really didn’t plan for the book to follow an experience so close to her own heart, nor would have consciously chosen to do so. Yes, the redhead was a sucker for a friends-to-lovers plotline (I mean, the yearning? Unmatched), and yes, she was aware most writers took inspiration from their day-to-day lives when writing, even if creating an entirely different universe; in the end, you can’t run that far away from common interactions and emotions that will be replicated on paper. She just had not expected to put so much of herself in Claire, her protagonist, and so much of Colin into her best friend and love interest, Ben, without so much as realizing it. And that’s precisely why it felt so difficult to draft a closure for the characters’ story; she was torn between giving them the realistic ending she knew all too well or the happily-ever-after she’d always hoped for. Seven-year-old Penelope would be horrified that her twenty-two-year-old self was even considering the first option.

Just then, a loud round of laughter reached the girl, and she turned to find Michaela, Phillip, and Colin a few feet away, lost in their usual banter. The sound was also heard by Francesca, who smiled affectionately towards the bunch, and by Eloise who, spotting her boyfriend at last, waved for the group to join them. Not that Penelope had noticed any of those things, too focused she was on the third Bridgerton brother.

In her defense, it’d been months since she last had the chance to properly look at him. Besides, the man looked good as hell. He’d let his beard grow and was done with the mullet he’d been trying out lately, showing off that perfect curly hair that Penelope adored. He also had that familiar laid-back posture and was completely at ease by his friends’ side. And yet none of that easiness reached his eyes as he caught her staring; in reality, his gaze reflected that same unknown emotion from earlier, only somehow intensified.

They stayed frozen for a while, simply lost in one another, and Penelope questioned yet again what was going through Colin’s mind that she simply couldn’t read. The woman was so sure she’d memorized all of his expressions by then, after years of secretly pining over him.

“Pen?”, Francesca’s voice brought her back to reality one more time that night, and the moment was broken. Slowly, as if in a daze, she turned to the Bridgerton sister, noticing her questioning look.

“What? Sorry, Fran. What is it?” she managed to speak, finally taking a sip of the orange juice in an attempt to calm her thumping heart and racing mind.

“Will they end up together? Your characters, I mean”, Francesca asked a few seconds later, welcoming a grinning Michaela into her embrace.

“Isn’t that the one-million-dollar question?”, Penelope thought, unsettled.

…

A couple of drinks in, the Bridgerton siblings who were still at the gardens decided, God knows why, it was the perfect opportunity to play a round of pall-mall. Afraid she would freeze to death in the long-sleeved red dress she’d chosen for the occasion, Penelope left a very excited Eloise explaining the logistics of the game to Alfred, and quickly ran inside, planning on fetching something to cover herself and come right back.

The woman barely acknowledged any other guest or family member on her way to the bedroom, so unbelievably greedy she was for any additional source of warmth, only stopping when, a few steps from reaching the top of the stairs that lead to the second floor of the house, two familiar figures caught her attention.  

“Oh, hey guys… sorry to interrupt. I just came up to fetch a sweater, it’s freezing outside. I’ll be out of your way in no time”, she apologized to Colin and Violet Bridgerton, who seemed to be in the middle of an important conversation.

“There’s no need to hurry, darling. In fact, Colin, why don’t you pass me that jug, I can manage to the living room just fine”, the matriarch spoke, already reaching out for the item with an “that was not a question” face only mothers knew how to master. “I’m sure you both have much to catch up”, she added, turning to her son for a moment with a strange expression before leaving them alone.

As an awkward silence fell over the couple, Penelope signed, suddenly missing the easiness that had permeated her relationship with Colin for as long as she could remember. Normally, the copious amounts of time the man had spent abroad felt like nothing the second he was back, almost as if he’d never left. Lately, however, something had shifted in their relationship, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was like they were starting anew.

Sensing her hesitation, Colin sprang into action, taking off his sweater, walking the remaining space towards the girl and gently putting it over her head, careful not to disrupt her hair or makeup in the process. Then, just as she was about to put some distance between them again, he surprised her by stilling her hands with his, bringing them to his back, and hugging her with his own. “To help with the chill”, the man explained after a beat, and Penelope felt him resting his cheeks on her head, before whispering a simple “Merry Christmas, Featherington”.

Breathing harder, the redhead hugged him tight, enjoying the feeling of her arms around him, hands barely able to find one another given how broad his chest was. And cozy. So very cozy. “This proximity isn’t exactly helping with the whole ‘get over him’ plan”, she thought, burying her head in it anyway, while forcing her brain to formulate something to say in return.

“Merry Christmas yourself, Col. What are you hoping Santa will bring you this year?”, she decided upon, quickly chastising herself. “What are you? A child? What kind of question is that?”

Colin seemed to consider her question for a moment before replying, and they stayed like that, in each other’s embrace, until he finally spoke again.

“Courage”, the man replied simply, running his hand through her curls, which caused a shiver to go straight to her spine. Penelope fought to ignore it and keep the conversation going.

“Courage? Planning on doing something reckless in the future?”, she quipped, aiming to lighten the mood. The girl felt him shaking his head in a negative manner right away, and his grip on her tightened.

“That depends. I want courage to own my achievements and understand that my flaws don’t make me less worthy of being happy. I want courage to accept and share my feelings, whether they are good or bad, instead of running from them. And, most of all, I want courage to fight for the things that are most precious to me, for the … people who are most dear to me. I want courage to stay. Does this sound reckless to you?”, he finished, panting, and Penelope had the unbearable urge to look into his eyes, if only to make sure she had not just hallucinated those last few seconds. And when the girl snapped her head up, the vision she found… took her breath away. Because those emotions on his face, unlike the one from earlier, she knew quite well. Colin was both hopeful and terrified. Really hopeful and really terrified.

There were some many questions running through her mind at once, fighting to be answered. What feelings are you talking about? Share them with who? What do you wanna fight for? Why are you telling me all of this? Who do you want to fight for? Could it be… me? “Tell me”, she pleaded with her eyes, not capable of actually asking for it and being wrong in her assumptions. “Just tell me”.

Before any of them could speak, however, a loud cough made someone’s presence known.

“Penelope, I was looking for you. They’re about to start the game, are you coming?”, Alfred called from the middle of the stairs, startling the girl, who quickly put some space between her and Colin, but brought back her gaze to the Bridgerton brother, urging him to say something. When she did so, though, the hope was gone from his eyes, completely overpowered by fear, and the redhead knew the moment was lost.

“I’ll be right there, Alfie”, she replied to the man by the stairs, her own hope quickly replaced by disappointment and exasperation, which she could only contain for a few steps, and lead the woman to turn around one last time, facing her friend.

“You know, it’s only reckless if it’s not worth fighting for in the first place”, Penelope said, fighting against the lump in her throat and the tears in her eyes. “But it’s so much easier to just run away, right, Bridgerton?”, she finished, rushing down to the first floor of the house and out to the gardens, while replaying what had just happened.

A part of Penelope would always love the man she’d just left behind, no matter how long it’d been. And at moments like those, when overwhelmed with emotion, she could even think herself capable of leaving that feeling behind, in exchange for resentment towards the boy who’d never love her back. The friend who’d never say the words she so desperately wanted to hear from him.

But deep down, as she walked back outside, dodging Alfred’s confused look, the woman knew the only person she actually resented was… herself. For far longer than that night, if she was being honest. Because, ultimately, she couldn’t blame Colin for not feeling the same way towards her. And she certainly couldn’t blame the man for not knowing about her own romantic feelings towards him. Has she ever told him about them?

The Featherington girl had felt this way for years, and not once, unless someone confronted her about it, made this love known to anyone, let alone the person who she wanted to reciprocate it, be that for fear of losing one of her best friends or for dread of not being good enough in the eyes of one of the few people to whom she had always been. But she’d never given him the chance to do so. Instead, the redhead had hidden behind her character’s story, written her feelings almost as if forbidden, and even then wasn’t brave enough to give Claire the ending that she, Penelope, really wanted for both of them.

Was it fair to expect courage from someone when she lacked it herself?

…

A little after the game had started, Penelope found an excuse to flee the scene, and stopped only to fetch her old notebook and a bottle of water before walking the familiar path to Aubrey’s library, looking for much needed silence.

And that’s where she stayed up until Mrs. Wilson found her the next morning, exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but with the knowledge she’d just finished her book, writing the happy ending which, at the end of the day, Penelope had never been brave enough to fight for.

After all, as long as the woman kept hiding her feelings from the friend who she was so afraid would reject her, Penelope could still believe that there was a happily-ever-after for their own story, just like for Claire and Ben’s.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · 

+ 1 – not hiding at all

year: 2023; p: 25; c: 30

“Penelope, hide!” a set of female voices shouted at the same time, and the woman in question ran straight to the bedroom balcony, heart on her throat, careful not to trip on her dress on the way. Outside, the sun had just set, and a few familiar faces were walking hurriedly through the garden downstairs, welcoming guests, and arranging the final details for the event that would take place shortly in the Bridgerton house.

“What is going on, people?” she managed to ask while gathering her breath, carefully poking her face inside the room in an attempt to understand the sudden need to flee. From there, the redhead couldn’t see much, but was able to hear the commotion happening by the door.

“Get out, now”, Eloise ordered, and Penelope could practically picture the exasperation on her face. The Bridgerton daughter had been on edge since that morning, making sure everything was in order for the night, and it was beginning to show.

“You really should not be here”, Daphne stated in a reproachful tone, usually used on her own children, to which some of the other women in the room loudly agreed.  

“Weren’t you supposed to be accompanied at all times?” Hyacinth jested, laughing wholeheartedly at whoever was standing by the door. “Where are Phillip and Michaela?”

“Come on, sisters. I just want to talk to her”, a whine Penelope quickly recognized made its way over to her, and the girl’s smile broadened, finally understanding what all that fuss was about.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities for that later, won’t you?” Phillipa pointed out.

“What is it with this family and the inability to do things as they’re supposed to be done?” Prudence chuckled from a chair much closer to Penelope.

“Can’t you let the woman not hear your voice for at least a couple of hours, Bridgerton?” Kate added, clearly amused by what the redhead suspected was the pout the man by the door was adorning.

“Et tu, Sharma?” Colin Bridgerton exclaimed, with obvious feign hurt, which apparently earned him a smack from someone, if the loud “ouch” that left his lips moments later was any indication. After a beat, he continued. “Help me out here, Fran”.

“They’re not wrong, Col” Francesca spoke softly, making Penelope lean even further in order to catch it. “You can’t see her. Unless…”, she stopped, and the room went quiet for a moment.

“Unless what?” the man prompted, hopeful.

“Wait outside for a second, will you?” Francesca asked, and the click of the door closing had Penelope finally releasing a breath she didn’t even know she was holding until then. “Thank God I hid in time”, she thought. 

It was not that she didn’t want to see Colin, by any means. Quite the opposite, in fact, even more so since they’ve been apart for an entire day by then, which must have been some kind of record in their relationship. But the Featherington girl was also well aware her friends’ objections were for a good cause, one she strongly believed in. Therefore, hidden she would remain.

After a beat, Eloise appeared by the balcony entrance, calling her back, and she returned.

“You heard what’s going on?” Sophie spoke as soon as the girl was inside, and Penelope realized all eyes were turned to her, like they had been so many times during that afternoon. Quickly, she nodded, unable to keep the smile from her face, watching as an incredulous Eloise snorted at her before murmuring “Stop encouraging him, woman”.

“Would you like to talk to him?” Francesca asked, and the redhead once again answered with an enthusiastic nod, earning a few giggles from the women around her.

“I figured. Daph and Hya, go make sure our brother stays on the other side of that door. Open it to a minimum when you leave, so he won’t see her. The rest of you, let’s give Pen some space”, the third Bridgerton daughter said, motioning for the remaining women to move away from the bedroom door up to the large balcony Penelope had just come back from. Only Eloise and Francesca stayed behind.

Once the room was silent, the girl crossed the remaining distance to the door, yet again careful not to disrupt her dress.

“Col?” she called tentatively, placing both hands on the wood in front of her as if it was the very person on the other side. “How very cliché on my part”, she thought to herself, tittering nervously.

“Pen”, came the reply, and the Featherington daughter felt her entire body relax at the sound of his voice. It was remarkable, really, the way that man could ease her fears like no one else only by being by her side. Well, sort of.

“Hi”, she exclaimed, containing the sudden urge to forget all the reasons why there was a door separating them in the first place just to be able to hug him tight.

“Hey. It’s so good to…”, he started, but his phrase was cut short abruptly. Seconds later, Penelope heard Hyacinth’s convinced “We’re not going anywhere if that’s what this look is about. You’re stuck with us”, and smiled broadly at the girl’s antics, usually directed at her siblings or in-laws. Colin had really found his match.

“Pen? Are you still there?” the man asked, addressing her again.

“I’m here”, she said, considering for the first time that he could’ve come to talk to her for a specific reason. “Did something happen? Or were you simply searching to add some craziness into this day?” she prompted, trying to keep the mood light whatever his answer may be.

“Nothing happened, I just… really wanted to hear your voice, to be frank”, he chuckled, not a single trace of embarrassment in his words. “Today is one of the most important days of my life, and I’ve never known how to share them with anyone that wasn’t you”.

“And I’ve never known how to share them with anyone that wasn’t you”, she whispered the words back, mostly to herself, contemplating how much story they carried within them.

Penelope and Colin had been friends for years at that point. They grew up together, and yes, that entailed the usual aging, but it certainly didn’t end with it. There wasn’t a single version of Penelope that Colin had not known and loved, and not a single version of Colin that she hadn’t. And through all of them, from childhood until then, he’d made her feel heard and appreciated, enough for her to become comfortable in uncovering parts of herself no one had ever seen.  

The period in which they’d drifted apart, right after that Christmas at Aubrey with Alfred three years before, had been both the best and the worst of her life, and yet deeply necessary for Penelope to make sense of so many things. Just like her mother had said years ago, she’s always been most authentic with Colin and Eloise, her best friends. But even with those two, who’d never given her any reasons to do so, the girl held back, believing that putting herself in a box was the only way to belong. Constantly asking what it was that people wanted her to be, and basing her actions in her own answers, without a shatter of proof if it was also theirs.

And it was as she was losing Colin that the girl finally realized how unfulfilling it was to live like that, concealing from people, afraid they’d not accept her as she was. Because it was not enough to understand her worth. She needed to let people see it as well. To not hide it anymore. To no longer be a side character of her own story.

Of course, to stop hiding from the world, Penelope had to start by the person from whom she’d kept her biggest secret for the longest time. The best friend who she’d pushed away because of her own insecurities, which, looking back, made absolutely no sense. What did she think would happen? Did she really believe their friendship to be so fragile that her confession would break it beyond repair? Colin had proved time and time again how important she was to him, whether with words or actions, and had faith in her from the beginning when she herself didn’t. The man was her constant, just like the redhead knew she was his, and yet she’d kept distancing from him, hurting them both in the process.

“Well, their loss… I could really use the company, though”.

“You’re Penelope Featherington. Of course, I care. Don’t ever forget that”.

“… every article you’ve done so far is equally important, Pen… And needs to be celebrated”.

“You’re special to me”.

“And, most of all, I want courage to fight for the things that are most precious to me, for the… people who are most dear to me”.

It took some time, a good therapist and going through the launch of her book without Colin by her side, but Penelope got there. And when she did, buying a plane ticket to go face him and fight for them, he’d beat her to it. Only geographically, as she liked to make it clear whenever the subject emerged. The redhead had still declared herself first, in the middle of her living room, on a Christmas eve she’d been so sure would either finish their own story for good or start a chapter anew. And as it turned out, there were still a lot of words to be written on Colin and Penelope’s chronicles.

From then forward, they tried to do better. To speak even when they knew it would be hard, or uncomfortable, so they could build this new side of their relationship with as strong foundations as their friendship had been forged. They discussed Colin’s return to London (“I’m not coming back only for you, Pen. I’m doing it for myself as well”) and if it was advisable for them to move in together so soon (“You practically live here already, Col. What’s the point of delaying it?”). They fought over the edition of Colin’s first book, finding ways to compromise, and dealt with the ups and downs of being a couple in the public eye. The proposal was all him, however. Not that she’d minded one bit.

It felt strange to be that anxious about formalizing what had been practically her default state since forever. Penelope’s heart had always belonged to the man waiting patiently for her to answer on the other side of that door. And, as the Bridgertons loved to tease, Colin had acted like her husband long before they’d even kissed. They were just making it official, in a sense. Ratifying their happily ever after, if you will. She felt strangely relieved by his own nervousness at that moment, nevertheless. And profoundly grateful that he’d decided to share it with her. They’d really come a long way.

“You’re going to make me cry”, the woman choked eventually, gazing up to prevent the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

“You’re going to make her cry, dumbhead. Stop. Being. So. Sappy” Eloise, who Penelope hadn’t realized was only a few feet away from her, scolded, just as Francesca materialized out of nowhere with a box of tissues to help.

“Had a feeling this would be necessary”, she whispered, leaving once again a moment later.

“Couldn’t you have chosen anyone else for the job?” Colin repeated with feign annoyance for what felt like the hundredth time since their engagement, earning an eyeroll from both women.

“Do not make me beat your ass tonight, Colin Bridgerton”, Eloise warned, and was about to continue when Penelope heard some movement on the other side of the door, motioning for her to shush.

“What is going on here?” Anthony Bridgerton’s voice made its way to them, and the girl couldn’t help but smile at the confusion lacing it.

“We’re worshiping a door. What does it look like, Ant? They’re talking” Hyacinth replied right away, and everyone, including Penelope and Eloise, busted out laughing.

“With a door in between?” Miles, who she just realized was also outside with his dad, sounded amused.

“It’s bad luck, darling”, Daphne pointed out, adding a little louder. “Isn’t it, Aunt Pen?”

“Hum”, she hummed back, grinning.

“Is everything set for the ceremony?” Colin addressed someone.

“Yes, it is,” Portia, who’d been helping Violet with the guests downstairs, answered excitedly. “Is she ready?”

“I’m ready, mother”, she raised her voice to reach the woman. “Just need to finish my conversation with my fiancé if that’s alright. Alone, preferably. Including you, Hyacinth”, the girl added, waiting as grunts and fading voices indicated that Colin was the only one left on the other side. She also kindly prompted Eloise to fetch her a glass of water and give them some space, telling him as much.

“Are you nervous?” the man said eventually, as close as one could possibly be from a door without actually hurting himself, if she had to guess. In the past, her first impulse would be to simply give an evasive, guarded answer, dismissing her feelings as unworthy of being voiced, like she had done so many times before. Not anymore, though.

“Nervous? Colin, I’ve dreamed about this day for years. As a teen. As an adult. As your friend, your girlfriend, your fiancé. I’m terrified” Penelope giggled, profoundly grateful for every opportunity she got to share her life with the man that she loved, who also happened to be her best friend, and would in a couple of minutes become her husband.

“Well, that makes two of us”, he chuckled, tapping absently at the wood. “Thank God it’s your hand I’ll get to hold through it all”.

“Metaphorically and physically speaking, I mean”, she couldn’t help but add, smiling sheepishly.

And that was what made it all worth it in the end. To find someone with whom you get to be yourself, the good and the bad, and who may not always agree with you, or even approve of your actions, but will still hold your hand as you make them. Someone with whom you’ll never have the need to hide.

“See you at the altar, wife”, Colin said, and as Penelope’s breath caught in her throat at the name, the woman wished she could tell her younger self what life would look like in the future. For little Penelope to know she’d find a love that was bigger than life and would never have to be hidden again. Her own happily-ever-after with the prince that stole her heart so many years ago and, since then, kept turning every grey day into technicolor. “I’m so happy you didn’t conform, Penny”, she thought, fighting back another ware of tears, before whispering:

“See you at the altar, husband”.​