Work Text:
Even before she bore its name, Penelope was familiar with Bridgerton House.
The layout, the decor, the gardens, which rooms were easiest to sneak in or out of and the best spots for hide and seek. She’s been to this house enough times to rightly claim having practically grown up here.
She’s seen all the girls’ rooms, the nursery, Gregory’s a few times, and even the master chambers once (which is still a secret). Of the rooms off-limits to her, the one that always brought her pause was Colin’s.
Of course, she’s familiar with his current chambers, for they are also hers, but she was always curious about what lay behind that large, wooden door at his childhood home.
Each Bridgerton redecorated their room for their sixteenth birthday as a sort of “coming-of-age” gift. Penelope remembers helping Eloise decide on her colors, envious of her ability to choose. She wondered what colors Colin picked. If he was tidy, or if he ever took meals there. What kind of bed he had, what he wore to sleep, what treasures might decorate the walls.
As his wife, she now knows the answers to many of those questions; Colin is generally tidy and will occasionally take tea in the bedroom, but only ever takes meals in the bedroom when they are feeling particularly amorous. He sleeps naked (hence the amorous feelings), and items from his travels decorate the walls. She wonders now if he left any behind. If there is any mark of him still in there.
Save for cuddles and kisses, she never had the wherewithal to fantasize about things what exactly may happen in that room. As a married woman, imagining herself as a debutante alone in there with him is quite exhilarating even though that time has long since passed, and she still hasn’t been inside.
After their brief Paris honeymoon, she insists on accepting Violet’s invitation for tea despite Colin’s protests. She felt ill on the ship is still a bit weary, but it’s been weeks since she’s seen them. And she’s excited to show off her pregnant belly and newly-kicking babe. Rae helps her dress, adding extra rouge to her cheeks and lips to hide her boat-induced sullen countenance
Leaving Colin in their bed is never ideal (he sleeps bloody naked), but her days of being out and about alone during this pregnancy are coming to an end. Soon, she will be locked away in confinement with Colin watching her like a hawk, and she does not intend to make him fret any more than he already will.
During tea, Hyacinth chatters on and on about everything Penelope missed in such detail she feels she never left. Violet tries to quell her excitement when she moves on to endless questions about the baby, but Penelope does not mind. Hyacinth has yet to see a pregnancy up close. It’s natural to be curious.
Perhaps Penelope sits for too long or stands up too fast, because she has a dizzy spell when she rises to use the chamber pot.
“Oh!” Violet and Hyacinth flank to her sides.
“Goodness,” Penelope touches her forehead. She is sweating, it seems. “My apologies, I simply…”
“None of that, Dear,” Violet interrupts. “Let us sit you back down. Shall I call for Colin?”
“No, no. I-I am simply tired from our recent travels. Nothing to worry him over.”
She’s lowered back onto the couch. Hyacinth grabs a fan to wave for her.
“Was it my blabbering that made you so exhausted? I’m deeply sorry, Sister.”
“Of course not,” Penelope smiles gently, cupping her cheek affectionately. “It takes more than a bit of pleasant conversation to tire me out. You know how Colin can talk an entire day away.”
Hyacinth groans, which is funny, because that’s one of Penelope’s favorite traits of his.
They coax some more biscuits and water into her until the room stops spinning, but she’s dizzy again when she stands back up. Her stomach is twisty and the ground feels as if she’s still on that ship. Tears well in her eyes—surely, this is another symptom of pregnancy, but it is unexpected. And she is afraid.
“Let’s take you to lay down,” Violet says softly.
They loop their arms through hers and Hyacinth gasps when she touches Penelope’s shaking hand. “Mama, her fingers are cold as ice!”
Violet feels Penelope’s forehead and touches her neck. “You do not feel feverish, but your heart is beating rapidly.”
“Can… can you call for Colin, please?” She asks, voice trembling. She is desperate for his presence.
“I sent Rae the moment you stood again. Come, we’ll go to his room.”
Penelope pinches her eyes shut so the room is not spinning so quickly, relying on Hyacinth and Violet to guide her through the house. It’s easy enough since stairs are not involved. She even giggles with Hyacinth when they bump into something.
“Do you wish to undress?” Violet asks.
Penelope blinks to find them in a bedroom. “Yes, I should think removing my corset will help.”
Instead of fetching a maid, Violet makes quick work of removing Penelope’s dress while she holds onto Hyacinth for stability. She is happy to have worn her most comfortable chemise, even though it is yellow and old and almost too small for her growing belly. She can’t find it in her to be embarrassed. It’s soft and perfectly worn and Colin loves it on her. (He says yellow always reminded him of her when they were young, so she likes to give him a sunny surprise under her clothes on occasion.)
“I truly am very sorry to have inconvenienced you,” Penelope says loftily as Violet tucks her in.
“Never apologize for needing help,” Violet says sternly, gently moving Penelope’s hair off her face. “You are a Bridgerton now, and Bridgertons help each other. It is okay to need, Penelope.”
Violet is like her son, in that she sometimes says things that make Penelope’s heart feel almost too giant and full for her chest.
“Thank you,” Penelope sniffles. “For taking care of me. Now and always.”
Violet kisses her forehead. “Of course. Rest, lovely girl.”
She cannot have been asleep long when she hears Colin barreling through the house.
“I will not be quiet, my wife is sick!”
“Oh, lord…” Penelope grumbles.
Light bursts in from the hallway when the door is slammed open.
“Penelope!”
“Colin, my love, please calm down,” she says, moving to sit up.
“No, no, no, lay down. Please.” He rushes to sit beside her as she slumps back against the pillows. “What happened?”
The concern he has for her is heartwarming, even if unwarranted. Penelope looks forward to Kate and Anthony’s return from India so she can swap stories with the Viscountess about their mother-hen husbands.
Penelope takes his shaky hand and kisses his palm before pressing it to her cheek. “All is well. I was merely dizzy, and I became afraid. I feel much better after resting. I must have just been weary from traveling, like you said. But I am alright. We are alright.”
“Darling, your hand is freezing,” he says. ”I thought it would improve when we got off the ship.”
“Perhaps I am more susceptible to drafts now.”
Colin exhales when she guides him to touch her tummy, where their babe is swimming around happily beneath her skin. Their child kicks as if to confirm his good health, and Penelope chuckles.
“Hello in there. You scared us, sweet child,” Colin says, earning another kick. Both of his hands come to caress the bump, and he presses a reverent kiss in the middle before scooting closer to his wife. “Were you terribly frightened? I am sorry it took so long for me to arrive, I was—”
“It is no matter,” she smiles tiredly, leaning into his touch as he tucks her hair behind her ear. “Violet and Hyacinth took great care of me. In the end, I think I just needed to remove my corset and have some water. It may be time for pregnancy stays.”
“We will go to the modiste as soon as you are well. Or we will have Genevieve come to us if you are not,” he assures, eyes shining in the dim room.
Oh, how she loves him. So much it pangs her heart.
“I am well,” she promises.
He shakes his head at her grin and leans down to kiss her. His lips taste like a warm day, perhaps too humid, but dripping with sweetness from a summer fruit.
“The doctor is here,” he murmurs, rubbing his nose against hers.
She nods. “It will be a relief to know everything is alright.”
The doctor is not surprised that Colin insists on staying for the examination even though Violet is there, muttering something about “all you Bridgertons…” before proceeding. He pushes on her stomach, pokes and prods, takes some measurements, feels the kicks, and asks her to stand so they can determine if she has recovered her balance.
Violet and Colin help her sit up on the bed, which makes her woozy, but she credits that up to her unusual morning and mid-day nap after a period of travel. Colin holds her hands as she rises. All is well while her eyes are focused on the ground, looking at her small, bare feet next to Colin’s large boots.
She looks up at him, I told you so on the tip of her tongue, but his encouraging grin switches to something dreadful as she falls backwards into Violet’s arms.
The bed is suddenly beneath her again. Everyone must be talking, but she cannot decipher what they are saying over the ringing in her ears. The only voice she recognizes is Colin’s, because it is loud and she is searching for it, but the doctor’s soon rises above it.
“…lips…nails?”
“…boat…”
“please…linen…”
Something damp wipes across her mouth, washing away the makeup Rae applied earlier. There’s a flurry of activity, but her mind has fallen behind. She does not know what is happening to her.
And she is so very afraid.
For herself, her babe. Colin is here. He will keep them safe.
She searches for his hand and cannot find it, panicking because she feels herself slipping. Her chest vibrates and her mouth opens when she tries to speak.
“C…co…” she inhales sharply, gasping for air. “Colin.”
He hovers over her then, putting his face in her line of sight. Even blurry, he is handsome. Oh, how she loves him…
Her eyes close. She drifts off.
The doctor is gone when she wakes.
Her mouth is dry and her hands are cold, but her body is warm. This is not her bedroom. It takes a moment to remember she’s at Bridgerton House.
Yes, that’s right. She fainted.
“Pen?”
She whimpers in relief. “Colin.”
“Oh, my love…” he takes her face into his hands, pressing kisses on her forehead, thumbs rubbing her cheeks. “What a fright you gave us.”
There are dozens of questions to ask, but her throat is clogged and raspy. “Wa-ter?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
He helps her drink until she can speak again. Her vision comes back into focus, and all she can see is her beautiful, mussed, worried Colin.
“Lay with me, husband,” she croaks.
He climbs into the bed, careful not to disturb her, and cuddles close on his side like she often does to him. He wraps himself around her, nose brushing her cheek, hand running gently along her arm. She sighs, leaning her head on him whilst he kisses her hair, too afraid to move for fear of bringing back the dizziness.
“Doctor?” She asks.
Colin nods. “He says you have child-bearing anemia. Some iron salt and a diet of red meat will have you feeling better in no time.”
“We are well?” She lays her hands over her stomach, unwilling to believe it.
“Well, you are sick from the babe taking what they need from your body, but there is no reason to think anything would be wrong with our child,” Colin says, hand rubbing her belly.
The news overcomes her. She finally begins to cry.
“I was so scared,” she tells him. “I could not hear. I could barely see or feel.”
“Oh, Penelope,”
“And the baby… I thought something was dreadfully wrong and I missed you, Colin. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t—”
“Hush, my love, breathe.”
She dissolves into her tears, moving onto her side so he can wrap his arms around her. Her belly is still small enough that she can press herself against him and he can hold her firmly. His body, long, lean, and strong makes her feel safer than anything else ever could. In the back of her mind, she knows she is worrying him, that he will carry this with him for the rest of her pregnancy and beyond, but that is somehow okay. It doesn’t make her feel guilty, because she would be there for him if the roles reversed.
It is not burdensome. It is reciprocal.
This is what they vowed on their wedding day, in a sense. To need and be needed, for better or for worse. And Bridgertons do not apologize for needing.
Colin passes her a handkerchief when she pulls away. Her nose-blowing is comically loud. It makes them giggle.
“What a mess,” she grumbles when her tears have slowed.
He kisses her cheek. “My mess.”
And she has to lift her head and kiss him at that. How could she not? He smiles against her, pushing his lips against hers gently and warmly.
“Rest, Darling.”
The low sun shines through the windows and dimly lights the walls. Things were so chaotic before, she never even looked around the very room she always used to wonder about. There are figments of his childhood that make her smile despite her fatigue. Maps, books, quilts, even an old hoop and stick set hanging on the wall.
“Mama put it there when I moved out. It was my favorite, apparently,” he explains. “A lot of the books and things are old as well.”
“I love that,” she whispers. “She made your room an ode to you. We should do that for ours.”
“We should. I believe you are about as sentimental as my mother,” he turns her away from him and wraps himself around her from behind. “But for now, you should sleep.”
She lifts the bedding and looks down at his hand protectively cupped over her belly. They are touching at nearly every crevice, yet it is somehow not close enough for her. She rucks up her chemise and moves his hand under so he can touch her bare skin. His warm hand quells the stirring in her belly. She wonders if their child can feel it, too.
In looking at his hands on her, she notices that the coverlets are the same color as her chemise.
“Colin?”
“Hm?”
“Are these the same bedclothes you used to sleep in?”
“I think so. They’re the same color, anyway.”
It is not only the sheets that are yellow; the curtains, the rug, and the wall accents are all the same shade. There are infinite colors to choose from, many of which would match the rest of the home better than this one.
But, nevertheless…
“They’re yellow,” she says softly, running her hand over the soft material.
“They are,” he whispers, tightening his arms around her. “Further proof of my blindness, I think. Yellow has been my favorite color since it smacked me in the face and knocked me off a horse. Didn’t realize why until later, obviously. Makes me want to hit my younger self over the head and shout: you’re in love with her! Your damn room is yellow!”
Penelope laughs wetly, lifting his hand and kissing it. “I love you. Even if there are some concerns about your vision.”
“I may be blind, but I will always see you,” he replies. “I love you, Pen.”
They fall asleep in this childhood room turned ode to Colin that began as an unknown ode to her. She can learn to love this color again. Make new memories, find a better shade, dress their children in it. Maybe even don it again herself some day.
Wearing yellow as a Bridgerton does not sound so bad.