Archive of Our Own

The afternoon was particularly chaotic. Granted, the Bridgerton residence was rarely ever calm. But today the halls were practically in motion, and the habitual noise was much more elevated in its intensity. All of it to prepare for the garden party Colin’s family was throwing tomorrow.

Only a day had passed since Daphne and Simon’s intimate nuptials. But it was important to his mother that their union’s merriment be extended for as long as it could. Not having had the opportunity to celebrate her daughter’s wedding in the more lavish manner the Bridgertons were known for, she had insisted on arranging a conciliatory affair succeeding the reception. Thus, the ongoing preparations. 

The din of the activities in the rest of the house was getting stifled pretty well by the thick walls of Anthony’s study. It was quiet enough for Colin to have snuck in there to read Laurence Sterne to try and calm his mind - and also stay out of his mother’s hair.

The rest of the family, too, had decided to make themselves scarce. Gregory had resorted to staying in his room, definitely busy with his collection of marbles. Anthony and Benedict were out, probably engaging in the usual leisure activities they loved engaging in. Eloise was hogging Penelope in her room, and Francesca was at Bath. Everyone had decided to keep away from the preparations - everyone except Hyacinth, of course, who had been following Mrs Wilson around since the morning, trying to have her opinions on flower arrangements heard. But Hyacinth’s harmless antics were something the staff was used to and adored.

It was for the best, honestly. His siblings had been teasing their mother about how the actual wedding had been a much smaller affair than the mere garden party being held a day later. Mama could do without any more gibes or eyerolling. 

Her behaviour was quite amusing, Colin could admit that. But he could not find it within himself to josh about the matter in the same way his siblings were. His mother had been very close to Daphne. She was the only one out of them to have matched her mother’s enthusiasm about the joys of marriage and society. With the others, it had been futile to make any attempts. Just last week, Mama had tried to get Eloise to participate in flower arrangement, which had led to his sister’s very enthusiastic advocacy of a variety of hollyhocks and lilies to signify the demise of her interest in a meaningless practice such as flower arranging. Penelope had immediately stepped in to compliment the display of peonies and daffodils that his mother had designed. She had then pacified Eloise’s indignation by engaging her in a conversation about how peonies represented bravery in Japanese culture, how it used to be paired with lions as a very common motif by samurais, leading his sister into a discussion about the traditional meaning of each flower present in the room in different cultures of the world - and to his mother’s surprise, actually gotten her to give her opinion on which flowers would suit the most together. She had been very quick that day, his Pen. Then again, she always was.

But Eloise was still Eloise at the end of the day, Francesca’s attention was mostly occupied by her music, and Hyacinth was much too young. So if their mother wished to prolong the happiness of her eldest daughter’s love match to conceal the sorrow of losing her constant presence in her life, Colin thought she more than had the right to it.

Colin had his own reasons for being excited about tomorrow. 

He had proposed to Miss Thompson during the wedding party, in this very same study, after she had naively tried to kiss him. Colin could admit to himself (and only himself) that he had tried to forego his sophisticated upbringing. He really had. However, he just could not go across the line of proper conduct with a lady. 

Even the memory made him freeze momentarily, which in turn made a sense of pride rise within him. What more proof could there be that he was a gentleman, after all? 

The disappointment in Miss Thompson’s eyes had been evident, though, and before he knew it, he had blurted out a proposition of marriage. It had been… spontaneous, yes. But Colin knew it was the right decision when he had heard her eager approval and seen the sparkling keenness in her eyes. 

He finally had someone he could fulfil his responsibility towards. He felt light and directed. He was eager to have his own house, his own family, his own life that his eldest brother could not poke at in the name of his being a “green boy”. He was set to be a man of the ton. 

Miss Thompson - Marina! She was to be Marina to him now! - was the most desirable debutante of the season. She was beautiful, a good conversationalist, and a wonderful dancer. She would be a good wife, and he a good husband to her.

The most desirable lady of the season had chosen him to be her husband. She thought that he was worthy enough to rely upon. This was what he had wanted - a purpose to dedicate his life towards. 

It had been clear that Miss Thompson had wished for their engagement to be made public right then. But it had been his sister’s wedding day. The celebration had already been tamer than what she had always imagined for her wedding. He had not wished to eclipse her joyous occasion in any way. So, he had assured her of a loud announcement on the day of the garden party.

Colin appraised the work of cartography spread before him. Flowing lines and heavy names on brown paper. Midway through his reading, he had gotten an unavoidable itch to just look at them.

The maps would be of no use to him now. His life was set to go down a different path than the one he had been imagining. A stinging melancholy took over him when he thought of his abandoned plans to explore the world. He had spent the past six months preparing for his tour - a tour which he would not embark on now. 

Colin shook his head, hoping the blocks of inexplicable miserableness there would just tumble out of his ears from the force. He wished he could talk with Penelope about this creeping nervousness he was feeling. She always succeeded in helping him get his head straight. But she still did not know about his engagement with her cousin, and he knew that this was another reason why he had felt the need to find some way to calm himself. It felt strange to keep such a piece of news from his friend. However, he had been unable to get her alone since the wedding. Even today, Eloise had shooed him off when he had discretely tried to get Penelope alone. Maybe she would like to be surprised alongside others.

Well, he was sure it was not worth a curse. Marriage was a significant event in one’s life, and he had never made a decision as important as this one. Naturally, the jitters would be more… intense. And heavier. All Colin needed to do was announce his engagement to everyone. His family needed to know. Anthony needed to know. He needed to know that his younger brother was on his way to a respectable, worthy life. A life he will make all for himself.  

Colin was still tracing the borders of Thebes when someone knocked on the study’s door. He looked up to see it creaking open, revealing red curls and butterfly-patterned yellow cotton at the entrance.

“Pen!” He greeted her with the adoration his voice reserved for her and her alone. It was as if she had heard his silent call for her. “I was not aware you were visiting. Were you looking for Eloise?”

“No,” she stepped in slowly, her curious eyes shifting from him to the desk. “She is in her room looking for her copy of Paradise Lost. I asked to borrow it.” 

She sauntered over to him, peering over his shoulder (or trying to) to examine whatever had been occupying his attention. Amused, he stepped to the side, allowing her nosiness to thrive.

“I fear the book is not here.”

He watched her lean forward to observe the Italian territory on the paper. She stretched her neck further and it tugged his eyes to the rosy-pale skin there. She was just so lovely to look at. Colin had never touched her there but he knew it would be undeniably soft to touch.

It happened to him sometimes. He was used to this inappropriate tendency of gaping at Penelope’s skin that took over him often these days. Colin knew it was not an honourable thing to do. But he could gaze upon Penelope as much as he wanted to. She was his friend. 

And it was not as if Penelope minded. Whenever she would catch him, she would just give him a teasing smile, resuming whatever she was doing. He did feel embarrassed every time. But he also knew he could not find it within himself to actually stop. 

It was their own secret. If neither Colin nor Penelope minded, then what business was it of others? 

“I know. I just wished to see you before I took my leave.” That drew Colin’s eyes back to her face, his chest warming at her words. “Am I interrupting?”

“No, not at all.” Penelope kept examining the sheets in front of her. “Do you wish to have them, Pen?” he patted the mess of parchment. “You can, if you so wish.”

“You do not need them? You must still require them for your travel plans, no?” 

“Oh, no need to worry about my travel plans, Pen,” he waved his hand, rushing across to the right to browse the shelf housing his collection of texts by famous travellers. It was a good thing that she was here now. There was enough privacy for Colin to give her the good news and talk to her about the strange uneasiness he kept feeling. “Do you want anything else? I shall be fine-” 

“What are your intentions towards Marina?”

Her voice had suddenly donned an uncharacteristically steely tone. Colin turned around to see that she was already staring at him. Her body was still facing the desk displaying his maps, both hands bracing the edge - but her face, the expression on which matched her tone, was turned in his direction.

“I…”

“Answer me, Colin.”

"Why are you asking me this all of a sudden?” Colin asked, confused and, for some reason he could not understand, panicked. He had told Miss Thompson to keep the news to herself until he made the announcement. Had she already told Penelope?

Penelope just kept staring at him with that same cold countenance.

“Is something the matter, Pen?” his voice fogged with concern. She seemed unlike her usual self.

“Answer me about your plans regarding Marina, Colin!” She burst, her face pinkening and her fists clenching at her sides. “Right this instance!”

“We have decided to get married,” it was as if the words were pulled out of him. “I proposed to her at the wedding party.”

She looked as if a thunderbolt had passed through her body. Shards of ceramic were piercing him from within. He could feel blood filling his stomach.

“Did Miss Thompson tell you?” 

Cold silence.

“Pen?”

She was not talking. Instead, she had gone deep into thought, her eyes staring somewhere far off.

“Are you cross with me, Pen? Have I offended you?” he asked as he hurried towards her, trying to get her to look at him. But she had resorted to turning her gaze towards the floor. “I wished to tell you sooner, but I could not get you alone.”

It felt as if every breath he took was a giant heap of molasses sliding through his lungs. Why would she not look at him? Did she not see him as an appropriate choice of husband for her cousin? Had he lost her good opinion? 

Colin was startled away from his spiralling thoughts when she finally spoke up.

“Colin,” her whispered voice sliced through his confusion, face still downturned. “Listen to me.”

He could see her right foot was twitching and her fists were tightening into her bright daydress - as if her body was struggling to contain the entirety of herself. He stepped closer, craning down his neck to try and get a glimpse of her face. 

She looked up then, incensed determination radiating off her.

“Either you distance yourself completely from Marina,” she pronounced, her eyes hard and her face coloured with a pale red, “or else I will sever all ties with you.”

All Colin could do for the next few moments was blink multiple times. He could see her standing there. Right in front of him. His dear friend Penelope, his sweet childhood companion Pen. She looked statuesque. Her expression was still the same - more resolute if anything.

He remembered that his tongue was still residing in his mouth.

“...what?” he breathed into the strange air of the room.

“Let go of any ideas towards Marina or let go of our friendship entirely," she repeated. 

“You do not mean that.”

“I mean it with my entire heart.”

The swallows were chirping outside the window.

The rays of the midday sun were making her hair sparkle.

The chatter of preparation was still lively and unending outside the door.

There could be no possible way he was stuck in a dream, could it?

“Why would you say that, Pen?“ he heaved, feeling his heart beating in his stomach. 

“Tell her you made a mistake. That you got carried away,” she shrugged, turning back to his maps. “Does anyone else know of what took place between the two of you?”

Colin fixed his gaze on the way her hair curled at the end of its length. “No.”

She hummed, appraising the geographical lines in front of her. “Then Marina cannot claim anything.” She turned to him for a moment, “She will be here tomorrow. Tell her then.” Then she went around behind the desk, bending down to grab the tube coverings for the maps.

Colin felt as if he was trapped in a mist of some kind. He could not see clearly. It felt uneasily cold, and he was stripped of all the warmth that had been surrounding him a little while ago. All he could do was hear Penelope’s voice.

“I do not understand, Pen. Why do you want me to break my promise to your cousin?”

She began rolling up and assembling the maps. “I cannot tell you why. Just end this marriage business with her. Immediately.”

“But, Pen-”

“Can you not just do this for me, Colin?” she snapped, spinning around to show her angry face. Her voice rang through his ears and echoed through his body. He felt hollow, unsure whether there was anything within him. “It is not as if she cannot find someone else. She will be fine.”

Colin had been a man composed of focused ambition just a few moments prior. He felt completely untethered now. What was happening? Why was Penelope acting this way?

A horrifying thought crossed his mind.

“Do you mean to say better off?” Colin rasped out. He felt weak. As if he was going to collapse from the weight of a burden he had thought he had gotten rid of. “You think of me as incapable of being a good husband to your cousin? Do you-” his voice withered. Taking a trembling gulp of air, he pushed out the words, “Do you too take me for a foolish child? You’re afraid your cousin is making a mistake by choosing me?”

It would destroy him. He was well aware that he was an unmanned boat caught in the unknowing waves of the sea of the world. But Penelope was his perennial lighthouse. Everpresent and ever glowing. Was she going to take the light of her faith in him away from him?

The expression on her face melted at his words. Her eyes, her lovely blue eyes, which were just glinting sharply as if there were bits of broken glass within them a few minutes ago, now softened into the sparkling warm waters like the Grecian ones must be, the ones he had been planning to dip his fingers into. Even now, he could not help but think how truly lovely she was to look at. 

Her set lips shivered to part, her head shaking. “Of course not, Colin. That is not what this is about.” 

He stepped closer, restless. “Then what is it? Why are you so against-”

“Marry someone else, Colin. Let Marina find someone else," Penelope stated softly, a brimming despondence berating her tone. His eyes dropped to her wringing hands (it was a nervous tic of hers which she had retained since their childhood). “I cannot tell you why I am making a request like this, but know that it is for the better that you accept it.”

Colin was having a hard time believing Penelope was actually here, in his brother’s study on a Thursday afternoon, insisting he break his promise of marriage to her cousin. The very cousin she had taken an immense liking to. 

He knew how fond Pen was of Miss Thompson since the day she had arrived at the Featherington estate - Eloise rarely ever stopped talking. Not to mention, he knew Penelope well enough to understand her preferences. So why was she so adamantly against this betrothal? Did she not see how it could benefit him and her in more than the obvious ways?

This marriage was a good thing. Colin knew it was. Miss Thompson wanted a husband, and he would be a fine one. He was willing to give her whatever she wanted. And she had said she wanted to marry him more than anything! She said that! 

Miss Thompson was amiable and trusted him wholeheartedly. Colin was sure they could be happy together. 

“Pen,” he stalked over to her, taking hold of her shoulders with a gentle urgency, “would it really be that awful to be even closer than we already are? My marriage to Miss Thompson would bring our families closer. Would that not please you?” 

The warmth in Penelope’s gaze vanished and a sneer took hold of her lips. Colin’s tongue became stone, and his chest tried to tighten up as much as it could to prepare for the inevitable blow it was about to have to endure. He should not have said that.

“Do not try to mislead me, Colin,” she spat. “You truly think of me as so foolish that I would believe any of your motives to enter into this ill-conceived idea of a marriage is to bring our families closer?” 

It was comforting at times to know how much Penelope understood him. At this moment, however, it was purely humiliating. 

He dragged his eyes away from hers, choosing to count the wood grain patterns in the oak floor beneath him. It was she now who was swivelling her head beneath his to catch his gaze, and he was desperate for her not to do so.

“I- I am not-” 

He had not a single clue of what he was trying to say. He just wanted her to stop talking about that.

He could feel her eyes on him still. Arduous moments passed by of the suffering, thick silence closing in all around them. Until Penelope spoke up again.

“I would heed your opinion in my choice of husband, should you have one.”

His head snapped up before he even knew he was doing it. She was looking at him warmly, but he could not feel any comfort. What was she saying?

“You are not looking for a husband.” 

Colin could not recognise his own voice. It sounded cold and winded at once.

He was not being bold. He knew her. Colin knew Penelope. She wanted to be a spinster. Just like Eloise. She did talk about the marriage mart with a certain sympathy, but that did not mean she was scouring for some gentleman herself. Eloise always said they would be spinsters. And Penelope had always agreed. Words mean something.

“Well, if I ever get married-”

“That is not a discussion to be had, Pen,” he shook his head vigorously. “I already know you do not wish to get married.”

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. “I might in the future.”

How does a person get slapped without any sound or motion?

“No, you will not.”

Incredulity took over Penelope’s face. She placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head up defiantly.

“How could you possibly know that?” 

“I know. You said it yourself.”

“I used to. When we were children,” she retorted. “How do you know I will never change my mind in the future?”

“Because I just know, Pen!” Colin all but exploded. He did not know what was happening to him. Those godforsaken chips of ceramic were scratching him from inside. “Because you are you! You said you did not wish to get married. Ever. Can we stop having this pointless conversation?”

It was a pointless conversation. And if anything, Pen was too young to get married or even think of marriage anyway. There was no need to talk about things that were not going to happen any time soon, much less about the ones which were never going to happen.

Penelope stared back at him, eyes wide with surprise. It took her a few moments, but she schooled her expression to that of resolution before speaking again.

“Fine. Then we can revisit our prior conversation. About Marina.”

Colin let out a trapped breath, relieved that she was done with that ridiculous discussion. 

“I still do not understand, Pen. If there is any issue between you and Miss Thompson-”

“There is nothing between Marina and me that needs to be discussed.”

He wanted to know what she was thinking. Why did she want him to abandon his marriage plans? Why?

“Then what-”

“Because that is what I want, Colin!” Pen cried out. She was heaving, and he wanted more than anything then to calm her down. “I wish for you to purge Marina from every part of your life.”

Just what could Colin say? He did not understand where all of this was coming from, and wanted to ask more. But he was terrified that she might bring up the topic of her marriage again. And he did not want to talk about that utter nonsense.

Colin was pulled from his thoughts by the familiar touch of her hand against his.

“I am asking you for something,” she murmured gently. “Won’t you…” He looked down at his left hand, where her soft and tender fingers traced the lines of his for a moment, before her fist closed around his ring finger. Her hands were so tiny against his. 

He looked back up at her, and when their eyes locked, he could not help but stroke the warm grip of her hand with his thumb.

Her gaze was watery but firm. Her soft cheeks had become reddened the way they usually did after they had taken a spin around the dance floor. And her lip… 

Her lower lip was jutting out in a quivering pout. 

His entire body trembled with the need to run his thumb over its softness to ease it. 

He felt a tug in his chest, something tight and sharp, and he found he had started leaning towards her. 

“Won’t you give it to me?” she whispered, tightening her grip on his finger and so too on Colin’s consciousness. He felt faint with confusion and heartache. He tried to anchor himself to reality with the only word he could think of.

“Pen…” 

“Your refusal to her would make me happy.”

She was cracking him open. All his insides were being ripped out of him by her tiny, pretty hands and he knew something was deeply wrong with him because all the pain he could feel was coming from watching her try to control her tears.

“Rid yourself of any plans about Marina. And tell her about it tomorrow.”

She stepped back away, her clasp on his finger loosening. His feet tried to follow her gait, as if she was fisting a leash to his chest - but they merely shuffled a little weakly, seeming to be sinking into some sort of quicksand which had not been there until a few minutes ago.

“Or else this shall be the last time you shall hear my voice addressing you.”

He had heard the watery whine that had left his mouth when she had let go of him completely, even over the door to the study slamming open.

“Pen! I found it,” Eloise’s call for her friend boomed inside the room. She was waving around a navy hardbound book like a maniac. Her expression fell upon seeing Penelope in what must have seemed to her like a friendly conversation which was siphoning off time she could have with her friend.

“For goodness’ sake, Colin! Just when are you going to get your own friends?” His sister grumbled, tugging Penelope away from him. And just like that, he knew the conversation was over. All he could do as she left him behind was watch her as she left him behind. 

She was so lovely to look at. Why was she doing this to him?

/

Colin had been twelve when he had to face Penelope’s ire for the first time. 

Eloise had dragged Penelope to the study with the aim of choosing a more mature book for their next literary discussion. Colin, having just taken a respite from a much more juvenile form of tag than he thought to be possible with a five-year-old Gregory, had joined them in the short trip. His sister had rolled her eyes, snarking at him to make friends of his own. Colin had responded with an ardent suggestion to beg better.

That had been Penelope’s cue to quicken her steps, tugging Eloise along with their linked arms to prevent a row of snark. She had tugged Colin along with a look back at him.

The three of them had not expected Anthony to be in there, keeping up correspondence with some friend from Eton. The 22-year-old was rarely home during late afternoons, choosing to spend his time at horse races or White’s.

Penelope had suggested coming back later. But Eloise, being Eloise, had burst through the door, announcing her intentions to the Viscount, who had just sighed in acknowledgement and continued with his letter writing. The group had scattered, latching onto the rows of wooden shelves to have their pick of books.

Midway through the activity, Colin turned around to find his red-headed friend gazing in Anthony’s direction. There had been an enamoured glint in her eyes, the book clutched in her hands forgotten. It did not take him long to realise that she had been taken by the quill and the inkpot Anthony was making use of.

Her fixation had been so obvious on her tiny, cherubic face that it had failed to escape even Anthony’s usually careless eye. He had called the young girl over, letting her practice her writing with the apparatus, while his two younger siblings watched in confused awe. At the end of their session, she had been gifted the quill and inkpot, which she had accepted shyly yet gratefully. The incident had made Colin like his eldest sibling a little more.

Four days later, however, Colin had walked into the Featherington house, armed with his sister and the sole purpose of separating Penelope from the very same gift. 

Ever since Anthony’s kind gesture, she had secluded herself in her home, writing all day with the source of her admiration. It was amusing the first day, strange the second, concerning the third, and immensely unsettling the fourth. 

He had not talked to her for four entire days. It was unacceptable. Penelope was his friend. Why was she avoiding him? Had the stupid gift been much better company than he was? Was she completely fine with not talking to him for four days? Because he was not.

Penelope had been in the garden. Sitting on a blanket, she had been engrossed in whatever she was scribbling with that infernal quill. Colin’s feet had moved faster than when he had arrived, leaving his sister behind in just a few moments. He had just wanted to reach Penelope as quickly as he could.

Colin did not remember what the conversation was exactly like. He did remember his hurt-filled manner of questioning, Penelope’s shocked confusion, and Eloise’s frantic attempts to calm him down. He also remembered how he had grabbed that inkpot and thrown it across the garden in frustration. 

He had not meant for it to break - he had just wanted it to go away. But the former is exactly what had happened when it had hit the stone bench.

Colin remembered the silence of horror that had taken over the scene as the three of them had stood frozen, eyes fixed on the ink-stained porcelain pieces. He remembered it very well.

The reality of his fury-induced mishap had wrapped around Colin like an unforgivably predatory snake. As the moments had passed, he could feel the evil serpent’s coil getting tighter and tighter. When he had finally looked at Penelope, she had still been staring at the destruction. It was the moment Colin had attempted to speak that her eyes showcased the grief of loss morphing into hard anger. Breathing hard, she had spun around and stomped away.

Colin had felt the pieces of that inkpot start jabbing the inside of his stomach.

No matter how much Colin had knocked at her door, Penelope had refused to open it. Eloise had to drag him back home with the promise of visiting again the next day. He had conceded - but only after clarifying to Penelope’s mother that it was he who had caused a mess in her garden, scared that the older woman would punish his friend for a foolish mistake he had made.

When Colin and Eloise had visited the next day, Penelope had locked herself in her room again. She started visiting the Bridgerton house only after a visit from just Eloise, complaining that she had not done anything wrong.

It was agonising that even though Penelope had started coming to Bridgerton house as much as she used to before Anthony had unknowingly upended Colin’s life, she refused to talk to or even look at him. 

It was a surprise to him, the effect the lack of Penelope’s presence had on him. Knowing she was choosing to spend a period of time so long and unbroken without feeling any desire to talk to him - a far cry from the unavoidable itch he seemed to have developed to see her at his house.

Eloise had tattled about his immature deed to the entire family when they had noticed the change in Penelope's demeanor towards Colin, which had dealt him looks full of disappointment and bewilderment. Not that Colin had cared. He had been too melancholic.

Anthony had tried to gift Penelope another inkpot, but she had politely declined. Daphne had tried to make Penelope talk to Colin by including the two of them in a conversation, but Penelope always wittily turned the talk to a non-Colin direction.

Eloise would not stop handing out pointed remarks. Daphne would pass pitiful glances his way. But nothing had hurt more than his friend’s clear ignorance of him.

When his mother had made Eloise and Penelope participate in dance practice one morning, Penelope had chosen to pair up with their visiting cousin Thomas over Colin, even though they always danced together during lessons. It had stung so badly that he had rushed to his bedroom as soon as the practice was over so that he could cry freely over his friend’s rejection of him. 

And then Thomas had mentioned his desire to share another dance with Penelope. Colin just could not take it anymore. Thomas was no one to Penelope. And he never would be. 

Thomas was supposed to be here for just a few days. Colin would be with Penelope forever. They were friends. Unlike whatever affiliation Thomas had deluded himself into believing he had formed with Pen.

After three excruciating days of her coldness, Colin had decided to put an end to the nonsense. He had cornered Penelope at the end of the Featherington hallway during calling hours. Her mother had been too preoccupied with the matters of the upcoming luncheon she had decided to host to be aware of a teary-eyed, blubbering boy begging her nine-year-old daughter to forgive him for his ill-tempered actions.

Colin had never performed such a passionate and heartfelt plea in his life up until then. He had cried till his throat had turned scratchy and his eyes had exhausted themselves.

Penelope had replied with a surprised face and a trip up to her room, coming back with a heavy stack of sheets.

She had held them out to him while trying to somehow hide her reddening face into her chest. Colin remembered thinking how soft her cheeks had looked, poking out over her smothered chin. He had wondered whether she would let him pinch them again the way she had before his foolishness.

“I was writing for you.”

Colin had turned his eyes back towards her. He found her looking at him with an odd expression. 

“You were so worried about Eton. I thought I could…”

He had taken the bundle, slowly flipping through the pages. With each turning page, his heart had jumped within his body too.

“This is…”

“I know my understanding of the texts cannot be much better than yours, but… I still wanted to help.”

They were notes. Observations. Quips. About the literature he had told Penelope about. 

It had been hard to read anything through his teary eyes, but he could still make out mentions of Kronos and Hesiod. There had been some French in there as well. 

He had complained to her about his inability to find enough value in Theogony’s repetitiveness. He had told her he was having difficulties with Voltaire’s Zadig when he had picked it up for his French preparation. She had been reading those texts and putting on paper what she thought would help him.  

She was writing for him. She had him in her mind all that time.

“I wanted to write with that beautiful quill and that beautiful inkpot. I wanted my writing to be perfect for-” she had turned her gaze downwards then, frowning at the floor.

A wave of affection had swept over him at that moment - intense and foreign. His entire body seemed to have been engulfed by it, getting soaked with the sweet honey that was the feeling.

“But I was wrong too,” she had looked up after he had stood there in stunned silence for more than a few moments. She had swiped at his face with her handkerchief, trying to clean him up. ‘I would hate for you to ignore me the way I did to you. I am sorry, Colin.”

Colin had stared at her without speaking for far too long. When he had finally realised that he must have looked like a stuck pig, he had taken her hand in his, holding it firm with promise.

“I will never upset you again, Pen. Never.”

His dear, dear, dearest friend had squeezed his hand back, “Let us forget it all then.” Pen had beamed, balancing on her tiptoes for a few moments. She had been so giddy.

“So, tell me. Is your new horse behaving any better?”

“How did you know about that? Were you eavesdropping?”

Her eyes had widened before she had fruitlessly tried to appear unaffected by the reality of being caught.

“I could not help it. Eloise knew nothing of what you were up to.”

The thought of Pen being even a fraction as miserable as he had been the past week because of not being able to converse with him had been exceedingly comforting. It was an awful thought, but a comforting one nonetheless.

“He is still somewhat… impulsive. I fell off him twice more.”

“So you are always falling off your horse. Even without a bonnet to hit you in the face,” she had quipped, bestowing him with a series of poorly-muffled giggles behind her hand.

He had looked at Penelope, with her handkerchief soaked with his tears and snot clutched in her tiny hands, still wiping his face in between her giggles. And as she had kept giggling, she had walked into his very being. She had skipped through the gaps of his ribs and climbed up the slopes of his heart with an unknowing ease. And then she had nestled into a crook within that beating organ he did not even know was in there. Maybe she had carved it without him knowing. 

A Penelope within him. A Penelope who was all his. Only his. Forever. 

Colin had been much too happy to have felt any embarrassment over the mishap with his new horse. Pen was talking to him again, she was laughing, and all was forgiven.

So he had just scratched the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. She had looked so lovely. All he could do was let himself bask in the warmth of her presence.

/

The Bridgerton gardens had been adorned in pastel silk drapes, and the crystal glasses filled with lemonade on the tables were acting as a unique form of twinkling decoration under the light rays of the afternoon sun. Fanning ladies and rigid-spined gentlemen had already started pouring in.

Usually, Colin would have walked straight towards the assortment of pastries and had his fill of them. But today, he could not find it in himself to scrounge up any bit of an appetite. He had a task to fulfil.

All Colin had been doing since he had arrived was scouring the party for the Featheringtons. They must have arrived by now. He kept looking for any sign of yellow gowns, red hair, big feathers…

And about five minutes of surveying later, he did see yellow. 

It was Miss Thompson, donning a brightly coloured dress and an intensely inquisitive countenance.

Why?

Colin could feel the confusion twisting all through his face before he caught himself. He didn’t know why but it felt wrong. Seeing Miss Thompson in that colour felt wrong and it bothered him immensely. Miss Thompson was… well, she was not yellow. 

Colin was struggling to understand why he was feeling so strongly about this harmless wardrobe choice. But the concern vanished from his mind when he saw that the person he was looking for was beside Miss Thompson, holding Eloise’s arm, not dressed in any citrus colours.

His body relaxed, allowing him to rest his hand on the carved pillar nearby to steady himself. He had known she would be here - Eloise had reassured him of that the previous night - but she had seemed so upset with him yesterday that he had kept thinking that she might not show him her face until he had done what she had told him to. She was here though, in front of him, dressed in a light green gown.

The urgency coursing through Colin’s body evaded him in an instant and he regressed to the shameless habit of gawking at his friend. This habit had gotten too entrenched into his person for him to care about how its emergence even at this moment was quite concerning. For heaven’s sake, he was on his wits’ ends mere moments ago.

The shade was rare for her, but it looked as if it belonged on her. To be honest, Colin had yet to encounter a colour that made him think otherwise.

Even though he could tell she was at ease, her neck and bosom appeared to have an alluring blush. He knew it was the colour of the fabric doing the trick, but he could not help but wonder whether the skin underneath the fabric might look that way too. 

He felt dizzy at the thought. Maybe if he told Penelope, she might let him-

Not now. First, he needed to see this awful business regarding her cousin to completion as soon as he possibly could. It had been driving him insane. Penelope’s words started ringing in his head again. About ending the engagement, about the absurd ultimatum, about her marriage…

Colin could not understand why she had brought that idea up. It had been completely uncalled for. What was the reason?

Had she already chosen someone for her husband?

No. No, she had not. She would not do that to him. They were friends, and she had agreed repeatedly with Eloise about wanting to be spinsters. Forever. 

She could be such a brat sometimes, Colin mused. She would do just about anything to toy with him. Even thinking about that nonsense was annoying him. Colin huffed, snaring a glass of lemonade from the nearby table. It took one gulp to empty the glass, leaving him with the sweet and sour taste of the beverage.

He knew Miss Thompson must be awaiting his next step. She must be excited to have him announce their engagement. She must be looking forward to a new life. 

And now, he could not give that to her.

The idea of being Miss Thompson’s hope had seemed like precisely what would have let him establish himself as a person in his own right, right in front of Anthony to see. He was going to set fire to that dream himself.

Because Colin had already known what his decision was going to be as soon as Penelope had made that demand with that unspoken right she had over him. There was not even a sense of conundrum. He just knew he had to do it. She could ask him for anything she wanted and he would give it to her. Had he known she was against this betrothal earlier, he would not have even looked at her cousin.

She was his Pen. He cannot deny her. 

And he never wanted to. Never wanted to experience her ire again.

He can bear Miss Thompson’s disappointment; he can bear Anthony’s piercing remarks about his naivete; he can even bear the ever-present, increasing weight of aimlessness and uselessness he carries every day. 

He cannot bear Penelope’s dismissal. It would kill him not to have her. 

The tired sun shone warmly above the party. With the rays grazing her this way, Penelope reminded him of those green hydrangeas Francesca made sure to ask the gardener for at the start of every spring. She sets them up in a crystal vase on the top of her piano, so she could admire them while practising her skills. Apparently, they somehow calmed her through the noise of the family to focus on the keys in front of her - find peace through the chaos.

Keeping his eyes on the hydrangeas, Colin moved forward towards the girls.

Miss Thompson noticed him immediately, offering him a coy smile which he could not accept anymore. Colin was surprised to realise that the loss of any possible conversation or even flirtation with her did not fill him with any sort of sadness. All that was present was guilt about the obvious.

“Good afternoon, Mister Bridgerton,” she chirped. It made Penelope turn to look at him, the amusement caused by her conversation with Eloise slipping away for a moment. She pulled it back onto her face, making sure to give him a cursory nod before the other two girls noticed. But Colin already had. 

He could not take it anymore.

“Forgive me for the intrusion, ladies,” Colin declared, “but I need to steal Miss Thompson from you for a little while.” 

He might have felt worse about the excitement that flashed through Miss Thompson’s face had Penelope at least looked at him properly. She was already acting strange towards him. He needed it to end.

“Will you accompany me inside, Miss Thompson?” he asked anxiously. “There is something I need to discuss with you.”

As he guided the eager lady away from the party, he looked back at Penelope’s direction. She was peering at him through the plethora of peonies and delphiniums now, an expectant yet demanding look set on her face.

Be quick. 

He could almost hear her voice in his head.

Colin’s footsteps became determined, and if he practically dragged Miss Thompson towards the house, he was too engrossed in finishing the task he had been handed to care for at the moment.

/

The ball was as lively as all good balls were. Music was playing, people were dancing, drinks were spilling, and gossip was flowing. Colin had decided to forego the merriment and instead roam about the servants' quarters of the Hawthorne mansion.

Faint cheery melodies were echoing down the empty hallway, its usual company occupied with making sure the party invitees’ glasses were always full and their supper ready. All the more room for Colin to walk through and avoid Miss Thompson.

It was not the guilt, even though it was present, that was making him indulge in this cowardly act. It was her insistence on making him reconsider his decision.

Rescinding the offer of marriage from Miss Thompson had been an awful ordeal. Her disorientation and shock had quickly escalated into heated questioning about his change of heart. All he could say was that he was just not ready, had misstepped regarding a major decision of his life, and that he was sorry. And he really was. 

None of this had been Miss Thompson’s fault. She did not deserve to be led on towards something that did not exist. It had been cruel of him. But he could not and would not reconsider anything. It was out of the question. 

None of this made his action any less cowardly, but what more could he do?

Maybe Miss Thompson’s presence and restless glances pointed at him at the ball would have distressed him more had he not been deprived of Penelope’s time since that garden party took place three days ago. He wanted to see her and let her know that he had done as she had desired. He was aware that there was no way that she did not already know about the change of plans, but he wanted to tell her himself, while he could watch her face and hear her admit that everything was fine between them.

He would have called on her, but Penelope had asked Eloise to keep him away from the Featherington house until the ball tonight. Why, he had no idea. Those two had made a habit of keeping him out of the loop.

Colin sighed as he reached the staircase that led to the staff bedrooms, spotting sparkling pink silk behind the balusters. He had known she would be here. They had discovered this spot a year ago, trying to find an isolated space for themselves after being bored by a less-than-impressive display of the ancestral sculpture collection being displayed by the Hawthornes. Eloise had been plagued by too stubborn of a headache to accompany them to the gathering that day, allowing Colin and Penelope to explore these halls by themselves.

She was seated on the step that swivelled to the winding curve above. The star adornments she had chosen for her hair were gleaming under the gentle moonlight streaming through the window. She was looking down at her hands, fidgeting with something.

A silver cup and spoon.

“Custard? You do not care for it,” Colin pointed out amusedly.

“Yes, but you do,” she muttered, before stabbing the tiny spoon into the dessert and popping it into her mouth. She then released the slick and clean cutlery from the hold of her tongue and pushed it back into the custard, swirling it all around. Her tongue poked out, licking her lips to make sure nothing was left behind.

Colin trembled with the force of suppressing a whine, his eyes caressing the dahlia petals resting on her face. They must be so soft. If he pressed his thumb against the lower one, it would mould around it. But he would not be able to do that for long. Knowing Penelope, she would let her shiny canines out to leave a permanent impression on his skin, opposed to his genuinely curious exploration of her beauty.

The thought of her teeth on him was wrenching his breath away from him at an alarming rate.

With shaking legs, Colin crouched down, finding it hard to remain stable. He sat himself with a relief on a step that let him look up at her from her feet, his eyes still stuck on her lips.

“You were holding onto that for me?”

She shrugged, resting her elbow on her knee and plopping her chin onto her tiny hand. She was watching him intently, as if she was studying him, and it made his ears burn.

“I knew you would come.”

Of course, he would have.

Penelope pushed the cup towards him. She did these sorts of things. Remembering and caring and doing. With him, with Eloise, even with her sisters. However, tonight’s kindness was definitely not just a consequence of her usual affectionate nature. Instead, it felt like an invitation of some kind.

He took hold of the cup, but his eyes refused to leave her. Did she have any intention of telling him what her tantrum about his engagement with her cousin was for? 

It seemed as if she was unwilling to broach the subject. So he decided to tiptoe into it.

“Is Miss Thompson alright?” he asked softly, his eyes shifting to stare at the stone edge of the step his right elbow was resting upon. “I am just curious. I did wrong her. Was she devastated?”

“Better her than you.” 

The coldness in Penelope’s voice made Colin snap his head back at her. She was staring ahead, her jaw clenched and gaze unwavering. What was she thinking about? It bothered him when she hid things from him. 

His thoughts were interrupted by her sighing. She turned to look at him with a soothing smile. 

“She will be alright, Colin. You know that.” She shifted to arrange her body to face him, a glowing smile splayed across her face. “And you will be more than alright. Now you can go on your Grand Tour!”

Colin grinned back. “I cannot lie. That is what I have been thinking about too. My excitement appears to have increased tenfold.”

Whatever he had been thinking was going to be the rest of his life was decidedly not going to be the rest of his life anymore. And to be frank, he did not feel all that much dejected about it now.

On the night after the garden party, his feet had landed him in Anthony’s study again. He had just stood there, surrounded by the lonely, taunting glow of the candles. A desperation had been coursing through him - for a tether, an actual solid entity, just something to hold on to. Something to do with himself. 

When his eyes had landed on the bunch of scrolled-up maps Penelope had silently refused to accept at the corner of the room, he had felt an overwhelming sense of happiness. Pure happiness. And then it had been pierced through by shame.

Shame of feeling that happiness so soon. Of feeling it at all.

The realisation that his excitement about travelling and exploring far exceeded the elation he had felt about Miss Thompson had taken him aback. He was ashamed of the unbidden bud of relief that had started blooming within him at the thought of exploring the Mediterranean islands. He was ashamed that he felt relieved that he would get to go on his tour. 

However, soon that shame had ripened into curiosity regarding the fulfilment he would have acquired from the union he had planned to give up his bachelor plans for. He had liked the idea of marrying very much, but his desire for travelling, he realised, had never left him. It probably never would have.

Sure, there was still some confusion and sadness about the loss of marriage to the most desirable lady of the ton and showing his family what he was capable of. But it was just something that was not meant to be.

“As it should. If I could go, I would in a heartbeat,” Penelope muttered, playing with the end of her satin glove.

Colin wished he could take her with him. The tour would be so much more enjoyable with her by his side. Penelope would love visiting the ruins at Delphi. She often talked about wanting to experience being at the “centre of the world”. He thought about witnessing the Acropolis together. And he thought about getting to see her in front of the Parthenon, her hair down and flowing, her dress dancing with the wind as if it's about to get ripped off from her body, and her too engrossed in marvelling at the beauty of history to care about it.

Penelope also had a great love for Greek mythology, the popular and the unpopular ones alike. She had read her copy of Lysistrata that he had got for her secretly countless times, even memorising some of the scandalous dialogues just to recite them in front of him whenever she felt like it.

“I will write to you,” Colin assured her. “I promise you will feel as if you are right there with me.”

“I love reading your letters. I will await them eagerly,” she beamed back in reply. 

“You have to write back as well.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I will.”

Colin grinned, plopping a spoonful of the dessert in his hand into his mouth. But soon, he could not help but let the doubt plaguing his mind since that incident in the study be verbalised.

“Pen, you still think I am good, right?”

An odd haze spread over Penelope’s gaze. “You are the very best man I know, Colin. And I am sure you always will be.”

Colin felt his soul realign with his body and his breath steadying. There were butterflies fluttering all around the ceramic shards, some perched upon them as if they were some spring sunflowers.

“Colin, I will never-” he could see her feet twiddling and couldn’t help but smile at her sweet candy pink slippers. “I will never keep you from happiness.”

His hand hanging loosely from the step underneath her knee moved closer, brushing the fabric around her calf. 

Why? 

The thought crept into Colin’s mind out of nowhere. But he did not have the time to dwell on it.

“There has never been a moment I have thought otherwise.”

She mercifully turned her head towards him, letting him look at her bemused face. He smiled at her, caressing that fabric hiding her skin from him. She smiled back at him then, grabbing the forgotten spoon in front of her and offering him the dessert it was full of.

“Be quick now. This is only the first dish you have gotten your hands on. We cannot have you feasting on your own flesh lest all the food gets finished before you get to it.” 

He gratefully accepted her offering. “What sacred trees have I cut down?”

“You were very close to doing so. Consider yourself saved,” She said, her teeth sinking into the rose bed of her lower lip to contain her giggle at her own barb. 

There were times when Colin felt a deep desire to hide away Penelope. Away from everyone else’s sight, and keep her for himself. He knew it was an awful thought to have. That he was awful to have it. But then she looked at him, talked to him, laughed with him, laughed at him - and all he could think of was how he did not want anyone else to look at her at times like these. What if someone started adoring her the way he did? They would never be able to do it the way he did or how much he did, but he still did not want any of the thoughts he had for her to come in someone else’s mind.

She was his friend. His.

Colin understood then that did not care. He did not need to know why Penelope made him do what she did. Whatever reason she made him break that courtship for, if it meant that he could have her like this, just like this, by his side - he was content.

She got up then and smoothened her skirts. 

“First, we have a waltz to dance. And you have cakes to sneak. My mother has already seen me slinking off with that custard.”

With those words, she was off, an unspoken invitation to follow her in the air.

Colin let himself gaze at her retreating form from where he sat on the staircase for a moment, relief and excitement buzzing through him. Then he pushed himself up, going after her to the ballroom.