Chapter Text
“Hyacinth has always been rather annoying, but with her debut she has surely turned it up several notches. She will never admit it, but Mama is certainly thanking the heavens above she does not have any more daughters! I am sure you can understand, what with Felicity also entering society…” Eloise’s voice trailed off as Penelope’s focus turned towards the flowery, green expanse that surrounded them. Aubrey Hall had always been delightful to visit, but somehow its beauty was magnified in the off-season. The absence of the ton was an added bonus; feeling less eyes (though they were never on her) allowed her to be more at ease. In her experience, she was much more enjoyable when she felt less…restricted.
“...a pity that Colin has taken ill, Hyacinth has been all but moping that he might not be back in time-” Penelope’s attention snapped back to Eloise with a speed that was almost embarrassing.
“Colin- Colin is ill?” She tried her best to speak nonchalantly with just enough concern for it to constitute as friendly, and not as though she were feeling a thousand needles prickling her skin upon hearing that he was unwell.
“Oh, I haven’t mentioned? Well, yes, apparently he has contracted some sort of foreign infection. Mama is beside herself, as is to be expected, even though he has repeatedly assured her that he is on the mend. Leave it to men to have such a weak constitution! Imagine if they had to bear our monthlies…”
Penelope kept up her calm demeanour as best as she could, and indeed, from a glance she seemed to be normal. Only a truly observant person would note how her hands that were twiddling absentmindedly, had quickened their pacing. Her eyebrows had just the slightest hint of a crease in between them. Her brown eyes were singularly focused on Eloise’s mouth, noting how it moved with each word that was pronounced.
She knew the panic that was threatening to let itself be shown if she let herself dwell too much on what was currently causing her agony.
Colin was sick? He had some foreign illness? Does he even have someone to look after him? The stubborn man refused the mere suggestion of a valet accompanying him…
“Eloise, shall we head inside? It will be dark soon, and I should like to go to bed early tonight to-”
“Get your rest! Ugh, of course Pen. I hate that you will be leaving so soon, you have barely stayed a fortnight. Come, let us head back in before Hyacinth accuses me of hoarding you. The audacity! How can one hoard their best friend!” Penelope listened to the rest of her dear friend’s speech with a smile. Eloise, even with her assertive manner, always managed to comfort her with her overt reminders of their longstanding friendship.
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As she laid in her bed that night, she finally let herself feel what she had been stuffing behind the concrete barricade her mind constructed as soon as she realised she would always feel more for Colin.
As if on cue, her heart hastened its beating. If she could at least see him or speak to him in some capacity, she could put the horrid thoughts of his illness at bay. Well, she could very well not up and leave England to attend to him personally; and even if she did, he would waste no time in reminding her that they were certainly not married so she could not take such liberties, bounds of propriety and all that.
She sighed. Her bitter feelings had no place here as she wrestled with the concern that was weighing on her. Perhaps she could…write to him? Though it was not the same as visiting him personally, it was not a great deal better as an unmarried lady writing to a bachelor would be greatly frowned upon, should she ever be discovered; even if said lady was a confirmed spinster.
But they were friends, were they not? He had said so himself. How would a single letter be discovered anyway? It was not as though a letter had to pass through the hands of every busybody in the ton before being posted to its recipient. She definitely knew how to be…discreet. What was a letter of consolation between old friends? And really, Penelope Featherington was no threat to Colin Bridgerton’s bachelorhood. Even if a letter was discovered, they would not be required to marry, let alone need a special license.
Upon thinking the words ‘special license’, the image of a steel-faced Viscount Anthony Bridgerton flashed across her mind. She gulped. What was she thinking?! Entertaining thoughts of writing to a gentleman? One whose family had so kindly opened their doors to her, too.
No, she resolved, there is no need for me to do anything but give my well-wishes to his family, as is proper. With that decision, she shut her eyes, and welcomed sleep to drift her away.
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That plan stood as solid as ice cream on a sunny day as she greeted the Dowager Lady Bridgerton the next morning. She had her suspicions about the matriarch’s rather somber demeanour throughout her stay, and now she understood why. Having one’s son sick while being unable to tend to him would do that to a person.
“You are certain you have everything you need? Perhaps you should take the other basket of biscuits.” Violet tsked as she fixed Penelope’s shawl upon her.
Warmth blossomed inside the young girl’s chest. No matter how often she got to hear it, Lady Bridgerton’s motherly words would never cease to cause an effect on her.
“Thank you Lady Bridgerton, but I believe one basket would be enough for the two of us.” She beamed shyly as Violet, finally satisfied that the shawl was comfortable enough, patted her cheek lovingly with a smile of her own.
“As you wish, my dear.”
An easy silence fell between the two, when Penelope remembered what she meant to talk to her about. She began, rather awkwardly,
“Lady Bridgerton, Eloise told me about Colin... I cannot imagine what you must be going through. I dearly hope that he is better soon.”
The smile on Violet’s face faltered ever-so-slightly. Exhaling a delicate sigh, she responded,
“Ah…yes. We Bridgertons have a habit of being incessantly stubborn, and it seems Colin will not put his mother’s ailing heart at ease anytime soon. His travels seem to have no end…” She trailed off as she gazed into the window beside them. Penelope stood very still, not wanting to disturb whatever reprieve Lady Bridgerton was having.
She returned her gaze to Penelope, with her smile being almost forlorn now.
“It brings me great comfort to know he has more than just his family caring for him. It is all a mother ever wants…” She coughed abruptly, in an attempt to regain her composure. “If only the comforting words of a dear friend could reach him, I am sure he is growing bored reading the same old letters without any sightseeing to accompany him.” If Penelope had blinked, she would have missed the pointed glance Lady Bridgerton gave her.
Whatever question she was going to ask died in her parted mouth as the growing sound of female voices approached them.
“Promise me Fel, you will write to me as soon as you step foot in your home!”
“Only if you promise to write back the second you get my letter!”
Behind the two wailing girls were a bemused Kate and an irritated Eloise, who simply rolled her eyes in commiseration with Penelope.
“Were we ever this insufferable?” Eloise huffed.
“Oh hush, I think it’s rather sweet.” Kate sniffled, her hand caressing her growing abdomen.
“Lady Bridgerton! You need not have exerted yourself.” Penelope cried.
“Nonsense, you and Felicity have been indispensable in this household. In fact, I worry how Edmund and Miles will react once they learn you have left while they were asleep. And how many times must I tell you? It is always Kate for you.”
She laughed out loud at Kate’s mortified expression.
“Oh, dear. I do not envy the person who has to tell them. However, I shall miss them greatly, too. ” Her expression softened as she reminisced of her time spent there.
“Yes, yes, you are dear to everyone, we have already established that. Now, at the risk of sounding equally insufferable as Hyacinth, you promise you shall write to me?” Eloise’s voice cut in, trembling at the end.
“Of course, El. You already know it.” Penelope squeezed Eloise’s hand, who took that as an invitation to pull her in for a fierce, short-lived, hug.
After several hugs and promises of safe travels (which, Penelope noted darkly to herself, was entirely out of her control), Penelope and Felicity Featherington were seated in the Bridgerton carriage. The golden sunlight filtered through the window curtains, falling gently on Felicity's dozing face. Penelope chuckled to herself and reached across the carriage to pull the curtains shut.
She had always been a light sleeper, compared to her sister who she reasoned could nod off in the trenches of war. The afternoon sun indicated that they still had roughly two hours of their journey left. With Felicity sound asleep, Penelope had to resort to her own thoughts for company.
The Dowager Viscountess’ cryptic words floated around in her mind.
If only the comforting words of a dear friend could reach him…..
Did she want Penelope to write to Colin? It certainly seemed so. Penelope knew that Violet Bridgerton regarded her highly, and was rather obvious in her pursuit of her third-born to settle down. However, her probing had the opposite effect, as it led to the incident of 1817. Words from a different Bridgerton rang out in her mind instead.
I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington!
She huffed internally. The sting of unrequited love had worn away with time, it was only her pride that was bruised now. In truth, that incident had caused a shift, whether she liked it or not. She had always been aware that Colin would never return her feelings, but that didn’t stop her from loving him as the perfect man he was to her.
His declaration shattered that illusion, and when the shimmer of the glass faded, she saw him for what he truly was.
Just another man. Another man who ran from responsibility with the freedoms that were afforded to him. He could choose to settle down at fifty and still have a hoard of debutantes trailing after him; Penelope had no such luxury. Her future as a spinster was confirmed as soon as-
Well, there was no specific moment it was decided. Not just a single embarrassing moment that sealed her future; it seemed her unmarried fate was just one of life’s truths that one does not need to overtly acknowledge.
Penelope could never hate Colin, of course. He was her friend. In hindsight, she was rather grateful for his words since it finally allowed her to remove him from the pedestal she had placed him on. She could view him just as he was; a kind, handsome, and charming man with a passion for evading responsibility travel. And as a friend who cared for him, she would simply let him know that she wished for his speedy recovery. With that settled, she moved on to cataloguing the list of things to prepare for Felicity’s debut. She had to pass the two hours somehow.
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The next day, Penelope sat at her desk with a determination she only took upon when composing her drafts for Lady Whistledown. She had to throw away the first draft, as she had taken so long to decide what to write that the ink that was pooling at the nib wore through the parchment.
No matter, she would simply start over. It was a simple letter of consolation, she could certainly manage that. For Goodness’ sake, she was Lady Whistledown! Surely her wit would not abandon her at a time like this.
Dear Colin,
Okay, good. At least she had a start.
She gasped when she reread her words. Dear Colin?! She might as well have written Beloved Husband Mine, with how informal she was being! No, she would have to reign it in.
Colin Bridgerton,
Was she writing to him to inform him of his impending doom? There was no need to sound so unfamiliar, either.
Mr Bridgerton,
That was better. It was less ominous, although still a little too formal for them. She was not his solicitor, after all.
Dear Mr Bridgerton,
There! That was perfect. Now she only had the entire rest of the letter to compose…ugh.
Dear Mr. Bridgerton,
Eloise informed me about your unfortunate illness, I was dismayed to hear your condition. I hope that you have a speedy recovery, and are able to rest enough to prepare yourself for your journey home.
Penelope Featherington
Well…that was certainly a letter. Concise, to the point. Her goal for the day had been accomplished, all she needed was to fold the letter, put the address on the back, and leave it on her desk so that her maid may collect it aaanndd she’d already crumpled and thrown it rather deftly into her wastebasket.
The letter had no faults, to be sure. Her old governess would have accepted it as a suitable letter to send to an acquaintance who was ill; but therein lied the problem, didn’t it? Colin was not an acquaintance. If she had known him any less she would have posted it without a second thought.
But because she did, she knew his restless tendencies, how bored he got when faced with repetitive societal expectations, though he bore them so well no one could have guessed how tedious he truly found them. It was not that he hated society, he just was not one to stay in one place for too long, to wake up to the same view, not when he could help it. And now that he couldn’t help it, he was sure to be losing his mind with the same letters asking after his health or berating him for not being more careful.
It was as Lady Bridgerton had said herself, “I am sure he is growing bored reading the same old letters without any sightseeing to accompany him…”
If she was writing to him as his friend Penelope Featherington, one who he shared barbs with at the margins of ballrooms, then perhaps she could emulate those conversations they were so fond of.
After a painstaking hour spent writing sentences and subsequently crossing them out after weighing the appropriateness of their informality, she tossed her quill to the side, flexing her fingers.
Dear Mr. Bridgerton,
Eloise informed me about your unfortunate illness, I was dismayed to hear your condition. I hope that you have a speedy recovery, and are able to rest enough to prepare yourself for your journey home.
Speaking of which, perhaps it might lift your spirits to know some recent events that have taken place in your absence. While the Ladies Bridgerton have been putting their combined focus on preparing Hyacinth for her debut, Gregory has been making his own efforts on the side. Either a modiste has offended him personally, or he means to wage warfare within the Bridgerton household as he has been steadily stowing away Hyacinth’s ribbons and other assorted accessories. He has been getting bolder as he has endeavoured in sneaking away a bonnet of hers as well, which he succeeded in. Peace (or as much can be expected of it in your family) has been maintained thus far, so I can only assume that Hyacinth has not noticed yet, though I shudder to think the hell that will break loose if she does…
I jest, of course. You know how dear your family is to me.
I hope you will excuse the impropriety of this letter as I was concerned for your wellbeing once I heard and simply wanted to forward my wishes for your recovery.
Yours Truly,
Penelope Featherington
Before she could think better of it, she had already folded and placed the letter on a tray on her desk, darting out of the room as though it was about to break out in a fire.
She pointedly ignored the letter as she returned to bed later that night, and when she saw the letter missing from the tray the next morning, she knew there was no going back now.