Chapter Text
Penelope could not remember how long she had been standing outside the printers, in the middle of the dark alley where Colin had walked away from her.
I will never forgive you.
Eventually, it began to drizzle, though she could barely tell as the rain and her tears became one. The anger in his eyes had struck her harder than his words, and her whole body had flinched when he spoke. She wanted to shrink beneath her cloak, to disappear behind Lady Whistledown.
Desperately reaching to the person and the place where she never should have left.
A broken laugh escaped her at the thought that her mother had been right. Penelope was a foolish, stupid girl who read too many books and believed in love.
That love could be enough.
I will never forgive you.
His words would not leave her mind, freezing her in place, though his actions had somehow been even harsher. She had never seen him that way before. She had never imagined he was capable of holding that much ire, or that she could be the author of his wrath.
The boy she fell in love with was kind, with a remarkable shade of blue in his eyes. The friend she enjoyed talking to and with whom she exchanged countless letters had an easy charm and an even easier smile. The gentleman who asked for her forgiveness at the beginning of the season was troubled and repentant for hurting her.
They looked nothing like the man tonight, with his thunderous eyes and flaring nostrils, blasting her for concealing the truth from him—and only confirming why she had kept it secret at all.
I will never forgive you.
Penelope could no longer remember all the remarks traded in their bitter confrontation. She was trapped inside his last words, and with each repetition, another memory of him emerged.
Her heart broke for the man who was supposed to become her husband.
And shattered for the woman and the identity he was stripping away from her.
The only thing that had ever made her feel seen had become the very thing she was most afraid of.
Penelope was still staring into the oblivion where Colin had disappeared into the night when a familiar voice pulled her back to reality.
“He is an idiot.”
She startled and turned around, surprised to find a man leaning against the brick wall, one she very much recognized.
“Lord Fife?”
“Hello, love.”
Penelope scoffed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Perhaps she should have been more scandalized by his choice of words, but at the same time, it sounded very much like something he would say.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you,” he replied, without moving. “I became worried when you left the ball early.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I knew he would come after you,” Fife continued. “Though I did not expect him to be such a cad. But I suppose that is entirely my fault for underestimating his inanity.”
“It is none of your concern, my lord.” A small sniff escaped her. “Nothing that you might have heard is.”
Penelope looked into his eyes, silently praying he would not reveal her secret identity or attempt to blackmail her.
“Not yet.” He smirked, raising his brows. “But I would very much like to make you my problem.”
“I do not quite understand.”
He pushed himself away from the wall and walked slowly towards her.
“Two days from now, I will call on you. You are going to say you are not feeling well and turn me away. All I am asking is that you do not.”
“My lord…”
“I know you are feeling as though your life has fallen apart. That you have just lost your entire future and only possibility of love.” His voice softened. “So let me be the first to tell you that this is only the beginning of the rest of your life.”
“That is... kind of you to say, I suppose.” She shook her head. “But it cannot be.”
“Yet it is.” He held her gaze. “You do not merely survive your heartbreak, love. Your future is a wonder.”
Penelope searched his eyes, but there was no jest in them. Nor did he appear to be deep in his cups. As impossible as it was, he sounded sincere.
“Let us pretend, for a moment, that I know what becomes of you.” He continued. “I would first tell you that we are together.”
She widened her eyes, speechless at the sheer audacity of his imagination.
“And that what we have been through has been worth every effort. I also think you would like to know that you still look as spectacular as you do now.” Fife smirked. “I would tell you that we still hold hands because we are in love, that our daughter has the same sparkle in her eyes as you do, and that growing old alongside you is an absolute blessing.”
“You do not look that old,” she whispered, trying to indulge his fantasy.
“It is something I have always known.” He smiled at her. “You make me the happiest man, exactly as you are.”
Penelope wanted to dismiss his entire speech at once, to call it mockery and accuse him of taking advantage of her vulnerable state. Yet something stronger than reason held her in place.
Some part of her wanted to believe he was not merely being flirtatious or trying to seduce her. That he was, in truth, remembering an entire life together.
“Somehow,” she whispered, “you coming from the future appears more convincing than a love that has survived years.”
Fife clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward.
“You were never wrong about love. You were only wrong about the person you thought was meant to love you.”
Penelope stared at him, unsure what to do with it right away. The words were unsettlingly close to the wound Colin had just left behind. It felt surreal and cruel at the same time that Fife seemed to know exactly what was on her mind.
“You cannot expect me to say that you are that person,” she began, shaking her head. “Not after tonight, probably not ever. I do not even know what you mean by all of this, and you—”
“I am not here to ask you to choose me.”
His voice was gentle now. “I only ask you to choose yourself.”
Fife paused, his eyes never leaving hers.
“And in time, that choice will lead you to me.”