Chapter Text
London, 1875.
Christmas is over, and a new year has begun.
The Christmas decoration remains intact until the children arrive to remove, as they had done since Penelope established the tradition. They had several traditions. Colin remembered them and of the four children in a moment of mess and relaxation to decorate the first tree, and the many others that came to follow.
He smiled, missing it.
She leafed through the first book that Penelope wrote during Agatha's pregnancy, with a special dedication, the pages were yellowed and a little wrinkled from time and consecutive readings, but it was still in excellent condition. Even decades after it was published.
I loved that book, the first, “An Invisible Girl”, and I remembered how happy she was writing it. Moments when Penelope laughed at the role or had fun with a scene, forgetting that he was watching her from afar.
None of her books had a sad ending, they ended happily with her protagonists finding overwhelming love. When he caught her looking at him, he knew she was writing the last few pages.
Penelope reviewed all of her published travelogues, and all of Colin's dedications were targeted to her.
There was never anyone else. She loved her four children, but if it weren't for that woman, he never it would have had courage or believed. Penelope was everything and more, loving her made him achieve his greatest happiness, the family they formed, and with her every moment became unforgettable.
Between the pages, Colin found a torn part from the last Lady Whistledown's column, and smiled again.
He would always love her, she was his home.
"Okay?"
Colin looked up to find his eldest daughter, Agatha, smiling at him and taking off her gloves, as well as her hat and coat, throwing them all on the living room table.
They returned to the tradition, years after the four of them left home. Penelope called the day “Collect the Ornaments”, it wasn't very creative, her children laughed at the name, but it was fun and got the children to collaborate. To the point of waiting for that day more than the day to decorate the house itself.
The idea of returning belongs to Agatha, after a difficult year, but they were recovering.
"Hi, Aggie." Agatha sat next to him on the couch and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "How are you doing?" Colin asked.
"I'm fine, but I feel like I'm going to freeze. It keeps raining outside," she said, snuggling closer to her father, like she did as a child, with her head on his shoulder and Colin wrapping an arm around his daughter's shoulders. To warm her up. “Ah, Andreas sent you a kiss, he’s coming to thank you for the gift and play the piano for you.”
"He doesn't need to. I'm glad I can still please my grandson."
She laughed into his shoulder.
"Because you're the best father in the world and an even better grandfather. Where's George?"
"With your mother," Colin replied, turning a page of Penelope's book on his thigh.
Agatha was silent for a brief moment, but Colin felt the head on his shoulder move, and he looked at her. She smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of her eyes, and reminding him that Agatha was no longer his little girl. It hadn't been for a while, although the memories of her stepping on his toes to learn to dance were vivid.
Agatha was now a mature woman and as beautiful as she was younger. She still danced poorly, but Hektor, her husband, had no problem having his feet punished by the woman he loved.
"What about you, dad? How are you feeling today?"
For the first time in just over a year, he spoke:
"I am fine." without hesitation, smiling at her daughter.
She looked happy, and Colin got another kiss on the cheek.
"What a surprise," said a voice from the entrance. Thomas taking off his coat with the help of the butler, leaving discreetly as always. Briarly's son inherited his father's discreet and observant attitude. “Agatha arrived on time and not late as usual.”
“And you,” she pointed to her brother, moving away from her father and standing up. “You're late, my dear brother.”
Thomas made a face of disbelief.
"I'm never late."
"Well," Agatha sighed in disappointment. "Dad and I don't believe it either."
Thomas's eyes narrowed, and he looked from his father to his sister more than once, and he couldn't resist reaching into his pants pocket and pulling out his pocket watch to check the time.
He grunted and put away his watch. Agatha let out a laugh.
“Years and she’s still the same.”
“Fun, beautiful and interesting? I take that as a compliment." She replied. “And you, my dear, are still the same. Falling into silly antics.”
Thomas was a gentleman. Fair, generous, an excellent father and a good man, of whom Colin was proud. They maintained the same mannerisms, dressed perfectly and avoided breaking the rules - unless they were strictly necessary.
"At least we both agree that mentally you haven't grown up, Aggie." He approached, receiving a pat on the shoulder from Agatha, and responded with a kiss on the older sister's forehead. Then he looked at his father, who was just happily watching his older children. “Dad, how are you today?”
"I'm fine, Tommy."
Thomas waited for confirmation from his sister, who nodded, and he turned to Colin, happy to hear it.
"I'm going up, George mustn't know we're here. Excuse me."
Agatha retreated to the hallway of the house, going up the stairs.
It was Thomas's turn to sit next to his father.
"This book is Mom's first," he noted.
Colin smiled.
"Your sister didn't notice."
"Agatha only focuses on what she wants, she was never very attentive to details. Starting to read again?"
"Looking… for something, but I can't find it", replied Colin, attentive to the book. "Maybe I really should start over."
If he was looking for a specific passage and Thomas knew more or less which one, give him a direction. He knew his mother's books by heart, he inherited her good memory. But letting him search can be a good distraction.
"And... Mom?" he asked, cautiously.
"Upstairs, in the library. Better not interrupt her, she's writing."
Didn't argue. Thomas just gave a weak smile and lowered his head, then raised it again.
"Anne came into my office yesterday and made a horrible mess," he said, changing the subject. "She was all covered in ink from the inkwell, scribbling on my work papers."
Colin turned to his son with raised eyebrows and asked:
"What did you do?"
"I tried to be hard on her, Dad." But his shoulders slumped. "The problem is that Anne disarms me. She had a huge smile, she was writing me a letter, and it said 'The best father in the world'."
Anne was the first daughter of four brothers and was honored with her grandmother's second name. Thomas had three children before Anne's arrival, and she was the youngest until the birth of her fifth child. Agatha had a son, Andreas. Jane had three children and was pregnant in her forties. George never married.
Colin couldn't help but smile thinking about his own little daughters, he was also completely surrendered to them. But Agatha always knew how to handle him as she wanted.
“Just enjoy it, children grow up. When you least expect it, you’ll be introducing eighteen-year-old Anne.”
“And enduring suitors knocking on the door to woo her.” Thomas shuddered. “I prefer not to think.”
“Like I said, enjoy it. All the time you have left. One day you will see her leave home, and it will be much more difficult.”
Thomas thought of emptiness without the sound of children filling the house. Just Lizzie and him. The day would come, no doubt, but he imagined how it should have been for your parents when they were all gone. Agatha left first, to begin her traveling life, as she always dreamed of, after three unsuccessful seasons and a series of preparations.
She met Hektor in New York, but he was Greek. Thomas married Elizabeth York, or Lizzie, as he affectionately called him. Jane was successful in her first season with Lord Daniel Allendale, they were an intellectual couple, and George had barely left Oxford when he embarked for America.
Maybe it was a little easier because they had each other, and they never imagined the opposite. Not until just over a year.
His father was distracted by the book again.
Someone entered the room accompanied by Marty, the butler. Thomas stood up. It was Jane, pregnant with a seven-month belly, while Marty helped her with her wet cloak and coat.
The storm got worse.
“Jane.” He approaches. Jane thanked Marty for his help, who left discreetly, and accepted his brother's hands with a kiss on the forehead. “I thought possibly I wouldn’t come. We’d understand.”
"I know." Jane also exchanged an affectionate hug. “But George is here, and we have to take advantage of him.”
“We’re all here now.”
“Ah, excellent!” Jane exclaimed, and smiled at Colin, who also smiled when he saw her. “Hi, Daddy.” She bent down to kiss him on the cheek. "How's it going?"
"I'm fine, Lady Jane. And you? Or rather, both of you?"
Jane smiled more, touching her father's hand on her belly.
"We are fine." he replied, stroking his older hand with his thumb, and looked at Thomas. “I believe we are ready.”
This time referring to her, her father and brothers.
Everyone, except the father, sitting on the sofa with the book in his hands, worked and put away the decorations. They were more than Christmas decorations, they were kept memories. Especially since when they were children.
Agatha was looking at an old doll that she wanted to get rid of a few years ago, when she decided it was too old to play with. But Penelope saw in her daughter's eyes that it wasn't true, and said that the doll would be perfect for Christmas decorations.
Thomas put the first ball of Pall Mall he ever threw into the lake into the box, and George grinned as he read an aged sheet of the first text he wrote and his mother revised. It was then that he decided to want to write, not novels or fiction books, but about reality. He was fascinated by Lady Whistledown's writings.
The decorations were not the common, old-fashioned Christmas decorations. Penelope renovated to objects with meanings for each.
The first time, she placed a clipping from Lady Whistledown's last column, where she disowned Cressida Cowper, and the distribution took place during their engagement ball. For her, it was a special date when Colin told her he loved her.
Colin chose a small mirror, among others, that he gifted to his wife every year. They never went into detail, but Colin used to tell the children 'Your mother is even prettier in front of one' and she would always blush instantly.
Everything there has a part of the six.
Jane had one hand on her stomach, placing herself on tiptoe. Stretching in an attempt to reach the top of the tree, the angel that always adorned him, but clearly his stature didn't help.
Until she heard a giggle behind her. And I knew it immediately.
It was George.
Thirty centimeters taller and he could certainly reach the angel without any problem.
“Georgie, stop laughing! Get it for me at once.”
He crossed his arms and continued with a mocking smile on his face.
“Don’t be mad at me. You inherited your height from mom, it’s not my fault.” retorted George.
"I'm Pregnant!" appealed.
“My dear sister, you cannot wear this forever.”
“I’ll use as much as I can!” said Jane, impatiently. He indicated with his head and eyes the angel on the tree. With the same angry face that his mother used to make when he messed up.
George approached his sister, touched her shoulder, gave her a wink and a patient smile.
“Yes, Lady Jane. But you’ve been standing too long, sit down.” he ordered, they were almost ready. "I make."
Jane thanked him silently and walked with her hand on her lower back, sitting next to her father.
She didn't hate being pregnant, she sighed, but she had to admit how uncomfortable pregnancy was. Swollen feet, tiredness, and there was the problem of age, the eldest son was already an adult. However, Daniel and she were happy and hopeful that it was a girl.
But something told Jane, a sixth sense, that it would be.
"Father." She called him.
Waking up from reading the book – whether it was the hundredth or thousandth time – Colin looked at his daughter and smiled. She was happy to see him laugh so often. In the last year... At some point, he came to his senses and was lost between sadness and longing.
“Lady Jane.”
I loved that nickname.
He gave it to her by practicing dance moves at home. Agatha was terrible and preferred to have fun dancing awkwardly, while Jane concentrated as much as possible on learning.
When Thomas and she danced a perfect waltz, without mistakes, Colin said that Jane was born to be a Lady. And he was right.
Jane found her Lord and he loved her.
“Daniel and I believe the baby will be a girl.” He placed his hand on his stomach and sighed contentedly. “Actually, I feel certain.”
He expected his father to question himself, instead he nodded in affirmation and asked:
"I am happy. Did you choose a name?”
That was the part I wanted to get to.
Jane choked, choosing her words carefully in her mind. I didn't want to take him out of his good state today.
"Yes. Like Thomas had Anne, and even though Mom never gave us any of our grandmothers' names…” He lifted his head. “I want to call her Penelope.”
Colin didn't say for a moment. Staring into his daughter's blue eyes. She had Penelope's eyes and Bridgerton hair, but she still looked the most like her mother.
From your calmest and kindest to your determined and sensible way. The features of the face, the height and the beauty. She was beautiful, breathtaking.
And he wasn't saying it because he was a father who loved his daughter. It was just the honest truth.
“Your mother will be honored, and so will I” he said smiling, with a slightly choked voice that he tried to avoid.
Even though she was relieved to see him still smiling, she seemed uncertain.
"He is sure?"
“Lady Jane,” he called her. “You took good sense from your mother. Tell me if it doesn’t feel right.”
Eye to eye like when I was a child. He rarely gave her the answer, he always believed in his decisions.
Jane nodded and smiled.
“Just…” he preferred not to conclude. “It’s going to be a mess. We will have the third Penelope in the family.”
Colin laugh.
“Penelope Bridgerton. Penelope Crane. Penelope Allendale.”
“But she is unique.” he reaffirmed, holding back the urge to cry.
In his father's arms. So calm and serene, without getting lost, without getting shaken. While she would lose control in his arms if Colin continued talking about his mother.
“Incomparable, my dear. Just like you."
He kissed his daughter's forehead and hugged her again.
They stayed like that for two or three minutes.
Suddenly it came to Jane's mind how much she missed that hug. He couldn't stop some tears from falling.
“Jane.”
"Yes father?" matched.
"I love you."
She smiled in tears.
"I love you too."
“Hot chocolate time!” Agatha announced.
They separated and saw Marty, the butler, holding a tray with six mugs, entering the room for another tradition. Right after decorating the house, they got hot chocolate as a reward, and when they unpacked it too.
Gathering together to talk around the fireplace.
Agatha was excited.
“Don’t forget tradition, Marty. Use our nicknames.”
"Agatha." Tomás complained.
"What? It’s tradition!”
She smiled a huge, beautiful smile, waiting for the moment. Just like when she was a little girl, she hasn't changed at all. And Marty, of course, knew the traditions and had no hesitation in following them.
“Princess Agatha,” he said, handing her the hot chocolate with a sprinkle of cinnamon.
“Thanks, Marty.” Agatha thanked him with the mug in her hand, sitting down in one of the armchairs.
“Pirate Thomas”
“It wasn’t necessary, Marty,” Thomas said, accepting his chocolate and smiling contentedly. "But thanks."
Always very discreet and quiet, nodding elegantly with each thank you, Marty walked over to Colin and Jane, serving them as well.
“Captain Bridgerton.” Colin accepted and smiled, once again that day. And it didn't go unnoticed by the children. “Lady Whistledown.”
Marty carefully placed Penelope's cup on the small table next to Colin, near the chandelier.
“She thanks you, Marty,” Colin said.
The butler blinked, sniffed very subtly, and nodded, serving the youngest daughter.
“Lady Jane.”
"Thank you, Mr. Briarly."
And last but not least, George.
George pursed his lips.
"You left me for last, let's see if you remember."
Not all of Marty Briarly's politeness kept him from rolling his eyes. George had once been a very intelligent and somewhat mischievous boy. Expelled from Eton but a brilliant student at Oxford. Currently, an impressive journalist in New York.
“Sir Magnificent, Peerless, Stupendous, Generous, Charming and Phenomenal Lord, George,” declared Marty.
George placed his hand on his chest at heart level.
"How sweet. Thank you, Marty." he replied, accepting the cup. “However,” he paused. "You ruined everything. Forgot about Magnanimous.”
"I won't repeat it. Good night." Marty left George once again having fun at his expense, and without missing the opportunity, greeting everyone before leaving. “Gentlemen. Madam. Milady."
When the butler closed the door and left, the other four focused their attention on the youngest son.
"What?" he shrugged cynically.
Jane turned to her father.
“Three was an excellent number.”
“Do you think I had any control over this?”
"Well, at least we know where half of the family's self-esteem goes." commented Agatha.
And everyone laughed.
George didn't even make a point of denying it, he was never modest, he gave a charming smile and winked at his older sister. Sit closer to the group to spend the next hour talking.
They commented on their lives, jobs, husbands and wives, children, plans. The present, a little of the future, and certainly, the past. Because traditions are made of memories. Good or bad.
"This is not true." Agatha protested. “I don’t remember telling everyone.”
"Agatha, Frederick was a baby and he was babbling the gossip. Lucky, your Aunt Eloise didn't get angry." Thomas said.
“Aunt Eloise loves me!”
“Because you literally have her name,” George retorted. “Agatha Eloise Bridgerton.”
"George got kicked out of Eton!"
“The first and only in the Bridgerton family. And Featherington." George spoke proudly. “I hope to inspire generations to come.”
“Good God, Georgie! You are terrible! " Jane accused, as did everyone else, laughing.
Not even the prestige of the Duchess of Hastings or Viscount Bridgerton could save him. Upon entering Oxford, anyway, the subject went from tense to fun to talk about.
Laughing as if they had made hundreds of jokes before.
Maybe it's due to the influence of alcohol to make them so light and giggly - Jane didn't drink at all - or the influence of, after months and months apart, now finally together.
George took a sip of his drink before blurting out a long-standing piece of gossip:
“Thomas took Edmund's wife's cousin to Aubrey Hall's greenhouse. On Grandma Violet’s birthday.”
Three heads turned to Thomas, who stopped the glass halfway to his mouth.
“Thomas!” Agatha said in shock.
“It’s been years! I was seventeen!” And he squinted at George. "Big mouth! That’s why he was expelled!”
The youngest simply smiled, enjoying the commotion. Silently sipping more of his drink.
“I think I know who she is. She's married to a duke now,” Jane said. “Daughter of a duke! An unpalatable man! Do you know what he could have done to you?”
“Killed me?” he kicked, fidgeting in the seat he had chosen.
“I considered dragging him to a church, but… Well, yes.”
“I can’t believe Thomas Bridgerton did anything wrong,” Agatha exclaimed, and laughed. "Perfect! It wasn’t a big deal, but finally!”
“Two or three kisses, it wasn’t a big deal. Nothing special. And she was the one who took me, and... It's okay, I didn't fight it.”
Colin let out a practiced laugh.
“Like it’s the most outrageous thing Thomas has done.”
Three heads turned between Colin and Thomas, waiting for one of them to tell more about what they didn't know.
"Unlike you." Thomas pointed from Aggie to George. Jane has always been a lady. “I know how to let go of guilt and erase the tracks.”
And he smiled.
Colin spent much of the conversation in silence, deciding that there was no point in continuing to re-read Penelope's book. Looking for something that wasn't there. He took the opportunity to observe his children. Laughing, playing, interacting, being happy.
Everyone suffered a loss, the pain certainly doesn't lessen, it's constant, but they moved on. Living. With the families they built and for having each other. George worried him, but he knew he loved the job he had and life was good too. Even if lonely at times.
Everything was fine. In peace.
And because of that, he felt out of place, because he wasn't at peace. I wasn't moving forward.
Not without her.
Colin got up from the sofa a little sore after hours of sitting – he wasn't young anymore. Carrying Penelope's closed book with her against her chest and the glass of whiskey in her other hand, trying to steady herself. Maybe he drank a little too much. George wanted to help him, but refused, positioning himself in the center of the family meeting.
"Okay. I ask for everyone's attention." And obediently, the four children stopped and focused on him. He took a deep breath, with a pain in his chest. An old pain that will probably never go away. "I love them. Every one. And I always will." He held back the urge to cry, clutching the book. "I love your mother too. Or maybe I did, but... it doesn't matter. She's everything. My wife, my best friend." His children were silent, mute. Jane covered her hand with her mouth and cried. Agatha's big eyes sparkled. Thomas and George just quiet with sad expressions. "My intention was not to ruin the night, you know how your mother doesn't like attention." Some smiled, even through tears. His father loved making loud statements. "But I... I would like to propose a toast to the most extraordinary woman in the world." He raised the glass. "My wife!"
For a year he had been suffering from memory lapses and fluctuations. There were times when Colin didn't remember anything or preferred to forget, and others when he couldn't hide from the truth. But every time this happened, he would stop and hang up.
He hadn't smiled like he did today in months.
"For Mom!" Thomas responded by raising the glass, blinking his eyes a few times.
Agatha tried to smile as she said:
“For Mom!”
“For Mom!” said Jane's choked voice.
And lastly, George.
“For Mom.”
Colin smiled happily at his children and swallowed all the remaining liquid, and three of them repeated the gesture. The pain in my chest hadn't gone away yet, it never would.
After dinner, everyone said goodbye.
Thomas hugged his father. Agatha did too, followed by a kiss on the cheek, and her father handed her Penelope's book.
“But it’s yours… Mom gave it to you” said Aggie.
“I know him by heart, darling. What I'm looking for isn't there. It never will be.” He smiled. “Now it’s yours. She’s the oldest.”
Agatha thanked him and was moved, making room for Jane. She lingered a little longer in the hug, squeezing him tightly.
They said goodbye to him. Except for George, who had been staying at the house for the last few weeks until he returned to New York.
His son asked Marty to leave and took charge of helping his father to his room. Colin didn't protest. They went upstairs. Passing by the huge portrait of the six of them together. Penelope and Colin sitting on chairs, Thomas, behind his father, aged nineteen, Agatha, behind her mother, aged twenty-one, Jane, on her father's side, aged seventeen, and George, next to her mother, aged fourteen.
Colin looked fine, but tired at the same time. When he sat on the double bed, dressed in his pajamas, he felt lonely, like every time since…
Since…
She's gone.
"Father?" George called him. Colin listened, but didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Father? What it was?"
"Your mother."
George sighed.
"Yes, she's in the library." reaffirming the speech. Doctors said Colin was finding a way to cope with the loss, and denying it would only return him to a state of mourning.
“She’s not, not anymore, Georgie. And it never will be again.” Colin recognized it without looking at him. George stood still, silent and serious. Not knowing what to say. “Remember… Remember when she died? You were here. Remember how she…”
"I remember." George interrupted, his eyes burning, but he didn't cry. There was no need to remember the last hours of her life, the cold hand he held, he didn't want to.
Not out loud.
Colin nodded.
"I miss her."
"I feel it too, dad."
"She was my home and when she left I was... aimless." Colin looked at him with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry for this."
George came over and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.
“And me, I was more selfish. I boarded a ship a week later, and I didn't return for almost a year. I am really sorry about that."
Since losing him, everyone has failed or lost themselves in pain. Colin wasn't the only one to have his compass break when he lost his north.
The day Penelope Bridgerton died, everything around her went dark. After months of illness, he lived his last days with those he loved. She left during the early hours of the morning, the rain had stopped, the sky was open and the stars were shining.
George and Colin were the only ones in the house, and when they woke up in the morning… they were the first to know.
Lady Whistledown is gone with her.
“I don’t want to be without her anymore, George.” Colin admitted and squeezed his wet eyes with his fingers. “She’s not writing in the library anymore.”
Colin wiped away his tears, receiving a pat on the shoulder from his youngest son, followed by a hug. George inherited Colin's height, and even grew a little taller, or his father shrank with the advancement of time and old age. George could now put his father's head on his chin and he held him as if it were the last time, and he cried.
He was happy in New York. He missed England and his brothers, lived there for years, and took a job on impulse to escape the pain of losing his mother. George hadn't grabbed the love he wanted to spend his life like his parents, but for him, it wasn't the end yet.
Agatha and Thomas married their older spouses in their thirties. They weren't even looking for it when it happened. Agatha preferred to travel and adventure, Thomas was always more responsible, but enjoyed the single life, and neither of them would accept anything less than happiness in marriage. With someone, they couldn't live without. And George, I expected to be surprised.
When the moment is over.
He helped his father get comfortable on the bed, in silence, and adjusted the blanket before smiling and bending down to kiss Colin's forehead.
"Good night dad." He turned off the lamp and when he was at the door, about to leave, Colin called him. "Yes?" he replied.
“Come back to London often.”
George smiled.
"I promise."
He left, closing the door.
Colin looked up at the ceiling. Feeling the pain that wouldn't go away, closing his eyes and reaching for the side of the bed that belonged to his wife. It was empty, cold, as expected. With the other hand, he pressed his chest, taking a deep, anguished breath and finding his limit.
“I can’t do it anymore, Pen.” He cried. "Please."
For a while, nothing happened.
There was silence.
The night passed like any other. The heavy clouds from before were dispensed with, with many bright stars.
And a voice said:
“Colin?”
In all these years of marriage, he never left her unanswered.
“Pen.”
The next morning, just over a year after losing his loved one. His four children found out that Colin Bridgerton was dead and gone.
What they didn't know was that he wasn't alone.