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Chapter Text

Penelope was happy for her friend. She really, really was.

“Stop fidgeting,” Daphne hissed as she tried to place a clip in Eloise’s hair, even though the latter kept moving her head further and further away from her older sister’s not-so gentle touch.

“Let Penelope do it,” Eloise moaned, but Penelope just held her hands up when Daphne shot her a glance. Out of them all, she trusted Daphne in the hair department. Besides, she was already tasked with doing Eloise’s makeup, after she had thrown such a fit that Daphne agreed to give up the powdering job to Eloise’s dearest friend.

For the most part, the tears she brushed away as she applied rouge to Eloise’s cheeks were happy tears. She knew Eloise was not yet in love, but she was the closest she had ever been and they both knew Phillip Crane to be a nice, intelligent man. Penelope could not ask for a better partner for Eloise, and knew that Eloise would bring some much needed light back to Lord Crane’s household after the untimely death of his wife.

It had been over a year since Marina’s passing. By that time, Lady Whistledown’s last column had long since been published, and her scandal was far enough in the distance that the members of the ton hardly remembered her at all. Penelope could only hope that Marina had been reunited with her love in whatever world came next.

That had been a hard time for Penelope. The cousin she had wronged passed from a long illness that had absolutely nothing to do with her, and yet. The guilt withered within Penelope until it became an old friend, an easy bruise to press on. A reminder of what she did not deserve in this world – her own household, her own husband and children.

It was not so easy to forget, these days.

“You only have to do this once,” Penelope murmured to Eloise, nodding at her friend to bolster some confidence. She watched Eloise take a deep breath and lean back, a sullen expression on her face as her older sister went back to pinning her hair.

Penelope may have thought she had come to terms with the extent of her loneliness, but she hadn't truly understood how different things would be until this very moment, when she was helping Daphne Hastings get her little sister Eloise Bridgerton ready for her wedding to Sir Phillip Crane at Romney Hall. When Penelope was eight and twenty and looking ahead to a life very, very alone.

It was just that she had always assumed her and Eloise would be spinsters together.

Not long after they finished with Eloise’s hair, Penelope was ushered out of the dressing room and she was finally able to take a deep breath. When Eloise is tense and nervous, she has the ability to make everyone else in the room feel that way too. She wielded it like a weapon when she wanted to. Penelope could already hear Daphne’s harsh whispers as she tried to get Eloise in her corset. It only made sense that Penelope would need a breather, even if she’ll have plenty of opportunities when she returns to the ton without Eloise.

The rest of the Bridgerton family were probably already in the drawing room, sipping on champagne and pretending not to notice that everyone was worried Eloise could take off on them at any time. Penelope knew she should join them. Instead, she slumped on the bench outside the door and relished the relative silence. A mirror hung on the wall, tilted down to give Penelope a full view of herself. The woman in the mirror looked tired and… well, Penelope would never consider herself beautiful but she did think age had matured her both physically and emotionally.

She long rid her wardrobe of citrus colors and unflattering silhouettes. A spinster need not have her hair pinned all the time, so she often left her hair long and curly past her shoulders. When she’d arrived at Romney Hall, Violet had given her a hair clip that matched the flowers Eloise would carry down the aisle. It was the start of a long day of tears. Penelope’s vision was blurry as she’d excused herself to clip it in, sweeping her hair to one shoulder and settling it there for the day.

So, the woman in the mirror looked… pretty. Pretty and sad.

Penelope sighed, throwing her head back against the wood-paneled wall. In the back of her mind, she had expected this day to happen. Despite Eloise’s many protestations, the insidious nature of love was that no one was immune. Penelope knew that well. She also knew that, unlike her, Eloise was a Bridgerton and therefore had her pick of husbands. She needed only to settle on the one she liked and trusted best and the chance of reciprocation would be very high. For a long time, Penelope tried to hold on to the notion that Eloise would not do that to her, would not leave her to weather society alone. But that is not their world. Women did not have the luxury of spending a good life with their good friend. Not when men still held the true key to their independence. Penelope found that she would much rather Eloise be happier in her new massive estate, away from meddling mamas and insipid debutantes, surrounded by culture and education, a giving husband and his welcoming children.

Still, Penelope was a little gratified by Eloise’s tears when she finally confessed her correspondence with Sir Phillip. She had only reached out after Marina’s death out of selfish boredom rather than true sympathy. But it had continued from there – letters and letters and letters that surprised her and challenged her and educated her. And suddenly, Eloise, for the very first time, had the makings of a crush.

She finally confessed it all to Penelope, moisture running down her sharp cheekbones, and – even though Penelope could see her future of full-time sisterhood slip away – she knew that love was more than a worthy cause. So, she had pushed for Eloise to have the family call on Romney Hall and a proper courtship ensued. And now here she was, at her best friend’s wedding, dooming herself to die at Featherington House.

That was a little dramatic. Penelope knew from her… more clandestine activities, that there were far worse places to live than a mansion at Grosvenor Square. And her relationship with her mother had settled, out of necessity more than anything else. Penelope knew her mama needed her, and though she often felt used, at least Lady Featherington treated her with a little more respect these days. And kept her comments about Penelope’s physical appearance to an all-time low.

Whistledown had long been shuttered, though copycats kept cropping up and failing every day. Penelope had no way to use the fortune she’d amassed without raising eyebrows so it went into running the Featherington Estate. Things ran smoothly, and clean enough, and their reputation had even been so improved that a distant aunt had agreed to send her daughter to stay with them for her debut in the upcoming season.

It was all fine. Penelope was fine. She knew who she was now, and it meant that she knew how to keep expectations low and accept her position in life. She expected nothing to change–

“Pen?”

Penelope blinked, tilting her head in the direction of the voice, realizing a second too late that it could only belong to one man.

Colin Bridgerton stood in the entrance of the hallway. He was dressed in traditional wedding wear, though it was a bit frumpled, presumably from dressing in haste in the carriage to Romney Hall. He had a top hat in his hand and his hair was messy, but in a way that made Penelope’s mouth run dry and she loathed the idea of him fixing it for the wedding.

Colin had returned for his sister’s wedding. This should not have been surprising to Penelope.

“Colin,” she greeted, standing up quickly to bow. “You are looking very… tan.” Her eyes widened, and she rushed to correct herself. “I mean well! You are looking very well. Healthy.”

“You flatter me, Pen,” Colin said, grinning from ear to ear. He took a few steps closer to her, dipping his head down conspiratorially. “And you can continue flattering me as it may make me more ready to meet with Anthony,” Colin said, and Penelope stammered, cheeks red, until he smoothly continued talking. “I hope I did not disturb you. I was meant to meet my brothers in the study when I arrived but I am completely turned around.”

Penelope just continued to stare owlishly at him, still in a state of shock at his sudden appearance, at experiencing his beguiling smile in person once again. How long had it been? Before Franny’s wedding, surely, as Colin was unable to make it back and therefore spent weeks in Scotland afterwards making it up to his sister. No, it’d been at least two years since she’d last laid eyes on him and she was feeling every moment of those two years now, with his attention entirely on her.

“I thought I would remember my way around but it’s like a maze.”

“I think that’s why Eloise likes it so much,” Penelope said, then curious as ever: “You’ve been here before?”

“Once,” his cheerful expression faltered, and he looked at her wearily. “To visit… your cousin, not long after the birth of the twins.” She watched in horror as he stepped even closer, an expression of sympathy in his eyes. “I meant to send my condolences, Pen. I’m so very sorry.”

Penelope looked at him, confused. “To me?”

“Well,” Colin looked around, uncomfortable. “I know you two weren’t close but–”

“Out of the two of us,” Penelope interrupted, pointing between them. “You’d have much more cause to be in mourning. I should’ve written to you, really.”

Colin’s head jerked back, like her words had confused him. Penelope had assumed Colin would take the news of Marina’s passing hard, as she could only imagine the pain of losing a first love. And she had meant to send him a letter. But the idea of reaching out to Colin about Marina had left a pit of dread in her stomach, and Penelope could not bring herself to put her heart through that, even if it was what she deserved.

“Let us call it a wash, then,” Colin said in response to the awkward silence that filled the space between them. He looked down at her fondly, but he always did that. Penelope understood not to confuse it with romantic feelings. “I have missed you, Pen. I would’ve loved to receive a letter from you. Under any circumstances.”

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her feet. There was something in his tone that made her feel caught out. Too late, she realized why that was. “Well, it is hard to know where you are.”

Penelope wondered if she sounded convincing, as if she did not have a stack of geography books from all the places Colin had sent her letters from over their many years of correspondence. It had started in her youth, innocent observations sent back and forth. It was the favorite part of Penelope’s entire life. She spent her days waiting around for another letter from Colin Bridgerton, the contents of which were wildly improper but hardly salacious. Her mother had found the letters long after the word spinster was being used to label Penelope, and she’d demanded them to end. Penelope could never understand why her mother was so insistent, despite the fact that people cared far less about what Penelope did now that she was on the shelf. Penelope was going to warn Colin and find a way around her mother’s orders, but then the incident had happened and she decided a clean break might actually be a good thing.

A clean break for her, at least. Colin still sent her letters all the time. She just never responded to a single one. She became particularly adept at making sure her mother did not see when one would arrive. Asking him to stop would be a response. And, anyhow, not a single part of her wanted them to stop. Now, they lived underneath her floorboards with her fortune and old copies of Whistledown, open and worn from multiple viewings.

“I was in Spain,” Colin said, watching her curiously. “Beautiful country. I’m not sure my letter did it any justice.”

Oh, it absolutely had. Penelope had gripped the pages, enraptured by his prose, his seamless descriptions of the hot sun and ancient streets. But she refused to take the bait. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want Colin to know that she read the letters, it wasn’t as if she had a strand of dignity left when it came to him. But it felt like a shared secret, something clandestine and exciting and Penelope did not want the walls of Romney Hall to hear.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” Penelope responded instead, clearing her throat. “If you decide to return home after the wedding, of course.”

When Colin did not immediately respond, she gathered the courage to look up at him. His eyes were flickering over her face and then – Penelope nearly gasped, blinking to be sure it was not a product of her overactive imagination – his dark eyes trailed down her body. She was wearing a Bridgerton blue gown, another item selected by Violet with the intention to make Penelope feel included. She had always loved the color, as much as she loved the family, for it brought out the lightness in her eyes. There were sparkly embellishments at the bottom that swished with each step. For a split second, under Colin’s assessing gaze, she felt beautiful.

Penelope flushed further, sure that her chest was a bright pink, and she moved, the sound of her dress breaking Colin out of whatever trance he was in.

“Is the dress new?” Colin said quickly, inclining his head. “The color rather suits you.”

Penelope cleared her throat, trying not to let the compliment affect her.

“Your mother chose it,” she said, then curled her mouth up. “Though, I suppose you might still be used to seeing me in citrus. I can assure you those dresses are long gone.”

Colin furrowed his eyes, confused. “I’ve always liked your dresses.”

“Well, Lady Whistledown did not,” Penelope pointed out. “I think it was her who made the citrus fruit analogy first, actually.”

“Oh, well, if Lady Whistledown says it,” Colin said, rolling his eyes. “I still think someone ought to expose her. She is probably dining out on the money she made off publicly mocking you.”

Well, it had paid for the trip here.

“I guess you could say I am a true supporter of the working woman,” Penelope said, smiling despite herself. “I’ll be sure to let Eloise know later.”

Colin stared at her, his cheeks lifting in a grin as they both burst out in laughter. Penelope put a hand to her mouth, then her chest, trying to stop her beating heart. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, as she thought it might be, but rather exhilarating. It had been so long since she’d been this comfortable in a man’s presence.

“I shall stay for the season, of course,” Colin interjected suddenly, clearing his throat, as if remembering where they were and what had preceded the conversation. The compliment he bestowed on her still floated, infuriatingly, through her head, but she hoped he was not too embarrassed. He had been on a long journey home and she was most likely the first person of polite society that he had seen since his return. She knew by now not to take any suggestion from him too seriously. “I need to talk to Anthony about bachelor lodgings, which I am dreading. But I am not sure I can survive an entire season at Bridgerton House at the ripe age of three and thirty.”

“You do not think he’ll grant you a place to stay?”

Colin looked weary. “He may require something of me in return.” At her questioning gaze, he sighed. “A wife, perhaps.”

Penelope coughed, subtly taking a step back. “So, I may be expecting another Bridgerton wedding invite soon?”

She was a little proud that she managed to not let any lingering hurt seep into her words. It made sense, really. He showed up looking like this, like the most beautiful man that ever walked the planet, and he was talking about growing up and getting his own lodgings. The next logical step would be marriage. If men had callers, women would be lined around Grosvenor Square for a chance to be Colin Bridgerton’s wife.

Penelope knew better. Ten years ago, she would’ve been at the front of the line, adoration written over every inch of her round face. Now, she knew better than to even join.

“I’m not sure–”

“Is Penelope still out there?” Eloise’s voice boomed from behind the door. “Penelope!”

They both jumped at the screech of her name from inside the room. Penelope could hear Eloise and Daphne bickering and she knew she was being called in for backup – although for who, she wasn’t so sure. She sighed, bowing slightly to Colin with a tired smile.

“I shall go make sure there is a bride for this wedding at least.”

Colin looked fond again and Penelope needed to leave. Her exposure to Colin Bridgerton’s charm was becoming too prolonged. When it got like this, there was no one else Penelope wanted to be around. “You do that,” he said, voice suddenly quiet. “We’ll talk later.”

Penelope nodded, picking up her skirts, the swishing sound particularly loud in the silent hallway.

“Pen,” Colin called, as her hand reached the doorknob. She looked over at him and he lowered his head, that thing he did whenever he had something to say, just to her. “Save a dance for me.”

Penelope scoffed goodnaturedly, waving her hand at him like he had told some funny joke. It was a joke. The wedding was taking place in the drawing room at Romney Hall with only the closest family members (and Penelope) in attendance. There would be no dancing at Eloise Bridgerton’s wedding.

Penelope let herself glance at Colin one last time. He was backing away slowly, his eyes steady on her, but it was that same fond expression that made her question if he was really joking at all.

Chapter Text

Colin stumbled upon the study not long after he left Penelope. He only had to take two rights before he found the door. He’d only been here once before, a lifetime ago, though his interest in Philip Crane’s studies had not waned much. He looked behind him, as he had been doing since he watched Penelope enter the dressing room to deal with whatever crisis his sisters were in.

He felt he owed her an apology. He’d been… improper with her, though his friendship with Penelope never seemed to fit the typical rules of propriety anyway. It was an unfamiliar feeling, however, to worry if he’d somehow crossed a line with her. He supposed it was not something he stopped to think about often. He had not seen Penelope in some time, too long really, and merely wanted to do what felt good, say whatever would make Penelope’s cheeks turn that pretty pink flush.

That’s what had caused it, if he was being honest. He’d traveled by land and sea to make it on time for Eloise’s somewhat hasty and very surprising wedding. And Penelope looked beautiful, standing there in the dark hallway of Romney Hall. He may have traveled to many countries in his time but he had never met another woman with such vibrant hair as Penelope. He had always been mesmerized by it. There was something warm about it, more pure in color than her sisters or mother. It reminded him, oddly, of the feeling he got whenever he saw the crystal blue waters of the Mediterranean.

It only made sense, then, that Colin would have a reaction to the unexpected picture of Penelope Featherington with her pretty hair resting loose past her shoulders, outfitted in a Bridgerton Blue gown. He wondered if there was a way he could thank his mother without expecting a host of follow-up questions.

Anyway, he had no problem appreciating Penelope’s beauty in private. He just hoped he hadn’t made her uncomfortable with any unwanted comments.

He shook out his shoulders, raising his hand to knock on the door but it swung open just before he could.

“You’re late,” Anthony greeted, slapping Colin’s shoulder in greeting then brushing past him. “Nearly missed the bloody thing.”

Colin looked back into the study, where Benedict was downing the last of whatever liquor they had cheered with. “He’s upset that Eloise asked me to walk her down the aisle.”

Colin let Benedict walk ahead of him, closing the study door before him. He needed to find a way to thank Penelope. Not only had she been a sight for very sore eyes, her conversation had made him just late enough to miss Anthony’s first attempt to corner him into an interrogation.

“There is going to be an aisle?”

“Oh, Daphne made sure there was an aisle.” Benedict grinned over his shoulder. “You have been missed, Brother.”

Colin doubted that was true, but he returned Benedict’s smile regardless. He still wrote letters on his travels, but as was becoming normal for him – no one wrote back. With Penelope, he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. There had been a time, years in fact, where she replied to each letter with more enthusiasm than the last. He felt interesting and exciting every time he read her response, and it made him even more interested to hear about what went on in her life too.

When that abruptly ended, he knew there had to be a reason. He just hadn’t expected to still not know exactly what that reason may be.

His family, well, that was a wound that would not close. He did not want to burden them with his hurt feelings, nor did he want to go without updating them on his travels. So, he wrote them little bits and pieces and saved the details for Penelope. He used to keep journals but they became precarious to travel with and store. Now, his innermost thoughts stay with Penelope, if she reads them at all. Her face when he mentioned them gave nothing away.

Colin trailed behind his brothers, lost in thought, until they were upon the drawing room. The doors opened into a beautiful setting for a private wedding – a couple rows of chairs had been set up, with a satin runner leading to the stunning archway that had been built as the altar. It was still very understated, and it hardly compared in size or circumstance to a wedding thrown by the Queen. But it was perfect for Eloise. If a wedding could be perfect for Eloise.

Colin suddenly wondered what Penelope thought of the whole affair, and he sought out where she might be. It was not until Daphne entered the room that he found her, trailing behind, looking only slightly more tired than when he saw her a few minutes ago. She tipped her head down and walked to the edge of the room.

“The bride and groom will walk in together,” Daphne announced, glaring at where Colin and his brothers were standing. “With the children.”

Colin furrowed his brows, glancing at Benedict who was clearly failing to contain his child-like giggles. “I really missed something, haven’t I?”

“You should’ve been there,” Benedict replied. “Kate had to walk Anthony out of the room like a dog when Eloise told him. It was a sight to behold.”

“Surely if I had been there, she would’ve just asked me to do the honors,” Colin said, smugly. Benedict scoffed, bumping his shoulder before returning to his family, seated in the front row of the bride’s side.

“Colin!” Daphne called. “Sit on the groom’s side.”

“What?” Colin asked. “Why?”

Daphne shrugged. “He has no family, Colin. And you two have met.”

“Once!”

“Once is more than some of us got,” Anthony mumbled under his breath, ducking away from an attempted swat from Kate. “And anyway, once is enough. Penelope has agreed to sit on the groom’s side, right?”

All eyes went to the small redhead in the corner, who immediately straightened under the attention, giving him a nod. “That’s right.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Do not bully her into agreeing with you. She should be on her best friend’s side of the room.”

“I did not bully her,” Anthony retorted, offended. “Anyway, it was Kate who asked her.”

“I really do not mind,” Penelope interjected, smiling encouragingly at Kate. “There are no bad seats here, truly.”

“Maybe we should stop caring so much about such traditional elements of a wedding when we are at a decidedly non-traditional one,” Benedict suggested, resting his head on his wife’s shoulder tiredly.

“Quite right, Brother,” Colin announced, clapping his hands together. “Miss Featherington, would you do me the honor of being my seatmate on the groom’s side of the aisle?” He even bowed slightly, theatrical enough that he could tell Penelope was suppressing a smile.

“If you insist, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, bowing with humor in her eyes. “And since there are so many options, may I suggest the front row?”

Colin nodded, and he found himself walking towards her. “Wonderful idea,” he reached out his hand, as if they were at his mother’s masquerade ball rather than a dressed up drawing room. “In fact, I insist you take the seat closest to the aisle, so Eloise may call upon you for strength during her vows.”

Penelope paused for a moment, looking around the room bashfully. Everyone was silent around them and it had not occurred to Colin that he was putting on a show. He had simply not liked how Penelope looked in the corner of the room, as if she was watching from the outside, and he sought to rectify any exclusion she might have felt. And, he supposed he just really liked making her laugh.

“Perhaps you shall take that seat, Colin,” Penelope said, finally taking his hand. “You might be able to stop her if she makes a run for it.”

The members of his family in the room chuckle, and Colin leads Penelope to their seats with a charming flourish. “What was that?” Colin hears Sophie whisper to his brother, but when he turns to look over at his sister-in-law, she is merely staring at them, eyes narrowed with curiosity and interest.

Once seated, Colin is met with a whiff of the most lovely lavender scent, so fresh it nearly transports him back to the South of France. He turns his head towards where Penelope is seated close to him, fidgeting with her skirts.

“How is she doing?” Colin whispered, indicating Eloise.

“I think she wanted to make sure the kids were alright with everything,” Penelope mused. “Just one last time before the wedding.”

“And are they?”

Penelope nodded, smiling up at him. “Eloise is very good with them. They like that she treats them as equals.”

Colin tipped his head down, a thought suddenly occurring to him. In another life, those would be his children. Or the children that he would be taking responsibility for, as Phillip Crane had done. Now, with Eloise’s marriage, they will become his niece and nephew. The universe had an odd way of working itself out.

If the Universe was named Lady Whistledown, Colin thought, only a little bitter. He had long since accepted that Whistledown publishing what she had probably saved his life, though the longer he travels, the longer he wonders if any of it was worth it. What good was the second chance Whistledown gave him if he never used it to go for what he really wanted. It was just that… he did not know exactly what that was, and he was beginning to become impatient in trying to figure it out.

“Penelope?” Colin whispered, and her eyes that were wistfully looking at the flower-covered arch snapped back to him. “You have the letters. The ones I send you. Right?”

It was imperative that she had them. That she saved them and read them and wished to reply but could not for some… reason that Colin would ultimately understand. Because it was Penelope, and she would never hurt anyone. She would never hurt him.

Except, complete confusion swept over Penelope’s sweet face. In the background, Colin could hear Daphne announce that the ceremony was starting. He could hear his mother gasp as his sister walked down the aisle with her groom-to-be. But all he could see was Penelope, and all he could focus on were her words, over and over in his head, until he wanted to somehow knock himself out.

“Letters?”

After the ceremony, there was a champagne toast. When Violet clinked her silverware against her glass, Colin was almost certain she intended for him to give a speech. On any other day, Colin might be so inclined, but he felt despondent since the start of the ceremony, since Penelope blinked at him, then behind him, smiling at her best friend walking down the aisle, uncomfortable with so much attention on her. Then, when everyone was getting up after, Penelope excused herself, grabbing her skirts and skittering off before Colin even had a chance to say something to her.

She had not received his letters. Colin felt an ache settle in his bones as he tried to come to terms with the fact that all of his mindless, endless observations and scribbling were probably lost somewhere at sea, somehow consistently intercepted by fate. There was so much he had said, so many ways he had described each and every place he had been. It was not as if he could pretend the loss of so much writing did not make his heart pinch in his chest. But it was more than that, Colin knew. He had assumed that Penelope had read each one, that she often understood him better than anyone because she knew him, knew his words and his thoughts like no one else. To have that unceremoniously taken away from him made Colin feel so very alone.

Had he really been so naive? Thinking she had somehow read every letter of his without ever mentioning it to him in person, or replying to a single one? It had just been so long since he had truly seen her in person or been given the opportunity to speak about them.

The more Colin thought about it, the more the situation did not sit right with him. As they moved further into the drawing room, Penelope stayed ahead of him, grabbing a glass of champagne and making conversation with Gregory, of all people. Every time he tried to catch her eye, she’d glance away. It would not be such a cause for concern if Colin hadn’t experienced their easy banter an hour ago.

Had he really written so many letters and not a single one made it to the Featherington House? There was a time when he and Penelope exchanged many letters and it was not as if she had moved.

Penelope was not one to lie, Colin was almost certain of it. But maybe he had caught her off guard, bringing them up to her in person, right before her best friend’s wedding. If he could just have a moment alone with her–

“Colin?” His mother looked at him, expectantly. “Would you care to say a few words?”

He internally groaned, so caught up in his musings that he had forgotten to slip out of his mother’s eyesight. Colin opened his mouth, glimpsing at Penelope who was finally looking at him, expectantly. Would it be so improper if he used this moment to ask to speak to her alone? If Colin had to ask, he supposed he knew the answer. Instead, Colin gestured to Benedict, thinking quickly.

“Benedict should do the honors, I think,” Colin said, smugly glancing at Anthony. “Since he so graciously stepped aside for the ceremony.”

His words do the trick. Immediately, Anthony raised his glass and gave a cheerful, if hasty, toast. Colin stepped back, then around, so he could slither to Penelope’s side. He watched Penelope take a healthy gulp of her champagne, then it set it back down on the refreshment table. Colin opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by his sister. “Colin,” Eloise gave him a grin that seemed happy, her cheeks pink as she glanced back at her husband who was speaking to Anthony about something. “I’m sorry I did not get the chance to greet you when I arrived. I was–”

“Making Pen’s life difficult?”

Eloise opened her mouth, reaching for her friend who was doing an admirable job pretending like she was not listening in on Eloise and Colin’s conversation. He smiled at Penelope as she stumbled, flustered, into their little circle. Colin had a sense of nostalgia, remembering the schemes the three of them would get up to when they were young.

“Oh, tell him I did no so thing,” Eloise muttered, grasping onto Penelope’s elbow. “And anyway, I did not expect you to even be here–”

“I would not miss it for the world, Eloise,” Colin said, and before she could open her mouth. “Francesca’s wedding was an accident, truly. And if she’s forgiven me, then so should you.”

Eloise waved her hand in the air. “I’m not mad about that. I was there and I wish I could’ve skipped it.”

“Eloise,” Penelope admonished. “It was a beautiful wedding.”

“It was boring,” Eloise moaned. “Francesca and John are lovely but you spend too long in their company and it is like reading directly out of one of the textbooks in the study.” Colin locked eyes with Penelope, both of them suppressing their smiles. It was good to know that marriage had already failed to change Eloise too much.

“I agree that they are lovely,” Colin conceded. “I visited them in Scotland last year and the grounds were magnificent.”

“That is true,” Eloise said, frowning. “Phillip is still searching for Harebells to grow in his greenhouse.”

“The bluebells?”

“Oh, they would look lovely here!” Penelope exclaimed, looking around the drawing room wistfully. “And did you know the smell of jasmine can have a calming effect on a household? Colin will have to bring them home from Franny’s garden next time.”

Penelope froze for a split second, so fast that it would be unnoticeable if Colin had not been watching her. Worried that she somehow thought she’d spoken out of turn, Colin smiled down at her, nodding enthusiastically. He watched as Eloise pulled her away towards Anthony and Phillip, no doubt to save her new husband from further interrogation.

He was in the middle of a conversation with his mother when it clicked.

Colin had written to Penelope about the Scottish bluebells. He had written to her about Scotland and Francesca’s garden, which she’d started planting after she lost the first babe. He told Penelope that the surrounding area smelled of jasmine, and it had a calming effect on him, much needed after wandering aimlessly for so long.

Penelope had read his letters. He was almost certain. And Colin was determined to find out why exactly she felt the need to keep that from him.

Chapter Text

An hour after lunch was served, Penelope disappeared. Colin had been tracking her the entire time, since his revelation made it imperative that he speak to her alone. His traitorous appetite distracted him for a single second (would someone miss the last biscuit?) and suddenly Penelope was nowhere to be found. Benedict was saying… something to him, and all he could think about was finding her.

It had been a truly disconcerting day.

“I will be right back,” Colin murmured, stepping away from his bewildered brother and ducking out of the drawing room. He traced his steps back to the hallway he’d first seen her but it, as well the dressing room his sisters had used, was empty. His head felt foggy as he headed to the study. The champagne had made his head light and maybe a glass of Phillip Crane’s scotch would wake him up. Something was the matter with him. He suddenly had the distinct need to take a horse and ride off to… somewhere, anywhere but here. The idea of returning to London after this wedding seemed suffocating.

As Colin entered the room, a loud gasp came from inside and he stopped short, feeling a little better that at least he succeeded in one task. Penelope stood from the chair facing the simple desk, looking caught, though as Colin looked around, he found nothing that seemed out of the ordinary.

“You scared me,” Penelope said, placing a hand on her heaving chest. It had an unexpected effect on Colin, his gaze following her hand without him realizing it. He shook his head, opening the door a little wider.

“Apologies,” he replied, though he was not all that sorry. “I was looking for you.”

Penelope tilted her head. “You were?”

Colin nodded, closing the door behind him. “Well, I was looking for you. And the bottle of scotch I’m hoping Sir Crane keeps in his desk.”

Penelope scoffed, slumping back down on the chair she’d sprung up from when he entered the room. “I came here to get away from the Bridgertons.” The words were a bit harsh but her tone was light, and she beamed up at him as he walked around to look behind the desk.

“Now Pen,” he quipped, frowning. “We know I am your favorite one.”

She laughed out loud – such a sharp, unexpected sound that Colin almost felt offended. She covered her mouth, blushing at her own reaction. Colin suddenly wanted nothing more than to be the gloves she wore on her hands. He wrenched open the bottom of the drawer, trying to keep the glare he knew he held on his face as playful as possible. It was only that he was getting a little tired at being reminded of how little he meant to the people who meant the most to him.

“I am sorry,” she giggled still, and he huffed, opening another drawer, grumbling when no liquor revealed itself. There is a pause, as Colin refused to look up at her, and then the giggling stopped. “Colin. I have not seen you in nearly two years.”

A compartment at the bottom of the desk yielded a small bottle of some dark-colored liquid. Phillip Crane, you disciplined man, he bemoaned to himself but still pulled out two glasses and placed them on the desk. Penelope’s eyes dropped to the glass, then back up to his face. He grimaced as he poured them each a little to sip.

“It has not been two years since you’ve heard from me, though,” he placed the bottle down, and pushed a glass closer to Penelope, lifting his eyes to catch her gaze. “Is that right?”

“Colin–”

“I apologize that I have not physically been here,” he interrupted. “But my letters were quite long.”

Penelope blinked rapidly at him, then looked down at the glass before her, gripped it in her tiny hand, and drank the liquor in one sip. Colin watched her neck as she threw her head back and found himself swallowing. His mouth suddenly felt particularly dry.

“I can explain.” Penelope was breathing heavily, looking up at him with those wide, blue eyes. He had forgotten what he was even confronting her about.

The letters.

Colin shook his head, taking a swig from his own glass to coat his throat. “Please,” he grumbled, sitting back in his chair. “I insist, actually.”

Penelope bit her plus bottom lip, looking askance. “Well, there is not too much to explain, I suppose,” she admitted, sighing. “A few years ago, my mama found some of your letters,” Penelope looked at him once, then away, “the ones to which I replied, I mean. She was furious and forbade me from ever writing to you again. She had the mail monitored for nearly the entire season which proved to be inconvenient for… other reasons.” Penelope did not elaborate, but her cheeks went pink like she had said something she should not have. She shrugged, pushing the glass forward. “To this day, I am not sure why she was so angry but,” Penelope looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “I could not exactly risk my mama kicking me out of the estate–”

“Of course not,” Colin whispered, feeling utterly awful. Of course Portia Featherington would be furious at him writing letter after letter to her unmarried daughter. And he wrote to Penelope long before the ton had slapped her with the spinster title. Colin had acted with little honor when it came to his friend’s reputation. “This was entirely my fault. I am sorry, Penelope.”

Penelope glanced at him, confused. “Why are you sorry? It is not as if I told you. And I lied when you asked me just a few hours ago.”

Colin shrugged. “I will admit the lie did surprise me but I figured you felt ambushed,” he gave her a smile. “It was bad timing on my part.”

“Colin,” she groaned, placing her elbows on the desk. “You do not have to take responsibility for everything. I should have sent word to you years ago but,” she paused, closing her eyes. “I really did not want them to stop.”

He perked up at that. “So you did receive them? I was not sure with your mama–”

“I ended up bribing one of the footmen to bring me your letters,” she laughed, catching Colin off guard. “I suppose in a way, it was like I was subscribing to Lord Whistledown.” She broke down even further into a fit of giggles, wiping away an errant tear from amusement. “Anyway, I did end up losing the ones you sent for that season to Mama but it was your fifth tour in Greece and, to be honest Colin, you tend to favor a lot of the same places after a while.”

She stopped herself, a soft hiccup falling from her lips. It made Colin break out into a loud, belly-aching laugh – one he was sure he had not experienced for a very long time. Penelope stifled her own giggles into the palm of her hand and Colin had the sudden urge to grab it between both of his own.

“I’ve had too much.”

“No,” Colin said, softly. “You just had it too quick.”

They both stand at the same time, their chairs creaking loudly in the quiet room.

“I should get back–”

“Let me escort you back–”

They stop short, then look away from each other abashedly. Colin gestured with his hand towards the door, bowing slightly, and he watched the bottom of Penelope’s dress as she turned, the hem making that same swaying, almost metallic-sounding melody that Colin found himself enjoying greatly. He sidled up next to her in the hallway back to the drawing room. It was almost time for everyone to quit for the day, which ultimately meant that Colin would be expected back into the study or garden or wherever the hell Anthony wanted to take Colin to tell him what a failure he was.

Colin rolled his eyes at his own hyperbole. At most, Anthony would level him with a disappointed, sad stare and at best, he would be in that mood he is in when he is particularly easy to rile up.

“Will your mama allow me to call upon the house?”

Penelope hummed. “I am not sure she would turn you away in person,” she mused, glancing at him. “We could always say you are coming to see about Felicity.”

Colin stopped walking, and Penelope looked over her shoulder at him, frowning.

“Who is Felicity?”

“My cousin,” Penelope answered, turning her whole body towards him. She crossed her arms over her chest, luring Colin’s treacherous gaze. “We’re sponsoring her for the season,” Penelope’s eyes flicker to him. “I hear she is very beautiful.” Colin hummed, distractedly listening. A distant cousin, yes, but also has the silhouette on her dresses been changed? Did it happen before he last saw her and he was too much of an absolute fool to notice? He watched her blink at him, waiting for something. “So you will?”

“What?”

“You’ll call on the house when you get back into town?”

Colin smiled at her. “Of course.” Then her words come back to him: “To see you,” he corrected. “I’ll call on the house to see only you. You are far too young to be a meddling mama, Penelope.”

An unreadable expression passed over Penelope’s face. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Well, Miss Featherington,” he said, stepping close to her. Pride bloomed in his chest when she did not step back. There was still trust there, at the very least. “Let me explicitly state that I have no interest in seeing ‘about’ her.”

Penelope rolled her eyes and, to Colin’s great regret, turned around to walk ahead. Colin followed but stayed back, appreciating the view. “I said we could use that as an excuse if my mama asked,” she said, admiringly calm.

She looked over her shoulder at him again, then quickly ahead. This estate was a maze and Colin felt suddenly grateful for the ease and comfort of the Bridgerton House. Maybe if Anthony refused him his lodgings, he would be fine staying at Bridgerton House. It had great neighbors, after all.

“So you are staying this season?”

Colin had not really decided until now, to be honest, as he stared at the back of Penelope’s head. He had missed being able to actually talk to another human being like this, so comfortable and easy. If he stayed, he could do that all the time with Penelope – at balls, when she called on the Bridgerton House. He could always plan for something after, when everyone returned to the country.

“I think so,” Colin felt more sure with each second that their time alone together drew to a close. “Yes. If that is alright with you.” He did not know why he added on that last part. It had not occurred to him until just then that he might only be staying in town for one reason. Penelope physically stumbled from his words, tipping forward until Colin reached out to grab her by the elbow, steadying her and inadvertently pulling her against him.

Penelope looked so very small like this, in his arms, and she turned her chin up to look at him, her blue eyes wide and blinking, as if she needed her eyes checked for something. “Of course it is alright, Colin,” she whispered, incredulously. “There is nothing in the world that would make me happier.”

And then she slipped out of his arms and they walked silently back to the drawing room, where his swarm of a family engulfed Penelope and carried her away from him and he found Anthony in the corner, beckoning him into another room with a nod of his head. Colin went willingly, his head filled with the distinct sense that Penelope’s last words to him were not a simple hyperbole.

Penelope stared at the ceiling of the room she had typically stayed in at Romney Hall the few times she had been here before the wedding. It was a very gracious room to give a simple best friend of the Lady of the House, but Penelope appreciated the gesture from Philip and liked that he never seemed to mind the rules of society much.

Penelope huffed, unable to get truly comfortable despite the plush bedding being even better than what her mama insisted upon for the Featherington house. Unconsciously, she had rubbed her elbow red, still trying to get the feeling of Colin’s hand on her body out of her mind. She could swear that she still felt his touch, that her skin was still buzzing from the simple way he had pulled her against him, the gentle feel of his strong torso behind her shoulders. For a moment, she was grateful for their height difference because it kept her from being able to simply reach up and kiss him, just to see what it would be like.

How deeply pathetic she had become, from one single day of interactions no less. Penelope could not imagine how she was going to feel at the end of the season, after many months of Colin’s friendly attention during balls and when he called on the house. But she could guess, and it did not look good.

Penelope grabbed the pillow next to her and placed her face in it, groaning loudly. None of these feelings were new for her. But the touching was new, the proximity was new, the way his eyes trailed her felt new. She was sure it was nothing more than a wild fantasy, brought on because Penelope had been feeling bored and lonely. Of course she would seek more in her dear friend’s actions than what was actually there.

She wished she had someone she could talk to about this. Penelope had never known how much the Bridgertons’ knew about her crush and she liked to keep it that way. Let them all know and laugh at her (though she knew they could never be so intentionally cruel), but do not let her know.

Penelope felt her elbow twitch and rolled her eyes, placing the pillow back on the bed. She sighed, closing her eyes, but all she could see was Colin, all she could hear was Colin, all she could feel was Colin. And so she did the one thing she had always sworn she would never do if she and Colin were sleeping under the same roof. She hiked one leg out of the covers, wetting her fingers, and let them slip down between her legs, her eyes squeezing tightly shut in the hope that no dead relatives will look down (or up) and see her getting off to the image of her best friend’s brother.

We know I am your favorite one.

Penelope stifled a groan with her free hand, encountering a wetness between her legs that was almost embarrassing, but luckily not new. Prolonged contact with Colin has always had the same effect ever since she finally figured out what it all meant through endless amounts of secret research and procurement of books from unsavory places. She knew, now, how it all worked. To join with a man. To couple with him. To make… love.

Penelope swiped her fingers over the little pearl that made her shake, gasping as quietly as she could manage. She lifted her hips against her fingers for more pressure, her free hand dropping from her mouth to pluck at one of her nipples. Sometimes, it paid to know one’s body in this way. Penelope could build herself up rather quickly, and often did due to the shame she felt before, during and after the act. But the pleasure was often too great to resist, and Penelope knew it could very well be the only time she would experience it.

Penelope moved her fingers fast, imagining Colin’s hands, his neck with no cravat, his perfect face, those lips. God, his eyes! Penelope wanted to die with each new feature of Colin Bridgerton that made her ache even more for him. What would it be like? To have his hands on her? Would he be gentle because he is always gentle? Or would he be a little rough because he is always gentle? Penelope felt herself gush at the thought, the guilt already creeping in. She was a complete pervert, fantasizing about her friend’s private life for her own pleasure.

Penelope decided she would never do it again. And certainly not while thinking about Colin. After she was finished tonight, of course. She bucked her hips against her hand a few more times, every single picture of Colin Bridgerton running through her head. His voice, so kindly given to her today through their many conversations, played like an orchestra through her head. She bit down hard on her bottom lip to stifle her moans.

l’ll call on the house to see only you. You are far too young to be a meddling mama, Penelope.

For some reason, that did it or her. Penelope gasped, shaking as wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashed over her. She exhaled deeply once it was over, wiping her hands on the sheet next to her, feeling wrung dry. She was not fully aware of her volume as she finished, but Penelope can barely keep her eyes open to even care. She was quiet enough, she was sure. And anyway, it was not as if anyone in this house saw her as a sexual creature. They probably thought she knew absolutely nothing about the act.

Except–

Colin had called her young, hadn’t he? He had bristled at her usage of the term spinster and his eyes had lingered on her body in ways that men did when they had distinctly dishonorable thoughts. Colin always corrected himself quickly, and Penelope never took these looks as anything other than her being there at the right place and right time. But still, it made her feel like a woman. Not a spinster, but a woman – still young, but mature. Not barren and dried up.

Maybe if Colin could feel that way about her – the same Colin who had made it pretty clear on numerous occasions (and perfectly clear on one occasion) that he would never feel that way about her – then maybe other men could too. Maybe it was time to at least try. It was a laughable idea, considering she had just pleasured herself to the same man she has been in love with since she was a child. But she would not get anywhere without a little optimism.

Penelope slowly fell asleep, hazily reliving the happy day. The last thing she heard was the vague sound of a door closing on the other side of the hall, her body and mind too tired to investigate any further.