Chapter Text
After spending a restless morning in the study, Colin’s stomach began rumbling loudly. He’d skipped breakfast, as he often did when his thoughts consumed him. This time, it was Penelope, her laughter, her smile, the haunting dreams of her sorrow, that left him too overwhelmed to eat. An anxious knot tightened in his stomach at the thought of seeing her soon, the possibility of rejection making him queasy. Still, he resolved to face her, though not on an empty stomach.
Determined to fortify himself, Colin made his way to the dining room and called for one of the maids. He requested a tray filled with biscuits, sandwiches, tea, and fresh fruit, more than enough to satisfy his growing hunger. Once the food was laid before him, he wasted no time tucking in, grateful for the distraction. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he imagined Penelope teasing him. She’d undoubtedly laugh at the sight of his overflowing plate, calling him her “hungry boy” and demanding that he share his food. He could almost hear her voice, light and playful, cutting through the silence.
As he wiped a crumb from his chin, his mind wandered back to the flowers he’d sent her earlier. Did she like them? Did she smile when they arrived, was she happy to have received them? He could only hope. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, insistent knock on the front door, but he decided to finish his breakfast first, if it was of importance anyone else in the home could greet the insistent visitor.
Portia was furious. Furious that her daughter had put herself in potential danger, furious that she had lied about her illness to orchestrate an escape, and furious at the thought of the inevitable whispers and judgment from the ton. Another scandal was the last thing she wanted. Yet beneath her anger lay a gnawing fear, a deep worry for Penelope’s safety. Though she had rarely shown affection openly, the thought of losing one of her daughters terrified her. They were, after all, the only truly good thing she had created with her late husband, the only true love she had ever known was them.
She ascended the stairs and knocked on the door of Bridgerton House, her fist striking firmly not once but twice when the first knock went unanswered. Impatience clawed at her, and the moments she waited felt like an eternity, though they were only seconds. At last, Dunwoody appeared, greeting her politely, "Good day, Mrs. Featherington. How may I assist you?"
But she offered no reply. Instead, she swept past him uninvited, her resolve unwavering despite his attempts to intervene. With fiery determination, she strode inside, her voice ringing through the halls. “Where is my daughter? Penelope! Penelope, dear!” she called out, her tone a mix of frustration and worry.
“My sincerest apologies, Mrs. Featherington, but Miss Penelope is not in the residence,” Dunwoody said with practiced calm. “Shall I summon Lady Bridgerton for you?” He turned to depart, but before he could take a step, Violet herself appeared at the top of the stairs, with Eloise trailing closely behind.
“Oh, Portia,” Violet greeted warmly, though a note of concern lingered in her tone as her gaze took in the other woman’s flustered state. “What brings you to our home this morning?” Her voice remained composed, but her eyes betrayed her unease, noting Portia’s anxious demeanor.
“Hello, Violet. I will not take much of your time,” Portia said, her voice quivering. “I have come looking for Penelope. Please… tell me, is she here?”
Violet’s expression softened with concern, though confusion clouded her eyes. “Penelope? I fear I do not understand. I have not seen her since the Lady Danbury ball.” Her expression softened with worry, for she had always held Penelope dear, as though she were one of her own daughters.
“Eloise…” Portia’s voice grew louder as she turned her attention to Eloise, who stood silently a few steps behind her mother, seemingly distracted and detached from their conversation. At the sound of her name, Eloise looked up and approached slowly, her expression unreadable.
“Eloise,” Portia pleaded, her voice cracking, “have you seen Penelope? If you know where she is, you must tell me… please! I know the two of you have had your differences, but I need to find her.”
Portia’s hands trembled as her desperation mounted. She began pacing the entrance hall, her breathing growing rapid and uneven. Her brows knitted tightly together as she rubbed her temples, attempting in vain to steady her nerves, knowing full well that if she didn’t, a splitting headache would soon follow.
“Lady Featherington…” Eloise began, her tone softening despite the tension between them. “As Mama said, the last time I saw Penelope was at Lady Danbury’s ball. Why are you seeking her so urgently? Has something happened?” Though Eloise still harbored resentment towards Penelope for obvious reasons, the depth of her love for her friend outweighed her anger. She was truly concerned.
“I have reasons to believe Penelope ran away.” Violet and Eloise exchanged astonished glances at what they had just heard.
“Are you sure of it? How do you know this, Portia?” Violet asked her while walking closer.
Portia clasped her trembling hands before her, her voice unsteady. “A few days ago, Penelope sent word through Rae, informing us that she was feeling unwell, feverish, with a cold. She insisted we stay away, fearing it might be contagious. Naturally, we obliged, for none of us wished to fall ill, and we respected her wishes. Even Mr. Bridgerton came to inquire after her, but I had to turn him away, for she refused to receive visitors.”
Portia turned toward Violet as she continued, her voice trembling. “Earlier this morning, I sent Mrs. Varley to deliver a bouquet of flowers… flowers your son, Colin, had sent to Penelope.”
Violet’s eyes widened as she exchanged a surprised glance with Eloise. The unspoken question between them was clear, why would Colin send Penelope flowers?
“When Varley entered her room and found it empty, she came to me at once,” Portia began, her voice steadier than her trembling hands. “I hastened to Penelope’s bedchamber, only to find it utterly quiet. Her books, her quill, and every last sheet of writing paper had vanished. Then, I opened her wardrobe and discovered her dresses were missing as well. My daughter has fled, and I believe she have faked her illness to escape. It has been two days since she was...well...ill...and I have no notion of where she might be or what has driven her to this act.”
Though Portia’s tone was composed, the terror that flickered in her eyes betrayed the storm raging within her.
Turning back toward Violet, she pressed a trembling hand to her forehead and exclaimed, “I cannot believe it… I cannot believe Penelope would run away in the middle of the night and she is probably alone. Lord knows where!”
Just then, Colin stepped into the doorway, his face frozen in disbelief as Portia’s words sank in.
Colin heard the knock at the door, followed by hushed voices, but his attention was focused solely on his meal. Yet, his curiosity soon got the better of him, and he rose from his seat to see who had arrived. It was then that he overheard Portia’s voice, heavy with disbelief.
“I cannot believe it… I cannot believe Penelope would run away in the middle of the night and she is probably alone. Lord knows where!”
“What?” Colin blurted, striding towards her with urgency. “What did you just say?” His eyes bore into hers, demanding an answer. “Tell me, damn it!” His impatience was evident when she didn’t give him an answer soon enough.
Violet, startled by his sharp tone, quickly stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm to calm him.
“Colin Bridgerton!” Violet exclaimed, her voice stern. “You need to calm yourself at once. That is no way to speak to a lady. Show some respect.”
Eloise, too stunned by the news of Penelope’s disappearance, stood silent, her tears spilling down her cheeks as she shifted her gaze between Portia and Colin.
“No, mother.” Colin said, his voice taut with emotion. “I cannot calm down. Please, tell me that what I just heard is not true, Lady Featherington.”
“It matters not, Lady Bridgerton,” Portia replied, gesturing at Violet while taking two quick steps back, feeling the weight of Colin’s presence. His intensity was palpable. “Mr. Bridgerton... Yes, it is true. Penelope has left. I believe she did so in the dead of night and I also believe she faked her illness to do so. No one saw her leave, and no one knows where she has gone. She has taken some of her belongings; that is how I know she fled. I had hoped she might be here, with you, but I was wrong. I do not know what to do. I do not know where to search for her.” And as she turned her back to Colin, her voice trembling she said, Why did she have to do this? Why?” as though hoping for an answer.
What she did not expect was for Colin to provide one.
“You ask why?...you ask why?” Colin's voice rose, raw with intensity, a fury that even his mother had never witnessed before. His words sliced through the air, capturing the attention of Benedict and Anthony, who had just entered from the garden. “After all the times you insulted her, made her feel less than she is, after your daughters cornered her and bullied her until she cried her heart out, just because she is different from them. After knowing her father squandered her inheritance on gambling and drink."
“You ask why, when you have never shown an ounce of affection toward your daughter? When you have never offered a hug or a kind word, only criticism for every little thing she does? When you mock her for dressing differently, call her ridiculous, and tell her she will remain a spinster because no one will love her for being 'too fat'? When you force her on diets, forbid her from eating even a simple biscuit because you are embarrassed of her? And for what? Your wretched society rules? Is it more important to you what the ton thinks than the happiness of your own daughter?”
Portia gasped, unable to speak. Each word Colin had spoken struck her like stones, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.
“If she left, it is because of you," he continued, his voice harsh. "Because of your cruelty. You and your daughters do not deserve her. She is kind, warm, and beautiful. She could make any man happy. She is intelligent, witty, and easy to converse with. But you would never know that… because you have never spent more than five minutes with her unless it is to insult her or make her feel worthless.”
Portia stood frozen, unable to move. No one had ever spoken to her with such audacity. But now, guilt coursed through her veins like a poison. She knew she had been harsh with her daughter, particularly Penelope. But had she truly done all of that? The thought of losing her daughter because of her own actions shattered her heart. That was how she had been raised; cold, distant, always second to the men in her life. After marrying Archibald, nothing changed, she was never loved, she was just an object to him. Something he could use as he pleased and discard when he got tired of her. It was always about him, never her, and she had learned to live with that harsh reality.
And although her heart ached with the accusations, she also had something to say.
“You dare judge me, Mr. Bridgerton? You, of all people, should not even waste your time with such words," Portia said sharply, her voice tinged with bitterness. "You…the very man she has been yearning for all her life, and who has never once dared to look at her as a woman. The man who was ready and willing to marry her cousin instead. Do you think I have not noticed? How she searches for you every time you return from your travels, how her heart flutters when she catches sight of you? The way she sits by the window in the drawing room, hoping to catch a glimpse of you? How dancing with you makes her happy?"
Her voice trembled with frustration, but her gaze remained fixed on Colin. "You seek her out, enjoy her company, and then cast her aside as if she were nothing. Leaving her with the same heartache, day after day. Do not dare judge me, Colin. If she left, it was also because of you. I am not the only one to blame."
Colin was stunned by her words. He never thought Penelope might have feelings for him. “Yes…you might be right in all you are implying, but there is only one difference. I always showed her I cared.”
Everyone in the foyer was left stunned by Colin’s harsh words to Portia. He began pacing, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of everything that had just unfolded. His anger flared, not only towards Portia but also at Penelope; mad that she had left without a word, without confiding in him. He couldn’t deny his own role in it. If he hadn’t rejected her, maybe things would have turned out differently. But he had been so blinded by disappointment at the time that he hadn’t considered the hurt his rejection might cause.
He knew her better than anyone, and deep down, he realized that his actions had to be one of the reasons she’d run away. His heart burned with anger and anxiety, a cocktail of emotions that left him dizzy with helplessness. Mad that he didn’t know where she was, mad that she might be in danger, and most of all, mad that he couldn’t protect her.
His mind drifted back to his dreams, and the realization hit him like a wave, when she said to him: “Goodbye Colin. Just know that I will always love you, even if I walk away.” and he hadn’t understood it until now. She loves him…she loves him and he did not see it until now. And then his thoughts drifted to his second dream of her. Her tear-streaked cheeks glistening in the soft glow of that bedchamber, her voice, soft and trembling, whispering that she would miss him. The sting of guilt flooded his chest. His eyes welled up, and for the first time in a long while, he wanted to let the tears fall.
He longed to run to her, to find her and beg her to stay. Tell her he loved her deeply, and would always protect her. That the kiss they had shared, though fleeting, had meant far more to him than she could ever comprehend. It had sparked something deep inside him, something he had spent so long searching for in places far and wide, only to realize it had always been right here, waiting for him. close to home. Because she was his home.
He yearned to tell her what a fool he had been for not realizing it sooner, for allowing fear cloud the truth of his heart. He had been terrified of the depth of his feelings for her but now he can see them clearly. And with every fiber of his being he prays that she feels the same. He wants her to know that he would always choose her; no matter the circumstances, no matter the obstacles, no matter where life might take them. In this lifetime and the next, she would forever be his choice.
In that moment, Colin realized his heart had belonged to her for far longer than he had admitted to himself.
Anthony, observing his brother’s state, stepped forward and placed a steady hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Come, brother,” he said in a soft, commanding tone. “Let us speak in private.”
Before they could leave, Anthony’s gaze shifted to Portia, his voice unwavering. “Lady Featherington, please forgive my brother’s outburst, but I must say, every word he spoke was the truth. Also, we will do all that is within our power to find her and bring her home. Because… while Penelope may not share our blood, she is every bit a Bridgerton in our hearts. We love her as we would our own.”
The three brothers began to make their way to the library, with Anthony on one side of Colin and Benedict on the other, ensuring he did not retreat into himself.
Colin, however, had no desire to hear Anthony’s thoughts on the matter. He knew he was about to be chastised for his harsh words toward Portia, and as they entered the library, he grumbled, “Anthony, please… I do not need your lecture. Not now, not today.”
Benedict, ever the mediator, took hold of Colin’s arm and gently guided him to a nearby sofa. “Come, brother,” he urged, his voice a calming presence. “Sit with us, let us talk it through.”
“Colin…” Anthony began, his tone soft but sincere. “First, I want you to know how proud I am of you. It was high time someone spoke the truth to Mrs. Featherington. I’ve never seen you so upset before, especially not over someone who is, as you say, just a friend.” Anthony smiled, glancing over at Benedict, who returned the look with a raised brow.
Ben, always quick with a teasing remark, leaned in with a smirk. “So, little brother,” he said, his voice laced with mischief, “Is there something more in that heart of yours than you’ve been letting on?”
Colin looked at his brothers, his mind torn. He wanted to keep his feelings buried, but the weight of his emotions was too much to bear. He knew he had to speak, to release the words that had been choking him.
“I love her…” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “I love her, and I do not think I could live without her.” He paused, his chest tightening as he exhaled, frustration and pain clouding his expression.
“I called on her two days ago,” Colin began, his voice strained, “but she claimed to be unwell, so I could not see her. Now I realize it was all a lie. If I had known then she was planning to run away…” He trailed off, lowering his head and covering his face with both hands in frustration.
He took a deep breath, collecting himself before continuing. “After the Danbury Ball, she accused me of things, things that hurt more than I care to admit. And then... I kissed her.” He paused, the weight of the confession settling over him.
Colin spoke in detail, recounting everything. The pain, the misunderstanding, the kiss that meant so much more than he’d ever said. It was rare for him to share his heart so openly with his brothers, but the emotions swirling inside him were too overwhelming to keep to himself.
“I’ve never spoken to you about matters of the heart,” he admitted, his voice quiet but earnest. “But I can’t hold it in anymore. I need your advice, and... it means more than I can say that you are here for me. Even if we do not speak much, I know you care.”
Anthony moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Brother, do not carry guilt for what you did,” he said firmly. “You are but human, and we all make mistakes. What she did, accusing you and attempting to manipulate the situation, was also wrong. You had every right to be upset.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Relationships, as we know, require two people. Both of you have made mistakes at different times. You for that cruel comment at Portia’s ball, and her for the way she accused you, especially after you had sought her forgiveness. Penelope knows you better than any of us, dare I say, perhaps too well. For her to accuse you so harshly, it was unjust, and you were right to react as you did.”
Ben looked between his brothers, nodding thoughtfully. “I love Penelope, but she can be very stubborn. If she has endured as much as you say, it will be difficult for her to accept any love or praise. It is hard to trust people if you have been through all that she went through. That may be why she thought you betrayed her at the Danbury ball. And yet, as Anthony said, she knows you better than any of us. I can see why you were so upset. She had no right to treat you the way she did.”
He sighed, placing a hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Do not let guilt consume you, brother. There is nothing you can do if you let guilt take root in your heart.”
Anthony nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on Colin as if trying to read his thoughts. “Colin…then why did you kiss her, if you were so upset? Why allow yourself to fall for her when you knew it was not right?”
Colin’s eyes lowered, fixating on the lamp on the desk. He could not bring himself to meet Anthony’s gaze.
“I desired her, brother,” he confessed, his voice heavy. “My mind kept telling me no, but my heart... my heart said otherwise. I knew it was not proper. In other circumstances, perhaps we would be married by now. But in that moment, I could not stop myself. I wanted to savor her, even if only for a fleeting moment. I did not understand what I felt for her at the time. I thought it was just a mere attraction. But then... I dreamed of her. She was slipping away, I was losing her. And when I woke, I realized I love her. I have always loved her, even if I did not recognize it until now.”
Colin's heart was in ruins. What was he to do now that she was gone? Where could he possibly find her? A whirlwind of scenarios raced through his mind while his heart was consumed by a tempest of emotions. He felt anger, at himself, at her, but also an overwhelming ache, a profound sorrow. The realization that he had failed to understand the dreams he’d had of her pierced his soul with regret.
Yet, amidst the storm of frustration, grief, and despair, Colin looked his brothers in the eye. With a resolute expression, he rose to his feet. His voice, steady despite the weight of his emotions, carried a solemn promise. "I will not lose her. I can not lose her….I shall do whatever it takes to find her," he vowed. "Even if it costs me my very life."