All Roads That Lead To You As Integral As Arteries To Me

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/41600334.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandoms: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton & Penelope
Featherington, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Eloise Bridgerton
& Penelope Featherington
Characters: Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, Genevieve
Delacroix, Lady Danbury (Bridgerton), Charlotte of Mecklenburg-
Strelitz (1744 -1818), Violet Bridgerton, Edwina Sheffield | Edwina
Sharma, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton
Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Friends
to Estranged Friends to Lovers, Bridgerton Family Feels, Colin
Bridgerton Being an Idiot, Jealous Colin Bridgerton, Polin, Background
Kanthony, Background Daphne and the Duke, Show-verse mainly, Some
background book-verse, s3 predictions, Kind of based on the S3 synopsis
but also kind of not, lots of song inspiration, Title is from a Lana Del Rey
song, Confident Penelope Featherington, She fell first but he fell harder,
Penelope and Eloise need to make up, Colin Bridgerton Slutty Pirate Era,
Colin Bridgerton the Rogue Version, Colin "My Wife" Bridgerton, Colin
is Penelope's biggest simp, Simp Colin Bridgerton, Kate and Anthony
are chaos agents, Virgin Colin Bridgerton, Colin is a virgin who can't
drive
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-09-09 Completed: 2024-03-03 Words: 108,456
Chapters: 25/25
 All Roads That Lead To You As Integral As Arteries To Me
by thathoppingmadtargaryen

Summary

After her falling out with Eloise and deciding to forsake her love for Colin, Penelope
Featherington vows to forge a new life for herself. With the new season on the horizon,
Penelope plans to find a husband and continue her life as a writer without interference from
her family. But her quest for independence is thwarted by two very distracting things: a
manhunt for Lady Whistledown by the Queen of England and one very annoying man who
has reentered her life dressed remarkably like a rogue and demanding her attention.

Meanwhile, Colin has returned from another year abroad with a new swagger and a purpose.
But when he's rejected by the one person he thought was his biggest champion, Colin finds
himself dejected. In a desperate attempt to win her back, he promises to help her find the life
she longs for. But as Penelope attracts more attention, Colin finds himself confronted with
feelings he never thought he would experience, least of all for his best friend.

OR

What I'm writing to deal with the months long wait before we even get a trailer for Polin's
season.

Notes

Hello all! I've never written Bridgerton fics before, but seeing as it is my current
hyperfixation, I figured I'd go ahead and give it a go.

This is my version of S3, based solely on the synopsis that was released, headcanon, and
photos of Luke Newton in that "slutty pirate" get up in the BTS photos we got on social
media a bit ago. I've got a whole playlist for this fic, so each chapter will have an epigraph of
sorts at the beginning.

I hope you'll enjoy!

 Prologue: Tolerated

Prologue

While you were out building other worlds, where was I?

Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

Now I'm begging for footnotes in the story of your life

Taylor Swift, “Tolerate It”

Penelope set her quill down on the desk, tears staining the page and causing the ink to run.
She stared at the thin trails of black, tiny spiderwebs woven by her sorrow and a vow to the
whole of society that they would not be rid of her so easily. Outside, she heard the merriment
of the ton that mixed with the pops and crackles of fireworks. A part of her, buried deep
within her where she had never quite been able to reach, longed to be out with them. It was
the part of her that sought to be part of the festivities, part of the world she had always lived
in, but always on the outer rim, never to be pulled to the center of its orbit. It was the part of
her that dreamt of waltzing away the night with Colin Bridgerton. It was the part of her that
received acceptance.

It was the part of her she had only begun to explore when she picked up her quill and let the
words flow as Lady Whistledown.

Penelope Featherington never thought she would experience power in her lifetime. Most
certainly not when she had no rights to property, ideas, or even her own body. And then there
was the matter of her own family: a disinterested father who paid her very little attention, a
mother who cared very little for her, and two sisters who stuck barbs in her any chance they
got. To be a wallflower within her own home left her no respite from the loneliness she felt
in society. It was one of the reasons she clung to Eloise. At the Bridgerton home, she felt as
though she belonged. With Eloise sharing bon bons and gossip with her, she belonged.
When Colin met her eyes as he sang in the drawing room, she belonged.

Penelope tried to tell herself that maybe just feeling like she belonged when with the
Bridgertons was enough. It could make up for her distinct lack of control over her own life.
But when she slipped into her persona as London’s most keen-eyed and witty gossip
columnist, her voice gave to her a feeling so unique, so fulfilling, she wanted to grasp it with
both hands and never let go.

As she gazed around her room, still in disarray from Eloise tearing it apart, Penelope waited
for the tears to dry on her face. Her heart lay in as many tatters as the paper and furniture
strewn about the room. First, she lost her dearest friend. Then, the man she loved had
spurned her in such a public fashion that she was unsure how she could repair her prospects.

Could the world not have devised such a cruel fate for her, one that tore away everything and
everyone she held dear?

And, yet, as she looked upon the mess of her life, Penelope knew she had done this to herself.
Deep within herself, she knew there was no one she could point to as having wronged her. It
was the result of her choices that she was here, alone in her room and mourning for a past
that she had inhabited just that morning. Fresh pain bloomed in her chest as Eloise’s words
came back to her.

An insipid wallflower, indeed .

Penelope never could have imagined her dearest friend’s voice being so full of venom. All
she wanted was to find a way to protect Eloise from the Queen’s suspicions. Had anything
happened to Eloise as a result of Her Majesty’s wrath, Penelope never could have forgiven
herself. She never wanted her writing to be the thing that took something precious from her.
But if Penelope were being truly honest with herself, it was also the prospect of losing her
best friend and having no one left in the world who she could rely upon. She would not have
been able to endure the loneliness that followed. Because even with the past season’s
tumultuous events, Eloise was Penelope’s one bright spot in a world that sought to smother
her. Had she felt pushed aside by Theo Sharpe, and Eloise’s staunch opposition to taking
part in any piece of society? Most certainly. One small time period’s inattention was nothing
that could erase the years of loyalty, comfort, and laughter they had shared. Eloise saw her
as she was, and loved her for it.

Sniffling, Penelope rummaged in her desk drawer and retrieved a bundle of letters. She
fingered the blue ribbon holding them together, eyes tracing Colin Bridgerton’s handwriting.
All new tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. The laughter of men filled her ears,
booming so loud in her skull that it even drowned out the pops and crackles of the fireworks
outside. She clutched the letters tight in her grasp and went to kneel before her fireplace. As
Penelope stared at the bundle in her hand, she resisted the urge to read them for the
hundredth time. Why had she not listened to her mother? Portia Featherington may not
have meant it as a kindness, but perhaps it would have been better if Penelope had heeded
her warning that Colin was not her friend. Maybe the cruelty of his words in the garden
would have stung less if she did not insist upon remaining close to him.

With a lump the size of a large stone in her throat, Penelope steeled herself for the cut, and
she tossed the stack of letters into the fireplace. She watched the flames lick the paper,
curling it black and turning it to ash. In the silence of the room, something shifted. Penelope
was unsure how, but a wall started to form as she sat, watching the fire devour all the words
she once clung to as if they were a runaway bonnet in a vicious gust of wind. Each brick put
itself into place, building a solid foundation with towering walls that vowed to act as
protection against ever feeling this way again. If this was what love would get her – chest
aching, a feeling of infinite stupidity, barbs meant to sting where only the loved ones knew
they could get to – she wanted no part of it.
As the fire consumed Colin’s letters, she swallowed. The small pile dissolved into nothing but
a pile of ashes. She rose to her feet, a new resolve in her heart. She would never belong to a
family, certainly not one as loving and all-encompassing as the Bridgertons. So, she would
make herself a new life. One where she was no longer merely tolerated. One where she
determined her happiness.

She went to stand at the window once more, gazing down at the members of the ton enjoying
their finery and gossip. Part of her wondered where Eloise or Colin might be out there, but
she shoved those questions aside. Moving forward meant leaving them behind.

And that was just what Penelope intended to do.

 You Bring Me Home
Chapter Summary

Colin returns home from Cyprus for Francesca's debut, intent on finding out why
Penelope did not reply to any of his letters.

Chapter Notes

Thank you so much for the kind responses to this story! I'm humbled by the kudos and
comments you've all left for me. My hope is to be able to upload a chapter weekly.
Again, I'm very appreciative of your responses. I hope you will enjoy this next
installment.

Song inspiration for Colin I: "Sweet Creature" by Harry Styles

Sweet creature, sweet creature

Wherever I go, you bring me home

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road, you bring me home

Harry Styles, “Sweet Creature”

1 Year Later

Colin could not stop rubbing his gloved hands together. The carriage could go no faster, he
knew that. And it was not as if his anxieties would get them through the streets with any
more haste. But he was already running very late, thanks to his ride needing a brand new
wheel before they left Dover. His family would be leaving very soon for the palace to
support Francesca’s debut before the Queen. He wrote to his mother to let her know he had
every intention of being there, and he planned to keep that promise.

And, if he is being honest with himself, he longs to be home for far more than witnessing
another debut for a younger sister.
From the bag next to him, he produced one of several journals he kept the last year abroad.
This is the one he treasured most, full of musings from midnights looking out at the
Mediterranean, when the light of the full moon was all he required to see his parchment, or
ideas that sparked into his mind while sipping Turkish coffee in the hot sun. He willed
himself not to go back through all the drafted letters he composed; best not to dwell on those
words, at least until he could be standing in front of the person they were meant for.

All last year, Colin sent letters home to Penelope Featherington, seeking her replies with a
fervor he could hardly understand. On his first tour, his greatest joy came from sharing his
journey with his friend. He awaited her letters and all her encouraging words she sent in
them the way wanderers sought oases in the desert. After the debacle with Miss Thompson,
Colin’s sense of himself had been shattered. He wondered at his sense of judgment, at how
he could be so blind that he would dismiss the opinions of his closest friends and family for
the sweet promises of a young lady he barely knew. A month into his travels, he worried that
he had no answers to explain his behavior. Penelope’s first letter that reached him in Greece
told him he did not need to know the answers yet, that he had time to discover those
answers. Her following letters, along with her assurances when he returned home from his
tour, only strengthened his grip on his identity.

With his most recent jaunt abroad, he had looked forward to sending her further recountings.
But with each letter sent home, he received no reply. Yes, he had been thrilled to hear from
his family – Anthony had even responded to a letter or two, sounding happier than he ever
had before, and Eloise and Benedict kept up with their jokes about his tales of feeling
humbled by the sheer magnitude of the sights he witnessed. None of them saw him, though,
not the way she did. Upon his last return, Penelope had been the only soul to not meet the
stories of his travels with jests and mockery.

When it became clear something was getting in the way of his letters reaching his friend, or
maybe her letters reaching him, he chose to maintain a journal to share with her upon
returning to English soil. Surely there was something wrong with the post, he assured
himself whenever he flipped through the journal. At points, he tried asking every family
member he wrote to about Penelope’s wellbeing, but all their responses to his questions about
her had been brief, seeing as there had been some quarrel between Penelope and Eloise.

Surely he would be able to help mend whatever breach there may have been.

Colin jolted from his thoughts when the carriage door opened. Thinking of Penelope kept
him from realizing that his carriage was now stopped right in front of Bridgerton House. A
chorus of “ Brother! ” made its way into the cramped space. The heads of Gregory and
Hyacinth popped through the open door. Matching grins spread across their faces, ones Colin
was helpless against recreating.

“Well, it looks like I have not missed the procession to the palace,” he said. A laugh bubbled
from his chest as each of the youngest Bridgertons took one of his hands and hauled him
from the carriage. He was lucky to be able to slide the journal back in the knapsack before he
was pulled from his seat and into the sunlit day. With the youngest siblings on both sides of
him, Colin looked at the front of Bridgerton House and was greeted with the sight of his
entire family, including his brother-in-law, the Duke of Hastings, and his sister-in-law, the
Viscountess Bridgerton. The Duke held his son, Auggie, in his arms; Colin’s nephew had
sprouted a full head of curls in the year since he’s seen them all.

Colin drank in the sight of his family standing in front of their home. He breathed in the
scent of wisteria and roses, something he always associated with his mother. His eyes
traveled the length of his family, all together in a haphazard line. They all chattered, each of
them vying for a position to embrace Colin. Auggie even managed to say his name when
Colin approached, earning a cheer from just about everyone. He was full of warmth, and
though he had traveled far and all night in a carriage, he found himself refreshed. For a
moment, he wondered why he ever traveled.

“Dearest, it is so wonderful you made it back in time!” Violet crooned, coming forward
through all her children to embrace her third born. She put both hands on his shoulders,
pulling back to inspect him. Colin supposed he cannot blame her. He looked quite different.
His skin is no longer pale from the dreary British sky, but a warm golden brown from the
Cyprus sun. And he wore the clothes of an explorer rather than a gentleman of the ton. His
mother arched a brow. “You seem…different.”

“Yes, our dear brother seems to have stolen the clothes and style of a pirate,” Benedict
drawled, clapping Colin on the shoulder. “Tell us, Col, what sort of rapscallion did you
encounter to begin dressing like this?”

Colin smoothed the front of his dark blue shirt. “Please go experience the heat of the
Mediterranean region, Benedict, before you judge me for abandoning a cravat and vest.” He
rather liked the look he adopted in the hotter regions of the world. There was something
freeing in not having to feel like he was being choked by ornate fabric every moment of the
day.

“My god, he’s even got hair here!” Hyacinth bellowed, pointing to the small sprinkling of
chest hair visible on Colin’s sternum. She grasps Benedict by the sleeve. “Brother, do you
see this?”

Benedict grinned cheekily and narrowed his gaze at Colin’s chest. “We really must get you
to the doctor this time, Colin. This is even worse than the last time you returned with that
sorry excuse for a beard.”

Smiling easily, Colin ignored his siblings’ japes as he went to kiss Francesca’s cheek in
greeting. His younger sister looked radiant in her white-gold presentation gown. Her smile
glowed and she said, “Ignore them, Colin. They’re merely envious they have been stuck at
home with no adventures to entertain them.” She winked at him. “Thank you for coming
home. With all of you here to be in the gallery, I shall not be nervous at all to go before Her
Majesty.”

“Thank you, Frannie,” he said, squeezing her gloved hand. “I would not have missed this for
all the white sands and aquamarine waters of Cyprus.”

Eloise snorted behind him. “Funny, you did not seem to be present for mine. Was Greece
more tempting than Cyprus, or did you simply not care enough at that time?”
“Was yours not interrupted the first time, Eloise?” Gregory pointed out, tapping his chin.
“You did not even have to present.”

Colin sniggered at Eloise’s scowl. He had only heard a recounting of the disastrous
presentation in which the first issue of Whistledown that season stopped the whole process.
The gossip columnist may have brought ruin to the lives of many, she may have hurt the
Bridgertons more times than Colin cared to admit, but there was no denying she had saved
Eloise in that moment.

Before he could say anything more, though, Violet clapped her hands twice. Despite
Anthony’s status as the head of the family, the lot of them all still came to attention almost
immediately at the sound of Violet’s authoritative gesture. “It is time we get on our way, my
dears. Colin, because you have arrived, join your brothers and sister in their carriage. You
may not be dressed the most elegantly, but we have no time for you to change.” She nodded
toward Benedict, Gregory, and Eloise.

“Yes, everyone make haste!” Anthony hollered, entwining his fingers with Kate’s. “We will
all catch up with one another after the presentation. Until then –” He fixed the majority of
his younger siblings with a hard stare. “ – we will all be united as one. After our tumultuous
last season, I want my Viscountess to have a flawless start to her first official season as a
Bridgerton.” Colin could not help but note the way his eldest brother’s face shifted from
stern to soft as Anthony’s attention went from his siblings to his wife. And though Kate
rolled her eyes, her whole face glowed with affection. It amazed Colin how the two of them
went from one another’s throats into one another’s arms. However much of a mess their
courtship may have been, Colin could never deny the effect Kate has on his brother. The
former Miss Sharma may have been the greatest thing to happen to Anthony.

The whole family was ushered to their carriages, Anthony and Kate sharing one with Violet
and Francesca, while Daphne and Simon managed to corral Hyacinth with promises she
could hold Baby Auggie on her lap on the way there. Benedict teased Gregory, ruffling his
hair and dodging half-hearted blows of irritation. Eloise rolled her eyes as she followed them
into the carriage, grumbling something about the fools for brothers she was cursed with.

As a light breeze ruffled his hair, and the sounds of his family filled his ears, Colin found
himself feeling lighter, more at ease. He was not sure when his feet would burn with the urge
to travel again, but for now he resolved to simply be with his family. They loved him as he
loved them, and he would never trade them for all the riches in the world. Even if he fears
they did not know him – the him that longed to leave a mark on the world, the him that
desired to be seen as more than the charming, naive brother in one of the ton’s most
prominent families who was almost tricked into marriage – he loved them.

As Colin prepared to step into the carriage, a flash of red caught his attention from across the
street. He stopped, a small flutter overtaking his chest. With a quick word to the driver to
hold the carriage, Colin moved to get a better view of the Featherington house. He could not
stop the grin that broke out over his face.

The first thing Colin was drawn to was the flame of her hair. Her curled locks were down
and spread over her shoulders. There was a blue flower woven through what he thought may
be a small braid and it was tucked behind her ear. Her cheeks glowed pink as she dug in her
small bag. Against the plain cream stone of her home, she stood out like a bonfire. And her
dress! Instead of bright yellow or pink, she wore blue. Not the vibrant jewel blues Portia
Featherington sometimes donned, but a calming blue that matched the sky. Or her eyes. It
was a simple dress to be sure, not something he would have paid any mind to at any other
time or, frankly, on any other woman. But on Penelope, he noticed. The cap sleeves
glimmered in the sun, probably off of small beads sewn into them. There were white and
green flowers embroidered on the bodice and skirt. It was not just the tasteful colors and
designs that caught his attention, though. Colin would be lying if he did not acknowledge
that the fit of the gown was what truly stopped him dead in his tracks. Each lush curve of her
was highlighted with subtlety, and he found himself uncomfortable at his awareness.

There was something else, too. Something he could not quite put into words or thought. It
was something in the way she carried herself as she descended the front steps. He saw no
timidness in her, no desire to shrink away from the world. Looking at her now, he saw a
woman who knew she belonged in the world. He saw the woman with a biting wit he
thought only he had the honor of knowing.

Colin wondered at the change in her, where it came from and why it happened. But even if
she looked somewhat different, he still saw her . His dearest friend. His Pen.

Penelope looked up from digging in her bag, as if she felt his eyes on her. For a moment,
Colin thought he would choke on the lump rising in his throat. Raising a hand to wave, his
smile grew. He may not have been able to go to her now, but he had every intention of
finding her when he returned. There was so much to discuss. His travels, why she did not
return his letters, what he –

As if he was struck in the gut, Colin froze. Their eyes met. He felt her gaze connect with his
across the street. It was all he could do to not call her name and make a spectacle of himself
in an attempt to greet her.

But as quickly as the warmth flooded his chest just a moment ago, it disappeared. Penelope’s
face was stone, unmoving, without feeling. Everything halted. Sounds, time, Colin’s heart.
His mind could focus on nothing but the glacial expression on his friend’s face. She looked
at him as if he meant nothing to her, as if he had committed a grave sin that no amount of
absolution will bring him back from. As if she chose to forsake him in his absence, even
though she was the one person who would never do such a thing.

Colin could remember no time in the past when he saw Penelope look this way. Not at him,
anyway. She reserved an expression like that for particularly unsavory members of the ton,
the ones who cast cruel comments about the room with no thought to where they would land.

Just as suddenly as she looked at him, she stuck her chin out, defiant. She descended the
final few steps of her house, paused a moment, and made her way in the opposite direction
their carriage was going. No sign of recognition, no sign of friendship. Colin watched as she
disappeared, a piece of him trailing off with her. He clutched onto the image of her flaming
hair until it fades. Something snaked through his belly, an icy terror almost as frigid as the
look in Penelope’s eyes. A piece of him wanted nothing more than to pursue her through the
streets, grasp her by the hand, and find out what engendered this coldness in her. Coming
home and knowing he would be able to see her has been one of the few things he could say
made all the rocking ships on stormy seas and carriages bumping over cracked roads worth
it. Without her friendship, being back in society was nothing short of torture.

Frowning, he jumped at the sound of Benedict bellowing his name from the window of the
carriage. As if he became an automaton, Colin rejoined his brothers and sister in the
carriage. He settled in beside Gregory. Across from them, Benedict snorted.

“What has you so sullen all of the sudden?” his elder brother asked. “You were jovial not a
moment ago.”

Colin, unsure of what the chill he was experiencing means, swallowed hard. “I - I…merely
thought I saw someone.” He could hardly speak. His tongue was a lump of iron in his
mouth.

“Someone to bore with more unending tales of your travels?” Eloise teased.

The one person who never tired of hearing about them before , he thought as the carriage
began to move.

“El, how is Penelope?” Colin asked, wishing he could banish the look Penelope gave him. “I
worry my letters may have gotten lost in the post. I never received a single reply.”

Though her expression did not change, Eloise’s jaw clenched. She met Colin’s eyes, and for
some reason he felt as if he was looking at Penelope’s chilly expression all over again.
Suddenly, Colin was not so sure he wanted to know the answer to this question. What if
something truly had happened? Was the quarrel between Eloise and her why Penelope
looked at him with no familiarity? What sort of fight with El would prevent Penelope from
speaking to Colin?

“I am quite sure Penelope is fine,” Eloise said in a clipped tone. “We have grown apart in
many ways, so I have not spoken to her in some time. I would imagine she is preparing
herself for the season ahead, seeing as has completely transformed herself.”

Colin nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Ah.” He did not ask for elaboration; the
proof of such a transformation stood before him only minutes ago. “What, er, what caused
this rift between the two of you? If I might –”

“I do not wish to discuss Penelope Featherington!” Eloise snapped, eyes flashing at her older
brother. From the way she jerks her head to look out the carriage window and refuses to
glance his way any further, Colin gathers she will not respond to anything else he may try to
ask.

Frowning, Colin looked to Benedict and arched an eyebrow. Benedict shrugged, grinned
sardonically, and said, “Welcome home, brother.”
 Moving On
Chapter Summary

Penelope reflects on her year since deciding to let go of the Bridgertons as she goes to
pick up her gown from Madame Delacroix for Lady Danbury's ball. Hopefully, Colin's
return from abroad will not hinder her plans to find a husband and get out of her
mother's house.

Chapter Notes

Many thanks again for all of the kinds words and kudos! This is our last exposition-ish
chapter before our faves reunite, and I can already tell you: writing those is going much
faster than these last two.

Song inspiration for Penelope I: "I Wish I Never Met You" by Babygirl

I wish I could replace you with someone new

But then I’d have to wish I’d never met them too

You wonder how I’m doing well here’s the truth

I wish I never met you

Babygirl, “I Wish I Never Met You”

“Mama, I must be heading to the modiste,” Penelope said. “My dress for Lady Danbury’s
opening ball will be ready soon, and I believe Madame Delacroix wants to do a few last
minute adjustments.” She tried not to fiddle with her bag too much, not wanting to risk
dropping it and having her real reason for the trip to the modiste, the newest draft of
Whistledown , fall out.

Portia Featherington looked up from a ledger on the desk in front of her. They stood in Lord
Featherington’s study, the one that had seen very little use since Penelope’s father died.
Cousin Jack had used it some before his untimely departure, but without him around, Portia
had taken it over. She and Varley spent hours there, their heads bent in secret conversation as
they scraped together whatever money they could to fool the rest of the ton into believing all
was well with the Featheringtons.

“Mmm,” Portia mused through pursed lips. Penelope was surprised her mother had even
looked up at her, but then she saw what Portia was really looking at. Her mother studied
Penelope’s outfit, eyes crinkling with distaste at the corners. “Why you have insisted on
wearing these drab colors I will never understand, Penelope.”

Penelope swallowed the retort she wanted to snap at her mother and instead offered, “Well,
since Lady Danbury has chosen to sponsor me this season, I thought it most prudent to take
her…suggestions into account.”

Portia shrugged and waved her off. “Well, I suppose it is a blessing in disguise that Lady
Danbury took this interest in you, odd as it may be. But with more funds to focus on
Prudence, it is possible we can still get you both married off.”

Penelope swallowed hard. Though she and her mother had never been particularly close, she
knew lying about patronage from Lady Danbury was a dangerous game. While Lady
Danbury had seemed to warm up to Penelope significantly since Edwina Sharma invited her
for a stay over the off-season, there was still potential to be uncovered. And there was so
much that could potentially be uncovered in Penelope’s life that she wondered when it would
suffocate her.

“Indeed,” Penelope murmured, heading for the door. “I will return shortly, Mama.”

Though she walked the edge of a knife with her new scheme, Penelope found no other
option. In truth, she spent her last year plotting her escape from her mother and Prudence.
She had decided she could no longer stand the stifling glare of her mother or the taunts of her
remaining sister. Neither of them truly cared for her; if they did, they would not treat her like
she was dirt that the maid needed to scrub from their shoes.

Penelope decided she would no longer tolerate her family’s treatment of her. Escape meant
marriage, so that was what she would do.

The idea came to her when she was in the midst of her despair at losing Eloise. The
loneliness left her physically ill, her heart feeling so heavy she thought a boulder might have
dropped atop her chest. Between Eloise’s anger, Colin’s laughter, and Penelope’s own
crippling guilt at everything she had done, she found she could not rise from her bed. She did
nothing but sleep, rarely leaving her room, not even for food. Portia had shown a semblance
of maternal concern at first, calling the doctor and ensuring Penelope had what she might
need to get well. But by the fourth day, she lost her patience, especially when the doctor said
he could find nothing wrong with her daughter.

“You cannot stay abed forever, Penelope,” Portia had scolded. “It is not becoming of a
young lady to hide herself away from the world.”

Something about the disdain in her mother’s voice that day sent Penelope into a silent rage.
She did not allow Portia to see, but after she left the room, Penelope rose from her bed,
seething. She would not be a fragile wallflower any longer. Her mother and sisters may
never have thought so, but Penelope had feelings. And she was through allowing them
power over her, not when she had a voice that threatened all of the ton, and even the Queen
of England herself.

With her newly built walls to protect her heart, Penelope made her plan. She would marry a
man that could get her out of her family’s home, one who would allow her enough
independence that she could continue writing without interruption. It did not matter who that
man was. Marriages of convenience happened every day. With a little effort, and no
worrying about the never-to-be-reciprocated love of a certain gentleman, she imagined she
would be able to get at least one suitor.

As the butler opened the front door for her, Penelope rifled through her bag to ensure the
small scroll with this season’s first Whistledown was in her bag. Today was the perfect
opportunity to get the draft to Madame Delacroix for delivery to the printer. Members of the
ton would be heading to the palace for the presentation of the debutantes, leaving Penelope
ample opportunity to make her move with little interruption.

Like she had done for a year now, Penelope avoided looking at Bridgerton House across the
square. She knew it would be bustling with activity today. After all, this was the year
Francesca was set to debut.

For the most part, digging through her bag kept her busy enough she could keep her gaze
averted. But from the corner of her eye she saw several carriages, heard the jubilant voices of
the Bridgerton family, and her ribs constricted around her heart. Penelope’s throat burned.
Ignoring the home and the family that occupied it was far easier when they were not
physically there. Taking a deep breath, Penelope allowed herself to glance toward the
direction of the carriages.

She regretted it almost the moment her eyes landed on him.

Across the street stood Colin Bridgerton, his eyes on her and a wide smile on his face.
Everything stood still as her blood began to roar in her ears. Her stomach flipped. He looked
nothing like the polished boy she waltzed with a year prior. His every feature was relaxed,
from the wave of his hair to the neckline of his shirt to the smile on his face. Penelope has
never seen this much skin on any man, least of all on Colin. He may have flirted with half
the eligible women in London, but he had always been dressed in the attire of a gentleman.
She inhaled sharply, unable to explain the tingling in her chest at the sight of his new look.
Where has he been to get so tan like this? And judging by the part of chest she can see, more
than just his face is –

Get a hold of yourself ! she snapped to herself. Blinking twice, she refocused on her vow to
herself to leave the Bridgertons behind. So she turned her face to stone, narrowed her eyes,
and glared at him. Gone was the fluttering in her chest, replaced with the despair of the last
year of knowing that not in the most wild of fantasies would he court her. She waited for him
to see the anger on her face, to witness the collapse of his grin into his own look of hurt.

Once Penelope saw the confusion appear across Colin’s face, she told herself it was time to
move on. She could allow herself no further time to dwell, lest she cave to her desire to
speak with him or Eloise. After all, she had a life to build.
A life that did not include Colin Bridgerton.

The walk to Genevieve’s gives her a moment to think about how her first encounter locking
eyes with Colin Bridgerton had gone. Ordinarily, she would have been sick to be the cause of
such a look on his face. Her tears the night after publishing the column that ruined Marina
had been just as much a result of harming her cousin as they had been about harming Colin.
That was before, though.

Power swelled in Penelope’s chest as she opened the door to Genevive’s modiste. Moments
ago, she locked eyes with Colin Bridgerton, held his gaze, and did not give him the
satisfaction of seeing a girl fawning over something as silly as a charming grin. She walked
with purpose in her stride, feeling a thrill that she kept her composure and held to her vow to
let go of the boy she once loved. There had been times during the past year she truly did not
believe she would ever be able to look him in the eye again. Even as she hardened her
resolve, fortified her wall to withstand every eventuality, pieces of Penelope rebelled. She
worked hard to ignore the small, wheezing voice in the back of her mind that told her she was
too weak, that she needed someone like Colin or Eloise to prop her up if she hoped to be seen
as worthy. There were nights where Penelope stood in front of her mirror and forced herself
to stare until discomfort caused her to turn away. If she saw Colin again, she would need to
hold her ground.

And it worked. She looked him in the eyes, held her head high, and walked away.

So why could Penelope not stop wringing her hands together? Why can she not banish the
look in his eyes from her mind? And why could she not stop the fluttering in her heart at the
thought of just a patch of skin?

The bell to the Modiste chimed as Penelope pushed it open. “Madame Delacroix?” she
called, glancing around the mounds of ribbon and bolts of cloth. “Genevieve?”

“I am back here, Miss Penelope,” Genevieve responded from the other room.

Penelope smiled and went to greet the woman who had become her friend and business
partner. She found Genevive standing at a mannequin, pins in her mouth and her hair pulled
up out of her face. The dress she worked on was a stunning lilac evening gown, with
individual crystals sewn onto the bodice.

“That is quite lovely,” Penelope said in greeting.

Genevieve did not yet look at Penelope as she poked the final pin to a section of fabric on the
sleeve. Her dark curls bobbed as she nodded decisively at the adjustment she made. When
her dark gaze finally moved to Penelope, a smile widened over her face and she stepped
forward to embrace the younger woman. Planting a kiss on each cheek, Genevieve took in
Penelope’s dress. She nodded with approval, and not because it is her design Penelope wore.

“I see my designs are already being put to good use,” she said. “You look dazzling in this
color, cherie .”
Genevieve was, of course, right. Penelope did look stunning in this shade of sky blue. The
hue of the fabric matched her eyes. But it was not merely the color. The fit of the dress
hugged Penelope’s body in a way that accentuated each curve of her figure without being
scandalous. It was like nothing she would have ever worn before. Once Penelope rid herself
of Portia’s overbearing and tactless style choices, Genevieve unleashed all her creativity and
inspiration into turning Penelope into a work of art. Even her most basic of day dresses this
season made her feel beautiful.

Penelope’s cheeks pinkened. “Well, it’s all part of the plan.” A traitorous part of her thought
back to Colin’s face, and she was sure the pink deepened. Even from across the street, it was
obvious to her he had admired her (at least before he noticed she was glaring at him and not
fawning like she once had).

Genevieve motioned for Penelope to follow her towards the back of the shop. They
disappeared from the shop itself and into a small workroom Penelope was sure she would be
sitting in much more as the season progressed. There was a small fireplace on the far side of
the room, as well as a table and chairs. It was comfortable, but, most importantly, it afforded
them privacy in case anyone entered the shop. “Sit,” Genevieve said, “I had just begun to
brew some tea before you came.”

Penelope sat at the table Genevieve pointed to and waited as the dressmaker poured her a
cup. As she waited, she thought of her mother and the reaction she would have to her
youngest daughter having tea with a woman that runs her own business. A small smile
perked up on Penelope’s lips at the thought of Lady Featherington’s face turning ashen to
know her daughter was accepting a cup of tea from the woman who made their dresses.
Though there are far worse things Penelope could think of to shock her mother.

Such as, perhaps, that her youngest daughter was the voice behind London’s most notorious
gossip columnist.

“I must say, I am glad you all have begun to return for the season,” Genevieve said, sitting
opposite Penelope. She passed the milk across the table and added a sugar cube to her
steaming cup. “Though its absence has given me much time to work further on new designs,
I do so miss the entertainment the ton seems to bring with it wherever it roams.”

Penelope snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. “You mean to tell me you miss hearing the
incessant voices of the meddlesome mamas trying to sell off their daughters?”

Genevieve winked and blew gently on her tea. “Oh, they are horrid to be sure,” she said.
“But when Lady Cowper is in my shop and throwing her insults disguised as compliments to
whoever she happens to be accompanying, I do find it so entertaining. And your mother!
Well, I could never say it is a dull day when she comes around.”

With a grimace, Penelope looked away. This was not the first time she felt embarrassment
for her mother’s behavior, nor would it be the last time.

“Please do not think I associate you with your mother any more than that: your mother,”
Genevieve said, breaking the silence that followed the mention of Portia. Penelope’s eyes
went to Genevieve’s. She found nothing but compassion on her friend’s face. “We are not
our parents. You have more choices in your life than you might think you do, Penelope. If
you choose, you no longer need to associate with those whose company makes you unhappy.
It is one of the things I find most comforting about being independent. You, too, can have
that.”

Swallowing, Penelope shook her head. “Possibly, but I first must find those that make me
happy.”

Genevieve nodded slowly. “Ah, I see. Miss Bridgerton still will not speak to you?”

Lips pursing, Penelope sipped her tea. “We haven’t spoken since she made her discovery.”
Just as Penelope felt an ache at Colin’s loss, so, too, did she feel one at the loss of Eloise.
The part of her that missed her friend was different than the one that had longed for Colin.
For the longest time, Eloise was the only one to truly see Penelope for who she was and love
her for it. They were closer than sisters, sharing everything with each other. Society’s
demands on them – and, more than likely, a dash of each young woman’s own pride – drained
their friendship of everything it had until the bond was bones and dust.

In many ways, that loss hurt more than Colin’s public humiliation of her.

Seeing that Penelope did not wish to dwell on Eloise for longer than necessary, Genevieve
tilted her head to the side and murmured, “Well…what of Miss Sharma? You spent several
weeks with her at Lady Danbury’s, did you not?”

“Several months, in fact,” Penelope said, pleased to be switching the subject. She smiled,
thinking of the strange friendship she and Edwina Sharma had formed through
correspondence. Somehow, the two young women bonded over their mutual pain from the
past season: Edwina from her turbulent engagement, its subsequent scandal, and almost
losing her sister in an accident; Penelope from her falling out with the Bridgertons and the
now-former Lord Featherington’s plot to scam the ton. Though not specific about her rift
with Eloise, Penelope told Edwina of her heartache at the loss of her closest confidant and of
the sting of Colin’s rejection. In fact, Edwina was the only soul Penelope told about what she
overheard Colin say. And Edwina had understood that pain. She may have made peace with
Kate, but that changed little about the humiliating gaze that had been thrown on her following
her own broken nuptials with Anthony Bridgerton.

The two grew so close that Lady Danbury invited Penelope to her country estate for an
extended visit with her, Lady Mary and Edwina. A two week stay transformed into three
months, and Penelope found herself a companion who almost eased the ache of Eloise’s
absence.

“Edwina is well,” Penelope continued. “I believe she’s looking quite forward to this
season.” With a conspiratorial wink, she added, “It’s also probable that she will be
introduced to the Queen’s nephew, Prince Friedrich, if all goes well. The Queen herself
wrote to Lady Danbury to inform them.”

Genevieve’s eyes widened. “ Mon dieu ,” she said. “It seems Miss Sharma will be the envy
of the ton once again. Hopefully, this time it will end better for her.”
Penelope leaned back in her seat. She hoped the whole season would end better for all of
them. She would prefer to have a season where she was not emotionally involved in the
scandals. Colin’s arrival might have complicated things for her before, but not this time.
Even with his enticing new wardrobe choices, she would not be swayed.

“And what of your season, Miss Penelope?” Genevieve asked. “What plans do you have?
Aside from our business arrangement.”

Blushing, Penelope said, “Well, I aim to find myself a match this year. I’m through living
with my mother and sister. If I find myself a husband, I can continue with my work without
concern. All I need is someone willing to marry me.” A true grin spread across Genevieve’s
face, a coy smile that caused Penelope to giggle. “What? What are you smiling about?”

“Oh, Miss Penelope, when you see the dresses I have designed for you, you will be sending
suitors away from your mother’s drawing room,” Genevieve said. “Your Mr. Colin will be
the first in line and his arms will be full of tulips and carnations.”

The amused smile Penelope had on her face fell immediately, replaced with an embarrassed
flush. “Oh, no no,” she stammered. “Col – Mr. Bridgerton will not be one of those suitors.
It’s not that I doubt your dresses, he will just never see me in such a way.” Without saying
another word, Penelope produced her Whistledown draft and slid it to Genevieve.

Genevieve took the draft and unrolled it. Penelope waited for her friend’s eyes to scan the
pages until she read one particular section on the second page. The dressmaker’s mouth
formed a small “o.” While Penelope sipped her tea, Genevieve finished the page, set it down,
and smoothed the sheet out. “Penelope, why – why would you put this – this boy’s horrid
words about you in here? Surely this is not necessary? Especially if you’re longing to make
a match.”

Rationally, Penelope knew Genevieve speaks the truth. Words like Colin’s had the potential
to ruin a young lady’s prospects in society. Particularly when that young lady was as
unpopular as Penelope, and the young man was from a powerful family like the Bridgertons.
She truly was playing with societal fire by featuring Colin’s snubs in her newest column.
The flames were worth the risk, though. Even though Penelope had a plan, a small, dark part
of her wanted Colin to face what he said. The rest of the ton might get a good laugh from it,
but Penelope knew Colin; guilt would eat away at him. And the wounded part of her wanted
to see that, even if it was from afar.

“It is the best way to make sure no one suspects me,” Penelope assured Genevieve. “Not
only that, but it gives me a public reason for my split with the Bridgertons, should anyone
ask. Then I will not have to explain myself to anyone.”

Genevieve looked skeptical, even after hearing that explanation. She shook her head.
“Penelope, I would never presume to tell you what to do with your life,” Genevieve began,
“but I do hope you will be careful.”

More words danced behind Madame Delacroix’s eyes, but she kept her mouth closed.
Penelope was grateful for the silence. Something about publishing this issue felt strange.
Part of her felt like she was venturing into the middle of a storm. She could see the clouds
from the shore, dark and imposing and dangerous. And yet, she could not stop herself from
diving into the treacherous waters. Her quill gave her the tantalizing feeling of being able to
speak in a world that sought to silence her, and no amount of danger would deter her. She
was not ready to give that up.

Maybe she never would be ready to give it up.

“Well, seeing as you are here,” Genevieve said, a smile coming over her face again. She held
up a finger to signal Penelope to wait for her while she disappeared back into the shop.
When she returned, she cradled a large dress box in her arms. “I have your gown for Lady
Danbury’s ball, all finished and ready for you.”

Penelope’s eyes danced as she watched Genevieve set the box gingerly atop the table. If she
was right, this dress would be one of the most perfect articles of clothing she ever owned.
Genevieve had been most insistent that Penelope needed an unforgettable entrance to this
season. Having little experience in the quest for matrimony, Penelope chose to put her faith
in the dressmaker. If her new day dresses were any indication for what Genevieve had in
store, Penelope knew she was in good hands.

“No matter what that Bridgerton boy says, you are worthy of being courted and married.
More importantly, you are worthy of being loved .” Genevieve took Penelope’s hand and
gave it a squeeze.

Even as she smiled gratefully at Genevieve, Penelope could not help but feel like she might
be wrong. After what she had done to her friends and loved ones, after all her lies, Penelope
was not so sure she did deserve love. It was why she clung to her secret identity with such a
death grip: writing was all she had left. She would continue to hold a mirror to society, even
if it meant she would forever be alone.
 Repentance
Chapter Summary

Colin reads the season's first Whistledown and attempts to apologize to Penelope, only
to be rebuffed. Lady Danbury hosts the opening ball of the season.

Chapter Notes

So, I may have been mistaken when I said they would finally speak in this chapter. I
thought they would, but I ended up changing my mind about the order of events.
However, I can assure you they will *finally* be speaking in the next one (which I have
already started!).

Song inspiration for Colin II: "Betty" by Taylor Swift

You heard the rumors from Inez

You can’t believe a word she says

Most times, but this time it was true

The worst thing that I ever did

Was what I did to you

Taylor Swift, “Betty”

Waking up in a feather bed after weeks of traveling was what heaven must be, Colin decided.
As he headed into the breakfast room of his mother’s new residence at Number Five Bruton
Street, he couldn’t help but think of how grateful he was to be home. At least for a little
while, anyway. He had not yet thought of where he might want to head off to next, but he
was sure any day now he would feel the urge to experience parts unknown. Maybe he would
leave right in the middle of this season if his desire got strong enough.

But that would come later. Now that he was well rested, he would get to work on his first
task: determining what Penelope’s glare had been about.
After finding his way to the breakfast room to find Violet, Eloise, and Hyacinth bent over a
pamphlet. “Good morning, Mother!” Colin boomed, unable to keep the grin off his face. All
three of them looked up at the same time. “Sisters. What are you reading over there?” None
of them answered, so he began to fill his plate with eggs, bacon, toast, and whatever else he
thought might fit. As he built his breakfast, he contemplated what time he would be going
over to the Featherington House. It was not proper to call in the morning, but he wanted to
see Penelope as soon as possible. Maybe the search for a bouquet would help pass the time
before a respectable hour to call. If anything, flowers might bring a smile to her face and
make her less cross with him when he –

“I see that dunderhead’s appetite has not changed in his travels,” Eloise snipped, rising from
the table and breaking his concentration. Colin could practically hear the rolling of her eyes
as she stalked from the room. Their eyes met briefly. Eloise’s brown eyes burned with fury,
and he felt the heat of her anger even after she had slammed the breakfast room door. He
frowned as he sat beside his youngest sister and across from his mother.

“Whatever is Eloise’s problem?” he asked, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his waiting
mouth. “I haven’t been home long enough to have done something to earn that much of her
ire.” When Violet and Hyacinth just blinked at him, he gulped. “Er, have I?”

Hyacinth pushed back from the table and stood up. “You’re horrid, you know that!” she said,
pointing a finger at Colin.

“Hyacinth,” Violet warned, her voice low. “Please.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hyacinth huffed and asked, “May I be excused, Mama?
I’ve lost my appetite.”

Violent nodded her consent and Hyacinth stormed out exactly as Eloise had, her exit just as
fiery and her door slam just a tad louder. Frowning, Colin set his silverware down and
looked at Violet. “Mother, what on Earth is the matter?”

There were few times in his life Colin could pinpoint when he had seen true disappointment
on his mother’s face. There were even fewer times he could point to where he saw shame
cross her face. As he sat in the breakfast room now, not even home a full day yet, he saw
both those emotions. A pit formed in his stomach. First Penelope, then his sisters, now his
mother. Was there a woman in the world not unhappy with him?

Still not speaking, Violet passed what all three of them had been reading over to Colin. He
nearly spat on the floor. Of course it would be Whistledown . That damn woman could not
let anyone breathe easy.

“Oh, what has she written this time?” he drawled, picking up the sheet and scanning it.
Evidently, this was her first column of the new season. The first few paragraphs bored him,
even if they were cleverly composed and well written. It was not until he reached halfway
down the first page that he saw the source of his sisters’ rage and his mother’s
disappointment.
One also wonders at the prospects of some of our returning ladies this season. After two fulls
seasons on the marriage mart, will the remaining Featherington daughters finally fly the
nest? It seems doubtful, with the scandal surrounding Miss Prudence’s runaway fiance still
staining her reputation. And, of course, who could forget the wallflower Miss Penelope. This
writer is grieved to report that one Mister Colin Bridgerton declared loudly to a group of
gentlemen that he would never court Penelope Featherington, not even in the wildest of
fantasies. Perhaps this is why the youngest Miss Featherington was seen tearfully fleeing the
party before her mother’s grand fireworks display could even start.

Gentle reader, while I wholeheartedly agree that it would be the surprise of the century for a
Bridgerton brother to wed a Featherington – this writer would surely give up her quill if such
a momentous occasion were to occur! – I do marvel at the gall of this otherwise charming
young man. It is nothing short of cruel to declare a young lady unfit to be courted, thus
possibly ruining any future prospects (however few there may be). For once a gentleman
declares a young lady uninteresting, all the other gentlemen will find her uninteresting. We
can only hope our wallflower found some way to ease her embarrassment while the ton has
been away.

The blood drained from Colin’s face as he set the scandal sheet back on the table. Suddenly,
he did not feel quite so hungry. Holding his silverware would likely be impossible with the
trembling of his fingers.

“Please tell me this is just a falsehood created by this woman to sell more of her sheets,”
Violet murmured. She stared at Colin, mouth in a tight line. “Tell me this is not true.”

Colin said nothing.

Violet closed her eyes. She exhaled, and as the breath left her lungs, she seemed to age ten
years right then. Colin cast his eyes downward, ashamed. “How could you have said
something so horrible about that sweet girl?” his mother asked. “I do not know what came
between her and Eloise, but this certainly did not help matters.”

“I – I…” Colin could not get the words to come to him, an oddity in recent months,
especially when it came to matters regarding Penelope. He tried to remember that night. The
scenes that replayed most in his mind were the ones of dancing with Penelope, the elation he
felt that he took down her sniveling cousin’s scheme before any harm came to the
Featherington ladies’ reputations. He remembered the glow of her eyes beneath the ballroom
lights, and how her sweet smile made him feel as though he held the moon in his palms.
Those were the parts of the night that stood out. He had many, many drinks that night, but he
did recall Fife goading him about his dancing with Penelope.

For the life of him, he could figure out why he said those words. Any man would be lucky to
court Penelope. Colin could not count himself among them, though. What could he, a third
son with no ambitions beyond seeing the world, offer her?

Violet shook her head again, sighing heavily. “I know you run in different circles than
Penelope, but I never imagined you would allow that to dictate how you treated her. I
thought, well, I thought you might be friends with her. I may have insisted upon you dancing
with her once or twice in her first season, but you never needed asking after that.”
“Penelope is my friend,” Colin asserted, unsure of what he might say to remedy his mother’s
disappointment in him. Or maybe he was saying it to himself. “This would explain why she
did not return my letters while I was away, though.” He rubbed his chin, already trying to
think of what he was going to say when he approached her next.

“You are a gentleman, she is a lady, and you are not married to one another. Why are you
writing her letters?” Violet asked, eyebrows shooting to her hairline.

“We are friends.”

Violet blinked and said nothing. Colin attempted to look away and take a bite of his eggs, but
he felt his mother’s eyes on him the whole time. Coughing, he wiped his mouth with his
napkin and looked back at Violet. She still sat watching him, her gaze probing for more
answers. “You know, friendship is a wonderful precursor to love,” she finally murmured.
She took Colin’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It is what your father and I had.”

Colin could never tear his grasp from his mother when she became like this, so he relented
and held her hand back. But he could not meet her eyes. He loathed when she tried to push
marriage on him. “Mother, Penelope and I are not you and Father. We are friends.
Wonderful friends.” He felt his skin pale, though, even as the words left his mouth. If she
truly had known all this time that he spoke so ill of her in front of a whole crowd of
gentlemen, there was a good chance she may not want his friendship anymore.

“You are more like Edmund than any of your brothers,” Violet insisted. “Just the sort who
would befriend a lady, ensure he knew what makes her laugh or smile, cares for her, before
entering into a courtship with her.” She paused, as if nervous to speak her next words. “It is
why I was so…confused when you rushed into an engagement with Miss Thompson.”

Colin cleared his throat and looked away, unable to look his mother in the eye at the mention
of his previous engagement. After several years now, he could look back on his feelings for
Miss Thompson – or, rather, Lady Crane – and say what he felt was nothing more than severe
infatuation. The one person who he thought took him seriously in the world had chosen him
to deceive because he was naive enough to think she was the one person to take him
seriously. All he could feel looking at those memories was shame and embarrassment.

“Mother, I do not harbor any romantic feelings for Penelope,” he said, voice shaking when he
managed to look at Violet again. He lowered his voice. “And I am not Father. If I were,
things might be different. As it stands, however, Penelope is deserving of a gentleman far
better than me.”

Words danced in Violet’s eyes. Colin could see there was more she longed to say. Instead,
she watched him, and for that, he was grateful. All he wanted to do now was focus on
repairing the damage he wrought. Without another word, he rose from his seat without
finishing his breakfast, pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek, and strode from the room with
purpose.

Not an hour later, still entirely too early for callers in most respectable people’s eyes, Colin
held a bouquet of tulips and stood on the front steps of the Featherington home. A majority
of his time had been spent haggling over the price of the flowers, but once he secured them,
he nearly jogged to his destination. Only one thought occupied his mind: apology. He spent
the whole journey to Penelope’s home composing what he would say. He sorely wished he
had the ability to write it out on paper, terrified he would fumble when the moment came.

Briarly, the Featherington family butler, answered the door, a look of surprise appearing when
he saw Colin and his ridiculously large arrangement of flowers. Despite his shock at the hour
and the flowers, Briarly led Colin to the drawing room and insisted he wait there while he
saw to alerting Miss Penelope of his arrival.

For ten minutes, Colin paced the length of the drawing room. It was strange, being in this
room and feeling a level of desperation he was not acquainted with. To be sure, he felt
anxious at moments in the room in the past. Bringing Miss Thompson flowers, all the times
he came to gain Jack Featherington’s trust to take down his scheme. But it was different to
stand here and think his happiness depended on what would happen next.

At last, the door opened. Colin stood at attention, whirling around and ready to drop to his
knees to beg forgiveness. Rather than come face to face with Penelope, though, Portia
Featherington strode in, their housekeeper Mrs. Varley trailing behind her. Neither woman’s
face bore any warmth or good will. Granted, Varley’s face rarely showed any emotion, but to
see Lady Featherington not fawning over a young man entering her home was certainly an
oddity.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” Lady Featherington said, folding her hands in front of her. She nodded to
him, expression remaining stony.

Colin forced himself to bow, as a gentleman should. He prayed his face would not sink with
the same disappointment his heart currently felt. “Ah, Lady Featherington,” he said, forcing
his voice to remain steady. He swallowed hard. “I was, er, hoping to speak to Pen – I mean,
Miss Penelope. Is she – is she coming? Perhaps?” He could not stop himself from looking
over the older women’s shoulders towards the hallway.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Bridgerton, but my daughter is not feeling well this
morning,” Lady Featherington said, eyes never leaving Colin’s. She picked him apart with
her gaze, cutting right to the bone. If eyes could commit physical acts of violence, Colin was
sure Lady Featherington would have broken his nose. “She is resting in her room.”

Colin took a deep breath. “Lady Featherington, I know that –”

“Did you know, Mr. Bridgerton, that sometimes it is words that can make a woman feel
unwell?” Lady Featherington’s voice sliced through the air like an arrow. “It’s quite
remarkable, I know I do not suffer from this type of malady, but I am not as young as I once
was. I suppose it’s also quite true that most other women are not as adaptable as me.” She
inclined her head towards Varley. “Would you agree, Mrs. Varley?”

Varley nodded, eyes also not leaving Colin. “Yes, mum, you steel yourself against the words
of others quite well.”

Lady Featherington approached Colin. A predatory gleam shone in her eyes, and it was not
the sort of gleam when a marriage-minded mama had her eyes set on a bachelor for her
daughter. This one promised revenge if he set even one toe out of line. “This is not the case
for everyone, however. My daughter is not me. So, I hope you will understand that she is
not feeling quite well today.”

Despondent, Colin nodded his heavy head. His throat tightened. “Yes, of course.” Holding
out the flowers, he murmured, “Please, won’t you let her know I called?”

A false smile spread across Lady Featherington’s face as she accepted the bouquet. “I will
speak to her when she is feeling better.” Colin did not see even a hint of assurance that she
would actually pass the message alone. Lord, what had he done to make things so horrible
for Penelope that Portia Featherington, of all the mamas in London, would be turning him
away? She was so angry she did not even try to thrust her other unmarried daughter at him.

Colin saw himself out of the Featherington home, his chest full of stones, wondering how he
allowed himself to let the worst thing he had ever done be towards to the one person left he
could count on.

Ordinarily, the few days before a ball were full of anticipation for the Bridgertons, Colin
included. But since he returned to England from his most recent tour, the thought of a ball
had his stomach churning. Not because he thought the pageantry and insistent mamas were
shallow – which he certainly did think – but because he could not bear the thought that his
first time seeing Penelope since she glared at him across the street would be amidst a crowd
at Lady Danbury’s home.

“Oh, don’t look so glum, Colin,” Benedict said, elbowing Colin in the ribs as their carriage
took them from their mother’s new residence at Number Five Bruton Street to Lady
Danbury’s ball. “You look as though you’re about to be taken to the gallows.”

He certainly felt like he was on his way to the gallows. The last few days had him feeling as
though he had been thrown under a carriage. And the only person he could blame was
himself. Possibly that horrid Whistledown, too. But really the only role Whistledown had
played was making sure the whole of the ton knew of Colin’s misdeeds. Penelope overheard
him all that time ago. The wound reopening thanks to that gossipmonger merely allowed
everyone else to be privy to it.

Colin glared at his brother as he fiddled with his cravat. When had he become so
unaccustomed to them that he felt like they felt like a noose? His brother smirked, patting
him on the shoulder. It took all his energy not to shake his brother away. “Yes, well,” he
began, “you've not been revealed as the ton’s rudest bachelor.”

Benedict grimaced. “Ah, you’re referring to the season’s first Whistledown.”

With a roll of his eyes, Colin groused. “Damn that woman,” he growled. “Damn me !”

His brother nodded beside him. “Mother said you’ve been to the Featherington’s house to
call the last two days. And you’ve only been home for two and a half days. Off to a fantastic
start this season, aren’t you, Col?”
Colin knew he looked ridiculous, having spent the last two days nearly begging to be allowed
through the Featheringtons’ door. His second day it had been just Varley to see him to inform
him Penelope was, again, “unwell” and not taking any callers. He had been ready to drop to
his knees and pleaded to see Penelope, but the morose housekeeper had seen fit to throw him
out a mere seconds after she came to the drawing room.

“Do not admonish me, Benedict,” Colin said. “There is only so much disappointment I can
take from you all.”

Benedict sighed. “I take it Mother was less than pleased with you?”

Colin nodded. “She was with me when I first read the column. And then our sisters!
Francesca has never looked so disappointed in me, Hyacinth told me I was a monster more
than once, and Eloise won’t speak to me, even though she is already quarreling with Penelope
herself!” He shuddered. “I do not even want to think of what Daphne’s reaction might have
been if she were around.”

“Yes, well, you’ve done a remarkable job of mucking things up,” Benedict said. “It’s a
wonder the women in our family have not thrown you onto the streets. Anthony likely would
have.”

Flopping his head back against the plush cushion of the carriage, Colin groaned. Anthony
would be at tonight’s ball. The Viscount’s uncharacteristic silence either meant he had paid
no attention to the gossip column and knew nothing (unlikely), or he was preparing to
ambush Colin in person to scold him (infinitely more likely). Colin was aware he deserved
every ounce of hellfire being directed his way, but he refused to accept it until it came from
the one person who mattered: Penelope.

“Let us hope he will allow me a moment’s peace before I face Penelope,” Colin groused as
they pulled through the gates of Lady Danbury’s estate.

Lady Danbury’s balls were consistently opulent affairs. This season was no different. As the
two brothers exited their shared carriage, Colin took the opportunity to observe the torches
and the crisp-suited gentleman and the ladies with feathers in their hair. The noises from
inside the house spilled outside for those guests arriving fashionably late to hear. Even
though this was the world he was born to, Colin found himself ill at ease in this crowd. After
another year abroad, after feeling like he finally found himself, the appeal balls and the girls
of London once held for him no longer mattered. Not in the grand scheme of his life and
what he hoped to accomplish.

Yet, even as he found himself hesitating at the whole affair, he could not stop himself from
searching the crowd for a flash of a yellow dress.

“Colin!”

At the sound of Anthony’s voice, Colin grimaced. His brother’s voice usually had an
authoritative tone that allowed for no argument. This evening though, it sounded like a
magistrate preparing to sentence a criminal. Turning, Colin saw his brother and sister-in-law
approach. The two seemed like a portrait come to life, a vision with their hands clasped
together. Kate’s peacock-blue gown with gold embroidery matched Anthony’s cravat and
vest beneath his suit jacket. And both of them stared at Colin with matching smiles that
promised they were planning something.

“Walk with us, Colin,” Kate said, tilting her head to the side, a devious smile lighting up her
whole face.

A tendril of her black hair slipped from beneath her tiara, causing Anthony to release her
hand so he could fix it. “That’s better,” he said, grinning at her.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Kate murmured, pressing a not so discreet kiss to his cheek.

Tension crackled in the air as they motioned for Colin to follow after them. He was not
entirely certain what they were planning, but as they entered the threshold of Lady Danbury’s
home, Kate surprised him by linking their arms. All of them nodded and greeted other
guests, shooting smiles wherever they could as they made their way to the grand ballroom.
Ladies, including Cressida Cowper, batted their eyelashes at Colin, inviting him to approach
them. He felt ill at the mere thought of trying to speak to any of them, not when he had
spoken so rudely of Penelope. How could any of them even meet his eyes after what he had
said? Couples had already started dancing together. Gentlemen were filling out their names
on ladies’ dance cards. Several attempted to approach Colin, but one look from Kate and
they shuffled away, disappointment on their faces.

Lady Danbury spared no expense for her opening ball. The decorations were tasteful, the
rooms illuminated with gold and crystal and lilacs. Ladies in their silk dresses tittered back
and forth with one another as they peeked at gentlemen that were making eyes at them right
back. Colin saw no one he was remotely interested in speaking to. The one lady he wanted
to speak to was nowhere to be seen yet.

“It is my understanding, dear brother, that you had a bit of a rough welcome home from Lady
Whistledown,” Anthony said. “Shame, you usually seem to be her favorite of us.” He
paused to rephrase. “Well, her favorite except for when she ruined your engagement to Miss
Thompson.”

Colin swallowed. “Brother, I know what you must be thinking –”

“Shame,” Kate repeated after her husband, patting Colin’s hand, “especially because that was
such a lovely night for our family, with the Viscount and I finally coming to our senses. And
the fireworks Lady Featherington arranged. They were spectacular.” She looked at Anthony,
as if to ponder something with him. “My love, maybe we should go greet Lady
Featherington and tell her how appreciative we are that it was her ball that sparked so much
for us. Colin, you should join us.”

Colin paled at the thought of seeing Lady Featherington again.

“I do not know if the Featheringtons have even arrived, my dear,” Anthony said. “But you
are right, of course. When they arrive we should certainly take Colin with us. They are
excellent friends of the family.”
Disengaging his arm gently from Kate’s, Colin faced the two of them. They smiled at him,
the predatory gleam in their eyes expectant. “Anthony, Kate,” he began, gazing around the
room to see if anyone else would be around to hear, “I can assure you that I will…”

Colin lost his voice. It trailed off before he could finish. Feelings he could not understand
washed over him. The only thing he could compare what he was experiencing was looking
out over the aquamarine waters of the Mediterranean, or gazing upon the slopes of Mount
Olympus. Awe filled his chest, swept through him like sun rays warming his skin.

Three women came through the ballroom entry. Two of them wore rather ostentatious
dresses, ones that stood out to the eye with gold and purples and pinks. Feathers adorned
their dark auburn curls. These women were Prudence and Portia Featherington. Both clearly
were surprised at the fact so many eyes had turned toward them.

Beside them, the true vision, the real reason he was drawn from his conversation, was the
shortest woman in the line of Featherington women. She was a vision in a sage green silk
gown, crystals and silver embroidery all up and down the skirts. Her gloves were stark white
against her creamy skin. The neckline of her dress showed more skin than he had ever seen
on her, enough that Colin’s mouth watered. Tendrils of her soft firelight hair framed her face,
the soft romantic waves of her hair pulled into a loose updo. Emeralds adorned the crown of
her hair and hung from her ears in teardrop shapes.

Penelope Featherington wore no yellow this evening, but she shined brighter and more
radiantly than the sun.

When everyone else in the vicinity saw the Featherington women come in, they stopped.
Eyes widened. Gentlemen stared. Ladies’ mouths dropped, and several looked at each other,
whispering in one another’s ears. Lady Featherington placed a hand on Prudence’s arm, eyes
lighting up with hope as she tried to push her elder daughter forward for more people to see
her.

No one was looking at Prudence.

Kate and Anthony each parted to stand on either side of Colin. Each wore matching smirks.
“My, my Brother,” Anthony murmured, leaning closer to Colin. Kate patted him on the
shoulder, as if sympathetic. “Are you absolutely certain you would never court Penelope
Featherington?”

Colin said nothing. All he could do was stare across the room and plot the fastest way to
reach her. He wanted to figure out the quickest way to get the two of them to a corner where
he could apologize, fervently and assuredly.

The three Featherington women stood in the entrance, Prudence and Portia very clearly
enjoying the fact everyone was staring at them. But Penelope merely blushed prettily and
gazed around the room as if seeing a ballroom for the first time. As her eyes drifted around
the room, they met Colin’s. She stared at him. Colin wanted to drown in her gaze as long as
possible. This small moment of eye contact was the most attention he had received from
Penelope in what felt like eons. And if the last few days were any indication, he was not sure
how much longer he was going to make it without Penelope speaking to him. Try as he
might, he found baring the contents of his soul to anyone else fell dreadfully short. Penelope
was the only one whose encouragement felt honest.

Before Colin could gain the courage to stride over to her, the sound of a cane thumping the
ground next to him drew Colin from his trance.

“My dear Mr. Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury boomed, entering the small bubble of Bridgertons.
Her sharp eyes found Colin’s. For a moment, he feared she might strike him based on the
murderous glint shining at him. That light disappeared instantly when she turned to Anthony
and Kate. “Viscount, Viscountess. It is a pleasure to have you here this evening.”

“We were honored to receive the invitation, Lady Danbury,” Anthony said, a winning smile
gracing his face. “Truly.”

Lady Danbury just smirked. “Yes, I am sure you are.” Her attention shifted to Colin again.
“I do hope you, too, were honored to receive an invitation from me, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Colin bobbed his head, doing his best to hold the widow’s eye contact and not stray to look
for Penelope. “Oh, of course, my lady. Nothing could have pleased me more.”

Lady Danbury hummed, tapping her cane against the floor a few times. “You should feel
lucky I did not disinvite you at the last moment, sir,” she said. “After reading your rather
unfortunate remarks in the season’s first Whistledown I did consider rescinding it. You see,
Miss Penelope has become a particular friend of mine of late.”

Eyes widening, Colin found he no longer struggled with keeping his eyes on Lady Danbury.
She had his attention in a vice grip now. The expression on her face caused Colin to pale.

“You and Miss Penelope have become better acquainted?” Kate asked, though she did not
seem too surprised by the revelation.

“Oh, yes,” Lady Danbury said, still looking at Colin with a rather dangerous look. “Your
dear sister is actually the one who insisted on bringing the youngest Miss Featherington to
my estate in the off-season, Viscountess Bridgerton. It seems the young lady and Miss
Sharma struck up quite the friendship after last season. By letters, I believe. Well, let’s just
say the young lady was invited to stay for a fortnight, and her stay extended into nearly three
and a half months! The girl is far wittier than she would lead most to believe. I find her
company most enjoyable.”

“Yes, I imagine most would,” Colin murmured, shame rising in him again. He could not stop
himself from looking away in embarrassment.

Lady Danbury huffed. “And seeing as she has dropped those horrid citrus dresses, she will
likely draw more young men into her orbit.”

“Which she seems to have done just now,” Kate observed.

Colin’s head snapped up. He rushed to locate Penelope again, and found her accepting the
hand of a gentleman Colin did not recognize. She produced a sweet smile for her dance
partner as he led her towards the floor. Colin’s whole chest knotted tighter and tighter, along
with his fists.

“Anthony, who is that gentleman?” Colin barked, his voice louder than he intended. The bite
in his tone caused several onlookers to shoot glares in their direction.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, Colin,” Anthony said. Amusement twinkled in his eyes, much to
Colin’s chagrin.

“That is one Mr. Edward Carmichael,” Lady Danbury chimed in. “He’s the second son of
Lord Carmichael out of Cambridgeshire. They’re in town for the season. Mr. Edward has
just returned from abroad. I believe he was studying painting in Italy.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed as he watched Penelope and this Mr. Carmichael prepared to begin
their dance. He vaguely heard Kate mention how they should introduce Mr. Carmichael to
Benedict, and Anthony thinking such a thing was a capital idea. But he barely spared them
even a passing acknowledgement when they departed. All Colin saw was the pretty blush on
his friend’s face, the twirling of her skirts, the light glittering off the jewels in her hair, how
she –

A sharp pain erupted in his shin, breaking Colin’s gaze from Penelope dancing. He swore
under his breath and glanced sideways at Lady Danbury. She twirled her cane dangerously
close to Colin’s legs, readying to strike again if she deemed it necessary. Her face was set in
a hard line. “You would do well to remedy the mess you made, Mr. Bridgerton,” Lady
Danbury said, stepping closer to him. “I think you’ll find that ladies who have befriended
each other find a way to rally behind one of their friends who has been wounded.”

Colin gulped. First, his best friend. Then, all the women in his family. Now, the most
terrifying widow of the ton. And there could be no doubting the threat in Lady Danbury’s
eyes.

“I will fix what I have done,” he promised, unable to stop his eyes from drifting back to the
dancing couples. Instead of searching for yellow, as he would have usually done, he looked
for Penelope’s fiery hair. The image of her looking so at ease with a complete stranger set
Colin’s stomach rolling. “You have my word, Lady Danbury.”

He could hear the smirk in Lady Danbury’s voice as she walked away. “Oh, I am certain that
I do.”
 Begging Forgiveness
Chapter Summary

Penelope takes a moment to herself in the gardens only to have Colin emerge from the
hedges.

Chapter Notes

Hello all, I'm truly sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. There's been so much
going on for me for the last few weeks that I wasn't devoting as much time as I wanted
to to the chapter. Thank you so much for your kudos and patience!

Song for Penelope II: Taylor Swift, "Happiness" (we're going to have a LOT of Swifty
songs in this fic, I think, bear with me lol)

After giving you the best I had

Tell me what to give after that

All you want from me now is the green light of forgiveness

You haven’t met the new me yet

Taylor Swift, “Happiness”

The night had been unlike anything Penelope had ever experienced. It was not just the
extraordinary occurrence of entering the ballroom and having everyone look at her without
their eyes immediately glazing over. Nor was it the fact that three gentlemen had asked her
for a spot on her dance card. What she never thought she would experience was the feeling
that, for once in her life, she held a sliver of control over her circumstances. Whether from
the shock of the change in her, or because they actually found her beautiful, no one in the
room had been able to look away. Where Penelope went, their eyes followed, and not with
mockery or pity. Even Cressida Cowper could find nothing to laugh about, settling instead
for a glare so frosty it might have turned the air around her to ice.

And it was exhilarating. To know she held some semblance of all their attention, if even for
just a moment, made her feel euphoric. So euphoric that Penelope found she needed a
moment to herself to recover from the sheer exhaustion of having other people notice her.
Immediately following a dance with Lord Fife, who she could not believe had asked her at
all, Penelope found an opportunity to slip out a side door and into Lady Danbury’s gardens.
They were nowhere near as grand or lovingly cultivated as Lady Bridgerton’s, but they were
still beautiful. A brief walk amidst the sweet blooms would do her some good. The full
moon glowed in a cloudless, inky sky. Penelope trailed down the stone steps of the terrace
and began to meander through the flowers and hedges, needing no other light to guide her
way than what the moon offered. She needed the quiet. Cool night air caressed her warm
cheeks, and she allowed herself a moment to remove her gloves. The breeze against her skin
was heaven. She knew she needed to be gathering gossip for Whistledown , but her heart
could not stop racing. She could barely keep a smile off her face. Dancing was not
something she did much of at balls, despite being the best dancer of all her sisters and loving
it. And tonight she had danced with three different men, all of whom sought her out. She
still could not quite believe all of the events of the last few hours had happened.

Penelope did well tonight, or at least as well as she could with her reputation being what it
was. Printing what Colin said about her had been a risk. If a gentleman made a lady seem
desirable, others would surely follow; the same was true if he scorned her. Men were a pack,
a hive mind. What the others wanted, the others wanted. What the others did not want, the
others would not want. But by putting her faith in Genevieve’s designs and batting her
eyelashes just as her new friend suggested, Penelope managed to attract the attention of more
than one option. Mr. Carmichael of Cambridgeshire was the most charming of the three.
The second gentleman, Lord Fitzroy, was rather dull, but he was a gifted dancer. And though
she was not fond of Lord Fife, he had been kind enough this evening, even making her laugh
once or twice in the middle of their dance. Fife was the most obvious indication that
Genevieve’s dresses were doing what they meant to. All three of them had been enticed, but
Fife had barely been able to take his eyes off her bosom the whole night.

Penelope was confident that given enough time with one of these three men, she would soon
forget the boy who broke her heart.

That boy in question, though, seemed to have something else in mind. His eyes followed her
through every movement. She felt them, sliding over her, as he waited for a moment to
interject himself into her evening. None of his attempts bore any results, as she managed to
slip away into the crowd before he reached her. And the look on his face, the one that burned
through her skin and bones straight to her core. The look that told her he would speak with
her, one way or another. His green eyes warmed her as though she were standing in front of a
roaring hearth, even as he was standing all the way across the room. Each time she snuck a
glance at him, he gave her that look. She refrained from glaring at him, but only because she
knew her point came across the first time. She wanted to wound him, and judging by the
look on his face, she had done just that.

Penelope’s bare fingers traced the hedges as she meandered through the silence of the
gardens. She inhaled the smell of gardenias, letting the soft floral scent cool her flaming
cheeks. She willed herself not to think of Colin. What she needed to focus on was her
future. Mr. Carmichael seemed to be the most promising of the three. He was the kindest,
most certainly. And though it shamed her to think like her mother, he was almost as wealthy
as Lord Fife. He had what she needed to offer her happiness, anonymity for her writing; she
could offer him children and, presumably, a bit more wit than his other options. Maybe if she
built an understanding with Mr. Carmichael and he would propose. He was sweet and
handsome and was not of such tremendous status that she would pull any undue attention
towards herself. Continuing Whistledown would be more than feasible as Mrs. Edward
Carmichael.

As Penelope fiddled with the skirts of her dress, thinking of married life, a pair of footsteps
approached. She did not pay much attention to the intruder, hoping they would bypass her
entirely so she could continue thinking under the moonlight.

“Pen!”

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice. Of course it would be Colin Bridgerton. He
came bursting through a hedge, his frantic energy sending him tripping over his feet and
sprawling to the ground at her feet. The expression on his face went from intent to complete
shock as he went down. His landing sounded with a hard thump . Colin groaned, the sound
muffled by his face being in the grass.

“Colin!” Penelope’s eyes widened, and without thinking, she knelt down in front of him.
She reached for him to ensure his physical wellbeing, losing her gloves somewhere in the
process. By the time she reached her knees, though, she realized her error and cursed herself
for being unable to feign indifference. Colin grunted. When he looked up at her, she could
not help but be drawn backwards to a time when the boyish glow in his eyes would have
melted her to a puddle. Now, there was only a hint of that glow within her. And though she
had dropped down to help him, it was hardly due to any titillating girlhood fantasy.

Right , she told herself, I’m merely being polite .

And yet, Penelope found she could not look away from Colin’s face. A solemnity more
reminiscent of Anthony than Colin overtook him. He sat up in the grass. Dirt smeared his
cheek. His cravat had come undone in the tumble, and his jacket came unbuttoned. The two
of them stared at each other, as if seeing the other for the very first time. Penelope watched
his green eyes as they flicked back and forth across her face, trying to decipher the change in
her. And then, those green eyes started to trail down, sliding to the neckline of her dress. He
swallowed hard. Panicking, Penelope looked down and realized just how scandalously low
her bodice had dipped by kneeling on the ground. When she looked at his face again, his
eyes were still glued to her breasts.

Clearing her throat, Penelope rushed to stand up. Grateful to the darkness for hiding her
fierce blush, she began dusting off her skirts. She hoped there was not too much damage, she
adored this design. And there was little time to fix her dress before she needed to escape
Colin’s company. The last thing either of them wanted was a third party finding them
together, alone, in the dark gardens.

“Well, I do hope you are alright, Mr. Bridgerton,” Penelope managed, looking around for the
gloves she had dropped when she went to help Colin. “Have a pleasant evening.”

“Wait, Pen! Please, I –” He stopped abruptly. “ Mr. Bridgerton ? Pen, what is the meaning
of this?”
Heat rose in Penelope’s cheeks. Irritation flashed through her. “The meaning of what?” she
asked through gritted teeth.

Colin cursed under his breath as he pulled his cravat off completely, shoving it in his pocket.
“Damn cloth,” he said. “I cannot bear wearing this anymore!” When he looked at Penelope
again, he took a step towards her. The sheer height of him loomed over her. Sparks fluttered
in her chest, and she forced her breath under control as her eyes fell on the top of his chest.
The air turned thicker, and his musky scent threatened to overwhelm her. And there was that
patch of his chest again. Only up close, she had a far better view. His skin was golden from
the Mediterranean sun. She could make out a sprinkling of chest hair. “The meaning of you
not using my given name.”

“It would be improper of me not to, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, enunciating the last syllable of
his name just a tad more than the rest of it.

“When has propriety ever dictated how we behave towards each other?” he sputtered. She
did not respond with anything other than a series of blinks. A piece of her greatly enjoyed
she was causing a Bridgerton brother this much strife. She, a wallflower who he had danced
with out of pity, was the one to make him stammer like a fool. Whether it was because he
was embarrassed or truly remorseful, she did not care. She relished the fact she had him
feeling even one tenth of the discomfort she felt after his fervent denials at the mere prospect
of courting her.

Under her steely gaze, Colin’s face softened. “Penelope, please,” he murmured. “I…I’m so
sorry.”

Penelope froze. A little over a year ago, she knew her reaction to hearing those words would
have been far different. Now, she was unsure of what she wanted. But she was more than
sure she did not want a mere few words like this.

“You’re sorry,” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said, taking another step forward to her. “What I said all that time ago was foolish,
and…and it was completely horrid.” Colin took her hands. His skin was calloused, he had
been using them in his time away. What had he been doing in the past year to get such
hands? She looked at his hands holding hers and kept her eyes away from him. “I assure you
it is not true, what I said. I do not think that. Any man would be lucky to court you.”

Gently as she could, Penelope extracted her hands from his. White hot rage shot through her
veins. She shook her head, lips pursing as she tried to contain her irritated smirk. “Any man
would be lucky,” she repeated.

“You are my dearest friend,” he went on, not sensing her true feelings just yet. “I would take
back those words in a second if I could. It is unconscionable that I would ever say such a
thing about someone who –”

Snapping her head up to look at him, Penelope interrupted. “Your dearest friend?” she said.
“You told a group of gentlemen you would never, not in their wildest fantasies , court me!
You asked Lord Fife if he was mad to think you would be courting me. How could I possibly
believe anything you have to say, Mr. Bridgerton?” Colin opened and closed his mouth
twice, unable to speak. “You want nothing more than a quick path to my forgiveness. You
wish for me to simper and tell you that it is alright. I ask you, Mr. Bridgerton: what makes
you think I would consider you a friend after any of that?”

Colin remained stunned in his silence. Penelope’s anger only grew, churning and swirling to
a fifty foot wave within her. His wounded expression fed the fire of her hurt and rage. How
dare he look at her this way when it was she who had been harmed?

“Do not speak to me of friendship, sir,” she spat, fists clenching as she spun on her heel and
attempted to leave Colin behind. The hedges presented her with a path, and she shot down it
without caring that she had abandoned her lost gloves. Apart from her quarrel with Eloise,
she had never allowed her anger to dictate how she would behave. She preferred to release
her anger through her quill, giving her time to revise and transform her rage into razor sharp
wit. But her verbal lashing of Colin warmed her chest so much she thought she might burst
into a cathartic flame. Vouching for herself, beneath the moon, had been the greatest thing
she could have possibly imagined.

The sound of footsteps hurrying behind her stopped her from relishing in her moment of
triumph.

“Penelope! Please, wait!” Aimless, Penelope took whichever turn she could in an effort to
escape her pursuer. Her heart sped up. “For Heaven’s sake, Pen, would you stop?”

“No,” she tossed over her shoulder.

Before she managed to turn left, Colin grabbed her wrist. With his height, he caught her with
little effort. She whirled to face him, gasping. He released her immediately, shock on his
face at the prospect he may have hurt her. When she did not move away, though, he reached
for her hand again. The former Penelope would have wept with joy at the gentleness in his
touch. And even now, in her fury and hurt, she swallowed hard. Had she ever touched him
without the barrier of a glove between them?

Colin’s eyes were stricken, as if he was in physical pain. “Penelope, why did you never
respond to my letters?” he begged. At her snort of indignation, he added with haste, “I mean,
why did you never write to tell me you overheard what I said? Why would you go through a
whole year without telling me I had hurt you?”

The skin of his palm against hers was warm, and the heat of his touch kept her shielded from
the cool night breeze that rustled all the leaves and flowers in the garden. She kept his gaze,
refusing to look away in shame or embarrassment. “Would it have made a difference?” she
asked.

“Yes!” he bellowed. “I would rather you be the one to tell me I had caused you pain than that
damned Whistledown woman!”

Penelope looked around, frantic, as if someone might jump from the hedges and find them
alone. “Keep your voice down, Mr. Bridgerton!” she hissed.
“Would you please stop calling me that?” he snapped.

She forged onward. “The last thing we need at this moment is someone to come out here and
cause a scandal that makes my prospects even worse than you already made them.”

An emotion Penelope was not familiar with flashed across his face. The green of his eyes
sparked, as if he could not quite believe what she said. His mouth dropped. Apparently, he
did not like what she said at all. “Your prospects? Pen, what on earth can you mean? I have
never heard you speak of marriage, at least not as something you want.”

Had Penelope less self-control, she might have screamed at him that he had no conceivable
idea of what she wanted. She would have raged that all she ever wanted was to belong
somewhere, preferably to his family, where no one mocked or belittled her, where she felt
safe and wanted. She would have told him that marriage was important to her because of the
freedom it would present her. Maybe she would have told him that marriage to him was what
she once wanted.

But she did possess control of her emotions. “You could not possibly understand,” she said.
“You do not inhabit the world in the same way that I do, Mr. Bridgerton. You were not born
needing your entire existence to be dependent on whether a man chooses you to be the one to
continue his name. Whether or not I have spoken about it to you does not change the fact
that I want marriage because I must want it. We were bound to have to halt our
correspondence at some point. It is improper for the two of us, both unmarried, to be writing
letters to one another. I would not want to give anyone the wrong impression of our
relationship. And I’m sure you would probably like to stop wasting your ink on someone
such as myself.”

Colin reeled backwards, as if she slapped him. The poison in her words struck just where she
wanted. She watched him swallow and consider how he wanted to respond. “Is this what
you think you are to me?” he asked. “A waste of ink?”

Extracting her hand from Colin’s grasp, she nodded. “Yes.” The words were harsh, and not
her own, but they needed to be said. For once, Prudence had offered some semblance of
clarity to her younger sister. Penelope had been too blinded by her love for Colin to realize
that he would never see her as anything but his younger sister’s friend he could funnel all his
problems to and find reassurance. The pedestal she placed him on had been too high for her
to notice the truth: that he would never love her.

Colin said nothing, just stared at her with those wounded green eyes that looked like
scratched emeralds without a hint of their usual shine. Had he ever looked this hurt in her
presence? There were times she knew he had been hurting, but she was not sure she had ever
seen this much pain in his face. Penelope shivered, unable to stop the small feeling of guilt
that flitted through her. The air shifted as he took another step closer to her. There was very
little distance between them now. Penelope’s breath hitched. He looked down at her, eyes
darkening. Her lower lip trembled.

Raising a hand, Colin gently moved a tendril of hair from her face. The pad of his finger slid
across her cheekbone. A current ran through her whole body, swift and wild as a river.
Something she could not explain seemed to wake in her belly. His mouth parted, as if he had
come to some realization looking in her eyes. Penelope could not move an inch, so entranced
was she by whatever this feeling was coursing through her and between them.

“Did you – did you read the letters I sent?” he asked. “Did those seem like something I
would write to someone I would waste ink on, as you say?”

Steeling her nerves, Penelope shook her head. She would not cower to her impulse to please
him in any way she could. Colin Bridgerton would have the truth.

“No, I did not,” she said. “Nor do I have them.”

Well, almost the truth. She had hidden the letters, unopened and smelling of Colin and sea
air, beneath the floorboards with her Whistledown money. The moment the first letter arrived
she had almost tossed it into the fire. But as she sat in front of the fireplace, letter poised to
burn, she found she could not do it. Nor could she find it in herself to read it, resulting in it
joining the money beneath the floor. Every letter that followed went there, too. That is, until
they finally stopped coming.

Words danced behind his eyes. Penelope saw his hurt, confident she had done what she
needed to protect herself and her heart. Sticking her chin out, Penelope said, “Goodnight,
Mr. Bridgerton. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the evening.”

This time, Colin remained silent, giving her the perfect opportunity to slide past him. Her
retreat back to the terrace was a quick one. No hasty footsteps followed her. The only sound
to be heard was the rustling of her skirts, though she was certain she probably could hear
heart pounding. On the terrace, she finally looked back toward the gardens. Utter stillness.
Colin had not tried to follow. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she returned inside. The ball
showed no signs of slowing down yet. It seemed even less likely the night would be slowing
down any time soon now that the Queen herself had arrived. Her Majesty’s stern glare
perused the room, presumably on the hunt for this season’s Diamond. Or, perhaps, she was
looking for Lady Whistledown. The Queen’s face rarely gave anything away.

Penelope took a moment to collect herself from her garden encounter with Colin by
concealing herself behind a plant. She closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and gave
herself a moment to feel proud that she held firm in front of the man she once loved. Her
heart slowed as she clung to her familiar wall. No one had noticed yet that she had returned
to the ballroom, giving her an opportunity to begin gathering her information for her column.
She was well hidden behind a plant, giving herself a view of the ballroom and putting her in a
spot where she could hear the gossip of the footmen and the shrill bell-like voices of
meddling society mothers.

The Lady of my house is worried her son has gotten one of the maids with child!

Miss Roth had decided this will be her season to snare herself a husband. Although,
according to her maid, she’s not doing enough to appease her mother and is spending too
much time in the stables.

Have you seen Miss Francesca Bridgerton? She looks positively lovely. A much better
presentation than Miss Eloise last season, if you ask me.
Can you believe the change in Penelope Featherington? I never thought I’d see the day
anyone but Colin Bridgerton asked for her hand. And not out of pity!
Yes, the youngest Miss Featherington managed to change the conversation from the boy’s
rejection of her rather nicely.

Penelope smirked. Well, at least they were paying attention, no matter how doubtful they
sounded. She continued to slide around the outskirts of the room, enjoying the familiar ritual
of gathering her gossip, categorizing what she would use for the column, deciding what she
would say about what she heard.

But even her familiar ritual could not completely stop her from thinking of what happened in
the gardens.

Colin had been so close to her. The only other time they might have been closer was in the
middle of a dance. Those times were nothing compared to the gardens, where he had looked
at her as if he wanted to trap her until he earned her forgiveness. She hated to admit that even
though she did not want his approval any longer, she was excited by the thought of being so
close to him. There were many things she had loved about Colin. How kind he was. The
way he charmed her with one small smile. The tone that entered his voice when he spoke of
his dreams to see distant places. That he was devastatingly pleasant to look at was only an
additional positive attribute he possessed.

Never had Penelope been more aware of his physicality, though, than when the two of them
were alone in the garden. He had been right there, the skin of his chest in front of her,
begging to be touched…Stories of men who pulled young ladies into closets or darkened
corners flooded back to her. She knew little of the details of those encounters, but almost
always clothes came out rumpled, or hair would be askew on the heads of the occupants.
Biting her lips, she imagined Colin’s hands undoing the clips in her hair so he could run his
fingers through her curls and along her scalp.

Realizing just how flushed her face must have looked, Penelope pinched herself hard enough
for it to hurt. Whistledown needed focus to be put together. There was no time to dwell on
Colin Bridgerton.

As Penelope continued around the room, forcing herself to banish Colin’s heated gaze from
her mind, she suddenly bumped into someone. Jumping, Penelope turned to apologize to
whoever she had run into. That is, until she found herself looking into the narrowed brown
eyes of Eloise Bridgerton. Penelope’s mouth formed a small “o” shape as she stared at her
former friend. It had been a year since she spoke with Eloise. Even with the yearlong silence
between them, Penelope heard Eloise’s voice in her mind every single day. Telling her she
was an insipid wallflower. Accusing her of writing solely to make money. The scorn in the
imaginary Eloise voice was as fresh a wound as when she spoke the words into existence.

Eloise glared at Penelope, but she said nothing. Nor did Penelope say anything in return.
Instead, she took in Eloise's appearance. She still looked lovely as ever, dressed in a blue
gown and sapphire tiara that her mother had clearly chosen for her. Her eyes lacked any sign
of their usual sparkle. There was no sign of the anxious joy that usually had Eloise fluttering
about, no energy that kept her brimming with her thoughts on the latest writings she had just
discovered or with a witty quip about how she would rather throw herself into the ocean than
listen to Cressida Cowper simper about jewels.

Nothing that made her Eloise was there.

Although, if Penelope was honest, nothing about herself was the same either. Even if Eloise
had not found out about Whistledown, Penelope had doubts she would enjoy or approve of
the changes Penelope had gone through.

Neither of them said a word, despite both of them looking like they wanted to say many. Nor
did either of them want to be the first to look away. Penelope watched the myriad of
emotions dance across Eloise’s face. The hurt radiated from her eyes, mixed with rage and
distaste. All the while, those same things raced through Penelope. Not for the first time she
found herself hit in the stomach by grief. Her eyes burned.

Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope caught sight of Edwina Sharma waving excitedly at
her. For a moment she felt better — Edwina was not Eloise, but she made Penelope feel as
though she were not alone anymore.

Taking a deep breath, Penelope forced herself to not look back at Eloise and headed in the
direction of Edwina. She did not even look back, though she could feel Eloise’s eyes on her
as she crossed the room. Just as she had with Colin, Penelope planned to leave Eloise
behind. The two made it clear last year, whether they had intended for her to know it or not,
that they were not interested in having Penelope around anymore.

She did not mind, though. No, not one bit. No matter how much her stomach hurt to think of
those words, she did not mind. She was no longer that Penelope.

The world, Bridgertons included, would need to accept their insipid wallflower was no longer
content to be their pariah.
 Spiraling
Chapter Summary

Colin struggles to make it through the days following Lady Danbury's ball.

Chapter Notes

Hello all! I am so sorry for the delay in posting. It's been a rough few weeks at work,
and I also started a new Polin project, inspired by a song off Midnights (guys, the album
is so good!!), so it took my time away from this story briefly. Thank you for your
patience, and I hope you enjoy this particular one. There's lots of angst and it's making
me very excited to write the next one!

Song for Colin III: Lewis Capaldi, "Maybe"

How come I’m the only one who ever seems to get in my way?

Lately, I’ve been fucking up a good thing any chance I can get

Lewis Capaldi, “Maybe”

“Colin!”

At the sound of Anthony’s voice, Colin shot up in his chair. His eldest brother’s sharp tone
cut through the air like a fencing saber. It was evening, and Colin was drowning his sorrows
in the finest brandy Will Mondrich had to offer. Until his brother showed, Colin had sat
slumped in a plush chair, with a leg thrown lazily over one of the arms. He glared up at the
swimming image of Anthony.

“Good God, Colin,” Anthony grumbled, plopping himself down in the chair beside Colin’s.
“Look at yourself.”

Still not speaking, Colin glared at his brother and looked down at his clothes. Anthony had
made no secret he was not approving of Colin’s recent wardrobe choices. Though he thought
of himself as a gentleman, Colin found that upon returning home he had difficulty bearing the
restrictive clothing of his station. Gregory and Hyacinth had taken to teasing him of taking
up a life of piracy, but it was a small price to pay for a bit of comfort.
“You honestly think you do not need to dress like a gentleman now that you have returned
from abroad?” Anthony asked, flagging down Mondrich to get him a glass of whatever Colin
was drinking. “Mr. Mondrich, tell him,” he added, when Will approached them, “tell my
brother that if he refuses to dress properly, he shall not be able to come to your fine
establishment.”

Will offered Anthony a tumbler of brandy, but bowed his head. Amusement twinkled in his
eyes. “Ah, I’m sorry, Lord Bridgerton,” the former boxer said, “but I am afraid I have to
decline telling your good brother how to dress.”

Grinning like a fool, Colin raised his glass to Will. “Thank you, my fine friend,” he said. His
voice was not quite slurred, but Will and Anthony still swam in his vision. “See? I remain
the favorite Bridgerton.”

“I do not believe those words left his mouth, Brother,” Anthony muttered, sipping the brandy.

When the two of them were left alone again, Colin thought Anthony would start in on him.
Instead, he felt his brother’s gaze on him, observing. With a roll of his eyes, Colin took
another swig of his drink. “What do you want, Anthony? To what do I owe the pleasure of
your company this evening?” He had a feeling he knew exactly why his brother had shown
up, but he was going to make Anthony say it.

Evidently, his brother was not in the mood to play games. “To know what has brought on
this sour mood of late,” Anthony snapped.

“Oh, please,” Colin groused, waving a hand as if to shove Anthony away. “Go home to your
Viscountess.”

Anthony gave an audible snort. “Believe me, I would much rather be at home, warm in my
bed, with Kate. But as the head of this family, I have certain responsibilities I must shoulder.
Finding the root of your bad behavior is one of those responsibilities.”

“I hardly see myself as one of those responsibilities.” Colin knew he was being an ass, but he
wanted a way to get rid of Anthony so he could stew on his own, in peace.

“That is one of the more ridiculous statements you have made,” Anthony shot back. “And
when you have the rest of the family as concerned as they are at the moment, it is my
responsibility to step in and stop you from acting like a brute.” A rather distasteful look
overtook his face as he observed Colin. “And I am certainly going to step in with this sudden
change in wardrobe you have adopted. Honestly, Brother, you really do look a mess. Not
like the gentleman you claim to be. If you are not careful, you’ll gain my former reputation
as London’s biggest rake.”

Colin harrumphed at him. “I hardly think clothing alone is what makes a gentleman,” he
groused. “It should not be outward appearances that create the gentleman, at least not so
much as the man’s character. If it were our attire alone that created the illusion of a
nobleman, Lady Whistledown would scarcely have a thing to write about. Some of the worst
rakes of society dress the best.”
Anthony held up a hand. “Oh, do not go on. I am only jesting in part about the clothing.
That conversation can wait. The one about your behavior, however, cannot.”

Colin sipped his brandy. He did not meet Anthony’s eyes.

“You’ve been like this since Lady Danbury’s ball,” Anthony went on. “Our siblings’
complaints are ones I might be able to excuse as our normal family banter. But when our
mother, the woman who birthed us and raised us, is reduced to tears because of how you have
been towards everyone at Number Five, that is when I deem it my responsibility.”

Hand tightening around his glass, Colin struggled to push the image of his mother’s tears
from his mind. He had not seen them, but even the prospect of such a thing made his
stomach clench.

“Surely this cannot be because the Featherington girl will not speak to you.”

Colin shot Anthony a dark glare the moment the surname left his brother’s lips. “The
‘Featherington girl,’ as you have so crassly put it, Anthony, has a name.”

The faintest hint of amusement danced in Anthony’s eyes. When he spoke, the amusement
transformed into full-fledged smugness. “Ah, so it is because Miss Penelope will not speak
to you. Nay! She will not even allow you to catch a glimpse of her.”

Colin returned his eyes to fire to escape Anthony’s scrutiny. He watched the flames crackle
and dance, and thought of Penelope’s hair. In truth, he thought of her all the time right now.
He saw her everywhere. Her hair in his fireplace. The blue of her eyes when he reminisced
about the waters of Greece. Her voice echoed in the walls of his skull, reverberating like a
tune he could not rid himself of. Nor could he forget the chill in her voice the night they
spoke in the garden. When he made a complete fool of himself and fell flat on his face at her
feet, her initial reaction with his name made Colin believe there may be a way to revive their
friendship. She still cared for him, he knew it and felt it when he gazed at her. The moon hid
many things, but it cast a revealing glow on her eyes. It had been a moment, but it was there.

He would have had to been a blind man not to notice the changes in her, though. Just the
sight of her in her green gown, the fabric draping over her curves in the exact manner as the
sculptures he saw in his travels, was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. And the second
his eyes landed on her breasts, he was sure he must have been struck by a carriage. Desire
reared up in him as fiery as her hair.

Even in the days since the ball, Colin could scarcely believe: he wanted his best friend.

And Penelope wanted him, he thought. The air between them had been thick with all the
words left unspoken. But he saw that look in her eye, the one where he knew she was
observing him with more than just discerning scrutiny. Blatant want colored her cheeks. Her
breathing had become shallow; there could be no doubt, he had scarcely been able to remove
his gaze from her chest as it rose and fell. Her lip had been caught between her teeth.
Though her eyes were wide, she did not seem to be afraid in the slightest.
Once the moment was gone, though, she turned cold and formalities stepped between them.
Formalities that never stood between them before.

After leaving him in the dark in the gardens, Colin saw himself out of the party and
meandered his way home through the streets of London. He underestimated the effect of his
words, because surely a good friend’s apology could have cured whatever ills they might
have caused. Where did this disdain come from? Penelope, when the desire faded away
completely, seemed as though she would like nothing more than to be rid of him for the rest
of their lives. Questions only continued to grow. As he stared at his ceiling that night,
uncomfortable at the prospect of never being near his friend ever again, he resolved he would
not be so easily dissuaded from her company.

So, in the days that passed, Colin continued his quest for Penelope’s attentions. The whole
week he made attempts to call on her, though each time she was out. He noted that Mr.
Carmichael, too, had attempted to call, though he had about as much success at finding her at
home as Colin had. When Violet managed to drag him out to promenade with the whole
family, he managed to catch sight of Penelope walking with Lady Danbury, Lady Sharma,
and Edwina Sharma. Before he could set off to reach them, his mother forced him to speak
with a group of ladies, none of whom he could remember their names. By the time that was
finished, Penelope was gone and out of sight. Walking to the market one day, he encountered
Fife speaking to Penelope and Edwina, both of whom were shopping with their maids. The
sight of Fife pressing a kiss to Penelope’s gloved hand was enough to cause Colin to feel like
his chest was about to implode. To stop himself from doing something he might regret, Colin
found he needed to leave the scene. He then spent hours walking, meandering through the
streets of London until the sun started to sink low behind the buildings.

The lack of contact with Penelope, combined with his absolute inability to stop thinking of
her, led to Colin behaving like a beast. None of his family had been safe from his wrath. On
more than one occasion, he had stomped out of the room when Gregory and Hyacinth would
not quit teasing him. Benedict nearly lost an arm during their round of fencing. That
morning, though, was when he finally snarled at Violet, which he assumed was why Anthony
had finally made an appearance.

“I will apologize to Mother the moment I see her in the morning,” Colin promised his
brother, words finally slurring. “I’d reckon I am not in much of a state to do so tonight.”

Anthony shook his head. “No, no you are not. But honestly, Colin, what has gotten into
you? You swore loud enough for a whole crowd of people that you would never court the
girl. But now that she will not speak to you, you act like some spurned lover. You must
admit, it is remarkably inconsistent on your part.”

“Penelope is my friend, Anthony,” Colin insisted.

Your friend who you cannot seem to stop thinking about…dreaming about , a traitorous
version of himself whispered within his head.

“And yet you behave this way when rejected by her.”

Something white hot and sudden flashed through Colin’s blood. He was not well acquainted
with rage, but something about the way his brother said “rejected” did not sit well with
Colin. Shooting up in his chair, though not quite gracefully, he snapped, “What business
have you to speak to me about my issues with Penelope? Surely you are the last person to try
and give counsel to someone regarding their friendships with women, seeing how royally you
have messed up with them in the past.”

Anthony made no visible movements, but his eyes hardened to iron. He took a sip of his
brandy, swirled his glass, then spoke. “My business is not with your issues with Miss
Penelope. The sole reason for my visit is to inform you that your behavior is no longer going
to be tolerated. I care little for your problems with women. You are inexperienced and naive,
and so long as nothing spirals into a debacle the size of the one you had with Miss
Thompson, I will not concern myself with whatever issue you find yourself in.”

Colin scowled. Though neither of them had raised their voices, they knew which parts of the
other would wound deepest.

“You will apologize to Mother first thing tomorrow,” Anthony said, his voice full of authority
that refused to be argued with. “You will promenade with her, and you will cease this boarish
behavior, whether Miss Penelope chooses to return your attentions or not.” When Anthony
did hear any response, he sat forward in his seat. “Am I making myself clear, Brother?”

Colin slumped back in his seat. The guilt started pressing on his chest. Anthony was right,
of course. His mother, in particular, deserved an apology. All she ever did was give to him,
and he returned that by snapping at her. He could not even remember what it had been she
had asked him that got such a reaction.

“Yes, completely clear,” Colin replied, wishing he could sink into the couch and disappear
within its cushions.

Anthony nodded once, leaned back in his seat, and the two remained in tense silence.

Colin found himself amazed that he was able to drag himself down the street in the state he
was in. Everything swam in his vision, like someone had poured a glass of water over his
eyes that he could not blink away. The streets held an eerie stillness, the gas streetlights
having gone on several hours prior to this. Colin peeked at his pocketwatch, unsure of the
time. After much fumbling, he realized he could barely read where the hands of the clock
fell. Cursing, he shoved the timepiece back into his jacket pocket.

Even with the cool night breeze ruffling his hair, he felt hot, as if the sun were beating down
on him in the Sahara. He fought with the collar of his silk shirt, wrestling so the buttons
came off. Two plunked onto the cobblestones. He groaned, but the fresh air on his chest was
heavenly.

“You’ve made a mess of things, Bridgerton,” he slurred to himself. “How could you do
this?” To anyone passing by, Colin was sure he might seem a lunatic, but at whatever late
hour it was he was shielded by loneliness. So he continued to badger himself, bemoaning
how he could hurt all the people he loved. Marina had been right about him. He was a boy,
living in a fantasy world that could never exist again. That idyllic existence he once
inhabited – the one of flirting, dreaming, and laughing with no care in the world – could
never be recreated. But the thought of facing reality had been so much simpler when he
knew he had people he could rely upon. Until he returned home, he had been certain he had
those people.

What had it been that Penelope told him? That they needed to be allowed private moments
for fantasizing and reverie so they would not go into reality unprepared? Well, he had
allowed himself those moments. And like everything else he touched, it fell apart. Fell apart
as unintended consequences of his own machinations.

Though still inebriated, the night air helped clear his fuzzy vision somewhat. Colin found
himself walking near Bridgerton House, signaling he was not far from his destination. But
his eyes did not go to his childhood home. Instead, they were drawn to the Featherington
estate. The house was dark. Somewhere inside was Penelope.

Colin stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Chest aching, he wondered if Penelope was
curled up in her bed, sound asleep. Or was she tucked in, a lone candle lit on her bedside
table while she read into the night? He longed to speak with her, if only to know what she
thought of the weather. He would even tolerate her rebuking him again if it meant getting to
hear her speak. Could he do something, anything, to make her understand he did not believe
a single word he said that night? He said so many words he did not believe, all in the name
of impressing people he did not truly care for. They lived their lives to display themselves to
one another, and in doing so, he hurt one of those who meant most to him. The laughter of
the men he told he would never court Penelope rang in his ears, so loud not even church bells
could have broken through it. Shame flooded through every part of his body.

From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a small figure exiting a hired hack. He
squinted, watching as whoever it was made their way down the street in his direction. A blue
servant’s cloak covered the person’s face. They darted by every street light so quickly it gave
Colin no opportunity to see their face. Whoever it was looked in every direction they could
before disappearing through a gate. A gate that led straight into the Featheringtons’ gardens.

Colin launched across the street to follow the intruder. He thought of nothing as he crashed
through the gate, tripping and struggling to stay upright as he tried to keep up his pursuit.
Tearing through the rows of flowers was not the easiest task. The grass remained damp from
a short drizzle earlier in the day, sending him sliding along the ground faster than he might
have wanted in his drunken state. And drunkenness did nothing to help his stride, even as he
remained upright. His long legs did, however, allow him to catch the unsuspecting fiend.

“Stop right there!” he demanded, reaching his arms towards his target. He gathered the much
smaller person in his arms, hoisting them in the air. His quarry – a young woman, judging by
the squeak that sprang from her lips and the sweet scent of honeysuckle that wafted from
beneath her cloak – struggled. Without all his senses, the squirming figure in his arms sent
them both crashing to the ground. Colin landed hard on his back, seeing stars that did not
occur naturally in the night sky as he looked up. He kept his grip on the intruder, not willing
to let his clumsiness be the reason a villain broke into the Featheringtons house. He held his
arms so tight around the woman, he knew she would not get anywhere.

Until her hood slid off to reveal a head full of flame red curls.

“ Penelope ?”

Colin released his grip immediately, allowing her to twist in his arms atop him. She looked
down at him, breathing heavy, tendrils of hair falling in her face. Realizing who her captor
had been, the surprise on her face shifted to outrage. She pushed herself away, scurrying
backwards.

“What are you doing here?” Penelope demanded.

Both of them still sat on the ground, staring. The shock of finding Penelope sneaking into
her own gardens, shrouded in secrecy, was enough to sober Colin up enough to form
sentences. Neither of them rose from the ground just yet, and he took the opportunity to
study her. Penelope looked nothing like the highborn lady she was. Instead, she wore the
uniform of a servant, plain dress and plain cloak. With her chest heaving, her blue eyes
piercing through his chest like an arrow, he was reminded once again of just how much she
had changed. And it was not just from her wardrobe. She carried herself with more certainty
than he had ever seen in her. There were certainly moments he could think of where he saw
flashes of wit and intelligence that would surely halt even Cressida Cowper’s tongue. But
those small occurrences were nothing compared to who he beheld now.

“I sh – should ask you the same thing!” Colin managed, dusting himself off as he rose on
shaky legs from the ground. He offered her a hand that she pointedly ignored. “It is the
middle of the night, Pen. You are returning from who-knows-where, and in a servant’s garb.
Tell me, what is going on.”

“None of this is any concern of yours, Mr. Bridgerton,” Penelope replied haughtily. She
crossed her arms over her chest.

Colin never considered himself to have much of a temper. He certainly allowed himself to be
sensitive if the moment called for it, and if no one who might judge him for it were around.
But hearing his surname leave Penelope’s lips after another week of silence filled him with
an emotion he could not name. There was no warmth, no familiarity, nothing to engender the
feeling of comfort he got just from hearing her voice. He simply could not bear it any
longer. Tongue loosened by the multiple glasses of brandy, Colin snapped.

“Would you stop calling me ‘Mr. Bridgerton’! For Heaven’s sake, Pen. I am your friend. I
know that I have hurt you, I know that and I am doing everything I can think of to atone for
it. Please, I beg you, stop calling me, Mr. Bridgerton. I cannot bear it.” Once the words
started, everything he held back over the past week came spilling out. All his hurt and
confusion at her silence had festered to infection, and now was his chance to purge it all.
“All week I have been a monster to those closest to me, all because I have been unable to
think of anything but you and this infernal silence and distance between us that you insist on.
You are my friend, and I despise myself for what I said about you to Fife and the rest.
Because none of it is true. Though I said those words, I can scarcely believe it sometimes.
What I should have told those men is that we were wonderful friends, that you are the one
whose advice I seek when I am in need of it, because I can think of no other person who
would advise me better. I should have said that there is no one else I would rather be locked
in conversation with for hours on end, because your mind is one of the parts of you I hold in
highest esteem. I should have said that no, I was not courting you, because you can do so
much better than a third son who offers no prospects and has no purpose yet. Were any of
them, or anyone else, to mock you ever again, I would challenge them in order to defend your
honor. That is what you deserve from me. As your friend.”

Nothing could quell the fire burning in Colin’s ribs. He gasped for air, swallowing it in large
gulps after his speech. The gardens spun around him, but he was sure he remained on his
feet. Desperate, he searched Penelope’s face for any sign his words might have had the least
bit of effect on her.

Lips parted, shock lit in her blue eyes, Penelope stared at him. She appeared to study him,
just as he studied her. He caught sight of her face as she tilted her head. Confusion and
wonder and irritation muddled together in her expression. She opened her mouth, seemingly
considering responding. It was possible her features might have softened, but in the dark it
was hard to tell. The softness did not last long before incredulity crossed over her face. Her
eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk ?”

“Wh - why should that matter?” Colin stammered. He swore his posture was not off, but the
way Penelope was looking at him now suggested he might not have the correct perception of
himself.

“It matters because you think you can come and accost me about my whereabouts and
suggest how I should be feeling when you cannot even keep yourself upright!” she hissed.
She looked around wildly, making sure no one was overhearing their conversation.

Colin sputtered. “You are the one returning from God-knows-where in the dead of night!”

Stepping forward, Penelope stabbed him in the chest with her finger. “And it is none of your
concern!”

“Yes, it is!”

“Why? I have told you we are no longer friends!”

“Even if you do not believe we are friends, Penelope, we most certainly are. I told you once I
would always look after you. You are special to me, and no idiotic words I have said is ever
going to change that. And you returning in the middle of the night, with no chaperone,
makes me think that something is wrong.” A horrible thought crossed his mind then, and
before he could think better of giving mouth to it, the words rushed from his lips. “Please do
not tell me you were off seeing so – some man .”

For a moment, Colin thought Penelope might strike him. The rage in her eyes could not be
contained. Once again, the air between them was drenched in tension that he could barely
stand. Fire blazed in her eyes. But instead of saying anything more to him, Penelope closed
her eyes and took several deep breaths. She stepped back from him, smoothed her skirts, and
looked back at him. The barely hooded anger remained, but when she spoke, her voice was
soft.

“Goodnight, Mr. Bridgerton,” she murmured. “Kindly leave my family’s gardens. You are
intoxicated. I will not have a conversation with a man in such a state, least of all one who is
alone.” She turned on her heel without any other form of acknowledgement.

And for the second time in his life, Colin Bridgerton was left alone in a night-drenched
garden by Penelope Featherington.
 A Titillating Proposal
Chapter Summary

Penelope receives an offer from Colin she is unsure she can refuse.

Chapter Notes

Annnnndddd I've finally posted! For real, I apologize for the delay in releasing this
chapter. If you're still with me, so glad you're still around. Chapter 7 is already getting
worked on right now. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy!

Song for Penelope III: "Treacherous" by Taylor Swift

This slope is treacherous

This path is reckless

This slope is treacherous

And I, I, I like it

Taylor Swift, “Treacherous”

Penelope barely slept the night before. She blinked several times, stifling a yawn behind her
hand as she promenaded arm in arm with Edwina. She should have realized this would be an
issue, not returning from Genevieve’s home until after midnight. But it was her second
encounter with Colin, and the knowledge of how close he got to her secret, was what kept her
staring at the ceiling until the sun started grazing the bottom of the sky. Had her day not
included leaving the home to spend time with Edwina, she might have feigned a headache.
But she needed that time with someone on her side. That was not something she would get in
her own home.

“Penelope, you seem so tired this morning,” Edwina pointed out beside her.

As soon as her friend finished saying those words, Penelope yawned again. She attempted to
smile through it, but the gray sky and relatively warm afternoon breeze were lulling her to
sleep.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Edwina,” she said. “I just…I did not sleep much last.”

Squeezing her hand, Edwina smiled gently. “Tell me. What troubles you? Perhaps I can
help.”

Where could Penelope start? The fact that she had someone actually calling on her; the fact
she was receiving more attention than she ever had in her life; the fact Colin and she had met
twice in a garden without a chaperone. Since debuting the reinvented version of herself,
multiple members of the ton began to greet her when they saw her walking on the street. It
could have been because Lady Danbury was with her, but the differences were enough that
Penelope felt maybe it was the changes she had made. The undercurrent of passive
aggression most ladies met her with did not appear in their eyes as they asked her how she
was faring. The men even met her eyes and wished her a good afternoon instead of
completely ignoring her existence. Though these were the people she wrote about, sparing
no one from the sharp truths her quill unleashed, the fact she felt acceptance from these
people was almost a relief. To finally be seen, not simply tolerated, was all she wanted.
Being in society, forced to watch as others lived full lives, was a special type of torment. She
was supposed to be there, but she did not truly belong. People like Cressida Cowper never
let her forget that.

Apparently, looking the part and carrying herself with a touch of confidence that her alter ego
had nurtured in her gave her the acceptance she so desperately craved.

“I suppose,” Penelope began, finally addressing Edwina’s question, “I am just thinking about
what this last week has been like. Just last season, not a single soul would have spoken to
me. This time, the small changes I’ve made to myself have me feeling…overexposed. I feel
as though everywhere I go, someone is watching me. I am no Diamond of the First Water
like you are, but I find the change to be quite overstimulating at times.”

Edwina smiled. “Well, I can assure you that you do not want to be a Diamond. My
experience of that was not exactly a fairytale. Is that not what you longed for, though? To be
a part of society in some way?”

“I believe so,” Penelope replied. “But even the smallest bit of attention is, to me, rather
jarring.” She sighed, glancing down at her grass green day dress. Like all of Genevieve’s
designs, it fit Penelope beautifully, accentuating each curve of her body and not making her
look like a piece of fruit left out on a market stand. Penelope could pinpoint few moments in
her life where she felt beautiful, but over the last week she managed to prove to herself that
eliminating her mother’s poor tastes from her life was one of the best decisions she had ever
made.

“You will get used to it,” Edwina assured her. “It took me a bit of time, too. But you have
wit and charm, Penelope. That is what you must rely on. And I’d say that, so far, you’ve
done beautifully. I have no doubt that by the end of this season you will find yourself happily
married.”

Penelope paused at the mention of marriage. For the first time in ages, she was allowing
herself to think of what that would look like. Eloise had thought her to never be interested in
the prospect, but it had always been in the back of Penelope’s mind. Usually, in those times
she wondered about the prospect, she had fantasized her groom would be Colin. He had been
the only one she could imagine, however improbable the reality of it might be. She stared at
the pages of her novels, imagining herself being swept away by her hero into a romance that
would make even Cressida Cowper envy. They would be happy every day and never
question if there was anything missing in their life.

Now that she had let the boy who she thought was her hero go, Penelope knew she would
need to take a more practical approach if she was to ever leave home. This would be a
transaction: her independence for an heir. She would find happiness where she could, if that
could not be found with her husband. She would love her children, she would cherish her
friendships with Edwina and Genevieve, and she would write.

“Oh, and I do believe I see a suitor headed this way!” Edwina said. Excitement lit up her
voice, as did a devious gleam in her eye. By the way she sounded, Penelope was sure it must
be Lord Fife. She and Edwina laughed uproariously when Penelope relayed stories of their
interactions. And though she was not particularly fond of the man still, she had to admit he
seemed smitten with her. Or, at the very least, her chest. Mr. Carmichael still proved to be
her favorite choice, but if Fife was the one to get her out of her mother’s home, Penelope
supposed she could settle for him.

Lord Fife was not the one approaching.

When Penelope’s gaze fell on the point Edwina’s eyes had settled, she found none other than
Colin Bridgerton headed their way. Granted, he was accompanied by his family, but it was
clear from the fact his eyes fell on hers and never left that he was the one driving the
direction of their promenade. Panic rose in her chest. What was going to happen? Did he
remember their meeting last night, and would he inadvertently reveal it to her friends? Had
he revealed it inadvertently already ? She was closer than she had ever been to achieving
what she wanted, and the last thing she needed was Colin finding out all her secrets.

And besides, she also did not want to face him after everything he said to her last night. His
horrified accusation that she might have been meeting a gentleman in the dead of night
stung. She was never more aware of how little he knew her than standing before him and
having him accuse her of such a thing. He had the gall to stand in her family’s gardens once
again and say things that wounded her deeper than any other person could have.

“Oh, Edwina, perhaps we should –” Penelope attempted to say, before Lady Danbury’s voice
soared towards the Bridgertons.

“Lady Violet! What a wonderful sight to my old eyes. And with several of your brood out.”
Lady Danbury swept around Edwina and Penelope to stride towards the members of the
Bridgerton family that had come out to promenade. Benedict and Francesca walked together,
arm in arm. As she did every time she appeared in public, Francesca radiated health and
beauty. There were already several suitors lining up at Lady Bridgerton’s home at Number
Five Bruton Street, all armed with large bouquets fit for the Queen. Despite the many
admirers, Francesca already seemed smitten with one John Stirling, Earl of Kilmartin.
Penelope had been writing about the encounters of the two in her recent Whistledowns,
making sure the ton knew to keep an eye on what was sure to be the match of the season. His
cousin, Michael, had ended up in Whistledown a number of times for his flirtatious manner.
Penelope greatly enjoyed every time the younger Stirling made his way into the gossip she
overheard. There was something intriguing about him. Though the Earl nor his cousin were
anywhere in sight, Francesca seemed to be searching the crowd of promenaders with great
intent.

Bringing up the rear, looking as miserable as the last time Penelope saw her, was Eloise. Her
former friend refused to look in any of their directions. She kept her arms wrapped around
herself, as if they might provide protection from any prying eyes.

Before Penelope had a chance to pull Edwina in a different direction, their groups met in the
path. There was no avoiding Colin, whose arm was linked with Lady Violet’s.. Lady
Danbury, after greeting Violet, moved herself to the side, giving Penelope an unobstructed
view of Colin. He stood, straight backed and head high, with a smile on his face and warmth
in his eyes. Those green eyes stared right into Penelope’s blue ones, causing her to squirm.
She knew without having to hear him say anything that he remembered every part of what
transpired between the two of them last night. Swallowing hard, she clutched Edwina’s arm
like a log floating in the middle of a deep river. Beside her, Edwina grinned like she had just
received a letter from Prince Fredrich.

“Good day, Lady Danbury,” Colin said, bowing his head to the older woman. He greeted
both Sharma women in a similar manner before turning to Penelope. “Miss Penelope. You
look lovely today.”

Penelope’s stomach did a flip. She refused to look at Colin, but nodded a thank-you. Behind
Colin, she heard Benedict snort. Glancing at the rest of the Bridgertons, Penelope took in all
their reactions. Violet looked pleased, Benedict and Francesca wore smug grins, and Eloise
rolled her eyes as far back as they could possibly go. What on earth was going on here?

“She does, does she not?” Edwina said, taking Penelope’s hand and giving it a squeeze.
“This color of green is absolutely beautiful on her. I was delighted to see it when I went with
her to Madame Delacroix’s modiste to retrieve it. Simply stunning.”

“Yes, it is quite lovely, Penelope,” Violet said, a kind smile lighting up her face.

All words failed Penelope. She blushed, unsure of what to do with the praise.

Pleasantries were exchanged between the two groups. Words she knew went between all of
those gathered, but Penelope could not understand a single one. Colin still had not looked
away from her. Each time she darted her eyes away, she felt his gaze. Every time she looked
at him, there he was. Words he could not say in front of everyone danced back and forth in
his eyes. Another few moments, and whatever declarations he wanted to make would burst
forth.

“Lady Violet, it was my hope we could talk with Lady Mary regarding your children hosting
their first ball for your birthday,” Lady Danbury said, tapping her can on the pavement. “If
Mr. Bridgerton would kindly escort Miss Penelope on a promenade.”

Unable to keep a squeak from her voice, Penelope shook her head and clutched Edwina.
“That will not be necessary! Miss Sharma and I –”
“Nonsense!” Lady Danbury said. Her tone offered no room for argument. “Miss Sharma is
going to be giving Miss Francesca advice on how to navigate her likely future as this season’s
Diamond. My dear friend, Her Majesty the Queen, has been dropping hints that there is no
other choice.”

Even this latest piece of gossip could not draw Peenlope from her anxieties. She knew this
had to be some scheme of Lady Danbury’s to get her time with suitors. While she knew
Lady Danbury (probably) meant well, Penelope was astonished she was sending her towards
a Bridgerton. Lady Danbury knew someone of Penelope’s reputation would be living in a
fantasyland to desire one of the brothers, third son or otherwise.

And Colin, the fiend, was all too eager to play his unwitting role in Lady Danbury’s plan.
With a grin, he nodded to the widow and stepped forward to offer Penelope his arm.

“It would be my honor,” he said.

Penelope blinked at him, aware that everyone, Eloise included, had their eyes on her. Now
was not the time to be rude, because if she was, she would then have to write about it in the
next column. Or worse, some gossipy biddy outside this group would see and proceed to
spread the rumor like a wildfire. And that would give her no control over the narrative,
something she desperately needed right now.

Forcing a smile, Penelope untangled her arm from Edwina’s to accept Colin’s. The whole
circle took a collective breath. They began to move down the path, aware of every step.
Even as the two strolled farther and farther away, she felt their eyes on them.

Silence settled over Penelope and Collin. Wind ruffled her hair. His arm was warm against
hers. The breeze carried with it a pleasant scent of balsam and pine. She inhaled deeply.
Colin’s cologne. It took everything in Penelope not to lean closer to get a better sniff of it.
There was not one trace of alcohol. Sobriety had seen fit to return to him in the hours since
they last saw one another.

“I meant what I said, you know.”

Colin’s voice cut through the air abruptly. The words he had been pondering finally saw fit
to escape his mouth. Penelope pursed her lips. She arched a brow, but she refused to look
over at him again, lest she meet his eye. “Oh? About what? The honor of escorting me?
Your apologies? Or, did you mean what you said last night whilst sneaking about my garden,
that I was possibly returning from a moonlit rendezvous with a man I am not married to?”
She did look over in time to see him wince.

Good, she thought. He ought to be ashamed of such an accusation.

Colin cleared his throat. “Er, no. That was not what I was referring to. Though I would very
much like to know where you were returning from in the dead of night.”

“It is not your concern.”

“As you have plainly stated.” Colin sighed. “No, what I was saying – and failing
spectacularly at it –”

“You will get no argument from me about that.”

“ – is that I meant what I said when I told you look lovely today.” He noticed her eye roll,
because he went on, rather forcefully, “I did! You look beautiful today. You belong in the
color green. It is a thought I’ve been having since Lady Danbury’s ball. Thinking of all
those years you wore yellow…well, it seems as though it was an age ago. Once, I associated
you with that color. When we walked into the ball, Kate, Anthony, and I – as I searched for
you, my only thought was Find the yellow dress ! But I do not believe I can think so any
longer.”

The Penelope he was referring to, the one that was forced into the citrus dresses and stood at
the edge of ballrooms, would have blushed to hear such words from Colin. She might have
felt butterflies in her stomach, or she may have giggled. Now, she just wished he would stop
his empty flattery that he used simply to weasel back in her good graces.

“Thank you,” she said, solely for propriety’s sake. “That’s kind of you to say.”

Beside her, Colin twisted to look backwards. Penelope did the same, wondering if he had
heard something to cause him to turn. There was nothing in view but their respective parties,
both of which seemed to have fallen very far behind them. None of them were paying the
slightest bit of attention to Penelope and Colin.

Before she could even turn to face forward once again, Colin’s fingers wrapped around hers,
and she was being pulled off the path and into a small grove of trees. They were completely
out of the line of sight of their parties.

“Colin, what on earth are you doing?” she protested, trying to pull her hand back. The fact he
would do something this reckless in broad daylight caused her to panic. If anyone were to
find out, it could spell the end to all her ambitions. But when she looked into his eyes – truly
looked – she could not find it in her to continue fighting. She had never seen him look so
wounded, or apologetic. Not even when he spoke of being a fool for thinking himself in love
with Marina. He had no tears in his eyes, but there was pain. So much so that she had no
other choice but to believe he was sincere.

“I would return us to what we were…no! What we are ,” he said, taking the opportunity of
their relative seclusion to hold both her hands. “I come to you now, not when the news is
fresh, nor as a drunkard, but as your friend . There are no excuses I would make for what I
said to those gentlemen. Instead, I would repeat what I said last night, that you are the one
person I can confide in –”

She shook her head. “I remember what you said.” Her voice was soft. In truth, his words
from last night continued to replay in her head as soon as she closed the door on him in the
garden. Despite her anger that he would accuse her of doing something he knew she would
never do, she could not bring herself to erase what he had said about her. By any normal
person’s account, those would have been the words to heal the rifts in a friendship. It was
more than him saying that she was special to him. She felt the truth that night. Before she
realized he may have said them due to alcohol, she had almost been ready to accept his
apology.

Seeing that he remembered every word of what he said in the light of day had her considering
that position again.

When Colin realized she was going to allow him to finish, he moved on. “Please, Penelope.
I have never begged a single soul for anything on this planet. But, here and now, if it will
restore our friendship, I will get to my knees to do it. Because I cannot imagine my life
without our conversations, without the letters we send to one another, however improper it
may be.”

Penelope was not made of iron. There was only so much she could do against an onslaught
of emotional pleas. Within her, she fought with herself over holding her resolve. Not
looking him in the eye, she allowed her gaze to rest on their conjoined hands. She had
forgotten he was holding them.

“I…I accept your apology,” she murmured. “It is…most appreciated.”

Colin’s fingers dipped under her chin to tilt her head up. She could not escape his eyes, nor
could she pretend to ignore the absolute joy that had overtaken his face. “You are my dearest
friend, Penelope,” he said, smile stretching wide. Hope lit in his emerald eyes like a beacon.
Penelope attempted to recall a time when she had seen him look this happy. “I can assure
you nothing like this –”

“Wait.” Penelope lifted one hand to stop him. The pure elation in his expression dampened.
“While I accept your apology, I must insist that we cannot return to our friendship as it once
was.”

His face fell. The hope that lit his eyes flared out in an instant. Colin began to stammer. “I –
But – Why –”

Penelope gently pushed his hands away from hers. Her chest felt tight, like a stone pressing
her to a wall. “Though I forgive you, I did not lie that I was going to make this the season I
find a husband. I am no longer content to remain in my mother’s house, and, as you can
plainly see –” she gestured to her dress, the new hair styling she instructed her maid to
attempt, “ – I do believe now might be the time. Even your friend, Fife, seems taken with
my changes.”

Colin’s mouth dropped open. “ Fife ? Penelope, you cannot be serious! Fife, he is…well, he
is a rake . The man has never met a woman he did not bed before even asking her name.”

Scoffing, Penelope retorted, “I hardly think being a rake should disqualify a man from my
search. Men are going to do what they do. You mean to tell me that you have never bedded
a woman and not learned her name first?”

Everything on Colin’s face, from the rounds of his cheeks to the tips of his ears burned
maroon. “No, I – I have not bedded a woman whose name I do not know.” She arched a
brow at him. Colin’s gulp was audible and his eyes searched for any point to focus on rather
than her eyes. “I do not do…what I mean to say is…” He looked around to make sure no
one could hear him. When he was sure of their privacy, he turned to her again and kept his
voice low. “Penelope, I have never bedded a woman. Ever!” He straightened his back,
shocked he had allowed such an admission to leave his mouth. He swallowed hard. “I – I
am not experienced in these matters. Not like my brothers. Though I have flirted with many
young ladies, and certainly I have kissed a few, I know very little beyond that.” He
shuddered a dark laugh. “I never even kissed Marina. And I was set to marry the girl.”

Whether she wanted to or not, Penelope had certainly stumbled back into her friendship with
Colin. His embarrassment told her he had never shared this revelation with anyone. As coy
as Colin could be, he was more than capable of allowing everyone to make assumptions
about him and not correcting the record. So coy he had even fooled her. Penelope was more
than certain that even if Colin was not a rake, he had likely partaken in the world of pleasure
only men could access.

The vulnerability Colin displayed tugged at Penelope’s traitorous heart. She cursed him
silently. It had been well over half a year since she felt any sort of pull toward Colin. After
his words to his friends, as well as her severing ties of friendship with Eloise, the pain had
been akin to the loss of a limb. She would look at Bridgerton House across the street, or find
a letter of Eloise’s that she had not gotten rid of, and the pang of loss would cause her knees
to buckle. But a wound needed to be cauterized, and she had braced herself for that final
burst of agony. Healing came swiftly after, as did transformation.

But as he shared with her that his flirtations had never gone beyond a kiss, pink
embarrassment staining his cheeks, she felt it. That tiny spark within her that lit low in her
belly and sent shivers through every part of her body. That small pieces of satisfaction that
came from knowing it was her, Penelope Featherington, insipid wallflower, that a coveted
Bridgerton brother chose to confide in. With those familiar sparks, she thought, was the
terrifying possibility that she might fall back into her old habits.

“Oh.” She blinked rapidly. “Well, I just assumed –”

“Yes, as does everyone else,” Colin interrupted, not unkindly.

The words left her mouth before she could stop them. “Why haven’t you?”

Colin’s shock almost made her shrink inward. It was bold of her to ask. In fact, it was
downright improper. Such a question would have seen her ostracized from all polite society
if anyone aside from Colin had heard her ask. But in their privacy away from all of the
promenading couples, where they might be seen but not heard, Penelope wondered if this
might be the perfect opportunity to get questions she had answered. Marina had told her bits
about what desire was, had told her small details about what George and she had done
together, but it was not nearly enough. There was so much else she longed to know, so many
questions that swirled through her mind as she stared at the ceiling at night. What did men
want in a potential match? What did they desire? What did she need to do to attract someone
this season?

Well, Colin was here and desired nothing more than to talk to her. She would talk to him, but
he needed to answer her. He may not have had all the answers, as he just indicated, but
surely this would be good research.

Yes, research. That was what this was.

Lips tilting upward into a devilish smile, Penelope asked, “Did my words come out jumbled,
sir?” She straightened her back and looked him dead in the eye. It was unclear where this
confidence was emerging from, but if there was anything Penelope knew she could fool it
was people. Colin shook his head, mouth ajar. She nodded, still smiling. “Good. Then
kindly answer my question. Please.”

Colin did not answer immediately. He appraised her. As he drank her in, she thought again
that he was behaving as though he was seeing her for the first time. It reminded her of just
how dangerous she was behaving, how treacherous this position was. If she was
underestimating how much he truly wanted to speak with her, she could be ruining herself
here and now before a marriage proposal was even made. Penelope found something
absolutely thrilling in that risk, something that made her blood run hot.

After what felt like an eternity, though, a shy smile overtook Colin’s face. “Well, I have
always fancied I would be in love with whoever that girl was,” he said, bashful. “I’ve never
considered myself a man with carnal desires. I am a gentleman, truly. Or, at least, that is
what I want to be. My father may not have gotten to raise me to manhood, but part of me
knows I am just like him in this regard. My mother was his only love, and that is how I
intend to live my life.” He shrugged. A familiar gleam of mischief sparked in his eyes, and
he looked around for anyone that might be lurking nearby. When he deemed there were no
eavesdroppers, he leaned closer to her. Penelope stilled as his breath tickled the top of her
ear. Her heart thumped a pace faster. “And besides…it is called ‘lovemaking,’ is it not?
Logic and feeling dictate that I should love the lady I choose to make love to.”

Penelope sucked in a breath. The pine notes of his cologne was even closer now. It smelled
so good . She wanted to become a part of him so she never had to know anything but that
scent again. It took several blinks to draw herself out of that reverie.

Though the romance of the prospect was titillating, everyone knew how rare love matches
were. Edmund and Violet Bridgerton were notorious throughout the ton for having one of the
most outward-facing love affairs polite society had ever seen. They were a rarity, but it did
make sense that the two Bridgerton siblings to marry would be some of the few love matches
to be made in the past seasons. Colin seemed well on his way to trying to find his own match
with a lady he loved. And because they were all charming Bridgertons, who always seemed
to find their happily ever after no matter the amount of scandal they faced, the rest of the
siblings would probably find matches they loved, too. Eloise, too, if she wanted it.

Penelope, allowing reality to return and slap her in the face, did not have that luxury.
Looking down at the ground, she sighed. She knew she could not wait for some man to trip
into love with her. It was not practical, and if she waited around forever the way she had
waited for Colin, she would be stuck in her mother’s house until she was an old maid.

Penelope looked up at Colin again, only to find him staring at her with a burning intent. She
tried to read his thoughts, but his expression was one she had never encountered with anyone
before. Her knees started to shake. Swallowing hard, she shook her head.
“I hope you find that,” she said, taking a step back from him. “Truly.”

Tilting his head to the side, Colin asked, “Do you not also hope to find that?”

The boyish confusion on his face caused her to laugh. “Colin, surely you know that someone
like me cannot let love stop me from finding a match. If I am to become independent from
my family, I shall not be able to wait for some man to fall in love with me. I do not have that
luxury.”

“Surely you can long for both, though!” Colin said, still baffled. “And whatever do you
mean by ‘someone like you’? You are a free woman, you are just as entitled to love as any
other person on this earth.”

“Oh, do not be naive, Colin,” she muttered, pursing her lips. “I am not a pretty Bridgerton. I
cannot afford to wait for the elusive love match.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she
held up her hand to stop him. “We all know it. Just because I have made some changes to
my appearance it does not change the fact that I have no dowry to make me worth it to
someone who is not wealthy, and I do not possess the kind of beauty that –”

“I must insist you stop talking about yourself this way,” Colin interrupted, putting his hand
over her mouth.

Her eyes widened at his boldness, and she grabbed his wrist to push him away. She looked
around wildly, hoping no one saw his display. “What are you thinking?” she hissed. “If
someone sees this, they will think it is most improper! And while I have forgiven you for
what you said, I reiterate that we cannot resume our friendship as it once was. I must find a
husband. I can no longer bear to be in my mother’s house. It is stifling, and I am tired of
being overlooked and ridiculed by my own family! Even if it is to someone I do not love,
marriage is the way out of there. It is the only way I can live any sort of a life of my own, to
have my own story.”

“You deserve to have both,” Colin said. “I could not bear to see you in any other situation.”

Penelope scoffed and took a step backwards. Though he purported to still be a gentleman,
and she had always known he was one, the Colin that returned from abroad this time had
come with more than just a few changes to his wardrobe. Along with his sun-toasted skin he
had brought back an audacity and forwardness she had never seen. “It is not up to you!”

Colin, emboldened by their conversation and her forgiveness, closed the gap between them
again. Rolling her eyes, she took yet another step back. Tendrils of warmth shot through her
limbs. He stepped again. This time when she took her step, Penelope’s back landed against a
tree. The heat in her arms and legs spread to other parts of her body. A delicious tickle
swept through her belly, sinking lower and lower to places she could not believe. The day
had not been particularly hot upon leaving her front door, but Penelope was sure she felt
much too warm. Her head swam. Not in an unpleasant way, but in the way sliding into a hot
bath helped ease the worries of a horrible day, or the satisfaction of scraping a new quill
against a sheet of paper. The feeling only increased tenfold when she looked into his eyes.
Staring up at Colin, Penelope found that same look in his eyes the night he told her she was
special to him. He wanted her to see that now. And, damn her, she felt that she was special
to him. Those green eyes she used to see everywhere – the small emeralds in her mother’s
jewelry chest, every blade of grass, ribbons in Genevieve’s shop – held her as if she were the
answer to all his questions about the universe. He was not touching her, but he wanted to.

Just like the last time .

As though a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her head, Penelope knew she needed
to break whatever this moment was. Smiling, she shook her head. “I know you merely think
yourself helping, Colin,” she said, stepping around him and making her way back towards the
path. Were she not still coming down from the clouds where she had just been, she might
have felt more scandalized at just how far from everyone’s sights they had strayed. Both
their respective parties were meandering closer and closer. “But truly, I will find a husband,
get out of my mama’s home, and be content.”

Penelope thought that would be the end of their conversation. But when Colin relinked his
arm with hers, his next words felt like a second bucket of cold water.

“Then allow me to assist you.”

Halting, she stared at him again. “Pardon me?”

He grinned. “Allow me to assist you,” he repeated.

“No, I heard you. I’m not sure I understand you.”

His grin only widened. “Well, I do believe it is a truth universally acknowledged that when a
bachelor shows interest in a young lady, other bachelors will want to know what he is
interested in, and want it for themselves. Let us widen your pool of suitors.”

“Pfft, Colin, why on earth would you do such a thing?” Penelope asked, sure he was jesting.

Colin shrugged. “Purely selfish reasons, I shall admit that,” he said. “You have forgiven me,
but you insist we cannot spend time together. Well, this allows me to spend time with you.”

She swatted his arm with her free hand. “Oh, now I know you jest,” she said.

“No, I do not,” he said, quite serious now. “I will never take advantage of your trust again.”

Both their parties approached, ever closer. Penelope could make out Edwina’s excited voice
as she spoke with Lady Violet. She would need to answer swiftly. When she looked at Colin
again, she realized he was more than likely correct. Eloise had told her after the Duke
married Daphne that their romance had begun initially as a ploy to rid Simon of society’s
marriage-minded mamas, and as a way to attract suitors back to Daphne. It worked
brilliantly, putting Daphne in the sights of a Prince! While Penelope had no notion it would
land her a member of royalty, it might keep her from having to marry someone she truly
detested. And Colin was quite popular. With his status and her changes for the season, she
might be able to accomplish her goal.
“What say you, Penelope?” Colin asked, squeezing her hand gently, briefly. “I see you
thinking.”

Glancing between him and their ever-closer group, Penelope hissed, “ Fine . But you must
help me make it work! I have to get out of my mother’s home, Colin.”

All Colin did was smile with genuine delight. Before he could reply, the Bridgertons and
Lady Danbury and the Sharmas reached them. Penelope slid her arm from Colin’s to rejoin
Edwina.

“Did you have a lovely walk with Penelope, dearest?” Violet asked Colin.

“Most lovely,” Colin replied. “Miss Featherington is the most brilliant of conversationalists.
In fact, we were discussing what we thought the Smythe-Smith quartet would be playing at
their musicale later this week! Miss Featherington favors Mozart, which I am quite certain
the ladies will make sound quite lovely.”

It took all Penelope’s energy to not snort with laughter and exchange glances with Eloise.
Everyone knew the Smythe-Smith annual musicale was horrid.

Behind her mother, Eloise, apparently, was not able to stop herself from harumphing.
Penelope bit her lip, trying to ignore the ache in her ribs.

As the group chattered away about their thoughts on which music would be played (and lied
about how wonderful this year’s quartet would sound), Penelope fell quiet. She ruminated on
all that transpired with Colin. But more than she thought of their deal they had struck, she
thought of that moment in the trees. Her back tingled at the memory of the bark on her skin
through her dress. And that feeling, the one where she longed for something but had no
earthly idea what she was longing for! She found it was not easy to rid herself of it,
especially when her eyes briefly touched Colin one last time.

One smile from him, and it came roaring back with the same vengeance as when they were
alone.

“Penelope, are you well?” Edwina asked her, keeping her voice soft. “You seem flushed.”

Coming out of her memories, Penelope laughed and said, “Oh, I’m quite well. Just tired.
The day is so warm, and after my bout of exercise with Mr. Bridgerton, I believe I am just
feeling the fatigue.” She forced a smile, hoping Edwina would believe the lie.

And while Edwina nodded and smiled at her comfortingly, Penelope noticed out of the corner
of her eye Lady Danbury observing them. Or rather, Penelope’s reaction to Edwina’s
question. The widow’s sharp gaze cut to the bone on the best of days. Right now, Penelope
felt as though Lady Danbury could see straight into her heart and witness all her secrets.

I’m playing a very dangerous game indeed , Penelope thought.

 She Wore Blue Velvet
Chapter Summary

Colin and Penelope draw the eyes of the ton while in attendance at the Smythe-Smith
musicale.

Chapter Notes

Hi folks! Very sorry for the lengthy delay in posting. It's been a rough few months for
me, and I've not been working on my writing much at all during that time period. If this
current chapter is a bit rough, I apologize; I'll be coming back to edit in the future. But I
wanted to get it out as soon as I finished it. Hopefully you're still sticking around for it!

Song for Colin IV is Lana Del Rey's cover of "Blue Velvet."

She wore blue velvet

Bluer than velvet was the night

Softer than satin was the light

From the stars

Lana Del Rey, “Blue Velvet”

“Dearest, you seem to be in a better mood,” Violet commented to Colin as they prepared to
depart No. 5 for the Smythe-Smith musicale. She came up behind him and rubbed his
shoulder with comfort.

Colin glanced sideways at his mother as he adjusted his cravat in the mirror of the foyer. He
flashed her a grin. Most certainly he was in a better mood! Penelope had finally accepted his
apology and was speaking to him again. The last few days Colin had a jovial bounce in
every single step he made. Sometimes, his impulsivity rewarded him. Suggesting he help
her attract suitors had tumbled from his mouth before he could stop it. But the moment he
heard the words aloud, the more he could not imagine himself doing anything else with his
time. Perhaps, in this time as a pretend suitor, Colin could convince Penelope that marriage
need not be a mere transaction. Maybe he could break that notion for her. If there was
anyone on this earth that deserved happiness in marriage, it was Penelope.

“I will admit, Mother, I do feel much better,” he said, finishing his adjustments on his
clothing. He pressed a kiss to Violet’s cheek. “It has been a good few days.”

Violet’s eyes shone. “Penelope was bound to forgive you eventually,” she said, taking both
his hands. Her expression softened. “Now, I know you were reluctant to have such a
conversation before, but I really do wish you would reconsider what I said regarding…
friendship with young ladies.”

The footman interrupted them briefly to let them know the carriage was pulling around the
corner. Violet nodded her thanks and called up the stairs to Eloise and Francesca in an effort
to hasten them along. Benedict, who had been at his art studio all day, would meet them at
the venue. Colin had no doubt his older brother would be bringing two full flasks with him,
unaware that Colin would not be drinking himself into oblivion for this year’s Smythe-Smith
performance. In fact, he would remain stone sober in order to shower Penelope with all the
charms and flirtation he could muster.

“Whatever do you mean?” Colin asked, as they stood near the door and awaited his sisters’
appearance.

“Well,” Violet drawled, taking delicate steps around the topic, “you were behaving rather
beastly because the young lady would not speak to you. It seems to me that you might want
to think differently about your refusal to see friendship and love connected in any sort of
manner.”

He did not immediately respond. Truthfully, he had been thinking about what his mother
said about love and friendship. And he had been thinking of them in relation to him and
Penelope.

Thoughts of the two of them hidden just out of sight in the trees consumed him. He had been
unable to stop thinking of her since it occurred, not two days ago. It was not just her
forgiveness, though he was thrilled to have that. Colin could not purge her from his mind.
Maybe it was because of how dearly he missed her, her laughter, her wit, her habit of making
sly comments that would have him in stitches.

Or, maybe it was the forthright way she demanded to know why he had never been with a
woman. Maybe it was the mischievous sparkle in her eye as she asked him if she stuttered
when making her demand. It could very well also have been the citrus scent of her bath oil
that clung to her skin and overwhelmed him. The need to be near her threatened to swallow
him whole. The brief moment he held his hand over her mouth and he felt the softness on her
lips was enough to have him imagine how soft they would be on every other part of his body.
Longing for her company was morphing into longing for…he could not even get himself to
think the words without being absolutely baffled. For he had no idea where this creeping
sensation of feelings was coming from. Unlike Marina, who he had seen and thought himself
in love with the moment his eyes landed upon her, what he felt now was a gradual buildup of
warmth.
This could not be real, surely. Penelope’s subtle changes may have opened his eyes to her
body, but they had been friends for years. He had known her since they were young and
naive. If he had any feelings of romance for her, they would have struck him long ago.

Wouldn’t they?

“I do not understand why I must be dragged along to this insufferable event once again!”
Eloise grumbled as she and Francesca entered the room. While Francesca looked as though
she were floating, her face serene and almost buzzing with excitement, her elder sister looked
as though she would rather die than be headed out the door.

Colin was thankful for their interruption, as he did not want to respond to his mother
regarding his behavior. Nor did he want to dwell further on whatever strange sensation he
got thinking of Penelope. There was no time for that.

And as expected, Violet went straight to his sisters as soon as they arrived. She did a final
inspection on the both of them. Not even Eloise’s sour mood could dampen the smile on
their mother’s face.

“Because, my dear, it is a tradition,” Violet said, adjusting a tendril of hair behind Eloise’s
ear. “We are going to the performance as a show of support, as friends of the family. As we
have always done.”

“Is it not a performance on our part to pretend to enjoy the ghastly sounds those poor girls
make on their instruments?” Eloise said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Last year, the
first violin sounded like a cat being strangled.”

Violet shot Eloise a sharp glare. “That will be enough.” Colin snorted a laugh, earning
himself a glare from Eloise. As Violet fussed over Francesca, the group began migrating
toward the door. Eloise stabbed him in the side with her elbow.

“What exactly are you looking so pleased about?” she snapped as they stepped into the
evening air. The sounds of Mayfair – horse hooves clopping on the cobblestones, people
roaming the streets with what little hours of daylight remained, doors and wheels of carriages
– filled their ears.

“Nothing, Sister,” he said. The more Eloise refused to indulge their mother on this subject
the more outrageous these little outbursts became. He pitied her, though. As far as he knew,
Eloise was spending no time with anyone other than their family. Without Penelope in her
life, she had no one to confide in it seemed. Since his return home, she spent hours locked in
her room, or stomping about with a book in her arms as she muttered her distaste for
whatever social function her mother was insisting she attend next. “You simply amuse me.”

“How so?”

“All the attention at this musicale is on how dreadful the music will be,” he said. “I hardly
see how you will need to do anything but entertain yourself with making fun of how horrid
everyone is to one another.” Eloise snorted as Colin assisted her into the carriage. “You
know, Penelope and I will be sitting together. Join us. It’s high time the two of you spoke
again.”

The mere mention of Penelope’s name sent Eloise’s irritated smirk into a stony rage. “What
are you playing at here, Colin?” she asked. “You usually stick to gossiping with Penelope in
the darkened corners of a ballroom, or in private. I’ll never know what you said that made
her forgive you for those horrid things you said, but you have got some nerve.”

“Should I not be spending the evening with an eligible young lady?” he asked.

Eloise glared at him as though he had grown a second head. “That! That right there. Since
when has Penelope been an eligible young lady to you?”

Oh, if you only knew, Eloise , Colin thought, gulping past the iron lump that grew in his
throat. The thought of him and Penelope in private yesterday returned. Both of them,
hesitant and longing. Her lip caught between her teeth. The blue of her eyes as she looked
up at him, daring him to answer a scandalous question.

“That is hardly the point,” he said.

Eloise’s jaw set so hard it might crack glass. Colin’s interest only peaked higher. He sat
beside his sister and took her wrist in a gentle grasp. “El, what on earth has happened to the
two of you? No one knows the answer, save for you two, and neither of you has been willing
to tell me what happened.”

“Ask her ,” Eloise sniffed, wrenching her wrist from his grasp to fold her arms over her
chest. Her attention shifted to outside the carriage, fixed on no point in particular as Violet
and Francesca entered the small space to join them. A storm brewed in Eloise’s gray eyes,
darkening them considerably. Her fingers clenched around her arms.

Violet’s infectious energy filled the carriage, and they were off as soon as the doors closed.
Francesca, though calm and collected in her usual show of reserve, could not hide the glint of
delight in her eyes when their mother mentioned the Earl of Kilmartin. For the sake of the
mood of the others, Colin decided to let the topic of Penelope and Eloise drop. For now.
There were far too many secrets Penelope was holding back, and Colin had every intention of
getting his answers.

“You confound me, Col.”

Colin, abandoning his watch on the door at the music hall, looked beside him to find
Benedict smirking. Giving him a brotherly shove in the shoulder, he shook his head. “Oh,
how is that?”

“First, you insult the girl,” Benedict said, using one hand to keep his list.

Feigning idiocy, Colin returned his gaze to the door. “Girl? What girl?”
Benedict recognized the act in an instant. “Then, you make a fool of yourself running all
about town trying to earn her friendship back.”

“Who says I made a fool of myself?”

“Lady Whistledown. Keep up, Brother! You must know that you’re in the column almost
every issue,” Benedict said. “And not in the usual shining light of praise you are probably
accustomed to. I have not borne witness to such lashings for public rudeness, well, ever. She
never had any poor word for you before that day.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “I hardly care what that woman might have to say about me.”

“After making a fool of yourself, you seem to finally come up with the right string of words
to earn her forgiveness. And now, I find you waiting in sight of the door, a moon-eyed pup
waiting for the object of your affection to appear.”

“I would hardly describe myself as ‘moon-eyed,’” Colin said, “as you have so delicately
noted.” He rolled his eyes.

Benedict leaned in, his face far too close to Colin’s. He pretended he was inspecting his
brother. “I do not know, Brother, you look quite intent here. Your pupils, they are quite
large. You are fidgeting. And I do believe I see some perspiration at the crown of your
head. All signs of a moon-eyed lad. I’ve seen that look on a Bridgerton before. Anthony
had that same look the day of his wedding. All you lack is the sheen of tears on the surface
of your eyes as your bride makes her way down the – ”

“That is quite enough!” Colin snapped, jabbing his elbow into Benedict’s side. “You are
mistaken, Benedict. I am merely excited to share in Penelope’s company again. She is my
dearest friend.” The amused doubt in Benedict’s expression forced Colin to add, “I am!
Though she may not speak with you, she is a wonderful, witty conversationalist. I would
trust her with all my thoughts. And if the rest of the ton were interested in intelligence and
kindness over the thin veneer of style and status they all so desperately cling to, they would
see exactly what I see.”

Amusement dissolved to befuddlement on Benedict’s face. He studied Colin for a long

moment, lip caught between his teeth. He looked at Colin as though he were studying
another artist’s craftsmanship, working to decipher what thought process went into making
the man before him. Colin must have protested far too much, because his brother’s eyes
burned through him as if he could see all his secrets.

“You really have no idea, do you?” Benedict finally asked.

Confusion clouded Colin’s face. “Idea? Idea of what?” Leave it to Benedict to bring out
riddles right in the middle of a social engagement.

There was no chance to further confront Benedict on what he meant, though. For across the
room, entering the music hall, were the Featherington women. Accompanying them were the
Finches. Lady Featherington, having finally gotten the clue that people were interested in her
youngest child, had her arm linked with Penelope’s. She grinned, making sure to center
Penelope in their small lineup. Everyone within the vicinity of the door took the opportunity
to take in the sight of the Featherington family. No one smirked, as they usually did when
Portia Featherington thrust her daughters into their attention. Cressida Cowper and her
mother glared with enough ferocity to strip someone of their dignity, but everyone else
appeared genuinely pleased to see the Featheringtons.

Again, Penelope’s dress stood out amidst the opulence of her family’s style. Colin’s stomach
plummeted. All the defenses he had built up to resist her prior to this night crumbled to dust
as swiftly as the tower of Babel. Blue velvet rivaled emerald silk for the fabric that made her
look otherworldly.

How, how , had he never seen her this way before now? Other than her dresses and a
different hairstyle, Penelope’s eyes remained the same remarkable ocean blue. There was
always a pink tint to her cheeks. Her smile had always brought him comfort. None of this
had changed. So why did he feel as though he had been the greatest fool to ever grace
London?

Some magnetic tugged at him, beckoning him closer to her, even from across the sea of
mingling people. Without bothering to listen to a single protestation from Benedict, Colin
strode across the room. He was polite but firm in his insistence that anyone who crossed his
path needed to step aside so he could finish his crossing. His eyes never moved from
Penelope, even as others tried to enter his field of vision.

She finally looked at him, eyes widening ever so slightly. He could tell she was rethinking
their arrangement. Thoughts of Why did I agree to this ? and What was I thinking? crossed
her face. He flashed her a grin, and winked. His smile must have chased away all the doubts
she had, because the anxiety on her face softened and was replaced with a confident smile.

“Oh, Mr. Bridgerton!” Portia exclaimed, loud enough for all the entryway to hear. “What a
wonderful sight you are!”

Colin briefly redirected his gaze to Penelope’s mother, offering a kind smile. This was
certainly a change of tune from her cold demeanor when he brought flowers to apologize to
Penelope after Whistledown revealed what he had said. He could hardly be surprised by this,
though. If she had finally realized what all had realized now, that Penelope was blossoming
forth from the wall, she would hardly turn down any attention from a Bridgerton bachelor.

“Lady Featherington,” he said, accepting her offered hand and pressing a kiss to it.
“Wonderful to see you. And Miss Featherington, Miss Penelope.” He readied himself to
move to stand in front of Penelope, but Prudence shoved her hand in his face before he had a
moment to blink. Maintaining an easy smile, he lifted her hand to kiss. “Miss
Featherington,” he said. “Lovely to see you.”

Ignoring that Prudence was about to open her mouth again, he slid to the side to stand before
Penelope again. Their eyes met. That damnable flutter in his gut rekindled at the faintest
sparkle in her eye. He waited with bated breath, praying she would lift her hand for him to
accept. She did, and his heart ascended right along with her hand. She was warm beneath
the glove as he bent to press a kiss to the satin fabric. He refused to remove his eyes from
hers. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Miss Penelope.”
Penelope swallowed hard, confirming that she, too, felt a flutter. “Hello, Mr. Bridgerton,”
she managed.

Colin held her gaze, silently conveying they should keep eye contact just a moment longer
for the sake of appearances. Pink bloomed in her cheeks. Her lips parted, just enough that he
thought she might say more. He ached to know what more she had to say. All sound
dimmed. Colin became acutely aware of the thumping of his heart. It picked up pace as
when her parted lips transformed into the sweet smile he thought of so often on his tour.

“Mr. Bridgerton, I want to once again thank you for your chivalry in rescuing me and my
daughters from that deceitful man,” Lady Featherington interrupted. “I do not believe I got to
thank you properly before you went on your most recent tour. We are most grateful you were
looking out for us. Well, if it hadn’t been for you, we most certainly would have been ruined
by his wicked schemes.”

Breaking contact with Penelope for just a moment, Colin bowed his head low to her mother.
“Yes, well, I was doing what any gentleman in my situation would,” he said.

Finch grinned brightly from Phillipa’s side. “Yes, Bridgerton, a mighty fine thing you did for
my wife’s beloved family. I cannot thank you enough!”

As the Finches and Lady Featherington continued to talk about how awful the former Lord
Featherington was, Colin reshifted his gaze to Penelope. She watched him, perplexed. He
wanted to know what she was thinking, among other things. He wondered if she smelled like
spring lilies tonight, the same way she had when they were alone in the trees. Under his gaze
once more, her cheeks darkened. He used the moment of mindless chatter by the
Featheringtons and Finches to drink in the sight of the blue velvet she chose to don that night.

The dress was simple in its conception, but on Penelope the garment was anything but
simple. It hugged her waist, its skirts billowing around her legs like waves of dark ocean
water. Sapphires adorned her neck, delicately resting between her clavicle and the top of her
breasts. A shimmering silver ribbon acted as a belt around the center, acting as stars against
the inky night of her dress. Her red hair was swept back and flowed down her back and
shoulders in romantic waves. He wondered how soft it would be if he ran his fingers through
it.

Without listening to the question Finch had just posed to him, Colin lifted his arm to
Penelope. “Miss Penelope, if I may be so bold, would you accompany me on a turn about the
room? Perhaps we can quench our thirst with a lemonade. This room is quite warm, and we
do still have some time before the show starts.”

Prudence huffed in indignation, earning herself a jab in the side from Lady Featherington.
Portia herself did not look away from Colin as a devilish smile spread across her face. “She
would be delighted to,” she said, sweeping around Prudence to usher Penelope towards
Colin. “Go, go, Penelope! Mr. Bridgerton would like to take you to get refreshments!”

“Yes, Mama,” Penelope said, exasperated. “I heard. I am standing right in front of him,
after all.”
Offering his arm, Colin grinned as Penelope accepted. He inhaled. She smelled sweet,
floral. He wanted to drown in her.

“Both of you enjoy yourself before the music starts!” Lady Featherington cooed, urging them
both away from the group.

They made it a few feet away before Penelope was giggling. “If you are not cautious in this
farce of a courtship, my mother will find a way to entrap you into a marriage again,” she
advised Colin, leaning closer to him so the onlookers staring at them would not hear. A
twinge of humor lightened her tone.

Colin grinned. It was less for that farce than because he was genuinely pleased to be teased
by her again. He squeezed her arm gently.

“Surely Lady Featherington would know better than to try such a stunt again,” he said.
Penelope’s sidelong glance at him made him laugh. They both knew well that Portia
Featherington would most certainly try such a scheme again, if she believed she might
succeed. They meandered further away from Penelope’s family, still feeling their eyes
following every step they took.

It was not just the eyes of Penelope’s family that followed them. The eyes of everyone in the
room trailed after them. Colin knew from years of experience in this world that he and
Penelope were being dissected and torn apart for any signs of flaws. Their peers would look
for any chink in their armor and take that opportunity to draw blood.

Beside Colin, Penelope clearly took notice of their audience. Her lips pursed. The amused
light in her eyes dimmed. Colin straightened his shoulders and gave her another squeeze.

“Now, now, dear Pen,” he said. “A lady on the arm of the most charming Bridgerton brother
does not let the gaze of society intimidate her.”

Lips ticking up, Penelope shot back, “I was unaware Benedict was the one escorting me.”

“You wound me, Pen,” he returned. “Benedict is far too morose for your taste, too much a
sailor adrift at sea.”

Penelope’s small smile became a grin. “You are too hard on your brother.”

“I love my brother, but he is the type who I am sure will not marry until he falls in love with
a woman the moment he lays eyes on her. It is the artist in him. He will need a grand
romance to satisfy his spirit, I believe.”

Giggling, Penelope placed a glove hand over mouth. He glanced at her again, just in time to
see her eyes twinkle. “Oh, Colin. Surely you can sympathize with that. Seeing as you fell
oh so deeply in love with my cousin in such rapid fashion.”

The crowd around the lemonade table was sparse, giving them an opportunity to stop and
face one another. Colin kept her gaze as he retrieved glass for them. There was warm humor
in her blue eyes, but also a hint of a challenge. Colin knew he deserved such a reaction.
Penelope was the one to warn him, albeit in a far more subtle way than Lady Whistledown
had, that Marina and Lady Featherington had been entrapping him. She tried so hard to help
him see without humiliating him. Penelope had every right to challenge him on any criticism
he might have on idealistic views on romance.

“You are correct to point out my hypocrisy,” he said, handing one of the lemonades to her.
His bare fingers brushed against her gloved ones.

Damn gloves, he thought, watching her lift the glass to her lips.

“As I’ve told you before, though, my views on women are very much changed,” he went on.
“I no longer believe love is something easy to find, nor is it easy to realize when you find that
person.”

Penelope nodded along as he spoke, but she was sipping her drink and watching the room
over the rim of her glass. He studied the contrast of her copper hair against the deep blue of
her dress. When she moved, her hair sparkled, as if starlight was woven between the
strands. It wasn’t until she ran a gloved hand delicately over the waves at her forehead that
he realized the shimmer came from small crystals.

As her eyes perused the room, Colin wondered if she was searching for the husband she was
so insistent on finding this season. The mere thought of it struck deep in his gut, like
Anthony’s sparring saber striking his wrist in a round of fencing. He needed to be sure to
make the most of their interactions. If their little facade did happen to work, and she did snag
a husband, Colin could not imagine the man being content to have an unwed Bridgerton
brother hanging about his new wife. The thought of never being able to hold her confidence
again, though, hurt worse than any fencing injury. And with her and Eloise no longer
speaking, she would never be over to No. 5 to sit in Violet’s drawing room. There would be
no afternoons for them to simply enjoy one another’s company, nor –

“Well, I have no idea what you are doing, but whatever it is, there are certainly several
gentlemen taking notice.” Penelope’s voice broke through the slurry of horrid thoughts
colliding like unruly racehorses in Colin’s mind. She looked back at him, smiling with glee.
Colin schooled his face to not look like a thundercloud as his eyes flickered to who might be
watching them.

To his great dismay, nearly everyone was looking at them. Most of them seemed bemused,
some smiled, but scattered about the room there were several gentlemen looking at Penelope
with intent. Some he knew from the club, and none of them were terribly unsuitable. The
ones that did concern him, though, were Fife and the newcomer, Carmichael. Fife always
had a way of looking at young women with a predatory gaze. Carmichael merely looked
enchanted. Colin swallowed hard, and straightened his back. It was he who was standing
with Penelope, and it was he who would be sitting beside her for the performance when it
started. Her other two admirers would just have to wait.

Turning his attention back to Penelope, Colin edged closer to her. Her eyes widened.
Leaning down, inhaling the scent of her, he whispered, “Well, let us see if we can keep the
room’s attention.” He flashed her a coy grin. Pink bloomed in her cheeks. Fearing she
would break his gaze, Colin shook his head. With his free hand, he reached for hers and held
it, as if grasping her fingers would keep her eyes from ever straying. “Keep your eyes on
mine.”

Penelope took a deep breath. “If you insist,” she murmured.

Whether every eye turned to look at them or not, Colin could not say. Words, too, failed
him. For as he stared into Penelope’s eyes, something warm as the Macedonian sun
blanketed him. This felt right . To stand in a ballroom, amongst all the onlookers who
watched them like actors in a play, and know that he was in the company of the one person
who did not expect anything of him but what he had to offer naturally, was all he longed for.

Friendship is a wonderful precursor to love . His mother’s words rang in his head. Even
though his mother’s lilting voice sounded like a gentle reminder, the conjured version of
Violet in his mind seemed to be insisting upon…something.

Doing his best to not choke on his voice, Colin managed, “Pen, I –”

“Mr. Bridgerton!”

A lilting voice, forced an octave higher, broke shattered the moment as though it were glass.
Penelope’s eyes grew twice their normal size. Yanking her hand back from Colin’s, she used
it to smooth the skirts of her dress.

Frowning, Colin turned to see the intruder. Cressida Cowper, alone, sidled on up to them at
the lemonade table. A wicked smile that might have belonged better on a huntress than a
debutante covered her face. The elegant flaxen locks on her head were pulled up in an
extravagant updo, adorned with two peacock feathers. An unmistakably malicious gleam
twinkled in her blue eyes.

“Miss Cowper,” Colin said, voice and bow stiff.

Cressida dropped into a small curtsy. “Mr. Bridgerton, you have not been to call on me since
you returned from abroad,” she said, a small pout forming on her lips. “Mama and I were so
hoping you would come round. You know there is always a place for you in our drawing
room, even thought it does get rather crowded.”

“Well, I have been terribly busy since my return –” Colin attempted to say, before being
interrupted by Cressida.

“You know, Lord Twombley has been calling nearly every day,” she said. She batted her
eyelashes. “He is such a distinguished gentleman. And his family is so well respected. Do
you know him, Mr. Bridgerton?”

Colin forced a smile. Cressida’s games were well known through the ton, and some less
fortunate man may have fallen prey to her attempts to create a rivalry for her affections. The
Bridgertons, while running in the same social circle as the Cowpers, had never been
particularly fond of the family. Especially after Cressida dangled the possibility of revealing
Simon and Daphne taking liberties with one another. They were a different type of social
climber than Lady Featherington. Where Lady Featherington may have lacked tact, Lady
Cowper raised her daughter with a rare blend of meanness and ruthlessness that were meant
to tear down anyone that got in the way of maintaining their status. Colin merely dealt with
them because it was the polite thing to do. But there was nothing he loathed more than a
bully.

Which was precisely what Cressida Cowper was.

“Oh, Penelope!” Cressida cooed, as if delighted to see her. The syrupy sweetness in her tone
rang sour to Colin’s ears. “I did not notice you there. I do hope you do not mind me
borrowing Mr. Bridgerton from you.”

Colin’s eyes drifted to Penelope. Though she smiled pleasantly enough, there were small
signs of her discomfort. The hardness of her jaw. The dull hint of irritation in her eyes. Her
fingers tapping the glass of her lemonade. She was miles away from the mortified girl
several years ago who had lemonade spilled on her gown. But he knew she felt the barb
Cressida meant to sting her with.

“I would never, not in my wildest fantasies, wish to interrupt, but you both seemed…”

Cressida’s voice disappeared. Ringing broke out in Colin’s ears. His vision clouded red as
he watched the socialite’s lips form a grin that felt more like a sneer. Though the phrase she
uttered originally came from his lips, he would not stand for it to ever be uttered again in
Penelope’s presence.

Politeness be damned.

“Unfortunately, Miss Cowper, you were indeed interrupting,” Colin said, voice like steel. He
schooled his face to be as intimidating as possible. He was nowhere near as skilled at it as
Anthony, but he hoped it would be enough to put Cressida on edge. “Miss Featherington and
I were having a conversation, and your intrusion is most unwanted.”

Both women stared at him with varying degrees of shock. Penelope’s mouth had formed a
small o , her eyes wide and unblinking. Her back went rigid. An air of disbelief entered her
eyes. She stood, frozen, as if afraid a small movement would draw Cressida’s attention away
from Colin, and towards her.

Cressida’s attention would go nowhere near Penelope, because she could scarcely believe the
words that came from Colin’s mouth. Much like when Colin refused to dance with her all
those years ago when she spilled her drink onto Penelope, Cressida stood shocked. Her
mouth twisted into a grimace. Her eyes, an icier blue than Penelope’s, flashed. Colin could
remember, once, a long time ago, thinking Cressida possessed a unique beauty among the
ton. But the longer he looked at her, the more he realized that even with her long, slender
figure, and her golden hair that was always perfectly arranged, the more he realized his
admiration was misplaced. Her beauty was nothing more than a facade to conceal the truth of
her cruelty.

Cressida’s face hardened. Only after her shock dulled did she look to Penelope. The distaste
was plain on her face as she looked Penelope up and down. Penelope held her gaze, even as
Cressida’s face grew murderous. The two women stared at each other for what felt like an
eternity. Neither was intent on giving in. Cressida seemed to be waiting for Penelope to
break, as if her gaze alone would cause Penelope to crumble.

“Enjoy your evening, Cressida,” Penelope said in a lilting voice.

Realizing Penelope had no intention of backing down, Cressida plastered a tight smile on her
face. She nodded once, still unable to believe her abrupt dismissal, and turned on her heel to
leave. Her mouth remained clamped shut, and she strode away with a rigid back. She did
not look back.

A small silence stretched between Colin and Penelope. They watched Cressida disappear
into the crowd, and a moment longer, to see if she reappeared with anyone to tar and feather
them out of the building. When they finally looked at one another, again, laughter bubbled
from both their lips.

“She really could not believe how terribly rude you were!” Penelope said, wiping a tear of
laughter from the corner of her eye. “Did you see her face?”

“I did indeed,” Colin replied, his shoulders shaking with the residue of his own laughter.

Penelope sipped her lemonade and slid her arm through the one Colin offered her. “It was
unlike anything I’ve ever seen from her! Cressida is not one to be trifled with, Colin. You
don’t suppose she’ll make an attempt at revenge, do you?”

“What could she possibly do to either of us?” he asked. “Nothing that hasn’t been brought
upon us before. That damnable Whistledown woman has caused both our families more grief
than a bruised debutante’s ego. All in the name of selling her sheets. It’s atrocious, I
daresay.”

Cocking her head to the side, Penelope murmured, “Ah, so your opinion of Whistledown
remains low as ever.” It was not a question on her part.

“Despite having moved on from Marina, I will never forgive her for what she has done to
both our families,” Colin said, nodding his head to an acquaintance from the club as Penelope
and he passed by. “And, of course, I will never forgive her for publishing those things I said,
laying them bare for all the world to see. She hurt my sister. She hurt my family. She
hurt…” His voice trailed off. He knew the words he was about to say were not the most
inappropriate liberty he had taken with Penelope. Yet, something about his next admission
felt more monumental than any handhold without gloves, or any meeting in a secluded area.
“She hurt you, Penelope. I cannot abide that. And I know that it may have been my words
she used to hurt you, but I only wish we could have discussed it privately. As friends.”

Penelope sighed. When he glanced over at her, her pink lip was caught between her teeth,
her gaze distant in contemplation. Colin knew she was thinking. About what, he was
unsure. Was she thinking back on that moment she overheard him? Or was she perhaps
wondering what it might be like to be on another man’s arm? They were being watched on
this little turn about the room. Fife and Carmichael, damn them both, seemed to be trailing
after them. Colin kept seeing them out of the corner of his eye, which surely was not a
coincidence.
“Are you alright, Pen?” he asked, after another moment of the discomforting silence between
them. “I mean, after this run in with Cressida. I would not worry much about revenge. She
is hardly smart enough to do any lasting damage.”

She nodded. “Yes, I am quite alright, Colin,” she said. “I am well versed in the cruelty of
Cressida Cowper.”

“You will no longer be subjected to her petty tantrums and jabs,” Colin said, firmly. “I will
not allow it.”

Laughing, Penelope shook her head. “It is hardly your job to protect me, Colin. Least of all
from Cressida ,” she said with a nod. “I will handle myself for now, and when I am happily
married off, it will be my husband’s job. And that will be that.” Sensing his apprehension at
what she was saying, Penelope stopped Colin from interrupting and patted his hand. “But…
thank you. For…just, thank you.” She stopped them midway through their walk to look up
at him.

As he looked upon Penelope’s face, her cheeks pink and eyes sweet, Colin could not stop his
mother’s words from returning.

Friendship is a wonderful precursor to love .

Heat bloomed in his chest. This was Penelope, his friend. His dearest friend. Where were
these thoughts – thoughts no true gentleman would ever have – coming from? As he watched
her pink lips stretch into a smile, he wondered: what would it be like to have those lips
against his? His lips tingled, suddenly overtaken with a longing to press them to every part
of her skin. Her dress’ tight bodice lifted her breasts in the same way her dress from the first
ball had.

What would it be like to hold them, to feel the weight of them in his palms? Marina’s breasts
were the only ones he thought he would see. But even during their engagement it was always
the prospect, the anticipation, that he felt at the prospect of seeing hers. The women of the
Mediterranean wore their garments loose and low, a way to stay cool in the hot sun that
glowed down on them. Colin had seen just as much, if not more, on his travels, and he paid
them no mind.

Here he stood, though, unable to form a coherent thought without imagining what running his
tongue across his dearest friend’s breasts would be like.

As his mouth dried, he realized Penelope was looking at him expectantly. Clearing his throat,
Colin adjusted his jacket, and fidgeted with the buttons. His cheeks burned. “What was that,
Pen?”

She smiled again. A wave of pure adoration overtook him. None of his doubts about
himself, about where he belonged in the world, none of it mattered. At least not when the
person who appreciated him for who he was cared for him. This was what he had been
longing for all this time. For a moment, Colin worried he would not hear her for a second
time, so lost was he in her smile. But he fought the urge, and listened.
“I said, I do believe the performance is going to be starting soon,” she said. “Shall we return
to our seats?”

Colin’s grin brightened. “Allow me to escort you to our seats, Miss Featherington.”
 Teatime
Chapter Summary

Lady Danbury offers Penelope some friendly advice.

Chapter Notes

Hi all,

Here's the new chapter! Thank you all so much for the kudos and comments. This
chapter draws heavily on a conversation Lady D and Penelope have in "Romancing
Mister Bridgerton." Thanks for the patience with me while I get this written.

Song for Penelope IV: "Anti-Hero" by Taylor Swift

It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me

At teatime, everybody agrees

Taylor Swift, “Anti-Hero”

“This is quite the display, Miss,” Varley said to Penelope, as the older woman straightened
one of the floral arrangements that had arrived just that morning. Penelope stared at the small
section of the room overtaken by fresh spring blooms. By no means was it to the level of
Edwina’s, or even Marina’s when she resided with the Featheringtons. But for Penelope,
whose first two seasons were devoid of any flower arrangements, having five men – not a
single one from a Bridgerton – was a momentous occasion. Apparently, Colin’s little display
at the Smythe-Smith Musicale had attracted the attention of several men. Penelope could
barely believe it.

Neither, evidently, could Prudence.

“I do not understand how Penelope is the one receiving flowers, Mama!” the elder sister in
question whined. Prudence was trailing after their mother as Portia swept into the drawing
room.

“Nor do I, Prudence,” Portia said, coming to stand beside Varley and Penelope, “but let us
just be thankful your sister has the possibility of finding herself a match this season. None of
us ever thought she would.”

If she were not so used to such words from her mother’s mouth, Penelope might have
cringed. As insults from Portia went though, this was hardly the worst Penelope had
endured.

“Varley, which gentlemen are these from?” Portia asked, fingering the petals of a pink rose.

Varley listed them off. “Carmichael. Fife. Kent. Welton. Woodhouse.”

Prudence sneered. “So none from Colin Bridgerton. Not that I am surprised. I have no
earthly idea why he would spend any time with you anyway.”

Rolling her eyes, Penelope plucked one of Mr. Carmichael’s pink roses from the vase it came
in. Of course Colin would not send flowers. It was just his attention she needed. But
Prudence did not know that, and there was no reason for Penelope to reveal her and Colin’s
arrangement for a quippy retort at her older sister.

She brought the rose to her nose, curious about which flowers Colin would send, if he were
to ever send her flowers.

“It does not matter if Colin Bridgerton sends her flowers,” Portia said, still studying the items
sent over. A steely glint shone in her eyes. Penelope worried her mother was forming more
unwise schemes as she paced around the table. The last time Penelope had witnessed this
level of determination in Portia was when she and Varley discovered Marina’s pregnancy, and
they were attempting to locate a husband as soon as possible to avoid scandal. Penelope
doubted her mother would have any more success here than she did with Marina, or even
Cousin Jack. “What matters is his attention is on Penelope, and it will get her married off.
That is all he needs to do, as far as I am concerned.”

Penelope could scarcely believe it, but it almost sounded as though her mother was referring
to Colin with disdain. Strange, she thought, for Mama to be so quick to denounce the best
connected bachelor in the bunch. Even though Portia had played the part of an eager
marriage-minded mama perfectly when speaking to Colin the night before, behind the walls
of their home Penelope sensed contempt.

“These roses are truly lovely, mum,” Varley commented. “It would seem Mr. Carmichael is
very taken with the young Miss Penelope.”

Portia’s eyes flashed, a small smile forming on her lips. Penelope could instantly tell her
mother had a favorite amongst the small group of admirers. “Yes, he does seem to like her,”
she said, voice firm, but unmistakably pleased. It was strange, seeing her mother at rapt
attention with matters that had to do with her. She knew better than to mistake this
matrimonial interest with maternal instinct. But there was something touching about the way
Portia had chosen a clear favorite amongst the men attempting to court Penelope.

While Varley and Portia spoke in low, conspiratorial tones over the flowers, Penelope strode
to the window. She settled herself on the window seat. The day was cool and gray outside.
It threatened to lull her to sleep. She had been up far too late after returning from the
musicale. Writing her latest column took her late into the evening, and she had snuck herself
out of the house in the early hours of the morning to get it delivered to Genevieve’s hands so
it could be sent to print. Dawn had just begun to touch the bottom of the sky when Penelope
laid her head on her pillow. Now, in the drawing room, she found herself wishing she could
just excuse herself to her room to sleep.

Penelope’s moment of peace was interrupted by her sister.

“I will never understand how you managed to enchant all these gentlemen,” Prudence
scoffed, leaning against the opposite side of the window. “It is not as if you are any more
interesting than you have ever been.” She plucked an invisible speck of dust from her
bodice.

Penelope gritted her teeth. She swallowed all the words threatening to burst forth from her
mouth. What would her sister, who could not show a hint of discretion, know about how
interesting Penelope could be?

Deep down, though, she feared that her elder sister was right. Other than a few alterations to
her wardrobe, a new hairstyle or two, what did she have to show for herself to suggest she
was anything other than the same person she always was? True, three of the men who sent
her arrangements had never been to town while she was out in society in previous seasons.
But surely they would have spoken to others about her, and received the disappointing news
that that the young woman they were smitten with was a wallflower.

“And Colin Bridgerton! Of all the men at that dreadful performance last night, he was the
one that was glued to your side,” Prudence went on, venom in her tone. “It hardly makes
sense that you would attract the likes of him.”

Unable to stop herself, Penelope snapped her gaze to Prudence. “Have you ever tried talking
about someone other than yourself when you speak with these gentlemen?” she said. “I may
be a wallflower, Prudence, but I make attempts at conversation that do not cause me to appear
like Narcissus falling in love with my own reflection to the gentlemen I speak to!”

Her sister narrowed her eyes. Penelope knew Prudence had no earthly idea what she meant
when she referenced Greek mythology, and was likely trying to think of a jab she might
return to wound even more.

Prudence sniffed. “One of these days, mayhaps I will convince Lady Danbury that I am the
Featherington sister more deserving of her sponsorship. Her support can be the only
explanation for how you are getting this attention.”

“You would have to have your mouth sewn shut before Lady Danbury would even be able to
stand in your presence for more than five minutes!” Penelope shot back.

What she meant to come out as an aside under her breath, however, came out of her mouth
more than well enough for Prudence to hear her. Gasping, Prudence stomped her foot. “How
dare you!” she shrieked. She swung to look at Portia. “Mama! Mama, did you hear what
Penelope just said to me? She said –”
Lady Featherington waved her hand in Prudence’s direction. She did not even turn to look at
either of her daughters as she went back and forth with Varley. “Oh, Prudence, not now!”
Portia said.

Stormy-faced, Prudence crossed her arms over her chest and stormed away to sit on a sofa
with her back to her sister. Penelope rolled her eyes. She returned her attention to the world
outside the window. All the while, Prudence’s taunts rang in her head. Prudence’s taunts and
more.

I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington, not in your wildest fantasies.

Ripples of pain lapped at Penelope’s heart. She closed her eyes. The sound of men’s
laughter rang faintly in her ears. Willing her eyes open again, Penelope shook her head and
forced herself to think of last night, of the flowers on the table. Of the feeling of Colin
standing up for her in front of one of the ton’s most popular debutantes. He had been at her
side all last night, murmuring commentary to her through the evening about how everyone
could not take their eyes off of them. In return, she giggled and blushed and reminded herself
over and over this was nothing more than a farce. An illusion born from Colin’s desperate
attempts for atonement, and Penelope’s desperate desire to marry.

It was exhilarating, fun even. Spending time with Colin caused her to forget all about the
other men she meant to enchant. She paid no mind to anyone else, simply allowing herself to
bask in the return of his friendship and attention. Even Eloise’s glares could not break
through that jubilant haze. It would be difficult for Penelope to distance herself from Colin
once someone did finally propose to her. In his company, Penelope felt at ease with herself.
Last night was when her confidence she relished as Lady Whistledown finally emerged for
her , Penelope. Every smile he sent her way, each brief brush of his fingers against her
gloved hand, sent her heart shooting through the sky until she was unsure if it was his
friendship making her feel this way.

Across the street, Penelope observed the exterior of Bridgerton House. She knew Colin and
Eloise no longer lived there. But that could not stop the ache in her heart when she saw the
brown bricks and Lady Bridgerton’s hanging wisteria. She wondered how much the interior
of the home had changed since Kate became the Viscountess. How much time did the rest of
the family spend there, now that a majority of them lived somewhere on Bruton Street?
Penelope imagined the whole family still gathered there a great deal. The Bridgertons were,
after all, the family Penelope had longed for. One that enjoyed one another, that loved and
respected each other, no matter what flaws or oddities they may have.

As Penelope stared out the window, trying to tell herself she did not long for the Bridgertons
anymore, Briarly strode into the drawing room. He cleared his throat, loud enough that it
drew Penelope’s attention to him. In his grasp, he held a note.

“What is it, Briarly?” Portia asked.

“A note has arrived for Miss Penelope,” the butler announced. His eyes found Penelope’s
across the room.
Penelope frowned, but went to accept the note. She could not imagine what someone was
sending a note to her for today. The seal the letter bore was one of Lady Danbury’s.

“What is it, Penelope?” Portia barked, deeming the room to be too silent for her taste.

Having finished reading it, Penelope replied, “It’s an invitation to Lady Danbury’s for tea.
She’s requesting I join her in an hour’s time.” She smiled. A chance to get away from her
mother and sister.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Portia snapped. “Get yourself ready to go! You cannot
leave Lady Danbury waiting!”

“Miss Featherington here to see you, my Lady,” Lady Danbury’s butler announced. He
showed Penelope into the drawing room. The old countess sat in front of a large bay
window. Sunbeams streamed through the glass, shining directly on Lady Danbury. In one
hand, she held a crisp new edition of Whistledown, containing the latest gossip from the
Smythe-Smith performance. She could not have received it more than an hour ago. Upon
seeing Penelope, a smile, so wide the corners of her eyes crinkled, spread across Lady
Danbury’s face.

“Miss Featherington!” she called, setting the sheet down.

Warmth rushed through Penelope at the elderly woman’s sincere happiness to see her.
Befriending Lady Danbury had been one of the more pleasant surprises to grace Penelope’s
new life. There was a grit to Lady Danbury that commanded respect, and Penelope could not
help but admire her. In their time together at Lady Danbury’s country home, Penelope saw a
whole side to the widow she was certain few people saw. One of warmth and good humor. A
delighted gleam in her eye as she spoke with pride about her grandson. She was everything
Penelope wished to be.

“Good afternoon, Lady Danbury,” Penelope said, dipping her chin in greeting. She removed
her gloves, and sat down in the chair Lady Danbury gestured to. “Thank you for the
invitation.” She accepted a cup of tea and sipped.

Lady Danbury tapped her cane on the floor and grinned. “Of course, my dear.” She waved
her hand to dismiss the butler. “Thank you, you may close the door behind you.”

As soon as the door closed, Penelope arched a brow. “Will Lady Mary and Miss Sharma be
joining us?”

“No, they will not be,” Lady Danbury admitted, snapping a biscuit in half and popping it in
her mouth. She chewed, thoughtfully. “They received an invitation from the Fosters. I hope
you don’t mind spending the afternoon with no one but an old widow for company.”

Penelope smiled. “It’s always a delight to see you, Lady Danbury,” she said. “You know
that.”
Lady Danbury smirked and threw a wink in Penelope’s direction. “You are right. I do
know.”

Even though she was happy to see Lady Danbury, as she always was, Penelope wondered at
the absence of the Sharma women. As fond of Penelope as Lady Danbury had grown in the
past year, the two of them had never spent an afternoon together without the Sharmas
present. Part of her wondered if there was something else at play here.

“The newest Whistledown arrived just an hour ago,” Lady Danbury said, offering a tray of
sugar. “It’s full of all the latest happenings from last night’s musical event.” She huffed
before correcting herself. “If one could call it music.”

Penelope laughed. “I haven’t had the chance to read it yet. It had not arrived at my mother’s
house yet when I left.”

“Well, I imagine you know quite a bit already of what happened,” Lady Danbury said,
striking a match to light a cigarette. She took a few puffs. “Seeing as you feature in one of
the middle paragraphs. You, and a certain Bridgerton brother, who appears to have come to
your rescue?”

Having spent three years now maintaining a double life, Penelope knew how to blush and
feign ignorance. She sipped her tea before responding. “May I ask, what does it say about
me and Col – Mr. Bridgerton?”

Lady Danbury smirked, leaning over to plop the sheet in front of Penelope. “See for
yourself, Miss Featherington.”

Though she had read the paragraph innumerable times in her revisions the night before,
Penelope picked up her work and read it once again.

And mayhaps forgiveness is in the air? Dear reader, it will come as a surprise to all of us
that the youngest Miss Featherington was seen with none other than the gentleman who
insulted her so vehemently at the end of last season: Colin Bridgerton. Furthermore, the two
were seen joined at the hip, laughing, and – to this writer’s great shock! – blushing while they
whispered in one another’s ears. Miss Cressida Cowper, one of the ton’s most eligible
debutantes, was seen attempting to approach the two, but was sent away by none other than
the third Bridgerton brother. This writer noted Miss Cowper’s face was most displeased
when she was rebuffed. After all, it is not everyday popular debutantes with exceptional
dowries are turned away in favor of former wallflowers.

Despite the amusing scene of Miss Cowper being sent off like a child without her supper, it is
a wonder to this author that the youngest Miss Featherington accepted the apologies of the
Bridgerton brother. With the irreparable damage he could have caused to her reputation,
forgiveness is a road not many would have chosen. But it seems our over-ripe citrus fruit has
blossomed forth from the wall enough that she may be able to find herself a match, in spite of
the words of one foolish young man.

Setting down the sheet, Penelope shrugged. “Well, Lady Whistledown was quite correct
about one thing: Cressida Cowper did indeed look like a child sent to bed without supper.”
Lady Danbury let out a hearty laugh. “If there’s one thing that woman is able to do, it is
remind our friends, and our foes, they are one line away from being humbled.”

Penelope sighed. “It is a lesson I wish more in our society would learn.” She thought of her
mother and sisters. She wrote about them often, knowing exactly how tactless and obtuse
they could be. But they saw being mentioned in Whistledown as thrilling, a triumph to show
off that they were being discussed in a gossip column and were being noticed. They never
took it for what it was meant as: a suggestion they alter their behavior.

Puffing on her cigarette, Lady Danbury nodded. She regarded Penelope thoughtfully.
“While we are on the subject of people who would benefit from a lesson or two written in
Whistledown , I had a most interesting conversation with your mother last night at the
musicale.” She arched a brow. “I must say, I was quite shocked to be hearing this. Lady
Featherington came to thank me.”

Swallowing hard, Penelope forced herself to be still. She prayed her face would not betray
her emotions.

“Yes, it was quite an odd thing to hear,” Lady Danbury went on. “Your mother is not one
who I typically count as one of the more discreet people of the ton, but she took great pains to
pull me aside yesterday and give a sincere show of appreciation.”

“Oh?” Penelope asked, blinking.

“She wanted to thank me for offering you my support this season,” Lady Danbury said. “Not
just my support of you in the sense one friend supports another. That was always a given,
once I discovered you had a brain between your ears. You have quite a bit more wit and
charm than you allow most others to see within you. But your mother wasn’t referring to our
friendship. No, she was referring to my financial support of you.”

Penelope leaned forward in her chair. Her face drained of color. She wanted to rap her head
against the wall. How could she have been foolish enough to believe her mother would have
kept her mouth shut without prompting? When she made up the story that Lady Danbury
was behind all the new dresses and changes in style, Penelope had been relying on her
mother’s pride to keep her secret from being discovered. Portia was the last person to be
sincere in thanking someone for help; Penelope had just assumed she never would have
spoken to Lady Danbury in an effort to keep her pride intact.

“Lady Danbury, I can explain –” Penelope began. Her stomach sank, knowing she was likely
going to need to come up with a reason to her mother why she lied about Lady Danbury
being her benefactor. She would also need a different explanation for where the funds came
from to account for her new wardrobe.

Lady D cut her off, though. Her voice was not unkind, but there was a firmness to it that
Penelope imagined she used when she wanted to be perfectly clear. “No need to explain
anything, Miss Featherington,” she said. “I imagine you had your reasons for doing what you
did. And if telling your mother I insisted on alternative choices of fashion for you is what it
took to get you out of those dreadful yellow dresses, I am in full support of it.” She tilted her
head at Penelope. “Such a statement does beg a few questions. A few of them I believe I can
answer on my own.”

“Which questions?” she blurted. Penelope prayed the beating of her heart would not be
audible to the older woman’s ears.

Despite Penelope’s clear unease, Lady D appeared calm. Not only calm, but she was
remarkably accepting of the fact she had been drawn into Penelope’s deception without her
knowledge. She did not even seem angry.

“All throughout that performance last night, I was curious as to why this would be the route
you took,” Lady D admitted. “Your mother has expressed that you and the second Bridgerton
daughter are squabbling about something, and it makes perfect sense now why you and Miss
Edwina should be such good friends.” Penelope opened her mouth to protest, which Lady
Danbury met with a wag of her finger. The sunlight streaming through the window caught on
the fat ruby adorning her ring, sending blood red sparkles across the tea setting. “Now, now,
give me some credit, Miss Featherington. Your friendship with Miss Sharma is indeed
sincere, of that I have no doubt. You, I have learned, are not one who will forsake your
friends lightly. Having only Miss Bridgerton, then losing her friendship for whatever reason
came between you, would have left you lonely. Miss Sharma helped fill your loneliness, and
I know you hold her in high esteem.

“But, having that broken connection with the Bridgertons, after whatever occurred between
you and Eloise – and that idiot of a third son insulting you certainly did not help – you sought
to finally marry,” Lady Danbury went on. “You were clearly never going to achieve that
following your mother’s lead. The fact you and I befriended one another gave you exactly
what you needed: opportunity. It is a bold plan. One that makes my respect for you grow.”

Penelope did not know if she should breathe a sigh of relief or remain still. “It – it does?”

Sipping her tea, Lady Danbury nodded. “Indeed,” she said. “We as women have much to do
in order to survive in this world of ours. If we wish to secure happiness, it is only by our own
making. You saw an opportunity, and you took it. And look! You have brought several
gentlemen to their knees.” She winked. “Particularly that Bridgerton boy.”

A blush lit up Penelope’s cheeks. She looked down at her wringing hands. As thoroughly as
Lady Danbury had seen through her, she apparently had not noticed Colin’s feigned
affections were nothing more than that: feigned.

“Lady Whistledown knows better than to think someone like me would never end up being
courted by a Bridgerton brother,” Penelope said. A small flash of sadness sparked in her
heart. She blinked, Colin’s face flashing in her mind. “Lady Whistledown, and everyone
else.”

Across from Penelope, Lady Danbury studied her over the rim of the teacup. “Lady
Whistledown has been on my mind lately, you know,” she said.

“I would imagine it is difficult to not have her on one’s mind,” Penelope said, clearing her
throat. “She’s resumed her sheets for the season. She is bound to be at the forefront of all
our thoughts. Everyone worries they could be next to be written about in a negative light.”

Lady Danbury shrugged. “True enough, I suppose. But that is not the only reason she has
been on my mind. I’m sure you know that I am quite friendly with our Queen. Her Majesty
has been quite intent on figuring out the identity of our favorite gossip columnist.”

“This is nothing new, is it?” Penelope asked, arching a brow. Beneath the veneer of calm,
though, she found herself clinging to every word Lady Danbury said. Since publishing the
information on Eloise’s visits to the print shop and political rallies, Penelope did her best to
not think about Queen Charlotte. She could scarcely think of the Queen without
remembering the actions she took to protect Eloise from being falsely accused. Being away
from London certainly helped keep the painful thoughts at bay. But being back in Mayfair,
returning to publishing, the threat of the Queen loomed large.

“No, not new,” Lady D said. “But the intensity of her search has increased tenfold. She is
wroth . She will not stop until she has found the identity of Lady Whistledown.” Her voice
grew serious then. “She is preparing for war against the woman behind the name. She can
hardly stand that a writer holds so much sway over the minds of the members of the ton.”

Penelope nodded. “Well, I am sure the Queen will search as hard as she can,” she said, “but I
do not imagine she will have much luck. She hasn’t had much success in the past.”

“Indeed,” Lady Danbury agreed. Her eyes found Penelope’s again, holding the younger
woman’s gaze. Her stare was insistent, a message she sought to convey without opening her
mouth.

The strangest sensation overtook Penelope. Lady Danbury’s dark eyes studied her with an
intensity that told Penelope she could see right through her. Though perturbed, she kept her
back straight and chin high, and she did not look away. She did not know if Lady Danbury
had any suspicions, but she would not take any chances. Putting her teacup down, Penelope
rested her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking in view of her companion.

“There are several…issues I have with Lady Whistledown,” Lady Danbury said. “She only
has one view of things. The hearts of people are not in the sheets she writes. Though a gifted
writer, she spends more time crafting clever metaphors than getting to the character of those
she writes about. Take the Duke of Hastings, who I love like a son. His reputation was not
all there was to him. But he did not let anyone know his heart. Not until he met his
Duchess.” Penelope did the best she could to not squirm in her seat. When Eloise spoke
about her qualms with Lady Whistledown, Penelope had done her best to push back. But
Eloise did not possess the powers of observation the old countess did. So, she remained
silent, awaiting more stinging commentary. “But even with those issues, I do respect our
anonymous scribe. She never lies; she may miss some details, but that happens because she
only reveals what she hears. If all she hears is not the truth, she may not know.”

Penelope hummed. What Lady Danbury said was true. All Penelope wrote was what she
heard. She was a gossip columnist. However much she may have wanted to write about the
struggles within a person, about people overcoming obstacles that were placed before them,
she chose something different. Something different that gave her more power and influence
than she ever thought it would.
“Still, these omissions cause many problems,” Penelope said.

“Yes, many. But, even so, no lies. She holds a mirror up to our rapacious ton and shows us
exactly who we are, no matter how unpleasant our reflection. And she does not target those
who cannot withstand the flames.” Pointing at the sheet in front of Penelope, she added,
“Take the Smythe-Smith girls. She never says a negative thing about them, never picks them
apart, and Lord knows they would have plenty to work with about their musical abilities. Or,
rather, lack thereof.”

Penelope swallowed hard. “What of my cousin? She did not survive the scandal.”

“True,” drawled Lady Danbury. She narrowed her eyes, tapping her long fingers on the
table. Penelope watched her back. “But the former Miss Thompson intended to entrap a
young man in a false marriage, with a child that was not his. While Miss Thompson’s
struggle was unfortunate, Lady Whistledown told no lies.” She paused. “And the poison that
would have spread between Miss Thompson and Mr. Bridgerton from a lie such as that one…
it would have destroyed them both. In a different way than his heartbreak, and her fall from
society.” She shook her head. “No, that situation would not have a happy ending, no matter
what. Lady Whistledown revealed what she did, but it was not a lie.”

A pit formed in Penelope’s stomach. She remembered all too well how she had revealed
Marina’s secret. How she stood outside her mother’s door and heard her mother and cousin
planning to seduce Colin. How she wrote the words that sealed Marina’s fate, then ran to sob
in Eloise’s arms.

“No, I suppose she did not,” Penelope murmured. A small silence stretched between them.
Even as she looked out the window, she couldn’t blink without seeing her cousin’s smile.
Curious, and desperate to not revisit her guilt about Marina, she cleared her throat. “Lady
Danbury, why do you think she does not speak ill of the Smythe-Smith girls?”

Her friend smiled. “What makes you think I would be able to say what goes on in her
mind?” Lady Danbury laughed.

Penelope shot Lady Danbury a coy smirk. “Oh, Lady Danbury, you have thoughts,” she
teased. “I know you do. There isn’t a matter that goes on in the ton that you hold no opinion
on. We both know that.”

Lady Danbury snickered. “This is why I like you, Penelope,” she said. “Forgive me, I do
hope it is alright with you if I use your given name.”

“Oh, of course,” Penelope said, nodding solemnly. She picked up her cup again to hide her
amused smile.

“Excellent. Well, I like you. You speak your mind, too.”

Penelope felt sad at those words. “I…I do not think I know how . Not like you.”

“Nonsense, you do just fine!” Lady Danbury said, leaning over the table to pat Penelope’s
hand. “To answer your question, though, she does not speak ill of the Smythe-Smiths
because she feels a kinship with them. Lady Whistledown understands what it is like to face
the humiliation of the ton. She knows what it is to feel hurt, and to be alone at the mercy of
someone more powerful.” A sad look overtook Lady Danbury’s face. “As do I.”

The two sat together. Neither had to speak to understand what was being shared between the
two. Penelope watched Lady Danbury stare out the window at her gardens. The older
woman would not divulge exactly what she meant, of that Penelope was sure. But the
meaning of her words rang true to Penelope. She did not require the details to know she was
in the room with someone who understood.

Finally, Lady Danbury sighed. “The last I will say on this matter is that Lady Whistledown,
whoever she is, should be cautious,” she said, refilling her cup and stirring milk into the tea.
Her eyes found Penelope’s. A warning lay in her eyes. “As I said before, the Queen’s hunt is
increasing in ferocity. If Lady Whistledown is not careful, she will be caught. There is no
telling what the consequences will be.”

“Well, I hope Lady Whistledown has friends like you advising her,” Penelope said, raising
her cup to Lady Danbury.

A smile stretched across Lady Danbury’s face. Then she snapped her fingers, took a puff on
her cigarette, and said, “Let us talk of less depressing matters! Tell me all about that awful
Cressida Cowper’s attempts at intercepting Colin Bridgerton from you!”

And Penelope told the story, with glee.

They spoke long into the afternoon, laughing and trading barbs. Penelope talked of how pink
Cressida’s cheeks turned when Colin told her off. In turn, Lady Danbury’s eyes shone with a
wicked gleam as she spoke of one of her daughter’s husbands, and about what a dolt he was.
For the time they sat together, Penelope was able to forget her alternate identity was at the
very forefront of the Queen of England’s mind.

Eventually, Lady Danbury’s footman returned to remind her of the dinner she was attending
that evening, drawing an end to their teatime revelry.

“Oh, my dear, this was a delightful afternoon,” Lady Danbury said, as Penelope rose from her
seat. “Thank you for spending your time with an old woman on this gray day.”

“The pleasure was mine, Lady Danbury,” Penelope said, a genuine smile lighting up her
face. She wanted to thank her, to show her appreciation in some way for Lady Danbury’s
understanding. It was strange to think one like Agatha Danbury, a powerful widow that
relied on no one but herself, understood anything about the helplessness Penelope apparently
could not separate from the tone of her writing.

But she could not say anything without turning suggestion into plain fact.

Penelope paused at the door. She grasped the doorknob firmly, pausing mid-turn to look back
at her friend.

“Lady Danbury?” she asked.

The old widow turned from the window to look Penelope directly in the eye. “Yes, my
dear?”

“You…you did not ask me where I got my money to fund these changes to myself,” Penelope
murmured.

Lady Danbury regarded her in silence. The quiet stretched so long, Penelope wondered if she
had not just made the biggest mistake of her life in letting those words free from her mouth.
But Lady D smiled, puffed her cigarette, and returned her gaze to the window.

“No, Penelope,” she said. “I did not ask.”

 Conversations with the Moon
Chapter Summary

Colin and Penelope flirt; Eloise demands to know what games her brother is playing.

Chapter Notes

Hi all. Thank you so much for the responses to the story. I'm so thrilled you're still
enjoying. And thanks to our ship captains, Nicola and Luke, keeping us well fed with
Insta-stories, and Tudum giving us some long-awaited season 3 content, I'm feeling
incredibly motivated to keep pumping out chapters. Until next time!

Song for Colin V: "Message in a Bottle" by Taylor Swift (sorry, this is definitely turning
into just one giant-ass Swiftie playlist)

‘Cause you could be the one that I love

I could be the one that you dream of

Message is in a bottle is all I can do

Standin’ here, hopin’ it gets to you

Taylor Swift, “Message In a Bottle (Taylor’s Version)”

“Lovely weather, is it not?” Colin asked, grinning cheekily as he and Penelope promenaded
in Hyde Park. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, shining down on them as they
walked arm in arm with each other. A positively giddy Portia Featherington chittered away
with Lady Bridgerton behind them, acting as their chaperones. He glanced sideways at
Penelope. The sunlight hit her hair, shining like red gold, and she smelled of citrus and fresh
blooms. He was pleased he had gotten to her first before any of the other men he was certain
would try to vie for the pleasure of having her on their arms. Truthfully, the only two he was
terribly worried about were Carmichael and Fife. Fife, because the man was a rake and a
devil, and Colin would not allow him to harm Penelope; Carmichael, because Colin worried
Penelope might actually reciprocate those feelings. And he was quickly realizing he could
not abide that.
For weeks now, Penelope haunted his dreams. Every night, he found her in that grove of
trees, the moment they rekindled their friendship. He stood over her, looking down into her
blue eyes. They did their two-step dance again, but when her back landed against the tree,
the memory changed to pure fantasy. Instead of staring at one another, he bent to kiss her.

What a kiss it was! His hands cupped her face, thumb trailing across the center of her bottom
lip. Penelope’s mouth parted as her hands slid up his front to his neck. Their mouths came
together, all softness and passion and sweetness. That very first taste of her sent him to
Heaven. As her lips moved in tandem with his, her fingers stroked the back of his neck.
Tiny sparks of pleasure raced up his spine. Her moans of delight urged him on until he lifted
her off her feet, her legs snaking around his waist. Every part of her was warm and soft. Her
lips scorched a trail from his mouth to his jaw, and she murmured in his ear how much she
wanted him.

When Colin woke in his bed this particular morning, his cheeks were hot and his pants were
tight, and he resolved he would seek out the real Penelope today. He got to the park just as
her family had, and he forced himself to not appear too eager on his approach. When she
caught sight of him, she had laughed, not understanding what his glee was all about.

Penelope rolled her eyes beside him. “Oh, please,” she said.

He laughed. “What can you mean, Pen?”

“Do you mean to tell me that you insisted on a promenade, and subjected your poor mother to
my mama, just so you could talk with me about the weather?” Penelope asked, incredulous.

Colin’s grin only widened. “After all the years she has spent insisting my siblings and I find
a way to marry, I feel like this is a suitable consequence for her.” Beside him, Penelope
yawned. “Do I bore you, Pen?” he asked.

She smiled lazily. “No, no,” she said, nodding in greeting to another couple they passed by
on their stroll. “I…I am merely tired. I was up far too late last night.”

Penelope did look somewhat exhausted. Faint circles were imprinted under her eyes, even
though her cheeks glowed pink. From the look on her face, Colin thought some worry may
have kept her awake.

“Hmm,” he said. “What was it? Another late night stroll dressed in servant’s garb,
perhaps?”

Though he jested, Penelope shot him a sidelong glance that could have cut diamond. “I had
hoped you might have forgotten all about that,” she muttered.

“Oh, that was an evening I could never forget,” he assured her.

She ignored that. “Although, me wearing servant garments should hardly be as shocking as
what you chose to wear today. I thought my mother’s eyes were going to pop from her skull
when she saw you were not wearing proper gentleman’s attire to promenade!”
“The shock will do Lady Featherington some good,” Colin said, dismissing the concern with
the wave of his hand. He did not intend to let Penelope wriggle out of an explanation for her
behavior the night he caught her sneaking back into her home in the dead of night. In truth,
as soon as he regained her friendship, he had been quite preoccupied with Penelope’s secrets.
Whatever those might be. Cracking the secrets of what Penelope might be guarding kept him
from fantasizing about his dreams. “Now…tell me all about this. What had you out in the
middle of the night?”

Penelope huffed. “What? You’re not going to accuse me of being out with a rakish man this
time?” His silence must have alerted her to the sting he felt at the comment, because she
sighed a moment later. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am tired, and lashing out at you.”

He frowned. “What troubles you, Pen? Allow me to help.” Any problem she had, he would
help lighten the load. She had done so in the past for him, ensuring he did not feel so alone.
If he had his way, she would never know what it felt to be alone ever again

But Penelope just shook her head. “Oh, Colin, it’s not something that can be helped,” she
said, keeping her eyes ahead of them. “And, however many ways you seek to frame it, there
is nothing sinister behind my nightly jaunts. I have merely befriended someone who is not
exactly…part of our society. They are not someone my mother would be thrilled to know I
am spending time with.”

“This friend is, er, not a, ah, a man?” Colin stammered, unable to keep jealousy from
crawling up his throat. While he was doing well keeping his shameful thoughts at bay, he
could not find it in himself to imagine her spending time with any other man other than
himself. He was her friend. Another man might marry her, might give her children, but he,
Colin Bridgerton, had the distinct honor of being her friend. A confidant who would give her
advice and hold her secrets. He wanted to be the only one who held that distinction.

It was not the only thing he wanted.

“No, I told you it was not a man I was spending time with,” Penelope said. She hesitated a
moment, weighing whether or not to reveal her friend’s identity. “It’s the modiste.
Genevieve Delacroix. We were spending the afternoon together, and I lost track of time.”

Colin blinked. He recalled that name, perhaps as someone that Benedict had spent time
with. And if she was Benedict’s friend, she was not going to be a member of polite society –
Colin knew of the parties of debauchery and art his elder brother frequented. What could
such a woman possibly have in common with Penelope? “That’s quite the afternoon to last
into the night,” he said. In truth, he could not figure out much else to say. He had not seen
this answer coming. It made some sense, though. Some of her newfound confidence and
flirting, her dresses, the style of her hair. A worldly woman would know all about such
things, particularly if she was French.

She sighed. A sadness fell over her eyes. “Or maybe I just did not want to go home. I
cannot tell sometimes.”

She said nothing aloud, but her silence said more than any words possibly could. Colin knew
her family had never appreciated her. Discovering Penelope was spending time with
merchants in the dead of night hinted to him there was far more weight to her desire to marry
and be rid of that house than he previously thought

“I...I am sorry, Pen,” he said.

Penelope frowned. “Whatever for?”

“That you feel that way in your own home,” he said.

“Do not be,” Penelope said, patting his arm. “I have found that family does not have to be
limited to those who you are born with the same blood as. Genevieve has proved to be as
loyal a friend as any, and I would do much for her. Though I cannot say the same for my
mother and sisters, I can say with confidence that she and Edwina would do much for me,
too.”

Unable to stand the sorrow that had filled her face, Colin gave her hand a squeeze. The
loneliness in her voice weighed down over the two of them. Glancing behind them, he could
just make out the shape of his family’s tent. Underneath it sat Eloise. She sat slumped in her
seat. He could not make out where she was looking, but he felt as though her eyes might
have been burning holes into his back.

Turning back around, Colin cleared his throat. “Pen…what happened between you and
Eloise? You both were so close. I cannot imagine anything ever coming between the two of
you.”

“I do not wish to speak about your sister,” Penelope snapped.

Odd , Colin thought. Almost exactly how Eloise reacts when I even mention Penelope’s name
to her.

“Tea with my mother and sisters just is not the same without you,” he tried. “I wish –”

Penelope stopped in the middle of their stroll. She slid her arm out from his so she could
stare him in the eye. “Colin,” she said, “please. Do not press this issue anymore. Your sister
and I merely do not…see eye to eye on several issues. It became too much of an imposition,
and we could no longer maintain a friendship.”

“You’ve had your disagreements before,” he pointed out. “What could be so different this
time?”

“Many things,” she said, pursing her lips.

He arched a challenging brow at her. “Do your disagreements have to do with this
transformation of yourself?” he asked, gesturing at her grass green day dress. Like many of
the new dresses, this one had a lower cut neckline. Not low enough to be deemed
scandalous, but low enough that Colin’s imagination might run rampant again if he allowed it
to.

“Whatever could you mean?” Penelope asked, frowning.

Easing his arm back in with hers, Colin kept them moving along the path. Lady
Featherington’s voice had grown close enough that he wanted to regain some of the distance
they lost when Penelope stopped them. Grinning wolfishly, he answered the question she
posed to him. “What I mean is, both you and I seem to have taken a fancy for garments that
do not creep up on our necks and strangle us.” He nodded at her bosom, allowing his eyes to
linger a moment past respectable.

That delightful shade of pink blossomed on Penelope’s cheeks again. She gasped. “Colin!”
When she glanced at him again, though, a faint glint of amusement danced in her eyes. Her
eyes darted around to ensure no one heard them.

He grinned. “Do not misunderstand me, I sympathize with your plight,” he said, gesturing to
his bare neck and rugged brown jacket. His coat still held the faint scent of the salt air of his
sea voyages. “You ladies have far different attire, but I do know what it is like to want the
chance to breathe.”

She snorted. “Until you must don a corset, Mr. Bridgerton, you know nothing of what it is to
be out of breath.”

Chuckling, Colin craned his neck downward. His lips brushed against her ear. The scent of
her hair was in his nose as he murmured, “There are many things that can take a man’s breath
away, Miss Featherington. Many…things…” Beside him, Penelope sucked in a breath. Her
hand tightened around his wrist. His grin grew positively devilish. “Were you aware of
that?”

“Were you ?” she shot back. “Considering both of our, shall we say, inexperience in these
matters, I’d say it would be a matter of speculation for the both of us.” She did not look
away from their route, but her lips were pursed with wicked delight.

If Colin thought he was short of breath when he woke after a dream of being tangled between
Penelope’s legs, he was wrong. Nothing compared to this very real, and improper,
conversation cutting off his oxygen right now.

“Speculation, imagination,” he mused. “No matter the word, it can all take our breath away.”

Penelope rolled her eyes, but he noted that she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.
“Well, I can assure you that Eloise and I did not quarrel over something as trivial as my
wardrobe choices.”

“Then what did you quarrel over?” he asked, willing his heart to slow its thumping. She
shook her head, refusing to meet his eye. They were approaching the bridge, their mothers
fading in the distance behind them. The sound of the water bubbling filled the space between
them. A gust of wind blew a lock of Penelope’s hair across her face. Colin halted them
again, unlinking their arms. With gentle fingers, he brushed the copper tendrils out of her
face. She stared at him as his fingers grazed over her cheekbone. He could not find it in
himself to care if anyone saw, though.

“You know you can tell me,” he murmured, fingers lingering in her hair. “I will keep your
confidence in all things.”
The breeze swept over them, sending the floral scent of her straight to him. Penelope studied
him, unblinking. Unspoken thoughts danced behind the mask she tried to keep up in front of
him. But he knew her too well, knew that she was hiding something. Not for the first time
since returning from abroad did Colin feel he was seeing Penelope in a whole new way. No
longer was she the girl who hid around corners in the drawing room, or laughed with Eloise
over a box of sweets. Instead, she was a woman: perfumed, aware of her power over men,
and guarding her secrets the way dragons guarded their hoards.

“Colin,” she tried, looking down.

With his thumb, he tipped her chin up. Her lips parted. For a moment, Colin could not look
away from her mouth. He reminded himself this was no dream. He cleared his throat. “I see
something troubles you,” he said. “Blind as I have been in the past, I made a vow to myself,
and to you, to never be that way again. Please. Tell me.”

Penelope had no opportunity to respond before someone was calling out to them. Colin was
unsure if she had even been able to register what he said before they were interrupted.

“Hello there!”

The voice held so much cheer Colin wondered if it could truly be in earnest. His hand
dropped from Penelope’s face just as they both turned to see who approached them. It was
that damnable Carmichael. Colin fought the urge to curse. Instead, he forced his best smile,
the one he reserved for fellow members at the club.

“Mister Bridgerton, Miss Featherington! What a lovely surprise.” Carmichael bowed to

Penelope. His eyes glowed like an excited pup’s.

Blushing, Penelope curtsied in return. “Mr. Carmichael,” she said. “It is truly a delight to
see you this afternoon.”

“The delight is all mine, I assure you,” Carmichael said, grinning.

While Penelope exchanged pleasantries with Carmichael, Colin did his best to remain
respectable and cordial. All the while, he observed the other man through slits. Carmichael
was not the worst looking fellow. In fact, he was downright handsome by the ton’s
standards. With his jet black hair, porcelain skin, and strong bone structure, he rivaled even
the Duke of Hastings for the title of most handsome man in London. Yet, he was a second
son. He would never inherit his father’s lands, nor his title, unless something were to befall
his elder brother. His fortune was nowhere near as vast as what Benedict, Colin, and Gregory
would have as Anthony’s younger brothers. But Carmichael’s funds were respectable, and
there was nothing negative to be heard about his character. He was, by all accounts, a catch.

And Colin could not stand the man.

“The weather is so fine for strolling today, wouldn’t you agree?” Penelope said, smiling at
Mr. Carmichael. She batted her eyelashes at him. Colin clasped both hands behind his back,
looking away. He would recognize such a gesture anywhere; Marina had done it to him more
than once. It was possible Penelope received coaching from her cousin, but something told
him his friend had gotten her lessons in flirtation from somewhere else. Likely this modiste
she had admitted to being close to now.

“Fine weather indeed!” Carmichael responded. The man turned his bright smile to Colin.
Somehow, even his perfect white teeth shone like a beacon from his mouth. Colin wondered
if he had enough strength in his arms to take those perfect teeth out with one swing. “Say,
Bridgerton, you would not mind if I escorted the lady, would you?”

Before Colin could even open his mouth, Penelope stepped forward to nod. Her smile
matched Carmichael’s, and that smile stretched to her eyes. “He does not mind,” she said,
not sparing Colin another fleeting glance. She accepted Carmichael’s offered arm, and with
two swift blinks, Colin was left behind as Penelope and the other gentleman went on down
the path. The sun caught in her hair, shining like copper flames. Colin’s stomach clenched as
she threw her head back to laugh at something uttered by the smitten gentleman on her arm.

“Colin, dearest!”

Violet’s voice broke through Colin’s trance, drawing his gaze from Penelope’s retreating
form. She, Lady Featherington, and Prudence approached him. Violet reached for his arm,
smiling all the way. She could not hide the concern in her eyes, though.

“Oh, it looks like Penelope has found Mr. Carmichael!” Portia crowed, clapping her gloved
hands together. “Mr. Carmichael is a splendid gentleman. He has called the last few days,
bringing lovely flowers each time. There is something so sincere in the way he speaks to my
dear Penelope.”

As Lady Featherington droned on about how delightful it was to have Mr. Carmichael in her
drawing room, Colin’s fists clenched. He thought of Carmichael, sitting beside Penelope on
one of the sofas in her mother’s drawing room. Thought of him giving her soft flowers,
thought of him teasing her about whatever book she happened to be reading. Those thoughts
spiraled through his head, transforming from flowers and literature into soft caresses and
descending to one knee. The idea that someone, any other man, might be the one to slide her
hair from her face was enough to turn his stomach.

Beside him, his mother eased his fist open to squeeze his hand. Violet stood at his side,
frowning. “Colin, are you alright?” she asked. “You look quite unwell.”

Jaw clenched, Colin forced a smile. He refused to look at Penelope’s mother and sister,
fearing they would begin divulging more details about Mr. Carmichael’s attentions toward
Penelope. “No, no, Mother,” he said. “I’m quite alright. I - I think…” He shook his head,
unable to comprehend how he could not get the words out. With his free hand, he rubbed his
jaw. Only upon feeling the ache there did he realize just how hard he had been grinding his
teeth.

Gently, he took his hand from his mother’s, and bowed his head to her. “Excuse me,
Mother,” he said. “You’re right, I am feeling somewhat unwell. I think I will go get some
refreshments under the tent with Eloise.” He nodded to Violet and Portia, not caring a lick
that they stared after him as he retreated toward the Bridgerton tent.
But he kept going. Past the tents, past the couples and members of society milling about.
Colin Bridgerton was not rude, but he would not be surprised if he ended up in the pages of
Whilstledown over the course of the following days for rampaging his way through the park
today. What the gossips chose to say was of little consequence to him, though. All he knew
was he needed to get as far from this park as he could. As far from her as he could. No
frantic pace could keep his thoughts from racing in circles around Penelope Featherington.
The scent of her still clung to him like a lover. When he blinked, he saw her hair as it
whipped in her face. The pads of his fingers still felt the phantom touch of her cheek.

Oh, how he longed to smash his fists against something. The temptation to find Carmichael,
and plant his knuckles in those sculpted cheekbones was all too titillating. Even the thought
of Penelope clinging to Carmichael and his every word, giggling at something she did not
find remotely funny, was enough to cause Colin to flex his balled up fists.

Waves of anger that he did not understand flushed through Colin’s whole body. He could
scarcely find it in him to hold still. So he continued to walk. Beads of sweat gathered at the
crown of his head. What could he possibly have to be angry about? There was no claim he
could stake in Penelope. Not after those horrible things he had spouted the previous season.
Even the thought of trying to claim her seemed silly. Penelope deserved better than him. She
deserved someone who made her smile when she heard his footsteps in the hall. She
deserved a man who was sure of who he was. She deserved far better than the likes of Colin,
who spent all his time and dreaming hours fantasizing about her.

Such thoughts were unacceptable. Penelope was a person, with her own will and livelihood.
And here he was thinking of ways he might harm another man for merely being in her
vicinity!

So Colin walked. He walked until his feet ached. Amidst the sounds of his footsteps on
stone, he thought of how soft her cheek felt beneath his fingers. He had experienced storms at
sea, but none compared to the one he found himself in now. It was from endless dreams
about his best friend, and his desperate desire to remain close to her. To pick her apart, to
know her mind, to decipher her secrets.

What was this that he was feeling? Surely it could not be love. Love struck like a
thunderbolt. It threw one to the ground and slammed them in the face with its realization.
And besides, Colin’s last inclination that he was in love had been completely and utterly
wrong.

Yet, the idea Penelope might marry another caused his gut to roll with terror.

And it was in that moment that Colin Bridgerton realized something critical: he was utterly
terrified.

Hours later, when the sun had long since disappeared and the moon came out, Colin could not
find sleep. In his restlessness, he slipped outside into his mother’s gardens. They were
nowhere near as grand as the ones she once had at Bridgerton House. But even in her new
home, the Dowager Viscountess wanted plant life and beautiful things to grow all around
her. Brisk night air traced his skin. He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms,
longing to feel more of the cooler air. Running his hands through his hair, he looked up at the
half moon. Even with only half its visage visible, no clouds in the sky meant there was
plenty of light to see.

The scent of tobacco wafted into Colin’s nose. It took him no time at all to find the source:
Eloise, sitting in a most unladylike fashion at one of their mother’s garden tables. She did not
even bother to look up at him as he approached her. It did not surprise Colin one lick that his
younger sister was smoking a cigarette in the dark of the night. Even if Benedict had not let
it slip that he had caught her in the past, she was the only one of his sisters that dared do
something of the sort.

Her gray eyes flickered to him, but she did not move from her position as Colin joined her.
She blew a stream of smoke through her lips, a calm dragon observing her surroundings.
Colin arched a brow at her.

“Eloise, you do know that if Mother catches you out here, you will never hear the end of it,”
he said, unsure of what else to say.

Eloise huffed, and took another drag on her cigarette. This time, she blew the smoke in
Colin’s direction. His sister spent so much time avoiding everyone these days that he
realized he had barely seen her. The only times he saw her were the social events Violet
forced her to attend. And there was no chance of her enjoying those. With the dim lights
from the house lighting behind her, and the moon above them, he was able to make out her
eyes. The mischief that once danced in her eyes had been replaced by stony sullenness. She
still said nothing.

“You must know what I am going to ask you,” he said.

Now, Eloise looked away. She chuckled, but there was no mirth to be found in the sound. “I
learned a long time ago it was best not to try to read your mind, Colin. It is a far more boring
place than I could ever imagine.”

Colin ignored the slight meant to sting him, and asked, “Why will neither you nor Penelope
tell me what happened between the two of you? Why will you tell no one ?”

“I will tell you the same thing I have told you before,” Eloise snapped. “I do not care to
speak of Penelope Featherington, nor do I wish to reminisce about our former friendship.”
Her eyes blazed with anger, turning to storm clouds as she took another drag on her
cigarette. “But I will ask you a question.”

“You would deny me answers, while demanding your own?” Colin asked.

Eloise ignored him. “What are you doing with Penelope? Why are you all of the sudden
behaving like a besotted fool, fighting with all those others for attention? She spent years in
Bridgerton House with me. You had every opportunity, every chance, to vie for her
affections then. But you spent all that time chasing other girls.”
“Should I not be vying for the affections of an eligible young lady in our society?” Colin
asked, keeping his voice as even as he could. The last thing he could do right now was think
about his relationship with Penelope. It was too dangerous. The threat of revealing his
newfound desire for her was too great.

Rolling her eyes, Eloise tossed her cigarette butt to the ground and stamped it hard with her
heel. “The opposite sex is so devastatingly predictable, you know that?” she said. “The
moment a woman begins to fold into the confines society seeks to place her in is the very
moment you decide she is finally worthy of your attention.” Her voice was so bitter it left a
bad taste in Colin’s mouth. Eloise must have taken his silence for acquiescence to her point,
for she forged ahead. “Penelope changes her hair, she changes her dresses, and all of the
sudden you cannot keep your eyes off her. She makes all the right friends. She follows every
rule, and you give her attention because it is expected.” Her voice shook with anger.

Is she angry at me, or angry about something else? Colin thought.

“Penelope is my friend, El,” he tried. But even to his own ears, his voice sounded weak. He
prayed Eloise would read that as something else, and not what it truly was: that he did not
want Penelope to be a mere friend.

“And you repay her for her friendship, and her years of putting up with your arrogance, by
insulting her to a group of gentlemen,” Eloise went on, leaning forward in her seat. She
scoffed. “I’ll never know what you said to her to get her to forgive you.”

Colin’s face flushed as he thought of that day in the trees, the very day he realized he had
earned that forgiveness. He hungered for that day, wanting it to happen again and again until
he finally held her in his arms to drown in her. His longing was an ache in his ribs, strangling
every attempt at breath.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that will stay between the two of us…just like
whatever happened between you two.”

Eloise said nothing. She narrowed her eyes at him. Her glare cut through him like a saber.
She weighed over her next words, grinding her teeth. “Stay away from her, Colin,” she
growled at last.

He studied his sister. Was her order to leave Penelope alone one out of concern for Penelope,
or for him? Nothing in Eloise’s face gave him any hint about which it was. All of his sisters
had a streak of stubbornness, but Eloise’s was a hardier, enduring strain. Like Penelope,
whatever secret Eloise had would remain hers until she chose to reveal it. Or until she went
to her grave.

“Tell me something, Colin,” Eloise said, voice softening.

“Tell you what, Eloise?” Colin asked.

She said, “If none of the troubles with Miss Thompson occurred – if she were not revealed by
Lady Whistledown, and you were married to her…would you be happy?”
Colin could not respond right away. Particularly because he had no idea why Eloise would
change the subject like this. The answer was not as simple as a yes or no. At one time, he
would have said he was glad to marry Marina. He thought her the one person to understand
his dreams, the one person who knew what to do to make him smile.

And that was what he told Eloise. She listened to him with no change in her expression. But
behind the seemingly blank stare she gave him, Colin could tell she was clutching every word
he said.

He kept his voice even, his eyes on the moon. “So I may have been happy,” he murmured.
“For a time. But I would not have stayed that way. I know that now. Marina, whether she
meant ill towards me or not, was never going to love me. Her heart belonged to another. I
regret how we all judged her. I truly do. But if we had gotten married, and I learned she was
carrying another’s child…whatever feelings I had for her would have turned to poison. I
would have become a bitter shell of a man, resenting her and the world for the situation I was
in.” He gave a bitter, halfhearted laugh. “Penelope tried to warn me. She tried so many
times to tell me. But I did not listen to her. Had I listened to her, it might have been better
for everyone.”

“Did you love her?” Eloise asked.

Colin’s brows shot upward. “Who? Marina?” Eloise looked at him like he was some daft
empty-headed buffoon. “No. I do not believe I did. It was nothing more than infatuation.
And she is the reason I know this. It was because of what she told me when I last saw her
that I came to that realization. There was no connection between the two of us. It was
awkward, and stilted. To her, I was a mere boy, holding onto a fantasy that did not exist.”

“Are you saying you’re grateful for Lady Whistledown revealing what she did?” Eloise
asked.

“Absolutely not,” Colin said, voice firm. “The harm she causes everywhere she goes. And
what she did to you. I could never like a person who did such a thing. No, of course I am not
grateful. But I am glad I did not end up married to Marina.”

When he looked at his sister again, Colin swore the moon revealed a sheen of silver on the
surface of her eyes. Eloise shrank before his eyes, turning pale and frail right in front of
him. Her shoulders slouched forward as she put her head in her hands. She sat very still, so
still he was certain this could not be his sister anymore. Eloise never allowed him – or
anyone else for that matter – see her in a vulnerable state. She preferred to hide away to lick
her wounds in the safety of her room. Yet here she was, looking as though she needed to
purge a storm from her body. This time when his ribs ached, it had nothing to do with
longing. He put a hand on her shoulder. Never before had he seen her in such a state.

“El…” He sighed. “Please, tell me what is going on here. You are miserable, anyone can
see that.” He hesitated, wondering if he should say what he wished next. “And…and
Penelope is, too. Without you. You two need each other.”

Hollow-eyed, Eloise ran a hand through her hair. She shrank away from Colin’s attempt at
comfort. Mentioning Penelope had been the wrong thing to do, for Eloise rose to her feet and
nodded to Colin.

“I am feeling quite tired, Brother,” she murmured. She wrapped her arms around herself,
despite the pleasant warmth in the night air. “I will see you in the morning.”

Helpless, Colin watched her retreat through the back door. He leaned back in his chair,
curious about his sister’s questions about Marina. Why had she asked them? Surely she
remembered that his visit to Romney Hall had given him the closure he sought. Years had
passed since his heartbreak, but even he now realized it had been fated to happen.

Instead of following his sister’s lead and returning to his bed, as a reasonable man should
have, Colin stayed where he was. He leaned back in his chair. Whatever happened between
Penelope and Eloise, it was not going to be revealed by either of them. And he was no
detective.

Glancing upward at the moon, Colin allowed his frustrations to fade to the back of his mind.
In the dark, his mind returned to the object of all his thoughts. He wondered what Penelope
might be thinking about, and if she dreamed of him.
 Burning
Chapter Summary

Kate’s first ball as Viscountess presents Penelope with an opportunity to see Colin for
the first time in weeks.

Chapter Notes

Hi all! Sorry for the extended delay again. Summer is busy season at my job, so I’ve
been preoccupied. This chapter is very long, but hopefully it’s worth it! Thank you so
much for the responses and kudos. It’s so appreciated.

Song for this chapter is “Shameless” by Camila Cabello.

Right now I’m shameless

Screaming my lungs out for you

Not afraid to face it

I need you more than I want to

Camila Cabello, “Shameless”

Lady Kathani Bridgerton’s first ball would be remembered by the ton for years to come.

Penelope had not set foot in Bridgerton House in over a year. Stepping through its doors
again took her back in time to when she would spend afternoons lazing about with Eloise in
the drawing room, or waiting for Colin to come through the door and potentially notice her.
Tonight, though, she came to the house as a guest of the Viscount and Viscountess for Kate’s
first ball in her role.

“Oh my, they certainly survived all the scandal surrounding their nuptials to come out on
top,” Portia breathed. She looked around the ballroom in wonder. All around were soft blues
and purples, glittering chandeliers, fresh flowers adorned with peacock feathers. Tapestries
honoring Kate’s homeland of India hung on the walls.

Penelope nodded. “Indeed.” She gazed around the room, soaking everything into her
memory for her column she would be penning by candlelight later. There would be much to
write about in terms of the setting alone, but she was sure to find out secrets and gossip she
might use to accentuate the story.

Behind them, Prudence sneered, “Penelope, your little diamond friend is approaching.”

Thank goodness , Penelope thought, grateful to find Edwina, Lady Mary, and Lady Danbury
making their way to them. Swinging her cane, Lady Danbury parted the crowd with ease.

“My dear Miss Featherington,” Lady Danbury drawled, tapping her cane on the ground.
“You are a sight for these sore eyes this evening.” She said nothing to Portia or Prudence.

Since the widow revealed, without so many words, that she knew Penelope’s secret, Penelope
worried a shift might occur in their friendship. She greatly enjoyed Lady Danbury as a
friend, and to lose her over Lady Whistledown would be all too similar to losing Eloise. But
the old countess scarcely gave the impression she even remembered they spoke about it all
those weeks ago.

Penelope accepted Lady Danbury’s outstretched hand, giving it a squeeze. “Lady Danbury,
we saw each other not two days ago when I came to collect Edwina for a trip to the
bookshop!”

“You are like my grandson to me,” Lady Danbury said. “No matter how much I see you, I
shall never tire of your face.”

Edwina took Penelope’s arm in hers. “Nor shall I,” she said, leaning her head against
Penelope’s shoulder.

Few things could fill Penelope’s heart so full she thought she might cry. But Lady Danbury
and Edwina being unable to hide their affection for her made Penelope’s eyes burn. She
could not keep the grin from her face. Instead, she took Edwina’s hand and gave it a
squeeze. Not for the first time Penelope wondered at why her mother and sisters could never
find it in them to love her this way. But unlike those times before, she did not find herself
mourning their rejection. Instead, she felt sorry for them, to know they would likely never
form a friendship with anyone the way Penelope could.

“Yes, Penelope’s presence is always a welcome one,” Portia exclaimed, pressing a hand to
her breast. A silver sheen overtook her eyes. “It will be such a shame to part with her after
this season.” Raising her voice a tad louder, she added, “I am just certain Mr. Carmichael
will propose this season. I do not know what I would be able to do without my youngest
girl!” She dabbed at her dry eyes.

If only I could sink into the floor and melt away , Penelope thought, averting her gaze from
any of their companions.

Lady Mary smiled kindly, despite Portia’s theatrics. “Knowing she is happy will bring you
even greater joy than your sadness, Lady Featherington.”

“Penelope, would you come with me to greet my sister?” Edwina asked, before Portia could
add anything else potentially more embarrassing. She dipped her head to the rest of their
company, and pulled Penelope along through the growing crowd of guests.

“Thank you ever so much for that distraction, Edwina,” Penelope said, as they searched the
room for the Viscountess. “I do not understand why my mother insists upon being as tactless
as possible.”

Edwina’s smile lit the room. “Dearest Penelope, though your mother may lack some polish
to her manners, she is not wrong about you being gone from her home by the end of the
season. You have been spending so much time with Mr. Carmichael, even Lady
Whistledown is surprised there has been no proposal yet!”

Blushing, Penelope nodded. “Well, I suppose he is just biding his time,” she said. “There is
no rush, after all.”

“Certainly not now, but there may have been one when Colin was about all the time,” Edwina
said.

Penelope’s stomach sank at the mere mention of Colin Bridgerton. She had seen very little of
him since they promenaded and flirted. Certainly, they saw one another. Running in the
same social circles meant they were always going to be in attendance at the same events,
sitting at the same dinner tables, and speaking to similar people. But despite his firm
insistence he would be by her side through the season, he made himself scarce the last few
weeks. To be true, his attention had given her just enough suitors to choose from.
Carmichael and Fife continued to vie for her affections. However, Penelope thought Colin
would not simply fall off the face of the Earth with no word to her.

She gritted her teeth. She would not grieve this time. Her heart was made of stronger stuff
after the previous season’s heartaches. If Colin wanted to forget they had flirted and teased
and shared secrets, that was his choice.

“No, he’s certainly not in competition with Colin anymore,” Penelope murmured. Her throat
dried. She wondered where he might be. This was his sister-in-law’s biggest night of the
season; Colin would have to be in attendance. Would he dance with anyone? Would he dare
show up in his seafarer’s garb, scandalizing all their peers? Would he glance in her
direction?

Sensing her friend’s discontent, Edwina said, “Come, let us get some refreshment before we
find Kate. She is bound to be very busy with other guests.”

Penelope nodded gratefully. They both accepted glasses of chilled lemonade from the
servants.

“Would you like to hear something delightful, Penelope?” Edwina asked.

Grateful for any change in subject, Penelope nodded eagerly. “What news have you for me?”

Edwina’s eyes lit as bright as a beacon. “Prince Fredrich has told me in our letters that he is
making a return to England soon to visit his aunt, Her Majesty!” she said. “At long last, I am
to meet him face-to-face!”
This was certainly excellent news, not just for the next column, but for Edwina, too. After
the heartbreak she suffered when the Viscount Bridgerton revealed he never bore any true
feelings for her, Edwina had been hoping to find a real love match. And this was the perfect
time, now that Kate was married, and the Sharma did not have to worry about a fortune. But
heartbreak from a Bridgerton sibling connected the young lady and the prince, and their
correspondence let them see one another’s minds before anything else. With a little nudging
from the Queen, Penelope was certain Edwina was about to get the love match she so desired.

“Oh, Edwina!” Penelope said, taking her friend’s hand. “This is wonderful news. Prince
Friedrich is sure to be as enchanted with you when he sees your face, as he was with your
words.”

Pink spread across Edwina’s face. “I do hope so,” she said, sipping her lemonade. “But tell
me of your time spent with Mr. Carmichael. I feel as though we have not spoken enough
about who he is as a man. He is kind, to be sure, but do you love him? In truth, I cannot
tell.”

“Marriage need not involve love,” Penelope insisted. “And as I’ve told you, I must leave my
mama’s home. Mr. Carmichael is kind, and I am sure he will make sure I am content when
we are married. That is all that matters.”

Edwina frowned at her. “You know, I told myself after Kate’s accident that I would like to
get to know myself better. That I would not play the part of a girl in the ton any longer. And
one of the things I have discovered about myself is that I do believe love is one of the most
important things we can have in our lives. It is something we must fight for, but it is worth
it.” She gestured around the room. “And it is worth it. Kate and the Viscount, however
wrong their actions may have been, are proof enough that to fight for the one you love is to
build a thing of great beauty.”

Penelope nodded. “I understand,” she said. And she did. She believed such things
happened. Just not for people such as her.

As if reading Penelope’s thoughts, Edwina smiled. “You should envision such a life for
yourself, Penelope. You are beautiful, intelligent, loyal…you should marry the person you
love, for that is exactly what you deserve.”

“Well, if I am being truthful, Mr. Carmichael is…well, he is not exactly that person,”
Penelope admitted.

“Tell me about it,” Edwina said.

So Penelope did. She admitted however kind Mr. Carmichael was, his mind did not excite
her. He was no reader, and cared nothing for literature or any written word. Nor was he fond
of philosophy or history. It was difficult to tell if he had any passions beyond horses and
hounds. He was dreadfully boring when the topic shifted to sport. Penelope had made an
attempt to make conversation with him about his interests, to make a quippy remark to
connect fox hunts to the plot of one of the novels they purchased while on a trip to the book
shop. A look of panic had crossed his eyes before he laughed and swiftly moved on to a
different book on the shelf.
Not that Fife was much better, but he had an eye for business. He could at least hold a
conversation.

“That certainly is disappointing,” Edwina finally admitted. She smiled. “Well, then that
leaves your Mr. Bridgerton.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Penelope swallowed hard. “Colin is not my anything,” she said. “He
has said nothing but customary ‘hellos’ and ‘how do you do’s’ to me these last few weeks.”

“Nonsense,” Edwina said. “I do not know how you do not see it, but he looks at you with
—“

“With what?” Penelope grumbled.

“With the look of a man lost in his love for a lady,” Edwina said, definitively.

There was nothing Penelope could say to deter her friend, of that she was certain. But she
had no opportunity to say anything more before several young men rushed them. All were
desperate for Edwina’s hand for a dance. Within the group that came to them was Mr.
Carmichael, all grins and good cheer and requesting a dance from Penelope. She accepted,
allowing him to put his name on her dance card.

For reasons she could not say, Penelope looked around the room. She found many
Bridgertons, but not the one she sought. Could he truly not have decided to show up to
Kate’s first ball?

As she and her dance partner lined up for the first dance of the evening, Penelope could not
stop the wave of disappointment that swept over her. As much as she wanted to put up a
good front and pretend that she did not care Colin was ignoring her, Penelope was most
bothered. She thought he may have been having a good time with her, reigniting the flame of
their friendship. And, though she knew it was fantastical to even think such a thing, she
thought he may have been feeling something other than friendship for her. Maybe not love,
but certainly…differently.

What could have been the reason he would touch her face, something he would not have done
without some curiosity. Penelope refused to speak about what happened, not even to
Genevieve. But that did not mean the thoughts did not come to her at odd hours of the night,
filling her mind with questions and making her rethink if she would truly be content to settle
down with Mr. Carmichael.

Even as she lined up for her dance with Mr. Carmichael, Penelope felt Colin’s fingers against
her cheek.

Penelope danced with Carmichael, Fife, and two other men whose names she could not
remember. It was the most dancing she had done all season, and her feet ached. Halfway
through her second dance, she managed to forget she had even been looking for Colin. And
now that Carmichael had gotten himself involved in a conversation with several gentlemen
about fox hunting, Penelope allowed herself to melt into the wall. So much time spent as a
wallflower in the past guaranteed she knew exactly how to blend in to avoid attention.

And after enjoying herself, Penelope resolved to get some work done.

The new Viscountess has truly outdone herself. She is filling the Dowager Countess’ shoes
quite nicely, especially after the scandal that preceded her marriage to the Viscount.

Francesca Bridgerton is certain to marry that Earl of Kilmartin! She is a truly spectacular
choice for the Diamond of the First Water this season.

The Cowpers have hosted that old man Twombley at their house. Could it be that Miss
Cressida is going to actually marry that relic?

Penelope smirked any time she heard Cressida’s name. If she married a man twice her age, it
was just what she deserved. And if Penelope was able to poke fun at her, all the better for the
column.

A hand touched her shoulder, causing Penelope to jump. She clasped her hand over her
chest, feeling as though she had just been caught in some misdeed.

“Miss Featherington, would you honor me with this next dance?”

Penelope struggled to keep her face neutral at the sound of the question. Straightening her
shoulders, she turned to face the gentleman asking for her hand.

Colin smiled at her. His eyes twinkled in a challenge. Penelope watched his face, unable to
believe he had the gall to ask her to dance. She was half tempted to refuse him, just to see
what his reaction would be. The answer rolled in her mouth, ready to throw a shade of
disappointment over his evening.

Her heart, apparently, had other ideas.

“Yes, Mr. Bridgerton,” she murmured.

They took their places amongst the other dancers. Penelope inhaled deeply. She held his
gaze, refusing to look away. She would not shy away from his challenge. If he thought he
would earn glowing reassurance from her after avoiding her all this time, he was going to be
most surprised. Colin Bridgerton deserve to be driven as mad by uncertainty as she had been.

The hum of the orchestra retuning their instruments burned in her ears. Colin stepped
forward to take her hand. She placed it in his grasp. His whole body radiated warmth, and
that smell so uniquely him , it drove Penelope wild. She could not banish that pine scent,
even as she lay abed at night, staring at the ceiling in the dark searching for rest. All the eyes
of the ton were upon them. Watching. Waiting. Hoping for something to chatter about. But
Penelope ignored it all. The magnetic stare of her dance partner kept her gaze in place. More
than even keeping her in place, she felt as though Colin was laying her bare for all to see.
Even as all her secrets stayed locked within her, Penelope could not shake the feeling she was
teetering on the edge of a knife with this dance.
Gentlemen bowed to the ladies that curtsied in front of them. Penelope’s body went through
the motions of the dance, following Colin’s lead. Their palms pressed together, and he pulled
her into him. Her breasts brushed against his chest ever so briefly. It was too much, too
intimate, even for a waltz. Colin’s eyes flashed. Penelope’s lips pursed. He was doing this
on purpose. Shivers raced up her back, originating from the tips of his fingers at her waist.

“You look beautiful this evening,” Colin said, just before spinning her out. Even if she had
an opportunity to reply, she did not think she would have been able to. Her heart thudded in
her chest.

Colin smirked. “Do you not appreciate the compliment?”

Rolling her eyes, Penelope clasped her hand in his as they reunited. His thumb rubbed the
back of her hand.

“It is not that I do not appreciate the compliment, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said.

“Ah, so it is back to ‘Mr. Bridgerton,’ is it?”

Were they not on a crowded dancefloor, Penelope might have scoffed at his audacity.
Instead, she murmured, “Yes, it is.” She stared at him evenly. They moved around one
another, liquid in each other’s arms as they swept through the dance. Not once did they break
gazes.

Everything faded from that moment forward. Everything but the music, the lights, and one
another. For a moment, Penelope felt they were truly alone, even in a place where being
alone would be impossible. With each crescendo, Penelope’s stomach rose and fell in time.
Colin’s eyes blazed into hers. Though his gaze remained intense, his arms around her held
her as though she were the most precious thing to him on the whole planet. No one could
touch her here.

The scent of him threatened to overwhelm her once again, for he dipped his head low, closing
the distance between them considerably. Penelope did not flinch.

“Even now?” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Is it still Mr. Bridgerton ?”

She swallowed hard. His face was so close, she could kiss him if she truly tried. So often in
the past she wished for Colin Bridgerton to bestow a kiss on her. In those fantasies,
everything was sweet, gentle. Her wishes were the sweet replications of the swirling
romances in her novels. None of those fantasies resembled what she wished for now. Now,
the only way she could describe her wishes was something primal, deep within her,
something that felt ancient as the world. Stories could not compare to the sensation of her
body singing for him.

“Especially now,” she finally replied. Colin inched back, chuckling. His thumb stroked her
waist. She sucked in a breath, longing for him to stroke more parts of her, ones she did not
even know she could want a man to touch. For all his talk of having never bedded a woman,
he certainly seemed to know more than he had led her to believe. Tingles from her toes
spread like a fire all the way to her head.
“You think yourself very funny, don’t you, Mr. Bridgerton?” she snapped.

“I have moments of good humor, yes,” he said. “ You yourself have thought me to be quite
amusing in the past, Pen.”

Hearing such familiarity from his lips after weeks of hardly a “How do you do?” sent another
wave of anger coursing through Penelope. But even as her anger simmered, she could not
deny his magnetic pull.

“You appear unamused,” he went on.

“Oh, do I?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Colin grinned. “Yes,” he said, “but you certainly look more sincere in your annoyance with
me than you did in your humor during any of your dances with Mr. Carmichael.”

At the mention of Mr. Carmichael, Penelope’s face flamed. Even when she had not been able
to see him, he had been watching her. The thought thrilled her as much as it vexed her. She
wished she could avert her eyes, but nothing would confirm his suspicions more than her
refusing to look at him.

“I do not blame you,” Colin went on. “He has been at the club the last few weeks, and he is a
dreadful bore. Always talking about fox hunting, that one. Or horses. Quite an animal
lover.”

“People are allowed to have passions, Mr. Bridgerton,” Penelope shot back. “You have your
travel, Mr. Carmichael enjoys riding and hunting.”

Colin scoffed. “Yes, well at least I am capable of engaging in other topics of conversation.
That is his entire problem — ”

“ He does not run from all his problems at least,” Penelope snapped, cutting him off. She
did not care if she was changing the subject, she was too angry. “Real, or those of his own
making.”

That remark caused Colin’s green eyes to flash with annoyance. His reaction gave Penelope
the same satisfaction as when she wrote something particularly quippy.

“You have a sharper tongue than you let most of us realize, Penelope,” he said.

“It’s always been here. You, just like everyone else, never paid any attention.”

Neither of them spoke anymore. But as they spun, his arms tightened around her. Their eyes
stayed together. Every step they took in their waltz was in perfect sync with the other. All
the pent up annoyance in her swirled with the heady mix of anger and desire stirring within
her body. She clutched his hand in hers. Part of her burned for him as much as another part
longed to strike him. Colin’s face suggested he wanted the same thing. He wanted to devour
every part of her.
The music came to its conclusion, fading out as they finished their last steps. Couples had
begun to bow and curtsy to each other, but Penelope and Colin stood frozen amongst them. It
lasted no more than a fleeting moment, but as they hastily let go of one another and
exchanged customary goodbyes, Penelope knew everyone had seen it. Her eyes flitted
around the outskirts of the dance floor.

Smirks from Lord Fife.

Fury from Cressida Cowper.

Concern from Lady Violet.

Storms in the Viscount’s eyes.

Swallowing hard, Penelope kept her gaze trained away from Colin as she strode off the floor.
Her whole body was aflame. She forced herself to walk as calm as she could. She nodded to
some people, all of them watching her with probing eyes. If she and Colin looked anything
like what she suspected they must have as they waltzed through the ballroom, then all the
stares she received had great reason to want to watch her. Her heart lodged in her throat as
she ducked out of the ballroom. She needed a safe haven, somewhere to hide from all those
eyes. Her gloves became stifling. She yanked them from her hands, desperate for a
reprieve. Sweet warmth built low in her belly. An ache grew between her legs as she
stumbled through the hall.

Blindly, she reached for the handle of the library door. She burst in, praying no one would be
in there. It was mercifully empty. Nothing more than a fire in the hearth, the spines of the
books, and the shadows cast about the room. She breathed in a sigh of relief, shut the door,
and threw her gloves to the floor. She willed her racing heart to slow its desperate thumping
in her chest.

Why is there a fire? she thought. It is far too warm . Her body sang, limbs tingling and
sparks flickering through her chest. Every time she blinked, she saw his damnable green
eyes, and when she saw those damnable green eyes, another wave of heat spread through her
belly. And…were her smallclothes damp? She could not believe she would be sweating that
much.

Desperate to feel cool once more, Penelope hurried to the windows and thrust them open.
Blissfully sweet night air hit her hot cheeks. She resisted the urge to cry. The trembling in
her body became too much, and Penelope sank to the window seat. Her sky blue skirts
spread around her, the silk sparkling in the moonlight.

You look beautiful , Colin’s voice replayed in her head. And he meant it. The sincerity in his
voice was unmistakable. Those three words had never been said to her before. Not with the
hunger that Colin’s had been filled with. Each time his voice rang in her head, her hands
wrung together just a little harder, and her smallclothes got a little damper. Leaning her head
back against the wall, she stared at the ceiling. If Lord Fife thought their dancing was rather
interesting the night of her mother’s ball, Penelope could only imagine what words he would
use to describe it this time.
Thoughts racing, Penelope realized that with all the eyes of the ton on her this evening,
everyone would expect to read the juicy details of it in the next column. Her own name was
popping up far too often now because of her association with Colin. She heard the whispers
of everyone coming into the ball. The speculation was everywhere. Those days when he had
been absent, all anyone else talked about was why they suddenly did seem to want anything
to do with one another. And none of that was in her column.

Tonight, though, changed all of that. She would have to write something.

Frustrated, Penelope got to her feet and began to pace. In the midst of her trailing around the
room, the door clicked open. She closed her eyes and turned away, praying the person would
not see how hard her chest was heaving.

“Penelope?”

Eyes snapping open again, Penelope whirled to face the intruder and found herself face to
face with the last pair of eyes she wanted to see. Concern painted his face, and she cursed
him for being so handsome. Looking upon his face now only inflamed her further. The ache
between her legs grew stronger, forcing her to squeeze her legs together until they were so
tight it hurt. He frowned. “Are you alright?”

Penelope’s voice sounded strangled as it came out. “I am perfectly well, Mister Bridgerton,”
she managed. “Kindly give me a moment to recollect myself. I’ll return to your brother’s
ball as soon as I am able.”

Colin arched a brown and ran one of his hands through his thick chestnut hair. She stared at
his hands. They had been on her waist not ten minutes ago. She could still feel them, even
now.

“You do not look alright,” Colin pressed, gesturing to her outfit.

Penelope was sure she probably did look a mess. She was flushed, she’d abandoned her
gloves, and her hair was likely a mess from running her hands over it so many times. But she
refused to let him see that.

“What are you doing in here, anyway?” she demanded. “I came in here for a moment alone,
and you just so happened to enter through the same door?” She hoped she had added enough
venom to her voice to give him the impression she was still mad at him. Maybe then he
would leave her alone. She could barely think with him in the same room as her.

Taken aback at her tone, Colin shook his head. “I –”

“Did you follow me?” Penelope’s voice was messy, a jumble of words said in such rapid
succession it was amazing he could still understand her.

“No,” he said, putting his hands over his hips. “I will point out to you that I once lived here.
I was merely walking the halls of my childhood home. You are not the only one who
requires breaks from a crowded ballroom, you know.”
Penelope took a step forward. She jabbed her finger into his chest. “Well, find yourself
another hiding spot. This one is claimed.”

“The library is big enough for the two of us,” he pointed out.

“Considering you could not bring it upon yourself to even be in the same room as me these
last few weeks, I should think you would want to leave,” she retorted.

He shook his head, letting out a dark chuckle. “Do not pretend that you missed my presence,
Penelope,” he said. “Lying is not a good look for you, for you do not do it well.”

If only he knew , she thought. A laugh ripped from her throat.

“I beg your pardon?” she managed, stepping another pace closer to him.

“Do not pretend that you wanted me anywhere near you,” he said, glowering. “Last I saw
you, on our promenade, you were more than happy to drop me so you could spend time with
your precious Carmichael. Tell me, has he said anything that has changed your opinion that
he is a mindless charmer?”

She hated he could see through her. How she was finding Carmichael a complete bore.

But Penelope could not let Colin know that he was right. “I will have you know that Mr.
Carmichael is a perfect gentleman,” Penelope snapped. She raised her chin, hoping she
would appear haughty. As shaky as she was in Colin’s presence, she was not at all convinced
she was doing a very good job. Hoping another comment would sting, she added, “And so is
Lord Fife, if you were wondering. He has called on me several times. And he certainly has a
mind. He has opened up to me about all his business practices and investments. All of which
are quite fruitful.”

Colin’s face darkened to a thundercloud. “Fife,” he spat. “He is more likely to bed you than
wed you. You know that, do you not? You must, seeing as you, like every other person in
this society, read that dreadful Whistledown’s columns, and she tells us plenty about his
character.”

Penelope’s throat burned. Her face flushed at the crude venom in his voice as he brought up
the possibility of Fife bedding her. “I do read every one of Whistledown’s columns. For she
is one of the few people in this society not afraid to tell us who we are beneath the
performances we put on for everyone in the ton. She does not need to be good for me to
appreciate that she tells the truth. She says plenty about your character, too.”

Colin refused to remove his gaze from hers. His eyes burned on her, like a great wildfire
igniting everything in its path. A rush of anger propelled Penelope forward to push him. She
could hardly believe herself as she tried to force the much taller man toward the door. He
towered more than a foot over her, and he was more solid than she had ever anticipated. Her
push did very little, other than cause Colin to frown. Desperate to rid the room of him and
his intoxicating cologne, she gave him another shove. This time she put more force behind it.

“Penelope, what on earth are you doing?” he demanded.

“Trying to get rid of you!” she said. Even as she proclaimed her intentions with her whole
chest, she could barely believe the frenzy that overcame her. It washed over her in waves. “I
am a lady, you are a gentleman – it would be a scandal if anyone caught us in here. So, you
must leave.”

Colin caught her arms before she could land another blow. Her eyes widened. The moment
his skin touched hers, her heart stopped in her ribcage. His hands were large enough they
enveloped each of her wrists. His grip on her was full of tenderness, one of his fingers
stroking the palm of her right hand. It was soft as the feather of a new quill. Penelope
prayed she would not collapse. His scent overpowered her, a heady mix of fresh pine and
cashmere and something uniquely him .

“And if I do not want to leave?” he asked. His eyes burned into hers. Penelope refused to
look away, but even if she wanted to, she doubted she could. To look away would be akin to
cutting off a limb. She needed him in ways she could not put to words. Something in his
eyes kept her standing, something that filled her lungs with air and gave her the fire behind
the words she scratched away with her quill.

Penelope swallowed hard. “You must,” she said. But even as those words left her mouth,
she grasped the lapel of his jacket. She clutched it so tight her knuckles ached.

Colin shook his head. “I cannot,” he murmured, his voice thick. He released her wrist of the
hand that held his jacket, trailing the tips of his fingers down her arm, over her elbow, and up
to the sleeve of her dress. Penelope shivered. His hand moved up to her neck to her cheek,
cupping it gently. She bit her lip to keep from moaning. “You wish me to leave?”

“Yes,” she lied.

He leaned closer to her. So much taller than her was he that he was forced to bend at the
waist. He did not seem to mind. “Truly?”

“Yes.” Her voice turned breathy, barely more than a whisper.

Colin did not speak again. He smiled, amused, and pressed his mouth to hers, and nothing
was ever the same.

His lips were gentle, tasting of champagne. Despite his bravado, he was tentative. She
opened her mouth to accept him, relishing the velvet feel of his tongue against hers. Her
head swam. Whatever she once thought kissing Colin Bridgerton would be like was nothing
compared to what the real act was like. Her fantasies were ones of girlhood, filled with
stories of knights in armor and chivalry. Those imagined fairytale pecks on the lips, followed
by blushes and giggles, could not compare to the reality: hunger. He sought to consume her.
The fire in her belly roared.

When Colin pulled away, she gasped for breath. His lips parted. He seemed unable to
believe what he had just done, even when he was the one to initiate it. Swallowing hard, he
murmured, “Forgive me, Pen. I do not know what –”
Penelope gave him no chance to finish. She yanked him towards her, keeping her grip on his
jacket. Not caring that she had no earthly idea what to do, she kissed him with a fervency she
never knew she could muster. Her tongue demanded entrance to his mouth, which he
granted. The fire that fueled her anger gave way to utter delight. As Colin’s lips explored
hers, Penelope realized he was unlocking parts of her no one ever had. No one, not Lady
Whistledown — and certainly not Penelope Featherington — could have discovered these
desires hidden inside her. She was lost in a void her whole life, mindlessly searching for
passion and purpose. When she kissed Colin Bridgerton, she found what had always been
inside her: self-assurance and seductive power. And it all belonged to her.

She was meant for this, the same way she was meant to pick up her quill.

Colin met her urgency with his own. His hands roamed her body, pulling her so close she
thought they would become one. When he squeezed her breast, she let out a moan of
delight. Beneath her bodice, her nipples hardened to painful points. Only his hands could
give her the relief she desired. One hand fisted in her hair, the other swept over her belly. As
his lips trailed down her neck, she pulled at his cravat. She tossed it across the room before
ripping at his top buttons. When her fingers brushed over the light sprinkling of chest hair
beneath the dip in his neck, he sucked in a breath. She smiled against the crown of his head
as his lips found her pulse point. Not removing their mouths from one another, Penelope
assisted him in removing his jacket. It dropped unceremoniously to the ground at their feet.
When he was free of it, she clutched him in her arms.

Two people had never been so lost in one another before. The air grew thick with passion.
They stumbled around the room until they fell against a chaise. Penelope laughed as she
landed on her back, loving the weight of him atop her. She struggled with his shirt, longing
to feel his skin. Laughing into her mouth, one hand found hers and assisted her in releasing
the shirt from his trousers. At last, her fingers found the warm skin of his abdomen. She
sighed against his mouth.

He removed his mouth from hers. He gasped for air. When her eyes fluttered open, he was
grinning at her. Colin’s fingers played with tendrils of her hair that had fallen from place.
Many times since he returned this past season, Penelope felt he was looking at her in a far
different way than he ever had. He gazed at her with reverence, like she held the power to
make the sun rise. Her heart might have burst through her ribs in that moment.

“Penelope,” Colin whispered, running his finger over her lip. There was so much he wanted
to say to her, she could tell. “I-“

Shaking her head, Penelope slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him down. The
moment he spoke was the moment this would cease to be real. She intended to stay in this
moment with him, with no one but the books watching over them. This belonged to her.

Colin did not object, reclaiming her mouth. His fingers slid the sleeves of her gown off,
leaving him able to pull the bodice of her dress down. She wondered if this moment should
have scared her, but all she felt was anticipation. When her breasts were bare for him, he ran
his thumb over one pointed nipple. She gasped as his tongue made its way down her neck.
A cry split from her lips the moment he took her breast in his mouth. Her hands fisted in his
chestnut hair. Every nerve ending in Penelope’s body sang for him. She giggled again,
feeling his smile against her mouth. He pulled them up to a sitting position. One hand
stroked her soft breast, the other held her face.

Penelope never wanted to leave his arms.

But the end came sooner than either of them could have anticipated when the door clicked
open.
 Completely, Irrevocably
Chapter Summary

The fallout.

Chapter Notes

Hi folks! Here is the next chapter. I was pleased with myself for getting it done quicker
than anticipated. Thank you so much for your reviews and kudos. Though I have a hard
time keeping up with replying to you all, know that you and your encouragement are
appreciated. Hope you'll enjoy this one!

Song: "Only Love Can Hurt Like This," Paloma Faith

But it’s the sweetest pain

Burnin’ hot through my veins

Love is torture, makes me more sure

Only love can hurt like this

“Only Love Can Hurt Like This,” Paloma Faith

The door clicked open.

Had it not, Colin did not know he would have been able to stop from continuing down the
path he and Penelope were forging. He could barely believe his audacity, but after she pulled
him back to her, he ceased to care. All his fears over his inexperience, his perception of
himself as a gentleman. It all vanished the moment he tasted her. And had the door not
opened, he was not certain either of them would have stopped until their thirst was quenched.

Penelope yelped, arms hurriedly going to cover her breasts. Colin’s, already around her from
their embrace, tightened around her to protect her dignity. He rose from the chaise, putting
his body in front of Penelope as she worked to pull the bodice of her dress back up. Penelope
refused to look at him, even as he sought desperately to meet her eyes. He wanted to tip her
chin up to look at him, to tell her he would protect her.
Colin was prepared to drop to one knee and marry her now, if it meant keeping her safe.

“Are you alright?” he murmured.

Penelope said nothing as she readjusted her sleeves. She hurriedly set about fixing her hair.

Realizing she would not respond to him, Colin set about finding who had discovered them.
When he turned to face the door, Colin’s mouth dropped. Standing inside the door, her own
mouth dropped, was Eloise.

Shock. Disbelief. Betrayal. There were any number of words to describe the expression on
Eloise’s face. When she slammed the door shut behind her, she crossed into the light of the
fireplace. Her shadow cast itself menacingly over the room. Were it not his little sister,
Colin may have found her frightening. His sister’s gray eyes were twin storms, raging at him
and Penelope. He could not tell who would bear the brunt of the damage.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice deadly quiet.

Holding both his hands up, Colin said, “Eloise, I know how this appears…but I can explain!”

“Explain? What is there to explain?” Eloise shouted, gesturing at them. “Explain how you
had your hands all over one another? Explain how you have compromised her? Look at
yourself, Colin!”

Colin glanced down at his untucked, unbuttoned shirt. At his jacket and cravat that had been
discarded on the ground. Pink bloomed across his face and all the way to the tips of his ears.
Hastily, he attempted to straighten his appearance.

Eloise stepped around her brother to point at Penelope, who was still busy readjusting her
hair on the chaise. She still would not meet Colin’s eyes. Her hands shook with indecision.
She was so unlike the confident woman who had been in his arms not five minutes prior. The
one who had her hands all over him, in places where no woman had ever touched him.

But when she looked up at Eloise, she bore an equally ferocious glare.

“And you ,” Eloise spat. “I do not even know who you are anymore. This quest you’ve set
yourself on to find a husband, the new clothes, the flirting with gentlemen you do not even
like ! And of all the gentlemen to pick to entrap, you choose Colin.”

“I did not choose him for anything,” Penelope returned evenly. She straightened her
shoulders and stepped forward to meet Eloise in the light of the fireplace. Colin did his best
to step between them, but neither of them seemed to acknowledge his presence anymore. “It
just happened. There is no plot here, Eloise. We…merely got caught up in the moment.”

Snarling a laugh, Eloise threw her hands in the air. “Once I may have believed you, but I
know better now.”

Colin, having retrieved his jacket, slid his arms back into it. “El, it is a blessing it was you to
walk in here,” he said. “Now, no one need —”
Penelope’s eyes widened in rage. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded, stepping
towards Eloise.

“Do not play the fool, Penelope!” Eloise snapped. “It does not suit you. You are far too
cunning, too manipulative, for this to have been an accident. Admit it!”

Colin’s brow furrowed. Penelope as cunning and manipulative? What on earth could his
sister be talking about?

“Admit what?” Penelope shouted back. “Your accusations are vile, and they could not be
further from the truth!”

Clearing his throat, Colin tried to interject, “El, she did try to tell me –”

“I have every right to make these accusations after what you did to me!” his sister
interrupted. Fuming, Eloise took another step towards Penelope. She towered over
Penelope, having several inches of height over her. But Penelope showed no signs of
backing away.

Penelope shook her head. “You never even let me explain!”

“Why should I have given you any chance to?” Eloise thundered.

“Because maybe if you had let me explain, you would not be so confused!”

Colin frowned, picking up his discarded cravat. What could they possibly be speaking of?
Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with the compromising situation he and Penelope had
been in.

“Er…” he began.

“There should be nothing to explain!” Eloise said, voice rising again. As she grew louder,
her hands shook more. Silver mist floated on the surface of her eyes, only revealing itself in
the firelight. “You are a liar, and you deserve nothing from me, or my family! I do not have
any idea how I never saw that!”

Penelope stepped closer, unfurling her arms to poke Eloise in the chest. “Your blindness to
what was always right in front of you is precisely why I told you to stop meddling! I was
trying to protect you, El! How could you not see that?” No tears formed in her eyes, but a
jagged edge tore through Penelope’s voice.

“ That was your idea of protection? Of betraying me, and the things I told you in
confidence!”

“Maybe you both should lower your voices, and we can discuss this where no one is going to
walk in on this conversation?” Colin suggested, anxiously throwing glances at the door to the
library across the room. The two were loud, there was no way they could stay hidden
forever.

When both Penelope and Eloise’s faces snapped to him, he wished he had remained silent.
“ Be quiet, Colin !” they both shouted in unison. The moment might have been funny were it
not for the absolute confusion thoroughly dismantling him.

Before he could even open his mouth to demand to know what they were talking about,
someone else came bursting into the library. Resisting the urge to groan, he turned to find
Lady Danbury and his mother. He grimaced. Violet, whose concern she could hide no better
than she could her affection, stared at the trio with wide eyes. Lady Danbury’s face was
pinched in annoyance, one hand on her hip. In her other hand she grasped her cane.
Thumping it against the floor three times, she barked, “Ladies! That will be quite enough.”

Penelope and Eloise glared at each other a moment longer before they looked at Violet and
Lady Danbury. In their presence, Penelope’s face fell. All the color of her lust drained from
her cheeks. Her eyes flickered to Colin momentarily before a resigned quiet descended over
her expression again. Eloise’s face remained stony, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“What is the meaning of this? What is going on here?” Violet asked, eyes darting between
her children and Penelope.

Colin, ready to take responsibility for his lack of decorum, straightened his back. He had
been entirely improper in his conduct with Penelope. He would do what gentlemen must,
and marry her. Clasping both hands behind his back, he cleared his throat.

“Mother, I –”

“He came across me and Eloise fighting in the library,” Penelope interrupted, voice shaking.
Whether it as from her anger at Eloise, or from her lie, Colin could not tell. “Colin
graciously attempted to step in and stop our argument.”

An icy ache pierced Colin’s gut. The elation he had been chasing a moment ago screeched to
a halt. He stared at Penelope. She still refused to look at him. When he opened his mouth to
speak again, no sound came out.

Eloise, however, did speak. “Yes, he tried to stop us,” she said, sullen. “Obviously, he did
not have much success.”

Neither Violet nor Lady Danbury looked as though they believed a word coming out of their
mouths. But who was Colin to call them both liars? Even if he wanted to call them out on
their falsehoods, he could not find his voice to do so. A great weight rested on his chest,
pressing on his ribs like a boulder. He looked at Penelope again, searching her face. She
barely acknowledged him. It was as though their moment of intimacy was forgotten. Worse,
she seemed like she was denying its existence. Shame swept through Colin. Perhaps he had
been too forward, or too inexperienced. He knew of things men did when they were alone
with a woman. His friends at the club could hardly stop boasting about their escapades with
singers, actresses, and muses. And his brothers certainly had told him tales of their
mistresses, what they preferred in bed, what made them writhe in pleasure. Had he misread
the sounds Penelope made? Had he done something incorrectly? Neither of them had
seemed to know what they were doing, but neither of them had cared either.

Colin paled. A wave of nausea rolled through him. Had he hurt her?
The part of him that had been ready to propose marriage a moment ago now wanted nothing
more than to beg her forgiveness.

“I suggest we all return to the ball, lest our absences be noticed,” Lady Danbury said.
“Regardless of why you were arguing, it is done now. Find another moment to squabble like
children. Or, preferably, find it in yourselves to squabble as ladies do: with thinly veiled
comments thrown at one another during a promenade.” Her shrewd eyes narrowed, moving
from each of the younger people in the room.

Penelope nodded. “Yes, Lady Danbury. I believe I owe Mr. Carmichael another dance.”

The words were likely not intended to deliver a blow, but Colin felt them as one all the same.
She obviously thought kissing him was a mistake. Her reasons for why were unknown to
him, and he longed for answers. There would be no chance for that, not now that Penelope
was sweeping out of the room after Lady Danbury. He had barely heard them taking their
leave, and now the last glimpse he would have of her for the rest of the night was her blue
skirt disappearing out the library door.

After Lady Danbury and Penelope disappeared, Violet stood with her third and fifth children.
She surveyed them.

“You both had better have a good reason for behaving in such a way on Kate’s night,” Violet
said. Her voice was soft, but there was a razor edge to it that Colin and his siblings were not
accustomed to hearing. “You are lucky that it was me and Lady Danbury who heard you, and
not your brother.” She studied them both. “Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“We all told you,” Eloise snapped. “Penelope and I were arguing, and Colin stopped us.”

Violet’s mouth pinched. Her eyes shot to Colin’s, demanding the truth. “Colin?” she asked.

He did not respond right away. Eloise had made it perfectly clear she had no intention of
divulging what happened between her and Penelope. Their argument had given him close to
no answers, other than Penelope thought herself protecting Eloise from whatever secrets
Eloise had shared with her. Could Penelope have inadvertently been the reason Whistledown
discovered Eloise’s political activities? He frowned at his sister. He was tempted to tell his
mother he had compromised Penelope, just so he could force Eloise and Penelope to mend
whatever damage had been done to their bond.

“It is as Eloise said, Mother,” Colin said, nodding. “I was attempting to escape the ball for a
moment, to regain my breath, and I heard them arguing. I tried to stop them Nothing more.”

Lady Violet did not believe either of them. Her eyes drifted to his cravat in his hands. The
color drained from her cheeks. Realization dawned on her. Colin despised lying to his
mother, but the moment he spoke the truth of what happened, Violet would tell Anthony.
And Anthony would put a pistol to his head and demand he march straight up to Portia
Featherington to ask for Penelope’s hand. Something it was becoming increasingly clear
Penelope did not want.
“We will deal with this another day,” she said. “Right now, you will both return to the
ballroom.” Eloise groaned, and Violet raised a hand to halt any objections. “There will be no
argument, Eloise. This is Kate’s first ball as the Viscountess, you will be there to support
her.” She looked at Colin and added, “And you. Do not even think about dancing with any
other young ladies the way you just danced with Penelope. I thought Anthony’s face was
going to turn purple after you waltzed with her.”

Violet ushered them out of the library. Colin hastily tied his cravat back in place on the
walk. As soon as they made it back to the ballroom and found themselves among the din of
Kate and Anthony’s guests, their mother put a hand on each of their backs. Her face regained
its usual pleasant smile reserved for guests. Through her teeth, she said, “Both of you will
remain at the ball. I expect you to be exceptional hosts.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “We do not live here anymore, we’re hardly hosts.”

“Yes, Mother,” Colin responded automatically. As much as he loved his mother, he wanted
her out of the way so he could question Eloise.

Apparently, his mother had other plans. Taking her hand from Colin’s shoulder, she put it on
Eloise and steered her in the opposite direction. “Oh, there is someone I would like to
introduce you to, Eloise,” Violet said, voice brightening. “Come with me! He’s talking with
Kate and Anthony right now.”

Eloise groaned once more as Violet pulled her along through the crowd. Colin watched them
go, frustration building inside of him. First, Lady Danbury dragged Penelope off. Now, his
mother was taking Eloise to meet some poor suitor she would likely say one quippy retort to
before finding a way to exit the situation. Everywhere he sought answers, he was thwarted.
Rarely had he ever felt so adrift, like a ship at sea on a day with no wind to power his sails.

Standing in the ballroom, Colin’s eyes swept through the crowd in search of Penelope again.
His heart raced at the prospect of even catching a glimpse of her hair. But no matter where
he turned, he could not find her. Carmichael was dancing with some other eligible lady.
Edwina, who had not left the ball floor nearly all evening, stood with a suitor at the lemonade
table. Even Lady Danbury was now otherwise occupied, laughing with a group of married
women. Nowhere could he find Penelope. Portia and Prudence were still milling about, so
she could not have left yet.

Colin shook his head, pushing his way through the throngs of people. Rolling his eyes, he
cursed Anthony and Kate’s invitation list as a guest stepped on his foot. The ballroom stifled
him. The heat made him instantly regret putting his cravat back on as tight as he had. He
needed air. Dodging several ladies who approached him with desperation for a dance in their
eyes, Colin weaved his way towards a door that would get him outside.

Though they had been interrupted, no amount of time was going to cause him to forget how
his very soul sang for Penelope’s. They had seen one another in a state no other person had.
One taste of her lips, of her skin, and he was gone. Life without her would be intolerable.
His purpose was to live and breathe for her.
Penelope must have felt the same. He could not imagine anyone returning such passion
without those feelings behind it, urging it forward.

Their nakedness could not peel back the layers of secrets between them. Colin would bare
everything to her — his life, his purpose, his hopes. But, no matter the state of her true
feelings, he knew she could not say the same. She kept her secrets tucked within her
protectively. Even trying to speak to her as they lay on the chaise in the library, Penelope had
quieted him with a kiss. She was hiding from him, even then, and she would stay that way.

But as the night air of the terrace hit Colin’s face, the conclusion dawned on him. He could
barely believe how much time he spent running from what now presented itself as the
obvious conclusion.

He was completely, irrevocably in love with Penelope Featherington.

The revelation swept over him, as if it were the most natural thought in the world. Colin
frowned. He stilled, unable to believe that he could so easily admit to himself he loved a
woman. After swearing to himself he would not go searching for love, it came and stumbled
upon him. He rubbed his jaw. All his travels, all his soul-searching, all his beliefs that
Marina was the only woman he would ever harbor romantic affections for…after all that, he
found his true love with his best friend.

The stone on his chest sank to his stomach. His veins burned. Penelope would not even look
at him after they were discovered. If she could not even stand the sight of him, that did not
leave much hope for her returning his love.

He needed to hear her say it, though.

I must find her , Colin thought.

Before he could start for the gardens to look for her there, a loud voice called out for him.
“Bridgerton!”

Gritting his teeth, Colin forced an easy smile on his face. He turned to face a group of
gentlemen, all carrying glasses of champagne, as they came outside. Fife led them, a wide
grin on his face. After hearing all of Penelope’s talk about how fascinating Fife’s business
talk was, Colin wanted nothing more than to kick the other man in the chest and into the dirt.

“Fife,” he said, nodding to him. “I was just —“

“Bridgerton, you dog,” Fife interrupted, clapping Colin’s shoulder. “I should have known.”
He exchanged looks with their acquaintances, smirking.

Colin chuckled once, confused. “Ah, there are many things you probably should have
known, Fife,” he teased. “What are you referring to specifically, though?”

Fife’s lips twisted into a wicked, almost demonic grin. The gleam in Fife’s eye made Colin’s
back straighten. He frowned, unsure he liked where this conversation was going. Gulping,
he did his best to feign confusion. Surely Eloise would not have told Fife of all people what
she saw in the library?

“Do not play coy, Bridgerton,” Fife said, laughing. “You are among friends.”

Forcing a laugh, Colin shrugged. “Well, assume I am ignorant, and tell me what you are
talking about.”

“About your relationship with the youngest Featherington girl,” Fife pressed. His grin settled
to a smirk, but a challenge to Colin remained twinkling in his eye. He sipped his champagne,
giving Colin another chance to reply. When he realized Colin would not say anything, he
sighed. “I knew you were not being entirely honest with us last season. When you said you
would never court her.”

Colin swallowed hard. So this had nothing to do with what happened in the library. His
spine relaxed ever so slightly. Wetting his lips, he shook his head and laughed.

“Fascinating that she even forgave you for those comments,” Fife mused. “Especially
considering Lady Whistledown found out and published them.”

One of the group of gentlemen snorted. “Amazing the young lady was able to come back
from that. Any other would have been utterly ruined.”

“Yes, well, it is excellent to know the rest of you are finally discovering Miss Featherington’s
charms,” Colin managed, anger simmering within him.

Fife pointed at him. He smiled. “Yes, but I think I know why she has been so resistant to my
charms,” he said. “You see, I have been spending quite a lot of time with her. I’ve called on
the Featherington household. Many times. She’s charming, there’s no doubt. Brighter than I
would have pegged a wallflower for, too. I don’t believe I would be able to stand being in the
house with Lady Featherington and the other sister for long if the youngest one was not so
pleasant.”

Colin resisted the urge to growl. He flexed his hands in and out of fists. “Get to your point,
Fife. If you have one.”

“We have gotten on well, me and Miss Featherington,” Fife went on, “but even when I think I
have charmed her even a little bit, she has always resisted. I thought it might have been that
newcomer, Carmichael, that she was saving herself for. Maybe I was just another suitor, one
she was just entertaining while she waited for the man she truly wanted to come sweep her
off her feet.” Fife’s tone brought a sour taste to Colin’s mouth. “But it was you. Even after
you insulted her. She’s waiting for you.”

Scowling, Colin demanded, “You do not know what you are speaking about, Bertram.”

“Oh, yes I do,” Fife shot back. An edge entered his voice, even as his eyes sparkled with
humor. “The way you waltzed with her tonight? If her father were not murdered, I would
expect him to be demanding you marry the girl after a performance like that.” He snickered.
“Though, I do suppose your brother, the Viscount, could still demand it. Would be a shame
for me. I rather thought I might be able to convince her to marry me.”

Colin’s fists stopped flexing and remained balled tight at his side. “Wh - what? You seek to
marry her?”

Fife shrugged. “Why not? She would not be a complete bore, I have enough money not to
worry about a dowry, and should my desires take me to another woman’s bed, I do not think
she would begrudge me following those. The girl is stunningly practical, and she does not
love me. No hearts would be broken.”

To hear a man he would call a friend speak in such a way about Penelope made Colin’s
stomach twist. The disrespect, the dishonor of it all, caused sweat to bead at Colin’s
forehead.

“I beg your pardon, Fife,” Colin croaked. “Are you suggesting you would marry Miss
Featherington because you believe she would not mind you committing countless acts of
betrayal?” He struggled to keep his voice from shaking.

Fife, taken aback at Colin’s reaction, arched a brow. “Come now, Bridgerton, just because
your parents wed for love does not mean the rest of us are looking for the same thing.
Knowing your eldest brother, I would not be surprised if six months from now he found
another opera singer to keep up in some expensive apartments somewhere. We all know of
his appetites.”

To hear insults against both Penelope and Anthony became too much for Colin to stand.
Stepping forward, his hand lunged for Fife and caught him at the elbow. The other man’s
eyes widened. “Tread carefully, Fife,” Colin said, anger surging through his voice. “You will
not insult those who are dear to me.” He glowered at Fife, hoping the strength of his glare
would strike fear into the other man. Releasing Fife’s elbow, Colin readied himself to leave
the group. He turned his back, ready to flee into the darkness of the gardens.

But Fife spoke again. Amusement filled his voice. “So the Featherington girl is dear to
you,” he commented. “Good Lord, Bridgerton. I never suspected you might feel that way
for her…have you tupped the girl already? Is that why —“

Fife had no chance to finish the insult. Colin’s knuckles exploded on Fife’s jaw. He did not
feel the slice of his friend’s teeth, nor did he feel the explosion of pain reverberate through his
bones as his hand connected with Fife’s face.

Colin never knew before this night that fury would be the color red. But the moment Fife
insinuated Penelope had been dishonored, Colin blinked and reopened his eyes to find the
world had turned crimson. Reason abandoned him, feeling took over, and he struck.

Fife stumbled backward, completely caught unaware by Colin’s fist. The other men in their
group leapt back, shock stalling any reaction. With no one to stop him, Colin struck Fife
again, this time in his left eye. The second hit sent Fife onto his back, his head lolling against
the terrace floor as he groaned.
By now, someone had grabbed Colin from behind. When he fought them off, he was grabbed
by two men. Each of them took a shoulder, hauling him away from Fife. Colin’s head swung
side to side, and he found his elder brothers doing their best to restrain him.

“Colin, that is enough,” Anthony said, using the voice he’d modeled after their father’s firm
tone.

Though angry, Anthony seemed more concerned than anything else. He had a past, to be
certain. But Kate was his present and future. Anthony had worked hard to move past his
troubles. And though he was still far from perfect, Fife’s lewd insinuations made Colin want
to lay another punch to his face.

He worked to free himself from Anthony and Benedict’s grasps. “Unhand me,” Colin
demanded. Fife was rising from the ground in front of him, eye already reddening. He
narrowed his eyes at Colin and rubbed his jaw where the first blow had landed.

“Colin,” Anthony barked, grabbing Colin’s shoulder and giving it a shake. “I said enough .”
He looked between the men who remained, Fife, and Colin. “What is the meaning of this?
What if one of the ladies at the ball were to come out here and see you all behaving in such a
way? This is the Viscountess’ ball, I will not see her shown disrespect tonight because you
all decided to behave as ruffians.” None of them spoke. Anthony surveyed them all again.
“Well? What have you to save for yourselves?”

Fife raised both hands. “Lord Bridgerton, forgive me,” he said, “this was my doing. I…I
made comments that were not acceptable. Your brother was merely defending your family
and…he was in the right of it.” His face bore a look of shame. Whether the punches had
knocked the feeling into Fife, or Fife truly felt ashamed of himself, Colin did not care.

Anthony observed Fife. His eyes flitted to the other men in the group, all who dared not meet
the Viscount’s eyes. Placing both hands behind his back, he nodded to the group.
“Gentlemen, please return to the ball,” he said, tone becoming all business. “Allow me and
my brothers a moment of privacy.” No one immediately moved, causing Anthony to give
them a tight smile and gesture towards the house. “If you please.”

The group departed, Fife leading them and not looking back. He clutched his eye. Colin
wondered if anyone was going to ask Fife what had happened. The moment all of them
disappeared was the moment Colin’s hand began to throb. He looked down at it, praying it
was not broken. Nothing looked out of place, save for where Fife’s teeth had grazed the
knuckles.

“Quite the punch you threw there, Brother,” Benedict said, clapping Colin on the shoulder.
He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Whatever did Fife say to upset you so?”

Anthony frowned, too. But where he usually would have scolded Colin, this time he seemed
more intent to listen. He studied Colin, arching a brow. “I am also curious about what
Bertram might have said. He’s a rake, to be sure, but I always thought you were on good
terms with him.”
Clutching his hand, Colin said, “It is one thing to be a rake, it is another to come into your
home and insult you, and Pen — he just went too far. I will not hear disgusting insinuations
about you, or anyone else, while we are under your roof.” Though Fife had apologized,
Colin’s blood burned with rage. The other man had even seemed genuine in that apology, but
no amount of sincerity took away the sting of the suggestions Fife made.

Understanding overtook Benedict’s face. He grimaced. “Ah,” he said, clapping Colin on the
shoulder again. “So it is her again.”

Colin cleared his throat. “I would defend any young lady in the same way if their honor was
so besmirched the way Penelope’s was. And for him to suggest Anthony would dishonor
Kate, under his own roof no less…he deserved both those hits to the face.” Anthony’s stern
face caused Colin to shift uncomfortably. The longer his eldest brother looked at him, the
more Colin felt maybe he was misreading the concern, and that a verbal lashing was on the
way.

Anthony sighed, rubbed his face, and put both hands on his hips. “I - I cannot condone you
laying hands on my guests,” he said. He shook his head. “We all must hope he does not tell
anyone, and that no servants will talk. The last thing this family needs is another scandal.”
A scowl formed on his face. “Perhaps, though, the discovery you hit Fife will keep us from
having your waltz with Miss Featherington becoming the topic of conversation for the ton.”

Colin’s spirits sank at the pure disappointment on his brother’s expression. Yet again, here
Colin was causing trouble for his family. First, with his disastrous engagement; now, with
assaulting guests at his brother’s ball. It was a miracle no one but Eloise had learned of his
conduct with Penelope in the library. And yet, despite Penelope and Eloise both being
committed to lying, the virus that was Lady Whistledown could still find out. That was the
very last thing Colin needed, yet another item to add to the list of ways he was failing his
family.

But Anthony’s face softened. “But…I appreciate you defending me. We will manage
whatever the fallout is as best we can,” he said. He gave a small smile. “I do not suppose
you could make things easier by just announcing you and Miss Featherington intend to
marry?” Benedict chuckled. And despite Anthony’s laughter joining in, there remained a
glint of hope in his eyes at the mention of marriage.

Colin wanted nothing more than to be able to confirm his brother’s fervent wish. He wanted
to proclaim to the whole ballroom, to all of London and the world, that he would be marrying
Penelope Featherington. His realization he loved her was something he could not contain in
his body. He wanted to scream it until his lungs collapsed.

But did Penelope want him? Even as he joined in the laughter with his brothers, relishing the
sound of all three of them together, the thought that Penelope could scarcely stand to look at
him after their intimacy permeated his brain. She disappeared from the ball, leaving him
longing for her, and full of questions. Was she resisting their pull to one another because of
whatever was keeping her and Eloise apart? Would she refuse him if he asked her to marry
him? Every question he asked himself bounced through his skull, filling him with doubts.

It hurt.
If that was love, Colin was not sure he wanted it.
 Aftermath and Advice
Chapter Summary

Penelope struggles with the aftermath of her kiss with Colin.

Chapter Notes

Ahoy, all. Here’s the next chapter. Apologies it is taking so long for me to update. I
promise I am not trying to be like George RR Martin, taking eons between publications.
Thanks for all your kind reviews and kudos. This second half of the whole story is
probably my favorite, so I hope you will continue to enjoy!

Song: “This Love” by Camila Cabello

Maybe you should set me free

Maybe I don’t really want you to

“This Love,” Camila Cabello

“These biscuits are exquisite, Lady Featherington,” Mr. Carmichael said, looking towards
Portia. He grinned, his teeth shining brilliantly.

“Yes, my cook does have a splendid recipe,” Portia said. “An old family recipe, passed on
through generations of my late husband’s family. The Featheringtons have always made sure
to have it written down somewhere so the family will always have it.”

Mr. Carmichael chuckled. “Well, I do hope your cook would not mind sharing,” he said. His
eyes found Penelope’s. A sparkle as bright as the one twinkling off his teeth shone back at
her.

Penelope squirmed in her seat.

“Whyever would they give it to anyone else?” Prudence snapped from her seat. She sat with
her arms crossed over her chest, petulant that no one had come to call on her this afternoon.
Since Mr. Carmichael arrived, and Mrs. Varley announced his intent to see Penelope,
Prudence kept shooting glares at her younger sister. In fact, Prudence had not been handling
the complete change in the Featherington daughter food chain well at all. Portia’s shifted
attention to Penelope, in particular, was causing Prudence much distress. Perhaps if Penelope
had been treated with any kindness by her older sister in the past, she may have felt some
sympathy. Instead, she use sat back and watched Prudence’s fumbling and outbursts.

Not sensing Prudence’s animosity, Mr. Carmichael smiled. “I would hope an exception
would be made if any of the Featherington daughters were to marry. Surely such a reminder
of home would be comforting to them if they were to move far away?”

Not today , Penelope prayed. I haven’t had near enough sleep to get proposed to today.

Utter glee overcame Portia’s face. “Oh, but of course!” she exclaimed. “That would be more
than possible!”

While Portia cooed at the suitor, Penelope tilted her head and studied the gentleman over the
rim of her teacup. She watched him lean back in his seat beside her on the sofa. Early
afternoon sunlight streamed through the window of the Featherington drawing room. The
light shone brilliantly in Mr. Carmichael’s thick curls. Penelope watched his sculpted face.
How would his skin feel beneath her fingertips? How would his hair feel squeezed between
her fingers?

Penelope fully expected any marriage she entered into would be one of convenience. She
needed a way out of her mother’s home. That was all. She knew enough about what
happened beneath the bedsheets between husbands and wives, thanks to Marina and
Genevieve, but it was not something she needed, or cared, to factor into her future marriage.

At least, it had not been before last night. Before she compromised herself.

Part of why Penelope had not gotten enough sleep was from spending the whole night tossing
and turning. Throwing her blankets off, pulling them back up. Hiking her night dress up
because it tangled around her ankles too much. Heart beating so rapidly she thought it would
burst through her ribs. Colin had not just kissed her. He sought to devour her. His lips
against her mouth, her neck, her breasts…All night long, Penelope’s nipples ached, longing
for his mouth. Relief only came to her when she twisted them between her fingers,
imagining Colin’s hands on her. An ache that grew from the apex of her thighs, a longing she
could hardly explain, kept her from finding any peace. And when she dipped her hand
between her thighs to find herself wet, she was left with far more questions than answers.

Instead of hiring a carriage at the ball to take her to Genevieve’s, Penelope hid in the
Bridgerton gardens until she recollected herself enough to rejoin the party. She heard distant
sounds of men speaking and arguing, and she waited for the cool night air to go silent before
she reemerged. And by then, Colin was nowhere to be found, and Penelope was able to
resume dancing with Carmichael until her feet ached.

“I do not know what was happening in that library between you and the third Mr. Bridgerton,
but you would do well to compose yourself before finding that Carmichael boy,” Lady
Danbury had told Penelope in the sternest voice the old countess had used with her before.
“Even he would not be so foolish as to not notice the temperature in the room while you
danced with Mr. Bridgerton.” Penelope could only nod, voice lodged in her throat. They
stood beside one another, Lady Danbury keeping a critical gleam in her eye.
She knows , Penelope had thought, panic building in her chest. She knows I have lied and
that I was intimate with Colin .

What could she say? The looks of some of the other guests confirmed that no one had
forgotten what had just happened with the waltz. As they had stared at her, eyes piercing
through flesh and bone in an attempt to unearth any titillating gossip they could from two
women merely reentering a ballroom. Lady Danbury had clearly expected an answer from
Penelope, before Lady Cowper and her group of tittering married ladies pulled the countess
into their orbit, leaving Penelope free to escape once again.

Hopefully, this time, without any interruption from a Bridgerton.

Now, as she sat in her family’s drawing room, Penelope did her best to keep her attention on
Mr. Carmichael. The suitor prattled on with Portia, Prudence butting into the conversation
whenever she thought she might be able to. Penelope remained quiet through the whole
affair, but her mind raced so loud she worried it would be heard in the drawing room. She
stared at Mr. Carmichael, sipping her tea. He was certainly handsome. His Grecian jawline,
his statuesque figure, every part of him must have jumped from the pages of one of her
novels. What would his lips feel like against hers? Would he ignite the fire in her belly, and
make her legs turn to liquid beneath her?

When she looked at Colin, when she touched him, everything about the world burst into
flame. The very fabric of Penelope’s existence frayed and sent her hurtling into the
unknown. An unknown that had her fantasizing about all things wicked and wanton.

“The late Baron was always very fond of hunting when we happened into the country,” Portia
said, interrupting Penelope’s inappropriate daydreams. “He was such the sportsman. Sport
gave him that spark of joy that made him who he was. Sport, and his family, of course.”
Penelope resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Portia dabbed at dry eyes with a handkerchief.

Mr. Carmichael smiled. He nodded with great sympathy. “He sounds like a great man. I
only wish I had come to town sooner so I could meet him. There is much I could ask him.”

With his last sentence, Mr. Carmichael’s eyes shot to Penelope. His brows raised, suggestive
and hopeful. Penelope could only blink and observe him back. She did not have the heart to
tell him that, while she loved her father, and she grieved his loss, he was not a great man.
Nor was he even a very good one…something she had written to Colin when they exchanged
letters on his first tour. And Colin thanked her for her honesty, and for sharing a piece of
herself with him.

Would Mr. Carmichael do the same, if he had the truth?

Penelope did her best to picture Mr. Carmichael removing her dress, even as he continued to
talk with her mother about all the things the late Lord Featherington had been. She struggled
to imagine his large hands roaming up her back to slowly undo the lacing of her corset. She
did her best to imagine his face as the one she pulled towards hers, to hunger for his lips, and
not Colin’s.

Her efforts were futile.

Thoughts of removing his jacket and untying his cravat receded to fantasies of Colin’s tongue
exploring every crevice of her body. It was he who she wanted to undress. It was he who she
wanted unlacing her dress and revealing all the pieces of herself she kept concealed beneath
silk and chiffon. Everything flooded back to her. The urgency of their hands. The sound of
Colin’s heart beating. The scent of his cologne. When she blinked, she saw the flash of his
green eyes. Her stomach fluttered, soft and gentle as a butterfly’s wing.

“You and Penelope made quite the lovely pair dancing last evening, wouldn’t you agree, Mr.
Carmichael!” Once again, Portia’s voice broke through Penelope’s midday dreams like the
shattering of glass. “It has been a long time since the ton has seen two dancers so well in
tune with one another.”

Prudence snorted. “Tell that to Colin Bridgerton.”

Portia’s eyes snapped to Prudence. Could a glance have sliced skin, Penelope wagered her
mother might just have cut Prudence’s cheek. Portia giggled nervously, muttering something
about Prudence being silly to mention “the third Bridgerton boy.” Prudence shrugged, smug
at her interjection.

There was much Prudence was wrong about, but her insinuation that Colin and Penelope
were better partners on the ballroom floor was correct. Where Penelope needed to think on
every step she took with Mr. Carmichael or Lord Fife, her dances with Colin came as easy as
breathing. They always danced well together, something Penelope thought had more to do
with her feelings for him than the two of them being fantastic dancers.

But last night showed that none of that mattered. Each step, every movement of the hand,
fell in place as if they were living, breathing notes of the song they danced to. Tempting
scandal was a small price to pay for the chance to become a work of art. The swell of the
music, her chest brushing his, his fingers at the small of her back. The memories fell over
her like summer rain.

Penelope’s stomach flipped. Not from nerves that her sister might ruin the moment with her
most serious suitor, but from the flood of wetness that shot between her legs. When she
managed to escape Lady Danbury at the ball, and excuse herself to relative privacy, Penelope
had discovered her encounter with Colin had left her undergarments quite thoroughly
soaked. The mere mention of his name just now was enough to cause a recurrence, even
though the gentleman in question was not even on the same street as her. Blood rushed to her
cheeks.

Being the kind-hearted dolt that he was, Mr. Carmichael laughed. “I would have to agree that
Mr. Bridgerton is a far better dancer than me,” he said. “And he is quite fond of your family.
I have gotten to know him at Mondrich’s. It is my understanding he is part of why Mr.
Mondrich has done so well for himself. It cannot be easy going from being a boxer to owner
of a fine establishment. He is fortunate in his friendship with Mr. Bridgerton.”

Penelope’s cheeks bloomed hotter. She nodded along, but she was desperate for them to stop
speaking about Colin. A lump grew in her throat. Flashes of them in the library flickered
through her memory. Kissing. Touching. Falling onto furniture and laughing. Colin looking
down at her like she had the ability to stop time itself. Almost as much as his touch, the look
on his face had set fireworks off within Penelope.

She wanted to go back in time, and never leave that library.

Heart skidding to a halt in her chest, Penelope cursed herself. Even after swearing to herself
she would forget what happened between them, she was desperate to relive the moment. All
the pain Colin caused her could not stop Penelope from wanting him to ravish every inch of
her body.

“Penelope, dear, are you alright?” Portia asked. “You look so flushed.”

Wits returning to her, Penelope blinked several times. She cleared her throat, meeting
Portia’s gaze. There was about as much concern in her mother’s eyes as a bored chaperone
watching over a rendezvous between a courting pair. But the outburst pulled the attention of
all in the drawing room, forcing Penelope to answer.

Fanning herself, Penelope nodded. “Er, yes, Mama,” she managed. “I…I believe the room is
just a tad warm. I am feeling overheated.”

Prudence, oblivious as ever, frowned. “Warm? Whatever are you talking about? It’s a rather
cool day.”

Penelope gritted her teeth, longing to strangle her elder sister.

“Miss Penelope, your sister is correct,” Mr. Carmichael said, leaning forward in his seat.
Genuine concern crossed his face. “The day is rather lovely. Are you certain you are well?”

Portia laughed, but Penelope knew from the look in her mother’s eyes she longed to scoff.
“Oh, I do believe she is fine! See, her eyes are glowing! Tell him, Penelope. Tell Mr.
Carmichael you are alright.”

All three of them began speaking at once, her mother, her sister, and her suitor. Penelope’s
breath caught in her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, heat washing over her again. Colin’s
phantom scent filled her nose, as if he were truly here in front of her. She wanted to drown in
it, real or merely a figment of her imagination. Everywhere she looked, his face appeared —
in every corner of the drawing room, on each face of her companions. But all of them were
nothing but stark reminders that who she wanted to be with was not even in the room.

This was never going to work.

Leaping to her feet, Penelope gave a weak smile. Her hands shook. “I apologize,” Penelope
said. Casting an apologetic look at Mr. Carmichael, she shook her head. “Mr. Carmichael,
please pardon me, I am feeling rather unwell.”

“Oh, you cannot be that –” Portia began.

“Prudence, do come keep our guest company for me while I recover,” Penelope said,
speaking smoothly over her mother’s stuttered objections. She gestured to her seat on the
sofa where she wanted Prudence to sit.
Prudence’s eyes flashed with a challenge. She grinned wickedly, wasting no time in
skittering the short distance of the drawing room to take Penelope’s place. Her smug
expression confirmed that she thought she would come in to lay claim to Mr. Carmichael in
Penelope’s absence. Prudence was many things, but particularly bright was not one of those.
Unless she had completely misread Mr. Carmichael’s value on good manners, Penelope
would not be passed over for Prudence. Mr. Carmichael would stay for another fifteen
minutes before making his exit, so as not to appear rude, and he would be back the next day
to call on Penelope. Penelope smiled with all the sweetness of a sugar cube, letting
Prudence think she won this round.

Once in the safety of her room, Penelope leaned her back against the door and gave a deep
exhale. Restless, she wrung her hands together and paced the length of the room. She
thought she had rid herself of longing for Colin! All the work she had done — burning his
letters, completely cutting herself off from the Bridgerton family, spending time with men she
found insufferable — was in the pursuit of purging him from her bloodstream. And here she
was, not only dreaming of him again, but compromised by him.

Words jumbled in her mouth that she longed to release. Part of what made being Lady
Whistledown so easy for Penelope was that, aside from Eloise, she had no friends. She could
keep secrets with ease. None of them grew too hot for her to hold close to her chest. And
when it came to life-altering revelations, like her dual identity, or Marina’s pregnancy, or her
true feelings for Colin, she was able to lock them away and forget the location she stashed the
key. Only when absolutely necessary did she divulge.

She had no need or desire to speak of these things. She could hold those secrets within her,
ruminate on them, and keep herself standing.

But not now. Penelope’s stomach churned at the spiral she found herself in. A few moments
of passion had her wishing she could speak to someone, anyone , about the storm brewing
within her. Tears of frustration she refused to let fall burned in her eyes.

For the first time since the previous night, Penelope thought of Eloise. Her former friend’s
ire clearly had lost none of its strength since they last came face to face with one another.
Eloise still hated her, but Penelope’s longing for their former friendship burned fiercer than
ever. That knowledge strung more than Penelope would have liked to admit.

As if Colin’s newfound desire was not confusing enough for her, Penelope was left to face
Eloise’s fury. And this was something she desperately craved to speak to Eloise about. Not
even because she wanted Eloise to instruct her in what she should do. She wanted someone
to laugh with about the sheer silliness of how it felt to have a man’s mouth on her skin. She
wanted Eloise to crack a joke about how ridiculous her brother was, but at least he finally
realized he could move on from Lady Crane.

But all Penelope had found in her former friend’s eyes was hatred.

Eloise had no interest in hearing Penelope out. Eloise was certain her intentions were
devious. Nothing existed of their friendship anymore.
Guilt gnawed at the edges of Penelope’s mind as she went to her wardrobe for her servant’s
cloak. If she moved fast, she would be able to sneak out the back servant’s hall and hail a
hired hack to the modiste before her mother or any of the servants would notice. With any
luck, Genevieve would have the advice necessary to rid Penelope of this resurgence of
affection for Colin Bridgerton.

“Penelope!” Genevieve exclaimed, as Penelope burst through the door of the shop.

Flipping the sign to “Closed” on the modiste door, Penelope removed her hood.

“ Chere, where were you last night? I waited for you to deliver your next sheet half the
evening,” Genevieve said, sitting on one of her chaises she had for the mamas that took their
daughters shopping.

Swiping flyaway tendrils of hair from her face, Penelope snapped her gloves and hood off
and let them fall to the floor. She paced. “My apologies for not sending word,” Penelope
said. “I — I — something…happened at the Bridgerton’s ball.”

Blinking her wide, dark eyes, Genevieve murmured, “Are you alright? What happened?”

Penelope could feel her friend’s stare probing for answers. Thankfully, Genevieve knew
when to push, and when to hold her tongue in the pursuit of information. Heart thumping in
her chest, Penelope willed her breath to slow. She needed to use words. That should not
have been so hard; she was excellent with words. Her words had the ability to bring the ton
stumbling to a stop, if she wished. So why then did her tongue seem to swell and lock her
voice within her now?

“Penelope, you are worrying me,” Genevieve said. “Will you please tell me what troubles
you?”

When she looked at Genevieve, no judgment clouding the other woman’s face, Penelope
wished to cry. She had not had a friend who fell outside the ton’s gaze before. Someone she
could tell about her desires without fear of ruination. It was the strangest sensation. To know
she could trust someone with her deepest secrets. Swallowing hard, she managed, “I kissed
Colin.” Genevieve blinked several times at Penelope’s revelation. Penelope waited for a
response in silence. When Genevieve did finally respond, she did so with a laugh. Penelope
frowned at her friend as she tossed her head back to laugh. Genevieve’s dark ringlets shook.
“Why are you laughing?” Penelope asked. “Genevieve, what is so funny?” She put her
hands on her hips.

Genevieve wiped a tear from her eye. “Are you telling me this is all over a peck on the lips
from a boy?” Though she laughed, there was no malice in her humor. She smiled at
Penelope. “Was it sweet? Are you two to be married now?”

Shaking her head wildly, Penelope said, “No! Genevieve, you do not understand!” She
strode to sit beside Genevieve on the chaise. “This was not a peck, or…or, a brush of the
lips! This —“
“Mon dieu.” Genevieve clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Penelope. Please tell me you
did not…have relations with that boy. His brothers may know where to put it, but I have
seen Colin. He is too stiff for his own good, he would not have any idea what to do.”

Penelope frowned, distracted by that. They may have been messy last night, arms tangling
and clumsy legs stumbling around, but it was heavenly. She did not care he had no idea what
to do, and he did not seem to mind either. And Colin certainly had been stiff last night. She
felt the evidence on her thigh, exactly where Marina said George had gotten stiff when they
made love. That hardness excited Penelope, then and now. “I thought they needed to be…
stiff?”

Genevieve laughed. “Well, yes. They do need to be stiff in order to make love to you,” she
said. “Your Colin —“

“He’s not ‘my’ Colin,” Penelope interrupted.

“— is stiff in how he carries himself,” Genevieve went on, eyes twinkling. “He always
worries someone is watching him. Someone who wants to satisfy the desires of those around
him is not going to satisfy his woman’s desires.”

“Well, he was certainly satisfying mine while he was pulling my dress down last night,”
Penelope muttered. She slumped on the chaise, huffing. “We did not make love, though. To
answer your question.”

But I wanted to…desperately.

Genevieve tutted, patting Penelope’s cheek. Her hand felt cool against Penelope’s heated
skin. “Goodness, you have been busy,” she remarked. She smiled, lips pursing as she tried
to contain her curious grin. “So…what was it like for you?”

So many words rushed to Penelope’s mind to describe her intimacy with Colin that when she
opened her mouth, none of them came out. Genevieve giggled at Penelope’s open mouth.
Knowing she looked ridiculous, Penelope grappled for anything she could say. London’s
very foremost gossip columnist at a loss for words. “I…it was everything,” she finally
managed. All the events tumbled from her mouth, from their dance, to the escape to the
library, to the way his tongue ran over her breasts. Genevieve listened at rapt attention,
nodding along, gasping happily as Penelope described the ecstasy she experienced on the
library sofa.

“So will I be making you a wedding dress?” Genevieve asked, taking Penelope’s hands with
excitement. “If Miss Eloise made a discovery, surely she will have told her mother?“

Eloise . The vitriol in El’s gray eyes when she came upon Penelope and Colin stung, and the
anger was almost drowned out by her shock. Knowing how Eloise’s mind worked, Penelope
had seen the wheels in her head spinning while Colin sputtered explanations. When
Penelope lied to Lady Danbury and Lady Violet that nothing happened, she was not surprised
to find Eloise agreeing. Eloise did not want Penelope anywhere near her family.
“She…did not. El does not want me in her family,” Penelope admitted, sullen. Ignoring the
dull ache in her chest at the thought that Eloise would rather die than see her become a
Bridgerton, Penelope shrugged. “But that is not a problem for me. The goal has never been
to marry Colin. Besides, being in a house with someone who knows I am Whistledown
would defeat the purpose.” She nodded decisively. “My intention is still to marry Mr.
Carmichael.”

Genevieve frowned. “Do you feel for him what you feel for the Bridgerton boy?”

Penelope blushed. Ashamed, she shook her head. “Well, I did try imagining I might…feel
that way for him. He is a gentleman, he makes me smile.”

“And if I’m not mistaken, he is also rather dull,” Genevieve said. “ You have told me that,
here in this very shop!”

“Alright then, so he makes me smile at him with pity,” Penelope allowed. Genevieve’s
skepticism sent Penelope’s defenses up. “Love was never meant to be a part of this
arrangement. Nor was desire. And besides, you thought Colin was not going to be
passionate! I witnessed how wrong that was.”

Genevieve snorted. “Yes, but you have a yearning for him,” she said. “Not for this
Carmichael. If he is a bore sitting with you in the drawing room, he will be a bore between
your legs.” Penelope burst into laughter, having no reason to argue with her far more worldly
friend. Nor did she wish to argue. She knew Genevieve was right, that she would not ever
be able to force passion for Carmichael.

Sighing, Penelope murmured, “Colin has…he has hurt me in the past. And though he has
apologized, and I have forgiven him, it hurt. I would not wish such pain upon anyone, not
even Cressida Cowper. To hear someone you have trusted and told things you’d never tell
another living soul proclaim to the whole world you are not worth courting? Dramatic
though it may sound, I felt as though my heart was torn out and trampled upon. And I know
that Mr. Carmichael would never hurt me in such a way, because I would never trust him with
those things. It is all around safer to be with someone I like, than to walk the edge of a knife
with someone I love. Always wondering if he will do something to betray the faith I placed
in him.”

Even saying the words aloud hurt. Penelope held no grudges; she meant what she said when
she told Genevieve she had forgiven Colin. But the prospect of hurtful words being said
again loomed large, thunder clouds in the distance that threatened to crawl closer and blot out
the sun.

Genevieve smiled again, this time with sadness. “Where will you go from here?”

Blinking against the burning in her eyes, Penelope stared at her older friend. No one had
ever asked her this question. It was so strange to be presented with options. Few women
could say they had the choice to follow their desires. Love matches were a rarity in their
world. In a world obsessed with appearances and maintaining the facade of propriety, how
did something as organic as true love possibly hope to grow.
But Colin did not love her. He might look at her differently, like she was desirable. She had
no doubt he still wished to be her friend. But love? He did not love her. Penelope may be
the only woman whose breasts he could claim to have seen, the first one he had been intimate
with, but she knew such intimacy would not inspire adoration and romance. She was not the
sun that woke him in the morning; she was not the moon he gazed at as he lay abed at night.
She never had been.

And that disappointed her.

Penelope sucked in a deep breath. “Genevieve, I am finding I don’t know what to do.”

Genevieve moved a tendril of hair from Penelope’s face. “Are you asking me what you
should do? Me, your modiste?”

Lips wobbling, Penelope shook her head. “My friend .”

Smiling, Genevieve nodding. “As your friend, I cannot tell you what you should do,” she
said. “You need to think about what will be the best thing for you. What will keep you safe.
What will keep you happy. Who will you be your best self with. Think of those things, and
decide from there what you should do. Desire and love can be grown, it’s true. But no
amount of safety and affection, or even children, will ever replace that thread that ties your
heart to another’s. You cannot fabricate the feeling that you have found the soul whose edges
fit perfectly with yours, like a puzzle.”

“I never took you for a romantic,” Penelope said.

“Nor am I,” Genevieve said. “But that does not mean I do not believe these things exist.
Because we belong to the gentler sex, our choices are limited in this life. And you are in the
unique position that you have two good choices, both options that will give you a
comfortable life. All you have to do is reach out and take the one you want.”

Penelope groaned. She had come to Genevieve for direction, but now she felt more lost than
ever. Sucking in a breath, she felt the phantom touch of Colin’s arms around her. Her heart
fluttered just at the memory. Did she wish for a life of comfort? His arms promised her
safety, to be sure. But there was something thrilling, too, a sensation she could not explain.
He wanted to know every inch of her body, to discover every plane of her soul the way he
might discover uncharted waters on his travels. He wished to share himself with her. No
matter what choice she made, Colin’s handprint would forever be pressed upon her heart.
The string Genevieve spoke of that tied two souls together tugged in Penelope’s bones. She
wanted to explore this with Colin, to make discoveries at his side.

Pent up frustrations tore at her insides. She sought to scream until her voice was raw, and she
did not know why. All she wanted when she set out on this mission of hers was to put Colin,
Eloise, and all the things that hurt and confused her in the past. It should have been the
easiest task in the world, considering how far isolated she was from them last year. But then
she chose to let Colin back in, foolishly. She need not have either! All she had changed
about herself, all her new connections had put her in Mr. Carmichael’s sights long before
Colin earned her forgiveness. She truly had not needed his attention for her plan, she could
admit that now.
But she had wanted him.

That alone was a thought that terrified Penelope, just as much as it made the blood thrum in
her veins.

Producing her Whistledown draft from the bodice of her dress, Penelope sighed.

“Genevieve? Might I borrow a quill and ink? There’s something I must add to this column
before you send it off.”
 Kiss Me Hard in the Pouring Rain
Chapter Summary

The latest news in the Lady Whistledown sparks panic in Colin.

Chapter Notes

Hi all,
At long last, here is an update. Thanks for your patience with me; my life has been a bit
of a rollercoaster, and I have not been able to commit to my writing the way I want to.
Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Song: "Say Yes To Heaven" by Lana Del Rey

Say yes to heaven

Say yes to me

Lana Del Rey, “Say Yes to Heaven”

“The newest Whistledown has arrived!” Hyacinth exclaimed, skipping into Lady
Bridgerton’s No. 5 drawing room. The skirts of her purple dress twirled around her legs as
she spun in a circle. Colin lifted his eyes above his newspaper to watch his youngest sister
bound straight into Gregory with an oof . She waved the sheets in the air, passing one to her
mother. “I got enough for all of us to read!”

Gregory managed to wrestle one from Hyacinth. Violet’s face drained of color, and her eyes
flitted to Colin. He knew his mother was worried there would be something in the gossip
column about what had happened in the Bridgerton House library two nights ago. She had
not pushed the subject further with Colin, nor had she forced Eloise to explain what caused
her to come to quarrel with Penelope. Nonetheless, Violet had fretted, wringing her hands
together and biting her lip with nervousness. None of that would have mattered to Eloise,
though. She had stormed off to her room upon arriving home the night of the ball and had
not emerged since. All of them – Violet, Hyacinth, Francesca, even Benedict – had attempted
to bring Eloise out from her room.

Nothing brought her forward from her misery.

As Colin looked back at his newspaper, taking a long sip of tea, the others devoured the
gossip sheets. Tension boiled in his belly as his siblings and mother read. He flipped the
page of his own reading material, but he did not read a single word on the page. He shifted in
his seat. No matter how much tea he swallowed, he could not stop his throat from going dry.

Was there something in the gossip sheet about him and Penelope? There could not possibly
be, could there? The only ones who knew what happened in the library were him, Eloise, and
Penelope. There was no way Whistledown could have found out about his tryst with
Penelope.

Was there?

“Mama, does this mean Penelope is to be married ?” Hyacinth asked, voice all excitement.

Despite the jubilance in his youngest sister’s voice, Colin’s anxiety could not stop him from
snapping his paper down on his lap. Loud as it was, all his family’s eyes turned to him. His
siblings regarded him with varying degrees of amusement, but Violet’s eyes were concerned.
Feigning disinterest, Colin cleared his throat. He rose to his feet without a word and went to
the tea service to pluck biscuits from the tray. He refused to meet anyone’s eyes, but he kept
his attention alert. The less he appeared to be on the verge of his heart stopping, the better it
would be for concealing how he was feeling. Anthony and Benedict may have become privy
to the information of Colin’s true feelings after he hit Fife, but he could depend upon them
for discretion where it truly mattered. His younger siblings were another matter.

Violet finally replied. “I hardly think we should speculate, darling,” she said. “This says
nothing of an engagement. Merely that there has been chatter from Mr. Carmichael that he
may be thinking of proposing.”

“Penelope may be getting married?” Francesca asked, entering the drawing room. “Is that
what you’re all discussing?”

Gregory nodded. “That’s what Lady Whistledown is saying. Or, that her suitor is suggesting
to people that he is going to propose, anyway.”

Cold spread through Colin. The sounds of his family faded around him. Was it true? Did
Carmichael intend to propose to Penelope?

“Er…might I see that, Gregory?” Colin asked, snatching the column from his brother without
waiting for a reply. His eyes flew across the words on the page until they found their target.

As is so often the case at these fanciful affairs, there were moments of note. Miss Penelope
Featherington, the insipid wallflower that has come out to surprise us all this season, was
seen waltzing in a most scandalous fashion with the third Bridgerton brother. Who could
have imagined that the most unfortunate young lady in society – who many suspected would
spend her days as an old maid – would be connected in any fashion with the Bridgerton that
is most famous for being fooled into an engagement of deception. It is true that Miss
Featherington and Mr. Bridgerton have been seen in each other’s company many times this
season, but their waltz was certainly a shift in their usual behavior. I will be the first to admit
I can scarcely believe such a pairing would ever grace the pages of this sheet. And I did vow
to give up my craft should such a pairing become a marriage.

A certain gentleman from Cambridgeshire may just save this writer from giving up her quill,
though. For the intentions of Mr Carmichael seem to be quite clear, and the gentleman has
been heard to be musing about the best way to approach a young lady’s mother for her hand.
Several matches have been made this season, but certainly none have been quite as
surprising as this one.

Colin swallowed hard. It was not the most witty of Lady Whistledown’s writing, but it struck
him harder than any other passage she had ever written. No matter how many times he read
it, the words washed over him in a cold flood. It was worse than finding out about Marina’s
pregnancy, something he did not think could have been possible.

Handing the page back to Gregory, Colin cleared his throat and looked up at his family. They
all watched him, eyes wide, unsure of what to say. Uncertainty gazed back at Colin from his
siblings’ and mother’s eyes. He sighed. They knew. Each of them knew what he felt. And
none of them knew what to say. The silence grew uncomfortable.

Violet spoke first.

“Francesca, would you take Gregory and Hyacinth to get ready to go to Bridgerton House?”
she asked, smiling. “Kate and Anthony will be expecting us. The Earl and his cousin will be
coming to dinner, and I expect you’ll want to prepare.” She added darkly, “And do knock on
Eloise’s door. Tell her I shall drag her out of there myself if she does not begin to get ready
for dinner.”

At the mention of John Stirling, Francesca’s eyes brightened. A slight smile spread across
her face, and she took hold of Gregory’s hand and Hyacinth’s shoulder. She ushered them to
the doors of the drawing room. “Come along, you both,” she said.

The sounds of his youngest siblings grew fainter with each passing moment until it
disappeared entirely. Mute, Colin turned to face the window that overlooked Bruton Street.
Gray clouds loomed over London, threatening to burst. The pain in his chest grew stronger,
thudding against the inside of his ribcage with each beat of his heart.

“Colin?”

Colin shifted his gaze to Violet. She came to stand beside him. “I know what you are going
to say, Mother, and I believe we should let the issue drop. It is quite obvious what is going to
happen. Penelope is going to marry Mr. Carmichael.” The words tasted of sawdust as he
croaked them out.

“Though I do not know what truly happened in the library that night,” Violet began, voice
slow and careful, “I do know that you hold this girl in your heart. Whether or not you
acknowledge it yet –”

Colin interrupted, “I do. Now, I know.”

Violet smiled. “Well, that is certainly a step in the right direction.” Colin knew his mother
wanted him to respond with tender smiles and assurances he would pursue his love match to
the ends of the earth. But he could not find the hopeful feelings she sought. His mood was
as morose and glum as the weather. “If you love Penelope, what is there to stop you from
telling her?”

He scoffed. “A simple obstacle, but one that is difficult to overcome. She does not return my
feelings.” Of that he was certain. She desired him, but she wanted nothing to do with him,
not as her husband. He broke her trust when he boasted to his friends that he would never
dream of courting her. If he could not earn that back, there was no way he could be a good
husband to her. And Penelope deserved that.

“That is not true,” Violet said, taking his hands. “She has been in love with you longer than
you know.”

Though he shook his head, he clasped his mother’s hand back. “Mother, I hardly-”

It was Violet’s turn to interrupt. “Listen to me. You have always been her friend, but you
have been so blind to who she is. I worry Eloise may have been as blind as you, and that
played a role in their rift. But Penelope has always loved you. The day you announced you
were to be married to Miss Thompson, I saw her face. It was the look of a young woman’s
heart breaking. Feelings such as that do not disappear in a puff of smoke.”

Colin did his best to search his memories, but he could not recall ever thinking he saw a look
of love in Penelope’s face. Or had he? He thought of moments they were together, alone or
in groups of people, where there were moments of great sincerity between them. When she
followed him to warn him of Marina’s feelings for her dead lover. Speaking of their desires
for an unknown purpose. After he confronted her dreadful cousin about his ruby scheme.
The admiration in her gaze lifted him to heights he never thought he would reach. Him, his
parents’ third son, with no discernable talents or duties. The son who was disgraced and
nearly entrapped into a loveless marriage with no purpose other than raising a child who did
not belong to him. Penelope looked at him, and for once, he was able to be a hero.

You have…Penelope.

Even Marina tried to tell him. Christ Almighty, he was a bigger fool than he could have
imagined.

“Mother…I confess I do not know what to do,” he said. “I have never felt this way for
anyone.” Violet’s encouraging smile gave him the confidence to continue. “She deserves all
the happiness anyone could possibly have. She deserves someone who has always seen her
for who she is. I have been a monumental fool, said one too many things that would have
caused a lesser woman to scoff. I do not deserve her. How could I?”

Violet shook her head. “That is not for you to decide, whether you deserve her or not,” she
said. “Penelope is who makes that choice.”

“She will not choose me,” Colin said.

“You do not know that!” Violet released his hands, taking his face and forcing him to look
her in the eye. “Do not let happiness slip away because you are unsure of your own worth.
You may struggle with it, you may grapple with questions of who you are, or what you
deserve. But the people who know you and love you are the ones who will guide you until
you find those answers for yourself. We can do that…and so can Penelope.” A forlorn smile
overtook her face. “You must tell her, though.”

Colin could not meet Violet’s eyes. Peering over her shoulder, he gazed at the clouds
darkening the sky. The coming dark threatened to suffocate Mayfair the way his fears
threatened to cave in his chest. He wished he were anywhere but this city. He wished he
were far away and free from the knowledge that he was in love with Penelope, and that she
potentially loved him once. A turbulent ocean could not have been more uncomfortable than
the storm brewing in his heart.

Kissing his mother’s forehead, Colin said, “I will think about this, Mother. I promise.”

Skeptical, Violet nodded. “Do not wait too long, dearest. I would hate to see you lose this
chance at love because you were too afraid to broach the subject.”

If only it were that simple, he wanted to shout. All the time he spent worrying about his
feelings – what his life was like without Penelope’s presence, what he longed for, how he felt
having her near – had led him to the natural conclusion of his feelings. Had he thought about
her for one moment instead of weaseling his way back into her good graces, maybe he would
not have ever discovered his feelings, and he could have gone on with his life, blissfully
unaware. One momentary thought for her, and neither of them would have been in this mess.

But Colin knew his mother was right. Cowardice could not be the reason he let Penelope slip
away. Perhaps she did love him still. She must have felt something for him. After all, when
he pulled away and attempted to apologize it was Penelope who pulled him back towards
her. Every soft sigh, each giggle, the way she looked up at him when they stopped for a
breath. Her whole heart was in her gaze, in the small upturn of her lips. He pictured waking
up to that every day, to seeing Penelope’s smile as the sun rose. Warmth spread through his
chest.

“We are expected at dinner with Anthony and Kate,” Violet said, giving Colin’s hand a
squeeze. “Prepare for it, won’t you?” He said nothing, managing a halfhearted nod as his
mother left the drawing room.

Running his hand through his hair, Colin went to stand in front of the window again. The
clouds remained a deep shade of gray. He wondered when they would break.

Colin went about dinner at Bridgerton House like a wraith. The mood had been as cheery as
Bridgerton House dinners had always been. In addition to the Earl of Kilmartin and his
cousin Michael joining them, Daphne and Simon had arrived in town with news of Daphne’s
second pregnancy. The evening had been one of happiness, with all the Bridgertons smiling
and joyful.
All of them, except Colin.

To be sure, he smiled, expressed his joy at seeing his nephew, and congratulated Daphne on
the news she would be having another child. But he did it all like an automaton, going
through the evening with false cheer and brittle smiles. All through dinner he thought of
Penelope, wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking. He thought of her all the
way through dinner, especially when he dared look at Eloise. His sister most definitely had
not forgotten the night in the library. Any moment he attempted to speak to her, she rebuffed
him with a stony glare.

So Colin was left alone with his thoughts, all of them pent up in his mind until it felt full to
bursting. He attempted to find sleep, but no amount of tossing amongst the sheets could free
him from his torment. When the half hour after midnight struck, he decided to stop wasting
his efforts. He pulled himself off the bed, dressed, and snuck out the servants exit to walk.
The air smelled of imminent rain. Colin did not care if he should be trapped in a downpour,
though. He cut through the night silence with brisk steps, heading down Bruton Street
without much of an idea of where his route would end.

Fingering the pebbles in his grasp, Colin stared at the small rocks. What was he doing? This
had to be one of his stupider ideas. And considering some of the ideas he had come up with
in the past, that was a lofty statement. Before he could contemplate his mission any further,
he tossed the pebble. It hit its target with a clink .

Nothing.

A breeze ruffled his hair, gently caressing his skin. He took another look around, praying no
one would discover him. All was silent, save for the rustling of the trees and bushes. He
threw another pebble, then he threw two more in quick succession. After a moment’s pause,
she finally appeared. Her hair was unbound in thick red waves. She frowned, not looking
down yet. He tossed his last pebble.

Penelope’s eyes finally found his when she looked down. His heart leapt when she looked
down upon him. Her eyes widened. With trembling hands, she eased the window open.
Leaning out, she hissed, “What are you doing ?”

What was he doing? He had not even intended to come here. Colin had no earthly idea how
to answer her question. Certainly, he thought he would propose to her. But more than
wanting to marry her, he wanted to be near her. The pull of her, even from two stories above
him, pulsed through the night air. He had not seen her since she lied and dashed from the
library. He longed to hold her again.

“I just wanted —“ he began, trying to keep his voice low. Her room was the only one with
any light coming from it, but that did not mean others in the Featherington household were
not awake.

Penelope shook her head. “Hold on.”

She pulled back from the window, closed it, and disappeared. His heart sank, and he stared
dumbly up at the window, begging it to produce Penelope again. Moments passed, and she
did not return. A crack of thunder split through the sky, but rain still did not fall.

“What are you doing here?”

Jumping, Colin looked toward the source of the voice. He squinted into the dark, finding
Penelope coming towards him. His heart leapt, this time to his throat. She stopped several
steps from him, looking up to meet his gaze. By now, his eyes had adjusted to the dark
enough he could see her without strain. She had thrown a silk dressing robe over her
nightgown. It shimmered in the dark, catching the glow of a bolt of lightning that slashed
through the sky. A soft breeze, full of the scent of oncoming rain, ruffled her hair across her
face. He could not keep the smile from his face as he looked upon her.

“Walk with me?” he asked.

“It may rain soon.”

Colin shrugged. “It’s held off for most of the day. It will wait a bit longer.”

Penelope’s silence lasted a beat before she approached him, and together they stepped into
the garden. Amidst the tall hedges, they walked side by side. Their arms did not touch, but
he felt the heat of her through her robe. The silence between them was unbearable.

“I’ve never thrown pebbles at a young lady’s window before,” Colin blurted.

“Nor have I had pebbles thrown at my window by a gentleman.” He could sense the smile in
her voice. “It would seem we provide a lot of firsts for one another.”

Cheeks flaming, Colin smiled. “It’s an honor,” he said. “For me to be your first kiss. You
were my first…” How could he phrase this without sounding crude? She may not have been
his first kiss, but she was the first woman he had ever gotten lost in the way he had. Hers
were the first breasts he saw, the first he touched. He was thankful for the dark to cover his
fierce blush.

“You do not need to say it,” she said. “I know what you are referring to.”

“I could not find you after, I worried I might have hurt you,” he admitted.

“Hurt me?” she asked. “Colin, you did nothing of the sort. You…” She weighed her words
beside him. Another rumble of thunder sounded, this time much closer. “You did not hurt
me.” Though she said she was unharmed, Colin sensed a hesitancy in her voice. She spoke
true, but she was hiding something, holding it within where no one could pry it out. He
noticed this since he returned; Penelope held more secrets than he ever noticed before. It was
part of what made her so seductive, knowing there were things tucked behind her pink lips
that she did not want the world to know.

Colin was one of those things, a tryst that risked her ruination if anyone were to learn of it
and tell the ton.
They found one of the benches nestled in the hedges. Another bolt of lightning shot across
the sky. Penelope sat, folding her hands in her lap. Colin followed suit.

“You do not seem concerned with the impropriety of this,” Colin commented.

Penelope laughed. “After what we did in the library, I hardly think this could be any worse.”
The sound of her laugh had Colin blushing all the way to his ears. He was grateful for the
darkness covering his flaming cheeks. Being near her gave him comfort, like sitting beside
her was what he was put on this earth to do. It took all his restraint to not reach for her now.
“Why did you come here?” she finally asked. “Tonight. Why not call on me tomorrow?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see you… without your mother or Prudence
prying.”

Or to have to fight for your attention with that damned Carmichael.

She laughed. “True, it is difficult to get a word in whenever they are around. You are not a
particular favorite of theirs, though. They are far too enamored with Mr. Carmichael. You
just get in the way for them.”

Colin’s gut clenched. “That does not shock me,” he said. “Your mother was quite cross with
me the day after Whistledown published my misdeeds. She has not warmed up to me after
that, not truly.”

“She was cross with you?” Penelope asked. “When? I do not recall you being there.”

“Yes, the day I read the column, I attempted to call on you,” he said. “I searched high and
low through Mayfair’s best flower shops to locate the perfect bouquet. She and Varley came
to greet me. I received quite a chilly welcome. They were rather frightening. I should not
like to end up on the wrong side of either of those ladies, not ever.” Penelope hummed
beside him but said nothing. He frowned. “Did you not know this?”

Penelope shook her head beside him. “No,” she admitted. What he could make out on her
face was pensive, deep in thoughts that were hers alone. Before he could ask what she was
thinking, she spoke again. “Tell me why you are really here, Colin. Even if it was that you
wanted to speak to me without my mother’s busybodying, there are other ways to do it.”

This was it. This was his moment. He thought this might have been harder, considering how
disastrous his first betrothal had been. Clearing his throat, Colin straightened his shoulders.
He needed to do this right, to not come across as a green boy. “Penelope, I have come to ask
for your hand in marriage,” he said.

Silence. A few rumbles of thunder split the air. He looked at her in the dark, swallowing
hard. Her face, what he could make out, was unreadable.

“Penelope? Did - did you hear me?”

“Why?” she asked.

Colin frowned. “Why…would I want to marry you?”

Penelope nodded. “Yes.” She said nothing else, just confirmed her simple question.

Because you make me feel like no other. Because your happiness matters to me more than my
own. Because we have explored the depths of one another, and I want to go further.

Because I love you.

All the words he wanted to shout fluttered through his head, vying for the chance to get out.
Perhaps he should have thought this through more than he had. He had expected a “no,”
hoped for a “yes”…but he had not imagined he would be questioned on his motivation. He
knew she did not love him, not the way he loved her. But he could provide her with the
things she wanted: independence from her mother’s home, stability. He could give her all
that, and perhaps even earn her love one day.

“I…I have compromised you,” Colin said, voice tight. “As a gentleman, it is my duty to
ensure you are protected.” Even though all of that was true, the words tasted of ash. But it
was the safest explanation. Telling her he worried about the news that Carmichael would
propose before he had an opportunity sounded petty. Penelope was not a hunting prize to be
won or fought over. Nor could he come out and admit he was mad with love for her. Fear of
what the truth would sound like — desperation, foolishness, nativité — stopped him.

In the dark, Colin felt Penelope shift on the bench beside him. She reached for his hand,
entwining their fingers. Hope soared in his chest. He clutched her hand back.

“I will not hold you to that,” she murmured. His heart sank as quickly as it rose. “I will not
force you to promise yourself to me because we could not control our carnal impulses. No
one knows the truth of what happened in that room but us and Eloise.” She sighed. “I do not
see any of us revealing what happened.”

“But that does not mean I should not do the right thing,” he protested.

“Colin, you are seeking your love match,” she murmured. “You deserve to find that. I want
you to find that. And it’s not with me.”

“Penelope, I —“

She cut him off, taking his cheeks in her hands. Her hands felt so small against his face. He
could not stop himself from putting a hand over one of hers. A thumb caressed his bottom
lip, before she pressed her mouth to his. The kiss was slower than before, less urgent. He
released her hand, sliding his own into her hair. The long flaming locks were silk in his
fingers. Her tongue was sweet and soft and tentative. She leaned into him, fingers
desperately tugging at ties of his shirt. The moment the tips of her fingers stroked the hairs at
the top of his chest, his pants grew uncomfortably tight.

If she was searching for a way to distract him, she did not need to look far for one.

Gasping for air, he broke their mouths apart. Penelope’s breath hitched in her throat. “Why
do you have this power over me?” she muttered, sounding on the verge of tears. She nuzzled
his neck, lips grazing the skin of his throat. Her fingers played with the loose collar of his
shirt.

Colin chuckled. He could have asked her the same question. Just the scent of her clouded
his mind, floral and candy sweet. He licked his lips, savoring the taste Penelope left behind
when she broke their kiss. His stomach churned as he fought to keep his feelings bottled
inside.

“What power is that?” he asked, resting his forehead against hers. He bumped their noses
together. Surely whatever power she claimed he had could not compare to what she held
over him. His hand cupped her breast, sliding beneath her robe. When his thumb ghosted
over the pointed peak of her nipple, it apparently was not enough. With strength he did not
know she possessed, she latched onto his hand and forced him to squeeze her harder. Colin
could not help but oblige her.

Penelope moaned. “I cannot think when you are near me like this. Your smell, your body, I
want you closer, even when I cannot possibly be any closer to you.” She leaned into him, as
if to demonstrate exactly what she meant that she needed him closer. “With you near me, as
you are now, I feel so completely dismantled.” Tilting her head back, she traced her lips
against his jaw. He groaned, digging the pads of his fingers into her back to pull her closer.
Her lips stopped. “Is this alright?” she whispered. “Am I doing it…properly?”

A smile popped up on his face. “Whatever you do to me is proper,” he whispered. Colin

may not have known what the “proper” thing to do was when it came to kissing and wooing
women. But what Penelope was doing to him now felt right. Better than right. It was the
sun touching him after weeks of darkness. It was someone taking one look at him and
knowing instinctively what he needed.

Penelope grinned against his cheek. He felt the upturn of her lips on his skin. Before he
could capture her lips again, she swung her leg over his lap to straddle him. Surprised at her
boldness, Colin tipped backwards, and they both tumbled into the grass.

“Colin! Oh, I’m sor —“ Penelope yelped.

Grinning, Colin captured her lips again. Small, blushing Penelope had the ability to knock
him back and take the breath from his lungs. He ran both hands down Penelope’s sides,
resting them on her hips. Immediately, upon seeing he was not upset, she grinned down at
him. She ground her hips against his, his mouth going dry as she leaned down to kiss him
again. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Colin grew harder with every brush of her lips
against his. A coil wound tighter and tighter in his chest until he worried he might explode.

Thunder boomed overhead. Neither of them paid the weather any mind. The wind picked up
as Penelope hitched the skirt of her nightgown up around her hips. Unable to stop himself,
Colin’s hand skimmed across the bare skin of her hip.

Penelope half-sobbed, half-moaned, “I need…I need…”

Colin kissed the shell of her ear, whispering, “What do you need, Pen?” He prayed it was
something he would be able to give her. Nothing he was doing seemed to displease her, but
the insecurity tugged at him. It was unfamiliar to him to not be confident in whatever he was
doing. He would do anything to make her happy, even if it meant second-guessing himself.
Trailing his fingers across the round of her stomach, he smiled as she sucked in a breath.
“Tell me. Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me,” she gasped, rubbing her body against him.

Bucking his hips, he flipped her over so he loomed over her as she lay on her back. His thigh
wedged between her bare legs. Penelope’s hair sprawled in the grass. Lightning shot across
the sky, illuminating her hooded eyes and parted lips. He stroked her cheek. “Touch you
here?”

“You know that’s not where,” she hissed, writhing beneath him.

He touched her belly again, running his thumb down her navel. “Here?” He brushed his lips
over the dip in her neck. “Or, perhaps, here?” His fingers trailed across the skin where her
hip met her upper thigh.

She shook her head, huffing. “Please, Colin!” Her hands snaked up his back, so small as
they danced dangerously close to his buttocks. He sucked in a breath as his skin tingled
beneath the softness of her palms. “Do not make me beg.”

“Never,” he vowed. His lips began to trail down her neck. She tore at the top of her
nightdress, baring her breasts to him a second time. Colin cursed the lightning not returning
in time for him to gaze at her perfection. He wanted to see her beneath him, not in a dimly lit
library or a darkened garden. His hands explored every lush inch of her, but he wanted to
worship her in the light. He was her servant, now and would forever be. She could not see
that in this darkness.

Her frantic breathing grew more urgent, and he barely had time to press a kiss reverently over
her heart before she hiked her nightgown all the way to her waist. The scent of her arousal
overwhelmed him, filling his nostrils along with the smell of earth, lilacs, and impending
rain.

For a moment, Colin panicked. Here she was, trusting him with the most precious parts of
herself, and he worried he might disappoint. His brothers told him all about the art of
pleasuring a woman with one’s mouth. Men talked and shared jokes at the club about how it
was better to receive this gift from a woman than give it. Colin had listened with great
interest to all of it. Even as his mouth watered at the thought of pleasuring Penelope, he
could not stop the fear in his mind he would dissatisfy her.

“What is it?” Penelope breathed, chest heaving.

Her breathy sigh made him groan. He was already painfully hard, and just the sound of her
voice made his groin pulse with need.

“Penelope, I - I have never done this before,” he choked. “Are you certain you want me as
—“
She silenced him by untucking his shirt. Her fingers traced the lines of his abdomen.
“Colin,” she whispered. More lightning. Her eyes glowed with trust and longing. “Touch.
Me”

“Right,” Colin said.

Without any further thought to his anxieties, Colin dipped his head between her thighs to
press his mouth to her center. She was wet and ready for him. The moment his tongue
stroked her, a cry escaped her lips. Penelope’s hips shot up to meet his mouth, and Colin
used one hand to steady her. He kissed her between her thighs the way he would kiss her
mouth, pouring every ounce of himself into this kiss. She was velvet soft, deserving of his
diligence. All the things he wished to say but could not find the words for went into this kiss.

Colin never considered himself an incredibly devout man, despite the clergy being one of the
things he considered entering to keep himself occupied in life. But as he lapped at
Penelope’s core, listening to every sound from her lips to guide him, he could think of no
other way to describe what he was experiencing other than as a religious experience. She
was soft and pink and sweet to taste, and he would feast on her as long as she would have
him. It no longer mattered if he performed correctly, that he never had done this. All he
wanted was to prove to her his devotion. He was painfully hard, but he did not know how
long that was going to last with her hands running through his hair.

While Colin worshiped at the altar of Penelope, small booms of thunder shook the sky. The
wind picked up, rustling the hedges and trees. Thick drops of rain finally began to fall. After
holding off all day, the skies decided now was the time to unleash the storm it had bottled
within dark clouds. Neither Penelope nor Colin was interested in stopping their dance, even
as the heavens released a steady stream of rain. He would not have even noticed the rain if
not for the ear-splitting booms of thunder.

“Colin!” Penelope breathed, fingers tangling in his wet hair. He sensed her quickening
beneath his tongue. On either side of his head, her thighs trembled without abandon. He
increased his pace, sucking and licking against the backdrop of lightning and thunder. “I - I
—“

Colin’s whole body throbbed between Penelope’s quivering thighs. The rain picked up,
soaking them both. Thunder cracked. Lightning crackled through the sky. While light filled
the sky, Colin’s eyes found Penelope’s as he continued to suckle at her core. Her lips parted,
and he watched as she came apart beneath his mouth. Their eyes never broke apart until her
back arched. A boom of thunder, louder than any of the others before then, covered the
scream that ripped from her throat.

Only when Colin’s face was coated with a final bout of wetness from Penelope did he himself
lose control. He exploded in his pants, letting out a deep groan. Stars covered his vision.
Resting his cheek against Penelope’s trembling thigh, he pressed a small kiss to her soft flesh.

As he crawled up to be level with her face, more lightning struck the sky. She watched him
with wide eyes, her lips trembling. Hastily, she pulled herself into a sitting position. The
hedges provided them some coverage from the deluge, but her thin white nightgown quickly
became translucent. Colin touched her chin with shaking fingers.
“Marry me, Pen,” he said, raising his voice enough to be heard over the rain. He took her
hand. “Please.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to accept him. Her lips parted, an answer poised on
the edge of her tongue. Colin could not stop himself from grinning with joy.

He cursed himself for his overeager, presumptive smile. For the second it overtook his face
was the same second the fear and uncertainty entered Penelope’s face. Had the joy of what
they had done beneath the hedges faded to disgust? Had she remembered she did not hold
any romantic feelings for him?

Penelope gave him a small smile. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I…I
will think about it,” she promised.

Rain cascaded down around them, wetting Colin’s face like tears. The foundation of his
resolve began to shudder, and this time when thunder shook the earth, his chest ached. All his
confidence and hope washed out of him as the rain picked up speed.
 Truth
Chapter Summary

Penelope receives an unexpected invitation.

Chapter Notes

Hi all! This chapter was one I was incredibly excited to write, and it's long overdue. I'll
confess, I'm starting to feel like the way I chose to do the chapters as strictly back and
forth POVs between Colin and Penelope is starting to affect how I'm telling the story
(one of the risks of not having a beta reader!). Hopefully, it's still satisfying to read,
despite some of these road bumps I'm having while writing it.

Thank you so much for your responses, kudos, and reads. I truly appreciate all of it.

Song: "Old Money" by Lana Del Rey

But if you send for me, you know I’ll come

And if you call for me, you know I’ll run

Lana Del Rey, “Old Money”

She did not think she looked any different. The smooth round of her cheeks was still there.
Her red hair, still unbound and wild from the night before, was the same hue. Nothing
seemed out of place that had not been there before.

But Penelope looked at herself in her mirror and thought, Wanton . Harlot. Temptress. A
confident glow hovered around her, not one visible, but one she felt. When she blinked, she
thought she still felt the glow of Colin’s adoration on her skin. He was her acolyte, simply
living to please her and take her to the heavens. His tongue had worshiped her in a way she
had not thought possible. Lady Whistledown would not even be able to find the words to
describe the ecstasy of what he did to her.

And the look in his eye. Lightning illuminated the sky, revealing the utter wonder in his
green eyes when he looked at her, rain sliding down his face. When he asked her the second
time to marry him, she knew he meant it. He would follow her to the ends of the earth and
continue to shower her with pleasure, all she had to do was accept him. She wondered if this
was how divinity felt.

The moment he finished worshiping her, when he spoke the words Marry me…Please ,
Penelope almost accepted him on the spot. She had never felt more beautiful than that
moment. Sitting in the pouring rain, her night dress thoroughly ruined and her innocence
gone, she was ready to throw practicality out the door. Her heart was intertwined with
Colin’s in every sense of the word, and Penelope was ready to escape to Gretna Green so no
one would ever come between them again.

Reality inserted itself between them once again, loud and imposing as the thunder crashing
around in the sky above them.

Marrying Colin was not possible, no matter what the tender feelings between them might be.
Even if she was able to ignore the fact he held the ability to hurt her with a single word,
Penelope was a writer, and if Colin knew the truth, he would despise her. He loathed Lady
Whistledown. That was a fact. No amount of affection would erase his hatred. Marriage
was her way out, to continue her life’s work. Marriage to Colin would not make that
possible.

And that was not even considering the matter of Eloise. Who knew what would happen if
Penelope even tried to enter the Bridgerton family.

When Penelope made the addition to her column at Genevieve’s, stating that Mr. Carmichael
was intent on marrying her, she had hoped it would hasten Carmichael along. She had not
intended it to bring Colin to her window in the dark of night. The moment the wedding
preparations were complete and she was married, Colin would not be able to distract her
anymore. Whether he was unhappy with the predicament or not, he would no longer be able
to pursue her. She did not trust herself around him anymore, not with the beast he had
awoken in her.

A knock on the door shook Penelope out of her stupor. She tightened her dressing gown
around herself, swept her hair back, and called, “Come in!”

The door opened to reveal her lady’s maid. She hurried across Penelope’s room with a letter
in her grasp. Penelope’s mouth dried. She prayed it was not from Colin. She did not think
her heart would be able to handle a letter from him, not after their rendezvous in the garden.
Curtsying, the maid handed the letter to Penelope.

“A messenger brought this for you, Miss,” the maid said.

Looking at the letter in her grasp, Penelope’s stomach churned. She recognized the fold of
the paper. It was the same secret way of folding their letters to one another they had used
since they were old enough to write.

This was not from Colin.

~
Penelope wondered just how frequently meeting Bridgertons in the dark was going to
become a habit of hers. The moon was high in the sky tonight, unobstructed by the rain
clouds that had swept through Mayfair just the night prior. The smell of Lady Bridgerton’s
gardens overwhelmed her, the blooms mixing with the wet earth and grass. These gardens
were unfamiliar to her. With the distance between her and Eloise, she had not yet been to
Number Five Bruton Street, Lady Violet’s home since Anthony and Kate took over as
Viscount and Viscountess at Bridgerton House. These were smaller than the gardens at
Bridgerton House, but there was still a small grove of trees that would provide them with
enough privacy that no one would hear them in the house. She concealed herself behind one
of the trees and looked toward the back of the house. Most of the windows were dark, save
for some of the lower level ones that probably belonged to the servants. Looking up at the
darkened upper levels, Penelope wondered if Colin was inside one of those. Was he awake,
thinking of her? Or, perhaps, was he sleeping and dreaming of her? Did he regret what they
did last night? He must not have, he reiterated the question to marry him after –

“He’s not here.”

Penelope jumped. Coming across the garden was Eloise. She was still dressed from the day,
save for her hair, which was down and unkempt around her shoulders. As she approached
closer, Penelope could see her fingers were stained with ink. Their fight may have only been
a few nights ago, but Penelope felt like she was seeing Eloise for the first time in ages. Other
than the night in the library, they had only seen one another across crowded spaces, in public
or at balls. Her friend looked more tired than she had ever before.

“Pardon?” Penelope yelped, smoothing her cloak around her.

Eloise rolled her eyes, coming to a stop in front of Penelope. “Colin,” she said, “he’s not
here. He’s at the club. It’s a wonder, really. He barely seems to leave the house anymore
unless it is to see you .”

Moonlight could not hide the blush in Penelope’s cheeks. “Oh.” Swallowing hard, she
forced away her thoughts of where he might be, if he truly was at the club as Eloise insisted.

“You got my letter,” Eloise said.

Grinding her teeth, Penelope said, “It was hardly a letter. You scrawled a few hasty words
out on a page and had it sent to me.”

“If it was so objectionable, perhaps you should not have come,” Eloise snapped.

The two glared at one another, both of them with their arms crossed over their chests. The
hope Penelope had come with to meet Eloise quickly began to dwindle as the seconds
passed. They never fought this way before. Even the worst spats they had resulted in sullen
and stony silences. But never the chilling anger that coursed between them since Eloise
discovered the Whistledown secret.

For reasons unbeknownst to Penelope, her eyes began to burn. She sucked in a breath. “I did
not come to fight with you, Eloise,” Penelope murmured. “What did you ask me to come
here for?”
Eloise narrowed her eyes. “You said in the library that I did not allow you to explain your
actions,” she said. “Well. No one is here. My brother is not here. My mother and Lady
Danbury are not here. So, now is your chance to explain.” She put her hands on her hips and
waited.

“Where do you want me to start?” Penelope asked. “You lobbed so many accusations at me,
I hardly know which I should start addressing.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she snapped. “Start with me. Why did you put the secrets I
had trusted you with in the sheet?”

Pent up frustration clawed at Penelope. “Eloise, you told me the Queen had cornered you!
That she had put you in a carriage with her and threatened you and your family. What should
I have done? I thought if I put just a little bit of information about what you were doing, it
would get her to leave you alone! I kept your Mr. Sharpe’s name out of it, everything else.
What I chose to use was the least damaging information!”

“I was almost ruined!” Eloise spat. “My family was shunned, you knew we were on the
outskirts of society because of Anthony’s canceled nuptials. How could you!”

Despite her attempt at remaining calm, Penelope exploded. Hot tears sprang to her eyes.
“What should I have done, El?” she cried. “Said nothing? Left you to the Queen’s mercy? I
tried to tell you to stop what you were doing. So many times, I tried to warn you that what
you were doing was a risk. And you did not listen!”

“And that was a reason for you to ruin me?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “You were never ruined, Eloise,” she said. “Your family has a
natural way of weathering scandals. No matter how many any of you stumble into, you all
come out with your reputations intact.”

“You say that as if you did not cause us pain,” Eloise snapped.

A horrible blend of guilt and shame and fury swirled in Penelope’s brain. She squeezed her
eyes shut, hoping and praying she could control her words before she said something she
would regret.

“The things I write cause pain because they are true ,” Penelope seethed. “No one
complained when what I wrote about Nigel Berbrooke kept Daphne from having to marry
him. The mamas of the ton all laughed when I wrote about my own mother’s petty antics.
Why? Because it is true! It may not be revolutionary, and it may not be something you find
intellectually stimulating, Eloise, but the things we must face sometimes are far simpler than
we realize.”

She saw Eloise wanted to speak, but the anger Penelope had kept inside all this time had
festered in its time bottled up within her. “And I hid it from you because despite being your
friend, you did not see me . I was drowning, because even though I had you as my dearest
friend, you didn't need me the way I needed you. You have your family, you love one
another. I had no one to turn to…so I took the voice inside me, the one that had to bite its
tongue everywhere I went, and I turned it into Lady Whistledown.” Tears slid down her
face. “Everyone who had ever hurt me, I now had power over them. I had a way to turn a
mirror on them, and show them how terrible they could be.”

Eloise shifted, her hair glimmering in the moonlight. “And Miss Thompson? What was her
crime?”

Penelope wiped her face, a dark laugh escaping her lips. “I wrote about it,” she said. “You
know what she did.”

“She was scared!” Eloise protested.

“Do you want to know what I did not write? I did not write that she was scheming with my
mother to seduce Colin for weeks before they decided to run to Gretna Green,” Penelope
snapped. “I stood outside the door, listening to them talk of him like he was a piece of meat.
He was nothing but a ploy to them. I do not doubt my cousin was frightened, but I begged
her to not do this to Colin. She thought only of her own happiness, and she didn’t care a lick
for what he would go through when he found out the child she carried was not his. I begged
her, El!” She sniffled. “It tore me up inside, but when no one listened, I acted. I hated
myself for what I did to Marina. But I would have hated myself more if I did not do
something.”

Realization struck Eloise. “That night you came to me, the one we made up…”

Penelope nodded. She remembered that night well. After turning her column in, she thought
the self-loathing would destroy her. Her only option for solace had been Eloise.

Wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress, she croaked, “I know it makes me
monstrous to you, knowing what I did to Marina. I’m sorry for hurting her. I’m sorry for
hurting you . But you need to know, though, that even if you hate me for the rest of your life,
even if Marina knew and hated me for the rest of her life…I would do it all again. Even if
you despised me for the rest of time, I would write what I did about your political activity to
stop the Queen from blaming you. Knowing Marina would be ruined, I would write about
her lie to stop her from using Colin.”

Penelope choked on a cry, swallowing the pain like it was a shard of glass. “So, when you
ask for an explanation, that’s it. That is what I wanted to tell you. That is what you did not
listen to or understand.”

Eloise stared. Her silence was excruciating to Penelope, who was doing her best to will her
eyes dry. She watched as Eloise chewed on the inside of her cheek. When Eloise finally
spoke, she said, “That is exactly what Marina said.” Penelope blinked several times,
confused. Eloise went on, “I…I wrote to her. Some time ago. After I discovered your
identity, I wrote to her and told her I had discovered it was you who was behind her
ruination.”

Penelope stood very still. A chill settled in her bones. But even though she knew this could
spark disaster, a part of her felt at peace with the knowledge that her end could be near. If
Marina knew, if she were to take her information to the Queen, Penelope’s secrets were at an
end.

Maybe this is for the best , she thought. Perhaps if I am uncovered, this will all end. I will
not be able to marry anyone then.

“What did she say?” Penelope asked, strangely calm.

“I expected her to be upset,” Eloise admitted. “Part of me wanted her to be infuriated.”

Tilting her head to the side, Penelope said, “Why?”

Eloise snorted. “Because I wanted someone to be as mad at you as I was!” she said. “When
I received her reply to my revelation — months and months after I sent it! — she was nothing
of the sort. She seemed rather annoyed that I took the time to write to her at all.”

Confused, Penelope shook her head. “She…she was not upset?”

“She said she is content with her children. After his visit with her last year, she seems rather
relieved she did not end up married to Colin. She said he bored her senseless, making his
ridiculous plant puns, and not ceasing his chatter about his travels.” Eloise huffed. “But
about you. She said she had not listened to you. That was what she kept repeating, that she
had ignored what you tried to tell her, over and over. She has no interest in ever speaking to
you again…naturally. Nor does she wish to even hear the name ‘Bridgerton’ again, but she
told me you did what you did because of love for my brother.”

Penelope’s cheeks burned. Marina’s mockery of her feelings for Colin rang in her ears. The
condescension, only meant to be a harsh truth, in her tone stung worse than any slap could
have. She could not look Eloise in the eye, especially not now, having tasted Colin’s lips,
having heard him moan her name in ecstasy.

“You do love him, then?” Eloise asked. “Colin.”

Penelope ignored the question. The weight of her love for Colin was so heavy on her chest.
The feelings she had for him, no matter how long she tried to deny them, were entrenched in
her like a hook. To remove it would cause even greater pain than what she was going
through now.

Looking into Eloise’s eyes, Penelope bit her lip. “Truly, El,” she began, “I am sorry. I never
wanted to harm you. I just wanted the Queen to leave you alone. To convince her it was not
you she was hunting for.” She shook her head. “I know you may never forgive me, but
please know I did this with…”

For once in her life, Penelope found words failing her. Beautifully structured sentences and
flowery, witty metaphors could do nothing to save her in this moment. She wished she could
write her apologies to Eloise, for standing before her, fumbling for the right words, felt alien.
She couldn’t hide behind her quill here.
Sighing, Eloise kicked out the skirt of her dress and crossed her arms over her chest. “I am
also sorry,” she said. “It was not until I found myself alone with time to think over every
detail that I realized just how much I missed. Theo, the hunt to discover who you were. I
was reckless. I was doing things I shouldn’t have, and it made the Queen’s agents suspect
me.” Her eyes glowed in the moonlight, shimmering with unshed tears. “But mostly I’m
sorry for not seeing you. All the time I spent ignoring what was right in front of me kept me
from seeing and valuing the real you. Maybe if I had not been so blind, you would not have
felt the need to start Whistledown.” She shook her head. “And those things I said to you. I
did not mean them.” She closed her eyes to correct herself. “Well, I meant them then. But I
was wrong. You are no insipid wallflower.”

Eloise shook her head, bowing it in shame. “You…you were right,” she said. “About me.
You have done something remarkable, made your own money, made yourself a life.
Achieved something few women get to claim. I do not condone all of the things you did to
get it, but you…you’ve done something . Like you said. And I was jealous. I speak of
remarkable things, of wanting to do more with life than what is placed in front of me, but I
am not remarkable. Not at all.”

Neither of them moved. Their apologies hung in the air, weighing down the silence with all
the things they had not said to each other in more than a year. Penelope offered a watery
smile, and was thrilled when Eloise returned it.

“You’re wrong,” Penelope said. “You’ve always been remarkable, Eloise. And remarkable
in a way I am envious of. You do not have to hide yourself in order to show the world who
you are. I, clearly, have never been able to do that.”

Eloise stepped forward and took Penelope’s hand in hers. “I…I have missed you, Penelope,”
she said. “Angry as I have been, I still cannot imagine a world where we are not friends.”

Sniffling, Penelope pulled Eloise toward her into a crushing embrace. She inhaled the
familiar scent of her friend – clean linens and gardenias – grateful when Eloise returned the
hug. Nothing else mattered right now. Colin, Marina, the Queen. All Penelope cared about
was the wound of her friendship with Eloise finally beginning to scar over.

“What will you do?” Eloise asked her as they pulled apart.

Penelope hummed. “About?”

“Colin. You…you know he hates Whistledown.”

Swallowing hard, Penelope forced her tears to retreat. She would not cry over this, not when
she was so close to achieving her goal. Whatever Colin may have been feeling for her, it
would fade soon. He had not thought her worthy of courting once. If she married another, he
would fall back to looking at her as he once did.

Such indifference was far preferable to hatred.

“It is as you say,” Penelope murmured. “Colin hates Whistledown, so there can be no future
between us. Regardless of whatever feelings there may be.”
Skeptical, Eloise frowned. “Pen, I think he may love you,” she admitted. “And you are not
saying it to me, but you love him as well. Perhaps you could find a way to tell him. Would it
be so bad to marry him?”

Penelope stared up at the stars twinkling above them. How many times had she sat beneath
these same stars and longed to be a Bridgerton? Whether by marriage to Colin, or even just
as a sister to Eloise, she had yearned to be taken into their family, away from Portia,
Prudence, and Phillipa.

That was all before finding her voice with Lady Whistledown. Before she knew what it felt
like to speak with a confidence she did not possess on her tongue, and before she knew what
it felt like to make the people who mocked her tremble with a few well placed quips and a
seething critique of their conduct.

It was before she made the choices that brought her to where she stood now.

“The only way he would marry me is if he did not know,” Penelope said, “and I will not keep
this from him, storing it away until after we made our vows, just to spring on him after
it’s…” Her voice hitched. “Until after it’s too late.”

Even as the words left her mouth, Penelope debated within herself about whether she could
make this work.

I could tell him.

Maybe he really does love me. He would let me keep my writing, and find a way to forgive
me .

All I have to do is tell him .

“I confess, though I am glad we are now speaking again,” Eloise’s voice broke in, “I cannot
tell what you are thinking at this moment.” When Penelope met Eloise’s gaze, she found
questions. Though the work had begun to heal their friendship, it would be difficult. Eloise
was unfamiliar with these parts of Penelope; she did not know them yet.

Swallowing hard, Penelope shook her head. “I am afraid I, too, am unsure what I am
thinking at this moment.”
 At the Palace
Chapter Summary

Colin makes a decision at the ball celebrating Prince Friedrich’s return to England.

Chapter Notes

It has been a long while since I posted, so I do apologize for the wait. This one may
need some more polishing, but I have decided one of my new priorities for 2024 is to
keep to a posting schedule. Especially now that we have a season 3 release date, I have
to get my butt moving!

Another thing I’m hoping to do is keep up with replying to your comments you leave. I
really appreciate folks taking the time to do that, and I want to be able to interact with
everyone more ❤

Thank you again for the reads, kudos, and comments. I’ll see you all next Saturday with
a new chapter!

Oh, be my once in a lifetime

Lana Del Rey, “love song”

The palace was teeming with guests on the night of Prince Freidrich’s honorary ball. Not
even two days after it was announced the Prince was back in the country, invitations had
come to every member of society. Even Lady Whistledown had expressed shock at how
quickly the ball was put together.

“Do you think Edwina is ready for such a spectacle?” Anthony asked Kate, as they milled
about in the main hall outside the ballroom. Colin stood with them, trying to keep himself
busy to avoid hunting the crowd for Penelope looking like a lovelorn fool. The
Featheringtons had not yet even arrived. He would do well to stay put, no matter how badly
he wished to pace like a caged tiger.

Kate pursed her lips. “After your failed nuptials on these very grounds, I hardly think the
adoration of a handsome prince will be too much for her,” she remarked.
Colin smirked, doing his best to hide a laugh. Kate was correct, though. Whistledown had
been unable to contain her glee with the arrogant declaration that this event was for the sole
purpose of introducing Edwina Sharma to the Queen’s Royal nephew. The pair were
rumored to have written letters to one another, despite the impropriety of their unmarried
status, but no one seemed to mind. Supposedly, the Prince was already quite in love. Lady
Whistledown herself said perhaps unmarried men and women corresponding with one
another should not be thought of as scandalous, and apparently many in the ton were proving
not opposed to the notion.

At least with regard to Edwina. Were anyone to find out he and Penelope had done the very
same thing, he wondered if the reaction would be similar.

“Failed nuptials or not, I think the only thing we can be certain of is that Her Majesty still
holds great affection for Miss Edwina,” Colin remarked.

Kate smiled with pride. “It is difficult to hold anything other than the most tender of feelings
for my dear sister.” She placed a hand on Colin’s arm. “After last season, I am pleased she
found a friend in Penelope. I regret Eloise and she quarreled, but I am most grateful Edwina
was able to find a confidante, with me being out of the house. She needed such a friend in
her life.”

Colin’s cheeks heated.

A devilish grin lit up Kate’s face. “You know I only tease,” she said.

“No, no,” Anthony said, “give him everything. He must be reminded of his failings in the
realm of Penelope Featherington.”

“I’ll have you know I’m making up for many of those failings,” Colin grumbled to his eldest
brother.

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Unless you have proposed to her, I do not want to hear it,” he
said. “After that waltz you had, I’m surprised we have not been blacklisted from every social
gathering in town.”

Colin’s spirits sank. Apparently, his brother’s good spirits when he and Benedict had
comforted Colin after he hit Fife did not last. Viscount Bridgerton was back with a
vengeance. Even Kate noticed and cast an apologetic glance in Colin’s direction.

Before he could snap a retort at his brother, though, the crowd parted to reveal Her Majesty,
Queen Charlotte. A towering headpiece of snow white hair sat atop her head. Glistening
jewels shone within the curls, all of them centered around a golden crown. On her arm was
her equally golden nephew. His hair gleamed almost as much as his aunt’s riches. Though
he was quite close to being Colin’s brother-in-law at one point, Colin could not recall
anything about the Prince. His behavior certainly befit someone of his rank, and every
woman of the ton was quite taken with him. But Colin had been so preoccupied with his
infatuation with Marina that he remembered virtually nothing about Prince Friedrich.
“My word,” Kate breathed, taking in the sight of her sister’s royal suitor. “That may be the
most handsome man to ever court her.”

Anthony frowned at his wife as Queen Charlotte and Prince Friedrich began making their
way through the crowd. “I do believe you may be mistaken, my Lady,” Anthony said. “ I
courted your sister, too.”

Humor twinkled in Kate’s eyes. “Indeed you did,” she said, a hint of a smirk lingering at the
edge of her mouth. Colin was forced to bite down his laughter at Anthony’s wounded
expression as the royals approached the gathered trio of Bridgerton.

“Ah, Viscount Bridgerton,” the Prince said, offering an amiable smile. “It is such a pleasure
to see you again.”. Where the Queen had kept them moving with other guests, she and her
nephew came to a complete stop in front of Kate, Anthony’s, and Colin. She accepted their
bows and curtsy with the same disinterested expression she usually bore. But Colin could tell
that she had a hawkish glint in her eyes.

“An honor to speak with you again, Your Highness,” Anthony said. “We are so thrilled you
were able to come to England again.”

The Queen laid a hand on her nephew’s arm. “This is Miss Sharma’s sister and brother-in-
law,” she explained. “It is because of these two I was ever able to introduce you to Miss
Sharma in the first place. If it were not for their love for one another, Miss Edwina might
have been the Viscountess Bridgerton.”

Tight smiles passed around the group of Bridgertons. The Queen, not caring the compliment
he touched an awkward sore spot for the family, smiled with great satisfaction. The Prince,
ever so polite, nodded to his aunt, assuring her he was very happy that they would find
whatever necessary to make themselves happy. In truth, Colin had begun to tune the Royal
out, intent on keeping an eye out for Penelope.

Colin did not have to wait long.

She came in arm-in-arm with Edwina, clad in seafoam green silk adorned with crystal
beading. A silver tiara topped her red waves that curled delicately around her shoulders.
Penelope beamed at Edwina beside her. She was thrilled for her friend, watching her with a
look Colin once saw her look at Eloise with. And Edwina seemed most grateful for
Penelope’s presence, clutching Penelope’s arm in her own. Despite her outward composure,
Edwina’s eyes glittered with anxiety. Her cheeks matched her dusky pink dress, and she
looked sideways at Penelope. In return, Penelope gave her a reassuring nod.

“Thank goodness she has Penelope to grasp onto,” Kate murmured, clutching Anthony’s arm
as the Queen and the Prince moved on from them.

The crowd parted once again, this time between Edwina and Penelope, and the Queen and the
Prince. Queen Charlotte smiled as wide as Colin had ever seen from her, pulling her nephew
along with her through the onlookers to take him to Edwina. The Prince wore the same
lovelorn look Colin was sure he himself wore when he was staring at Penelope: eyes glazed
over, unblinking, and smiling dreamily at the woman before him. Whatever words they
exchanged in their letters and Edwina’s general loveliness had Prince Friedrich a man lost in
love at first sight.

The room held in a breath as the Queen and the Prince crossed the room. Penelope took a
step back from Edwina, allowing her to meet the Prince on her own. Both women dipped
into deep curtseys at the Queen and Prince reaching them. While everyone else was hungrily
watching the royal match being made in front of them, Colin became distracted at the sight of
locks of Penelope’s hair dipping forward with her head. Last he had seen her, both of them
had been soaked to the bone, breathing heavily, and each of them in a precarious state of
undress. Since her promise to think about whether she would accept his proposal, all he
could think of was how he could make her understand that he loved her. She said he
deserved his love match, and he could not have agreed more. But she was his love match.
Every time her face flashed in his mind, an ache grew beneath his ribs, too powerful to
ignore.

How could he make her see?

Queen Charlotte’s voice boomed through the air, alerting the ton that they would be
migrating to the grand ballroom. Edwina took Prince Friedrich’s offered arm, eyes glowing
with delight, and they moved to lead the masses to the ballroom floor. Colin still had not
taken his eyes from Penelope. He nodded absently to Kate and Anthony telling him they
would be following the group, waiting for the moment Penelope’s gaze would find his.

And amidst the moving crowd, their eyes met.

Though across the room, he felt her eyes course over him. A surge of affection overtook him
as her eyes brightened. When she looked at him – when they talked of things that made them
laugh, when they spoke of his travels and she asked him questions without mockery – he
knew Penelope was seeing him. Him as he truly was. There was no need for him to posture
for attention, for he had hers. He always had, his mother was right. There was no moment in
his memory where she had not looked at him in this way. The fact he never noticed before
only proved how big of a fool he truly was. All the talk of purpose, all the things he thought
he was meant for, paled in comparison to his realization now.

Penelope was his purpose. Being with her, sharing his life and dreams with her, that was
what Colin was meant to do. Perhaps travel was a piece of that. But none of it mattered if
Penelope was not at his side. Her absence in his life would be intolerable from this day
forward.

A smile spread over his face, so wide it hurt. He welcomed the ache. Aches meant these
feelings were real, that there was truth to them.

Across the sea of people, Penelope’s brows rose. He almost laughed. Did she truly not see
how she made the earth turn for him? How one word from her lips could change the
trajectory of his life. Would she believe him if he went to her and kissed away her
confusion? When she saw he had no intention of dropping his grin, a smile lifted on her lips.

Colin started towards her, intent on taking her hand and reiterating his question about
marriage. He would do it right here, in the middle of the palace, with all of society bearing
witness. But this time he intended to add why he wanted to marry her. He needed to make it
clear to her that it was not the fact that he compromised her. It was that he loved her. He
wanted to scream it from the highest point in the palace, until every member of the ton knew,
until every Royal knew, until every last exotic creature in Queen Charlotte’s menagerie knew.

But the plans in his head never played out the way they should have, and tonight was no
exception.

Before Colin could reach Penelope, a nuisance in the form of Mr. Carmichael stepped into his
sight line. Penelope broke their gaze, seemingly startled at the other man’s intrusion. Chest
heavy, Colin stopped in the middle of the room. Several people grumbled their complaints,
but he ignored them all. His intentions would have to wait, apparently, as Carmichael was
offering his arm to go to the ballroom. Colin’s last view of Penelope was her glancing over
her shoulder to him.

As soon as their dance is done, Colin vowed to himself. This is the last dance he will have
with her.

“ So,” a voice drawled. “Have you finally accepted the truth?”

Colin smirked at Lady Danbury as she tapped her cane several times on the ground. A smug
smile greeted him when he looked at her.

“What truth is it that I have come to accept, Lady Danbury?” he asked.

“My dear Mr. Bridgerton, I am beginning to think you are an even bigger fool than your
brother, the Viscount,” Lady Danbury said, putting her arm up expectantly. Colin took her by
the arm and escorted the elderly Countess into the ballroom.

Colin scoffed, a playful smile following the noise. “Perish the thought,” he said. “No one is
a bigger fool than Anthony.”

“How does it happen that I find myself in the middle of yet another Bridgerton romance?”
Lady Danbury asked him. “First, with your younger sister and the Duke. Your mother and I
did quite a bit of plotting there, but it was a love match from the start, there is no doubt.
Then your eldest brother and his Viscountess, they certainly attempted to avoid my notice.
But these eyes, though old, are sharp.”

“Oh, there is no doubt. Sharp as a hawk.”

Lady Danbury shushed him. “Now, I find myself on the outskirts of whatever is occurring
between you and Miss Featherington.”

“Perhaps, you are a romantic at your core,” Colin suggested. “You have the whole of the ton
fooled. You want us to think you are hard as steel, when you truly have a heart of gold set on
finding love matches for those you care about.”

Lady Danbury shot him a glance that might have withered wildflowers. “Careful, Mr.
Bridgerton. Do not mistake my affection for your relationship with Miss Featherington as
license to take too many liberties with your humor.” They stood amidst the ton watching the
dancers. Most were murmuring their approval at the Prince and Edwina, both appearing like
the subject of a fairy tale as they glided across the floor. Colin, instead, watched Penelope.

“You will want to find an opportunity soon to ask your question,” Lady Danbury said, eyes
finding the same point as Colin’s. “If Lady Whistledown is to be believed, a proposal is
imminent from that gentleman she is dancing with.”

“The devil take Lady Whistledown,” Colin grumbled, nodding decisively. “And her damned
gossip. She will be proven wrong soon enough.”

Lady Danbury’s silence weighed heavily between them, and when he looked over at her, he
noticed she was studying him. Her shrewd gaze picked at him like a riddle she was intent on
solving. He shifted, curious. Lady D knew the goings-on in society better than most. As she
stared at him like she knew he was missing a vital piece of information, he wondered if
perhaps Lady Danbury knew more about Carmichael’s intentions than even the gossip
columnist.

“What? What is that expression for?” he finally asked.

“Can an old woman not ponder her companion’s words?” Lady Danbury asked.

“Certainly,” Colin admitted, “but you appear to be doing more than thinking over what I
said. I get the distinct feeling you may know a piece of information that I am not privy to.”
He arched a brow. “Care to share what you know, dear Lady Danbury?”

The old woman patted Colin’s hand. “My dear Mr. Bridgerton, I do believe you are
mistaken,” she said. “There is nothing I am able to tell you.”

They fell into silence. Lady Danbury looked out over the dancers, pretending she did not
notice Colin watching her. There was no chance she did not know he was hoping she would
elaborate. But she never looked back at him, no matter how probing his stare.

The music ended after what felt like an eternity. Colin watched Penelope leave the dancing
couples as the musicians began to prepare for the next song. He wished the pair had finished
the dance closer to him and Lady Danbury; instead, Carmichael and Penelope ended up on
the complete opposite side of the dance floor. He should not have, but Colin grew jealous.
Rationally, he knew her smiles and her holding Carmichael’s arm had nothing to do with
affection. All she gave to Carmichael was purely for social politeness. Colin was the man
who received her smiles of affection. He was the one whose name she cried out in the throes
of passion. Nothing Carmichael did, no sentence he puttered, could do that for her.

“You know, rather than glowering at my side, you could be making your way across the
room,” Lady Danbury said, prodding Colin in the shin with her cane.

Clearing his throat, Colin smoothed his suit jacket. He bowed to Lady Danbury. “Well,
thank you for your help, my lady. It is most appreciated.”
“Enough thanking me. Go!” Lady Danbury, not caring who was in the way, pointed her cane
outward in Penelope’s direction. Her face was stern, but her dark eyes glittered with
amusement.

Grinning from ear to ear, Colin strode through the crowd. Progress was slow, though. Queen
Charlotte had spared no expense for her nephew’s homecoming, nor had she spared any
invitation. Every member of the ton, visiting Royals, the entirety of the castle staff. It
seemed that this was the most well-attended party Colin had ever encountered. Between
Penelope’s short stature and the ocean of guests, Colin had little hope of keeping track of her
whereabouts.

As he searched, someone said his name. Colin had every intention of continuing on, with the
speaker following along behind him. But Bertram Fife was not one to be ignored, and he
stepped in front of Colin. Colin swallowed hard at the yellowing skin of his friend’s face.
He had not seen Fife since striking him in the gardens of Bridgerton House. Fife noticed his
apprehension and held up his hands. “Do not look so unhappy to see me, Bridgerton,” he
said, that infuriating little smirk of his gracing his face. “I bear you no ill will for marking up
my pretty face.”

Colin blinked. “You…you do not?”

Fife chuckled. “No,” he said, simply. “You may not believe this, but I am not without
feeling. I am sorry for what I said to you. About your brother, and about Miss
Featherington.” Colin’s eyes must have been pulsing out of his head, because Fife laughed
harder. He clapped Colin on the shoulder. “I am happy for you, Bridgerton. I hope you will
have a very happy life with one another.”

“Bertram, are you jesting?” Colin asked, not quite able to believe what was happening. “Did
I hit you harder than I thought?”

Fife smirked. “You may have hit me hard enough to mark me up, but you do not possess
enough strength in that arm to concuss me.”

Eyes flickering over Fife’s shoulder, Colin finally caught sight of Penelope again. She and
Carmichael stood by the lemonade and champagne, each sipping from a glass. Carmichael
spoke intently to a conflicted looking Penelope. There was a smile on the man’s face, his
hand was at Penelope’s elbow, and he was nodding vigorously at her. Colin frowned, but he
lost sight of them again when a crowd of ladies floated into his line of vision.

“Regardless, I wanted to apologize to you for my conduct,” Fife said, breaking through
Colin’s distraction. “I know you think little enough of me, and perhaps you are right to, but
my point remains the same. I wish you happiness going forward.” He sipped his
champagne. “Though I would recommend moving faster than you have been. There are few
enough of you, but there is still another seeking your lady’s affections. You’d be wise to
move a tad more hastily than you have been.”

Nodding to Fife, Colin outstretched his hand to shake. “Well…I appreciate your words,
Bertram. Surprising as they are.”
Amusement thick in his voice, Fife gave a throaty laugh. “I have never aimed to be a man of
great mystery. Merely, a man of amusement and vices.”

Colin shook his head as he parted from Fife. This night was proving to be stranger with each
passing moment. Colin finally managed to get to the refreshment table, only to find that
Penelope had abandoned it. Carmichael lingered around, stuck in conversation with a group
of gentlemen. All of them smiled and shook the man’s hand, seemingly offering
congratulations for some thing or another. Colin rolled his eyes, assuming this had to do with
Carmichael’s damned hounds he never stopped boasting about. Colin was grateful to have
discovered his feelings for Penelope before it was too late. To condemn Penelope to a life of
constant chatter about fox hunting and dog breeding may have been the worst thing he could
imagine that did not involve abuse of any sort.

But with her separated from the man now, he was left with the rather difficult task of locating
Penelope. Though he adored how much smaller she was than him, he cursed her shortness of
stature in this moment as he struggled to find her. Not even a flash of her seafood gowan
could be found.

Where the devil could she have gotten to? he asked himself.

He continued to meander through the crowd. With Carmichael occupied already, there was
no chance he would be whisking Penelope away to the dance floor again. There was no
reason to rush he supposed.

So, he wandered. Edwina and Prince Friedrich continued to enchant onlookers. A few
people stared at Colin, whispering. About what, he could not seem to find it in himself to
care. The ton could look at him all they wanted, mock and talk as much as they desired.
Their petty interests and insults mattered little to him now. Once, Colin might have been
bothered. But those days were long past him. If someone wanted to gawk at him like an
animal in an enclosure, they were welcome to. He refused to dignify their taunts with
attention. And if it bothered Penelope, he would sweep her away to parts unknown. They
would go away to all the places he wrote to her about from his tours, so Penelope could see
them, and Colin could see the world through her eyes. Then, they would go to all the places
she wanted to go, even if it was no further than Scotland.

His heart thudded in his chest, bumping a smile onto his face. He would ask her again. He
would ask her again, and they would start their life together. This was just the start.

As he looked for Penelope, he caught sight of his family at various points in the room. Kate
and Anthony appeared to whisper to one another, their eyes locked on the dance floor. Colin
imagined they were watching Edwina and the Prince. Kate's furrowed brow, and Anthony’s
hand resting on the small of her back told Colin that his sister-in-law still struggled to trust
someone with Edwina.

On the outskirts of the dancing, Violet and Benedict stood, both grave-faced and nodding
absently as Lady Featherington prattled on to them. Even the knowledge he was about to
join the family with Portia Featherington could not dull Colin’s joy right then. To be sure, his
family would not be thrilled with the prospect either. But he figured bringing Penelope in
would make it worth it for them all.
All that was left to do was find her.

“Colin!”

Frowning, Colin turned to find Eloise pushing her way through the crowd towards him. She
ignored the glares of men and women that she shoved in an effort to get to her brother. Colin
could not help but laugh at his sister’s antics. He stopped to wait for her. Seeing El’s
familiar, anxious buzzing that filled her body whenever she set foot inside a social
engagement made him crack a smile. He would get her and Penelope to talk once more.
They would get past their quarrel and become as close of friends as ever.

They would fix everything.

“Colin, I must speak with you!” Eloise cried, grabbing his wrist as soon as she reached him.
Her eyes were wide, her breathing frantic.

“El,” he said, allowing his sister to drag him away from the center of the room and
somewhere with less prying eyes. That did not stop anyone from watching them, all the way
up until Eloise pulled him behind a column that was wide enough to hide them both. “What
on earth is the matter?”

She shook her head. “Have you heard the news?”

Colin shook his head. “News? What news?”

Eloise’s face paled. Colin watched the blood drain from her cheeks, his stomach sinking.
The looks and whispers between people as he had searched for Penelope, the way his mother
and Benedict looked, it all came rushing to his head.

“Colin…it’s Penelope. She…Mr. Carmichael asked for her hand. She accepted.”
 Seeing the Stars
Chapter Summary

A confrontation long in the making.

Chapter Notes

Hello, all. Posting day is here. I’m very excited to share this chapter with you. It was
quite fun to write, and it’s a moment that has been a long time coming for this fic. Thank
you for taking the time to read, and I’ll see you next week with the next chapter!

Song: “Dress” by Taylor Swift

Say my name and everything just stops

I don’t want you like a best friend

Taylor Swift, “Dress”

The sound of her “yes” leaving her lips broke her own heart. Penelope’s fragile heart, made
of glass, had been tossed to the marble floor of the palace, shattering to a million razor-thin
shards. After Mr. Carmichael finished explaining all the wonderful things that would come
from a marriage with him, Penelope placed her best grateful smile on her face, nodded her
acquiescence, and told Mr. Carmichael that she accepted his proposal.

You have made me the happiest man imaginable , Mr. Carmichael told her. The man could
hardly contain the glee in his voice, while Penelope stood with a brittle smile and burning
eyes.

It had to be done, though. Even if Eloise and she had by some miracle begun to repair the rift
between them, she could not continue her work as Whistledown if she married Colin. She
could even imagine herself giving up the column, that was how strong she felt for Colin. She
would not lie to him, though. Even if Whistledown stopped, if she were to find other pursuits
to occupy herself, she could not give herself fully to Colin without revealing every part. He
deserved better. And the moment he found out about Whistledown, he would hate her. Just
imagining the storm brewing in his eyes was enough to turn her stomach.
So she told Carmichael “yes.” Whatever agony she felt now would pass. If Eloise was right,
if Colin did, in fact, feel for her the way she felt for him, his heartbreak would heal in time.
He was a Bridgerton, after all. No scandal, no pain, was too much to bear when they had one
another.

Sniffling, Penelope stared down at the draft in her hands. After ducking out of the ballroom,
she roamed the palace halls until she found a room she felt sure no one would discover her
in. On it was an entire monologue of surprise and jabs at herself, all announcing that
Carmichael had received an affirmative answer to his proposal. She made certain to throw in
several lines on how unbearable Portia was likely to be, as well as an insult directly aimed at
Prudence for being the last of the Featherington sisters to wed. Penelope could not stop the
dark rush of satisfaction that coursed through her veins. Nor could she stop the thrill of
writing a barb at Cressida for also being second to the former overripe citrus fruit in the
debutante race to the altar.

The writing was marvelous, even to her often overly critical eye. Her readers, the same ones
who sneered at Penelope and sniggered behind her back, would relish the witty metaphors at
Portia, Prudence, and Cressida’s expenses. That should have been enough to make her feel
better. But then she blinked, and Colin’s hopeful face re-emerged in her mind, the one she
saw just as Edwina and Friedrich left her to go dance. There was nothing but pure joy at
seeing her to be found in his gaze. He was just a man, happy to see the woman he locked
eyes with. No more did he come before her as a lost boy in want of a purpose. No, now he
was confident in himself and everything he did. There was no need to search for a purpose,
because he had found it.

Unbidden, tears welled in Penelope’s eyes. They turned her vision murky, every colorful
object and golden adornment in the room swimming. She choked on a sob. Cursing her own
ambition, she rolled the draft into a small scroll and shoved it into the bodice of her dress.

She sank into one of the sofas, her entire body exhausted from the draft she had hurriedly
scribbled and the sheer weight of her devastation. In frustration, she snapped the quill in half
that she had requested from a palace servant before claiming this sitting room. Amidst the
rich furnishings and royal color schemes, Penelope allowed herself to wallow. Loneliness
closed in, an ever-shrinking confinement that she was helpless to push back against. She
wiped her face. There was one person to blame for her circumstances, and it was herself. No
one forced her to continue a courtship with Mr. Carmichael after Colin kissed her. No one
told her she could not accept Colin’s proposal. Society would dictate that she should have
already accepted him after. Especially after their night in the garden. He may not have
deflowered her, but such wanton behavior typically meant they would be requesting a special
license and making hurried arrangements for Genevieve to get a dress made.

By all rights, you should be ruining yourself , Penelope thought, her stomach churning. Tell
the whole world who you are, and leave it up to the vipers nest that is the ton to decide your
fate.

Slumping in a fashion that would surely cause Portia to faint, Penelope closed her eyes and
tried to breathe deeply. In the hall, she heard a frantic set of footsteps, and doors being flung
open and shut. The intruder grew closer, but Penelope found herself not caring a lick if she
was discovered. Let someone catch her in this unflattering position, maybe that gossip could
go in Whistledown.

The door burst open.

“Pen!”

Her heart cracked a little further. Opening her eyes, she came face to face with Colin. He
came into the room, shutting the door behind him with a loud click . His eyes were wide,
frantic. Worst of all, by the expression on his face, he looked as though he had been run over
by a carriage, left trampled on the side of the road.

This is the second time something I’ve done has left him looking like this , Penelope thought.

Inhaling deeply, she rose to meet him as he stepped across the room. She smoothed the
perfectly smooth skirts of her dress with shaking hands.

“Colin,” she said. Her voice shook as much as her hands. She had meant to sound
questioning, to appear as though she had no idea why he would seek her out. But even that
lie felt too much in this moment.

“Tell me it is not true.” His voice was stone. Penelope tried to recall if she had ever seen
him so solemn.

Penelope forced herself to remain still. “I…” Words lodged in her throat.

“Tell me, Penelope,” he said. “Tell me my sister is mistaken. Tell me she heard wrong. Tell
me Carmichael heard you wrong, and he is in there making an even greater fool of himself
than usual because he is telling a room full of people that a woman whose hand he asked for
said yes when she really told him no .”

Penelope managed, “There is no mistake. Mr. Carmichael asked me to marry him. I said
yes.”

Silence, so heavy Penelope thought it might bring her to her knees, settled over them. Words
raced through her mind, none of them able to be said. She knew he was trying hard to find a
way to give mouth to the words rushing through his own mind, too. In the end, he spoke only
one.

“Why?”

At least that Penelope could answer. She had been telling him for months her reasons for this
plan. She could speak the words with no preparation at this point.

“Colin, you know why,” she said.

He shook his head. “I do not believe that,” he said. “Not anymore. Not when I offered you
something better! A better life, a better future! Better everything!”
Penelope stared at him, aghast. “Is that what this is?” she demanded, finally feeling her voice
come out steady, strong. “You believe you are simply better than him, therefore I should
have said yes to your proposal? Because surely no one in their right mind would ever choose
the non-Bridgerton option when presented with an alternative?” All thoughts that he may
truly have been in love with her too started to fade Perhaps this was just about the male need
to claim her, to possess her because he had gotten to her first.

Colin scowled. “Do not act as though I have offended your sensibilities by calling myself a
better option than that dolt. I see your face when he speaks.”

Resisting the urge to wince, Penelope trained her face into a stony glare. Damn Carmichael
for being so boring. “You know nothing of how he makes me feel,” she grumbled, crossing
her arms over her chest.

“No, I suppose I do not,” Colin shot back. “Because he does not make you feel anything.
You long for substance beyond what the general members of the ton can provide you. And
he is the epitome of the surface level intellect and style that you so despise.”

Fists tightening, Penelope glared at him. “Oh, and you can offer me what you claim I
desire?”

Colin’s gaze sharpened. The tips of his ears turned red. “I have given you what you desire,
Penelope,” he growled, stepping closer to her. He towered over her, making her heart race in
her chest. “Or did you forget that just a few nights ago I had my face buried between your
thighs as I pleasured you with my tongue?”

Face flushing, Penelope squeezed her thighs together in an attempt to ward off the flood of
wetness that was pooling there right now. “You are merely jealous,” she croaked, “that I said
I would think about your proposal, and that I accepted his instead.”

Darkness descended over his eyes, the shadows casting themselves over his face. “Jealous?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You think me jealous?”

She nodded. “You may try to hide behind laughter, but you are jealous.”

“The fact you think there is anything I would be jealous of about a man who knows the parts
of hound anatomy better than a woman’s is quite laughable!”

“That is my betrothed you are speaking of,” Penelope snapped. As her anger rose, so, too,
did her distress. His callousness, so unlike how he usually behaved, stung. The venom in his
gaze, the crassness of his insults towards Carmichael’s. Clearly, he did not truly care about
her, just being ahead of another man. How could she have been so foolish as to think he
loved her! This was wounded pride making him speak like this. It was how men were,
Genevieve had warned her. Penelope knew they could be deceitful, just by the nature of her
own trade. She just did not think it applied to Colin. To think she had been tempted by his
sweet words and smiles across rooms.

“Your betrothed,” Colin spat.

“Yes, my betrothed!” Penelope snapped. “He may not be as worldly as you, or as
intellectually stimulating, but that does not matter. He is kind, he will get me away from my
mother and sister. He may even grow to love me. Do I not deserve that?”

“ I love you! ” Colin roared. He ran both hands over his face, running them over his eyes and
through his hair. Penelope’s mouth dropped. When he spoke again, his voice was softer,
gentler. “ I love you, Penelope. I love you with everything that I am, everything I hope to
be…all of it. For so long, I left here, searching for a purpose and thinking happiness was
something I might never find. I thought I needed to do something profound, to make some
discovery that marked my existence on this earth. I thought when I came back that I would
be telling you that my purpose was to travel, and to come back to share those stories with
those who could not journey away from England.

“Instead, I came home and found that the only person who it mattered I shared these stories
with was you. And when you would not speak to me, I thought I needed to just win my
friend back. You, my best, most true friend, who never expected anything from me except
for me being who I am. And I slowly began to realize that I cannot breathe without you. I
cannot walk through the world without thinking about what your thoughts are about what I
read in this morning’s post, or what you think Kate and Anthony will name their first child,
or when you think Benedict will finally find a woman he wishes to marry. I cannot stop
myself from wondering if you are alright, or if you slept well, or what you dreamed of the
night before. My purpose, the one I went around the globe to find, has been right in front of
my eyes the whole time.

“You’re my purpose, Penelope,” he said. “I am the biggest fool in the world to not have
known sooner.” He strode across the small space between them, took her face in his hands.
His thumb stroked her cheekbone, and Penelope felt her heart soar in her chest. She had
never flown through the air, but she hoped this was what it felt like. She shuddered with
pleasure, unconsciously grasping at his wrist. How many times had she fantasized these
words coming from his lips? The words I love you were here now, for her and her alone. She
inhaled the scent of him, something crisp and pine and wholly intoxicating. He bent closer to
her, their breaths mingling.

“Refuse him,” Colin murmured, a plea. “Marry me, Pen. You ask if you deserve someone
who may grow to love you. You deserve more. You deserve someone who will treat you as
the goddess that you are. You deserve someone who will proclaim to the whole of England –
no, the world! – that they love you for your mind, body, and soul.”

“What you’re saying doesn’t exist,” she murmured, swaying on her feet. Everything coming
from his mouth was something in a romance novel. It could not be real.

Colin chuckled. “Maybe not,” he relented. “But you deserve it, and I’m the one who can
give you the closest to it.” He closed the space between them, pulling her into him. She
gasped, his hardness prominent against her hip. “You need not wait for someone to grow to
love you when someone already does. Fervently.” His lips pressed against the side of her
head. “Assuredly.” They dropped to her neck. “ Loudly .” His teeth nibbled on her earlobe.

Penelope flushed at the sound of her own words leaving his mouth. She swallowed hard.
Worried she would collapse, she wrapped her arm around him. Everything about him was
solid. He would not allow her to fall, and if, by some chance, she did stumble, he would
catch her. “Colin,” she whispered, “there’s so much that – that you don’t know. About me.
You would –”

He shook his head before touching their foreheads. “I do not care,” he whispered. “I love
every part of you. There is no one else I could love like you. No one else could hope to love
you the way I do.” His touch, featherlight, traced the line between her breasts. She longed for
him to increase his pressure, to cup her breasts fully and squeeze them. Her mouth watered.
His lips pressed to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes may have been closed, but Penelope
saw clearer than she ever had. Every sense came alive. Wet heat pooled at her core. The
only thing that would bring her relief were his hands.

Penelope found herself on a cliff side, staring down at a fall that promised the fulfillment of
desires she continued to unravel within herself. Her heart leapt to her throat. Excitement
brewed in her belly, stronger than ever. The womanhood between her legs tingled with
yearning, wet and aching. The chasm beneath her beckoned.

Colin murmured, “Pen…I know I have been a fool, that I have been blind. But I will get on
my knees to prove myself to you. You are my best friend. Be my wife now, too.”

She stepped off the ledge.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Penelope kissed him. Kissing Colin was gradually
becoming her favorite activity. She may not have kissed any other man other than him, but
she reckoned she must have been doing it right. Judging by the moan that rumbled low from
his throat, she was doing a very good job. Her tongue met his and danced. A stroke of
boldness led her to stroke her hand down his chest and over the bulge in his pants. Colin’s
mouth broke from hers, hissing between his teeth. She giggled at him.

“Minx,” he growled, flashing her a roguish grin. Penelope bit her lip to contain her own
smile, but when Colin lifted her off her feet, she squealed and laughed as loud as she dared.
Penelope’s hands fisted in his thick chestnut hair. He collapsed on the sofa with her on top of
him. As she straddled his lap, she fumbled to help him remove his cravat and jacket. The
heat of his skin leapt through his shirt, tingling against the pads of her fingers.

“Help me,” she whined, tugging at his coat and vest. She needed to feel his bare skin.
Nothing would satisfy her until then. When his chest finally was bare before her, she could
not stop the unconscious licking of her lips. He was sculpted , exactly like the Greek statues
he had written to her about in his letters.

Colin smirked at her as she touched his chiseled muscles in wonder. “I have been working on
my swordplay,” he admitted, almost shy.

“Tired of losing to Anthony and Benedict, I’d imagine,” Penelope breathed, unable to stop
herself from touching him all over. Her hands roamed up his chest and over his biceps.
Every part of him was solid as a slab of marble.

He chuckled. “I never should have told you about that.”

“No, you will tell me everything,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his sternum. “I am your
lover, I would know everything in your mind.”

Colin winked. “Yes, my lady.” His hands found their way beneath her skirt, parting her
thighs with his palm. His brows shot upward. “You’re quite soaked, Pen,” he murmured.
When he withdrew his hand, the evidence of her arousal glistening on his fingers.

The absence of his hands made her gasp with disappointment. Dipping her head low, she
nipped at the tender skin of his throat. “Will you kiss me again —“ Her cheeks flushed with
anticipation. “—down there?”

Colin’s face broke into a grin so wide Penelope wondered if it hurt his cheeks. “It would be
my honor,” he said. With gentle fingers, he began untying the back of her dress. Their
clothes formed a pile on the floor. When she was in nothing but her small clothes, breasts
heaving against the confines of her corset, Colin had his face buried between her legs.
Speech failed her as his tongue swirled, licked, and flicked at the bud at the apex of her
thighs. Penelope gasped, throwing her head back against the cushions. She bit her lip as the
hole between her legs pulsed with need. Longing filled her heart. There was something
empty, a burning need to be filled to the brim, screaming inside her.

A coil wound tighter and tighter in Penelope’s chest. The spring, when it finally snapped,
promised ascension to the Heavens. And when she fell apart, she saw the stars, a silent
scream caught in her throat. As her vision returned, Penelope found Colin’s eyes. His chin
rested on her fleshy thigh, glistening with the most visual form of her arousal. A smug,
boyish grin waited for her on his face.

“You are a queen,” he said, placing a reverent kiss on both of her inner thighs. When she
frowned in confusion, he nodded to the top of her head. “Your tiara.”. Penelope laughed,
going to take it off and set it aside, but Colin stopped her. “No, keep it on.”

She crooked her finger at him, beckoning him to return to her. Colin obliged, crawling over
top of her to kiss her once more. She tasted herself on his lips. Against her thigh, she felt his
arousal, somehow thicker and more insistent than before. Penelope began tugging at the ties
on his pants.

Colin inhaled sharply. His hand went to hers. “Penelope,” he breathed. “I — If we do that,
we will —“

She stopped him with a kiss. “I love you,” she murmured. “And I trust you.” She knew very
well what this would mean. It could result in a baby, it could result in a scandal. But so
strong was her love for him that Penelope would risk all of that.

Colin fumbled with his words. “You’re — you’re certain?” he managed. She attempted to
untie his breeches again, nodding fiercely. He halted her insistent fingers once again, shaking
his head. “No, not about that. I…are you certain that you love me?”

The lost expression on his face, so full of hope, almost caused Penelope’s eyes to well up
with tears. She recognized that look, the one of someone desperate to belong but terrified the
acceptance would be yanked away without the slightest warning. It was the feeling that
drove her every day. Seeing that Colin felt that way too, even with his popularity and his
family and his confidence, made her feel less alone in this world.

“More certain of that than anything,” she assured him, leaning up to kiss him. He helped her
push his trousers down. The full length of him sprang free from the confines of his pants.
Penelope’s eyes widened, taking in the sight of his manhood. She could not fathom how he
would fit inside her.

Lining up at her entrance, Colin stroked her face. Taking a deep breath, she did her best to
relax. Everything else about this moment was perfect; this would be, too. With both hands
on her hips, he sank into her. Penelope’s eyes widened even further than they had been. She
was told this hurt, but she did not quite believe those things until she felt Colin pushing inside
her. Colin’s eyes were squeezed shut. Beads of sweat formed at his temple. Penelope
prayed he did not open his eyes, for if he did he would see the pain she was in and surely
stop.

Colin heaved a breath, lips finding her forehead. “Are you — are you alright?” He was fully
seated within her, a burn raging between her legs.

“Mmm!” she squeaked. If she spoke, he would hear the apprehension in her voice. “Er,
just…just a moment?” She lifted her hips, trying to improve her position. When she did, he
slid within her. She gasped. “Oh! Oh, Colin! Move!”

Slowly, Colin began thrusting. Each pump of his hips sought hers, and Penelope lifted to
meet him halfway. Gradually, the burn became pleasant. The coil within her rolled in her
belly. She kissed his neck. Her body sang for him, each thrust slowly but surely moving
from pain, to discomfort, to pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his hips, digging her
heels into his buttocks to push him even further into her. Penelope welcomed the burn now.

“Pen,” Colin grunted. His hips hastened. She touched his cheek, smiling when he opened his
eyes mid stroke and looked at her. The moment their eyes met, Penelope’s breath caught.
Every nerve ending burst into glorious flame. The love they felt for one another reflected
between their gazes. The coil wound tighter than it had ever been. Penelope’s gasps grew
louder, breathier. Colin’s speed increased to match them, beat for beat.

Without warning, the coil broke, and Penelope saw stars once more. Only this time, she flew
close enough to reach out and touch them. She was unsure if she remained in reality, or if she
had ascended to some other, far more pleasurable astral plane. Both arms went around his
shoulders, she held him tightly, murmuring over and over in his ear, “Love you, love you.”
She spoke it as a prayer. Over top of her, Colin’s rhythm grew erratic. He grunted, thrust
two more times, and a burst of warmth shot through her inside.

Collapsing atop her, Colin grinned down at her. Pure joy shone from his eyes. His manhood
twitched within her. Penelope giggled, burying her face in his neck. What she saw in his
eyes filled her body, an elation so pure and uninhibited she was unsure she would ever be as
happy as she was now ever again. His lips found the side of her face. “I love you,” he
whispered. “So…” Another kiss. “…so…” Another. “…much.”
Penelope held him. She said nothing, letting her arms snake around his torso so the sheen of
sweat on both of their bodies melded. Complicated matters awaited her outside the doors of
this room, but none of it mattered while she lay in Colin’s grasp.

Everything else could wait.

 Betrayal
Chapter Summary

Colin makes a discovery that changes everything.

Chapter Notes

Happy Posting Day! Guys, I'm honestly really impressed with myself I have managed to
post every Saturday this year. The fact my part of the world I live in is stuck in a land of
eternal winter is probably helping a lot, but either way, let's hope I can keep this
momentum. I'm so thrilled you enjoyed the last chapter, with Colin *finally* admitting
how he feels. I had so much fun writing that declaration because I see Colin as someone
who's got a lot of feelings and is still trying to figure out the right way to express them.

Now, because Colin's got so many big feelings, this new chapter was also a bit of a
rollercoaster to write. I'm going to hit post, and immediately go hide behind something
so no one throws anything at me. We're turning up the angst meter again 😅

Song: "logical" by Olivia Rodrigo

You built a giant castle

With walls so high I couldn’t see

The way it all unraveled

And all the things you did to me

You lied, you lied, you lied

Olivia Rodrigo, “logical”

“Your hair is like fire,” Colin murmured, twirling a loose lock of hair on his finger.
Penelope’s curls had come loose from its updo. But somehow, even in the midst of their
lovemaking, her tiara had stayed on her head. “Like a sunset.” Penelope giggled, burying
her face in his chest. Colin smiled against her head, kissing the hair he was so enamored
with.
“You jest,” Penelope said.

“I do not,” he said.

She looked up at him. Blue eyes glittered in amusement. She pursed her lips, teasing. “You
already have tupped me, Colin. There is no need to charm me any longer.”

“I do not jest,” he insisted, fingers tracing circles around her nipples. “I feel as though I’m
looking out at the Mediterranean at twilight. Your eyes are as blue as the water…” He
pressed his lips to the dip between her neck. Penelope hummed, running her dainty foot
along his shin. “...and your hair is like the sun going down over the horizon. I could watch
you for hours. Days. Forever.” As he described the setting, he watched her eyes light up, the
way he imagined she might while reading his letters. Colin decided right then and there he
would make sure he took her to each of the places in the world she longed to go. There were
few things in the world more life-altering than going to a part of the world completely new to
him and finding what made each of them magical. It was a solitary activity on his travels, but
with Penelope he saw himself enjoying it much more. Her presence made everything better.
She made him love a moment more than if he was on his own. He would show her the world.

He kissed her on the mouth, letting his lips linger there. She kissed him back, grasping his
face with her free hand. Her thumb stroked his cheekbone. She was more and more
confident in every touch she bestowed on him. Her confidence gave him confidence. When
she touched him, he reciprocated eagerly. Her had been so nervous to make love to her, so
anxious he would do something she would not like, that he might do something that would
not feel good . But whatever he had done must have been right, for both of them had found
their pleasure in one another, and it was glorious.

“You will be able to watch me everyday,” she assured him.

Colin’s hand ran up her thigh, over her hip, and to her waist. Gooseflesh raised on her skin.
Penelope closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his hand. “So, you will marry me?” he asked.
He already knew the answer, but he longed to hear the words from her mouth. They already
promised themselves to one another with their actions tonight. Not poetry, nor religion, nor
society’s rules could hope to describe what they meant to each other. They were entwined
with one another now. Marriage told the rest of the world, that they belonged to each other.
And he would have the rest of the world know.

Penelope leaned up on her elbows, puckering her lips at him. “I would certainly hope so,”
she said, “seeing as I do not think Mr. Carmichael would not want his wife making love to
another man constantly.”

She pressed a kiss to Colin’s biceps, eyes never leaving his. “Because I intend to do this with
you as often as possible.”

Colin growled his approval, hoisting her over top of him. His hands fondled her backside.
An image of them lying in bed, sun streaming through their bedroom window while his hands
coursed over every plane of her flesh, filled his head. He hummed in her ear. “Oh, we will.
We will do this every day. Maybe more than once on that same day. We’ll have the most
luxurious bedroom, we’ll never want to leave it. And there will be a mirror on our wall, large
enough that when you turn your head you will see for yourself just how beautiful you look
while I make love to you.”

A purring noise, remarkably like a pleased kitten, came from Penelope’s lips. She kissed
him, leaning up to sit on his hips. He reached for her, mourning the loss of her warmth and
the sweet smell of citrus and orange blossom. “As beautiful as this picture you paint is,” she
began, adjusting her hair into a fashion similar to the one she had entered the ball in, “there
are things we must discuss. Like, how I am going to tell Mr. Carmichael I have changed my
mind on marrying him.” The look on her face fell, and she took a deep breath. “Colin,
we…”

Excitement filled his body, and he leapt from his spot on the sofa to begin retrieving articles
of clothing. He handed her her corset and pulled his pants on. Were he not a grown man, he
may have mistaken himself for a jubilant child receiving his Christmas gifts.

“Yes, we must find a way to get out there as quickly as possible,” he said, helping her tie her
undergarments back in place. Clumsy fingers struggled to put each ribbon in its proper
place. Penelope giggled at his fervor. He kissed her shoulder blades, wishing he could slow
down to enjoy the intimacy of redressing after a moment of passion. But he got through it by
reminding himself they were about to be engaged and could spend every day redressing one
another if they chose. “The sooner you tell him –”

Penelope shook her head, pulling her dress up over her shoulders. “No, Colin,” she
murmured. “That is not the only thing we must talk about… figure out. There’s more.”

“Nothing that is not easy to figure out,” Colin said, shrugging as he leaned down to retrieve
his cravat. Beside the articles of clothing, he found pieces of a quill that had been snapped in
half. He frowned at the out-of-place-object, and at the squished scroll under her discarded
shoes. “Odd…” As he unrolled it, his blood chilled.

Dearest Gentle Reader,

This writer confesses to you all, her fine audience, that she is astonished. True, our society is
one full of unexpected surprises and moments of drama that we cannot wait to titter about
over the breakfast table. And all of us acknowledge that wallflowers are capable of
blooming, no matter how deeply buried their roots are. Well, reader, you may recall I have
been spending the season writing about Penelope Featherington’s rather swift rise from
wallflower to eligible young lady. Rumors have flown that Mr. Carmichael of
Cambridgeshire would be making a proposal to the youngest Feahterington daughter, and it
would appear his question has finally been answered! At Her Majesty Queen Charlotte’s ball
to honor her nephew’s return from the continent, no less. The newly claimed bachelor was
seen garnering praise for landing his match. Despite the general good wishes, though, it was
rather obvious that Miss Cressida Cowper was sour-faced over the fact that elderly Lord
Twombly has not yet proposed, while the young woman who used to dress like an overripe
lemon is now happily engaged. Lady Featherington was, naturally, crowing and over the
moon as she showed off to all the other mamas that she had done the impossible and made
her youngest daughter a match far better than anyone could have hoped for. It should be
noted she did so with as much tact and grace as can usually be expected from one who
dresses like a peacock in mating season, but we must congratulate her nevertheless.
The true miracle, though, is that Mr. Carmichael proposed before a certain Bridgerton
brother could. This writer worried herself silly thinking she might actually have to write the
words: Penelope Featherington will be marrying Colin Bridgerton. For if you remember,
dear reader, I did promise to give up my quill if such a monumental event were to occur.

Half-dressed, Colin sank back onto the couch. The draft fell from his hands, even though he
only read part of it. He could not stomach finishing it. This could not be real. There had to
be a mistake. But if it was a mistake, why then did the script look identical to Penelope’s?
And why had she not said anything yet? He looked up at Penelope, praying she would look
as confused as he felt. Perhaps the person who wrote this just had handwriting eerily similar
to Penelope’s. But when his eyes met hers, his heart sank. Hope fizzled in him. Curiously
calm, but deathly pale, Penelope watched him. Rigid, her hands began fiddling with the
skirts of her dress. She swallowed hard, but she said nothing.

She was too silent, far too silent.

He snatched the draft up again and waved it at her. “You - you are Lady Whistledown?” His
voice hardly sounded like a voice, rather more a strangled question that he could hardly
choke out. Penelope nodded, mute. Colin’s anger flared, that suddenly she would have no
words now, where before she had ample words to say. “Nothing to say now?” he demanded,
voice chilling the very air in the room. “AFter everything else you’ve had to say, now, in the
moment you are caught, you are silent?”

Her eyes flashed. She lifted her chin, almost defiant. “I am Lady Whistledown.”

Emotions, ones he had experienced before and ones completely foreign to him, raced through
Colin. Betrayal came to the surface strongest, a cold knife slipping its way between his ribs.
Despair. Embarrassment. He could barely breathe. His heart raced so loudly in his chest
that it hurt. Penelope continued her watch on him, eyes welling up with tears that she fought
against. Looking upon her face, the one that moments ago had been pink with pleasure he
gave her, the feeling of betrayal burned strongest. And the burn was made worse by his
complete inability to decipher Penelope’s motives. Not two minutes before he believed she
was the other half of him, with the jagged edges of a soul that fit snuggly with his. That he
knew the planes of her heart as well as he knew his own. Now, he could not tell.

As Colin looked at her, it was as though he was staring at a mirage in the desert. She swam
in his vision; it was obviously her, but the edges of her frame were blurry. And even more
confusing, he still longed for her. Longed for her, even though she admitted to him out loud
that she had almost ruined his family’s reputation more than once. His own feelings repulsed
him.

“You…how…” Colin shook his head, aghast. “How - how could you? How could you hide
this from me!”

Penelope’s guilt welled even higher in her eyes. “I was going to tell you,” she murmured.
One hand clutched her stomach, the other ran through her hair. “It’s what we needed to talk
about. The thing I needed to –”
“It is the thing we needed to talk about? No, you should have told me immediately!” Colin
said. “You have ruined people’s lives. You destroyed Marina, your own family member!
You wrote about Eloise, and nearly ruined her! That’s what you quarreled with her about, is
it not? She found out?”

She shook her head. “I know what I have done,” she snapped. “Do not throw it in my face.”
The edge had re-entered her voice, a jagged knife that stuck in him and bled him dry. Even
with the guilt she wore on her face, he could tell a lingering anger simmered beneath the
surface.

The moments he thought he did not recognize from all the past months began to fit into place
in his memory. He thought she had merely changed from a new wardrobe, a different
hairstyle, and a distance from Eloise. Perhaps that she was relying on something else she had
grown within herself and kept hidden, but he was mostly certain it was distance and material
changes that caused him to see something different in her. But he was so wrong. The times
he looked at her and saw something mysterious were nothing more than a glimpse into her
secret. It was the darkness in her bleeding into the version of her she presented to the world.
The sweet faced girl who had been a constant, loyal presence in his life morphed to that of a
villainess.

A villainess he loved.

Colin’s gut rolled. Disgust at the business she peddled hit him full force. Penelope, the girl
he considered his rock, the one he wanted to spend his life with, had ruined the lives of
others. He made love to the very person he despised.

“You have caused so much misery,” he said. “How could you do to Marina what you did?
You opened her up to shunning and judgment, and for what?”

“She was lying to you, Colin!” Penelope reminded him. “She was trying to trap you.”

He shook his head, furious. “ You have lied to me!”

“To protect you!”

Colin did not think his anger could have grown. But his ears could hardly believe Penelope
would attempt to justify his actions under the guise of protecting anyone. Least of all him.
He could barely stomach the thought she would destroy another woman’s life in the name of
defending him. Remnants of the conversation with Eloise trickled into his mind. All this
time, El had also known, and had said nothing. But her questions, all the prodding having to
do with Marina and if he truly loved her or not, they all made sense. She saw him falling in
love with Penelope before even he did. She sought to protect him from this very thing. But
even his own sister kept it from him. Eloise had remained silent, too.

Was there no woman who would be honest with him?

“I tried,” Penelope said, voice quivering. “I tried so many times to tell her to stop, and she
did not listen. I tried to tell you, and you ignored me! What was I supposed to do?”
Colin could barely believe her. “You could have told me,” he said. “All you had to do was
tell me the truth. Tell me, ‘Colin, she is carrying another man’s child!’ There was no reason
to drag the ton into this, to bring misery to all these families! Including yours! But you
chose to profit from the scandal, to make money at the expense of others.” She did not
respond immediately. Instead, she blinked slowly at him. Her silence hurt worse than he
thought it would, as did her unreadable face. Could it be possible she felt nothing at this?
Was it the same as Marina, who spurned his hurt when he told her of how her lie had affected
him? There were trace amounts of guilt, but Penelope was far too stoic for his liking. “Have
you nothing to say for yourself and your actions?”

“I have never claimed to be proud of the steps I took,” she said. “But when nothing would
stop her, I knew I had to get something into print that would force her to stop.” She
swallowed hard. “I did it for you, Colin. Please bel –”

“Do not seek to lessen the harm you have caused by saying you did it in defense of me,” he
snapped. “Your gossip-mongering disgusts me. This path you have chosen is unbecoming to
you.” Even as he said the words with strength, he felt little true power in them. The insults
and proclamations tasted of ash in his mouth. Part of him hoped she would tell him this was
all just a cruel joke she was playing on him. But the seriousness of her face could not be
faked. Penelope looked gravely ill, like she was struggling to stand. Guilt? Perhaps, but she
was far too quiet for his liking, watching him too closely rather than apologizing profusely.
Tears shimmered in her eyes, but none fell.

Unable to look at her any longer, Colin threw the draft of her column at her before pulling his
shoes back on. He heard the paper rustle as it landed on the lush carpet. She said nothing
while he redressed, and he did not look back up at her. Thoughts roared in his head. Or
maybe it was the blood rushing in his veins. It did not truly matter, he just knew he could not
hear anything but the sound of his heart thumping in his chest.

“Colin, please speak to me reasonably,” Penelope tried again. “Do you not wish to know why
any of this came to be?”

To be sure, Colin did want to know why. But if she wanted to be silent with him, he would
be silent with her. He did not believe he was in any state of mind to hear why she decided
writing about gossip about their social circle was necessary. And though the matter was
serious, what did it say about him as a person that she felt the only thing she could do was
write gossip to defend him? Was he not worthy of honesty? No, he did not want to hear it
now. He needed to escape this room. Fresh air, that was what he needed. A chance to
breathe freely without the confines of palace walls restricting him.

Penelope laid a hand on her shoulder. At her touch, Colin leapt back as though burned. He
finally did look at her. Hurt spread across her face. Utter devastation. She leaned back as
though he had slapped her. Loathing at himself for hurting her battled with his own agony
that she would do this to him. Amidst that inner battle, he could not stop the onslaught of
memories that came rushing back.

Looks of pity from the gentlemen in his circle that he had been duped. And in such a public
fashion.
Marina’s resentment at how she missed a chance at happiness, not because she loved him but
because he was fool enough to think she bore him some semblance of affection. Daphne
across the room, watching from behind her book.

Anthony’s disappointment in him, yet again, that he would be the cause of any scandals for
the family.

All because of Lady Whistledown. All because of Penelope.

“I was so wrong about you,” he said, shoving his arms into his suit jacket. He could not
physically stand to be in the room any longer. He had to escape. The palace was a labyrinth,
but he had no doubt he would figure his way out back to the carriages. “So, so wrong.
You’ve done nothing but lie to me.”

Penelope’s throat bobbed. “Not about everything,” she said. “My feelings for you are…they
are real, Colin. I lo –”

He cut her off. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t say that word to me.” She opened her mouth,
desperate to explain. But Colin was in no mood for anything she might say to soften the
blow. “You do not know what it is to love. Or maybe you do, but for all the lies you have
told, I cannot tell if it is a falsehood or not.” Tears finally rolled down her cheeks, but even
her sorrow could not stop him. He wanted to hurt her at that moment. And as much as he
hated himself for it, he scowled and made for the door.

“Colin! Please,” she croaked.

Hand on the doorknob, Colin stopped. His muscles screamed to turn around. Both eyes
burned as though acid were flung in them. He fought every instinct to forgive, to offer her
his embrace and to let her explain whatever she needed to.

Do not be weak , he scolded himself. She has betrayed you.

Voice shaking, he kept his eyes downcast. If he looked at her, he would lose his resolve and
be unable to say what he needed to. “Marry Carmicheal, and never speak to me again,” he
said.

Behind him, she choked on a sob. “No! No, Colin, please!”

He could not bear the sight of her in pain, and he refused to look at her. “I will keep your
secret, even though you would not keep anyone else’s. Let that be my parting gift to you.
Goodbye, Penelope.”

The last Colin heard from her before he slammed the door shut was the sound of Penelope
breaking into sobs.
 Not Alone
Chapter Summary

Penelope receives a visitor in the aftermath of her heartbreak.

Chapter Notes

Hi friends! Happy posting day. Sorry for leaving you in suspense after that cliffhanger
last week 😅 I'll be honest, I did not realize how angry I made Colin until I got a lot of
your responses (dangers of going without a beta-reader, I suppose haha). I can promise
he's the sorriest bastard on the planet, though, and will be going to great lengths to
atone; the story is tagged as "angst with a happy ending," after all. I really appreciate
you all taking the time to read, kudo, and respond. Hopefully, this chapter will not be as
gutting!

🎂
This next chapter is dedicated to my pal, Tarryn -- her love for Edwina is infectious, and
Edwina's a big player in this chapter and the next one. Happy early birthday, fren

Song: "You're On Your Own, Kid" by Taylor Swift

I looked around in a blood soaked gown

And saw something they can’t take from me

‘Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned

Everything you lose is a stop you take

“You’re On Your Own, Kid,” Taylor Swift

A vicious rapping on her bedroom woke Penelope from her haze. Each breath took effort.
Her stomach ached. The last few days spent making wedding preparations exhausted her.
Coupled with the pieces of her broken heart, cutting and slicing her to ribbons inside, she was
quickly losing strength and patience. Portia ran her ragged, barely allowing her a moment
alone. Penelope wished for just an hour, even just half an hour, on her own to weep. But the
moment she was awake, her mother was pounding on the door. Each day was filled to the
brim with trips to the florist, looking at thousands upon thousands of feet of ribbon, and
listening to Portia drone on and on about how she could barely believe this day had cme.
And when she lay her head on the pillow, exhaustion pulled her into dreamless sleep before
she could let her grief out. The agony just built and built, festering. It needed a release.

After Colin stormed out, leaving her with tears and a desire to explain her actions, she did her
best to recollect herself, picked up the draft he had flung at her, and returned to the party.
News of her engagement had spread like a wildfire through the ball. But Penelope felt no
joy. Naturally, Colin had disappeared from the gathering, but that did not stop her from
feeling his presence imprinted on her skin. A false smile was pasted on her face from that
moment, and had not budged from her face.

Since, Penelope had not been able to shed one more tear.

Without waiting for a response from Penelope, Portia burst into the room. Penelope kept her
eyes closed. Her eyelids were too heavy, and she did not want to open them.

“Penelope!” Portia sang. “It is time to get up!” She yanked the curtains back from the
windows. Penelope allowed her eyes to open halfway. “The sun barely peeked up above the
buildings of Mayfair. Dusky pink light illuminated the room. A particularly loud bird
chirped its song just outside the glass. The day ahead promised to be beautiful.

She made no movement or effort to rise, causing Portia to tut. “Penelope!” She moved on to
enunciating each syllable of her daughter’s name, something she only did when she needed
Penelope to do something for her. “Up, up, up!”

Still, Penelope remained beneath her covers. She prayed Portia would just shut her mouth, or
maybe even evaporate into thin air.

Portia sighed heavily. She slapped the bed twice, then put her hands on her hips. “Penelope,
what is this? You will not laze about in bed when there are wedding preparations to make!
Rise!” She used both hands to mimic lifting something.

“Mama,” Penelope murmured. Should she lie and claim a headache? She supposed she
could look as bad as she felt, though she had not looked in a mirror yet. Perhaps her lie
would not be false then. “I — I am feeling unwell today. Might I just rest?” Her voice
shook. Timidity got one nowhere, least of all with her mother.

Portia clucked her tongue, heading to Penelope’s armoire to pull out a day dress. She stepped
over the loose floorboard that hid Penelope’s money and Whistledown stash. Even after
Portia long passed over it, Penelope’s eyes stayed glued to the spot on the floor that held the
boon of her secret life. Breathing became even more difficult as she stared at that spot.
Maybe she should just take everything out of that hiding spot and burn it.

“It is time to eat your breakfast, then we will be going to look at flowers,” Portia said,
ignoring Penelope’s protests. “I’m thinking sunflowers, perhaps pansies? And Lord and
Lady Carmichael will be arriving at the beginning of next week. I received a letter just
yesterday. We will want to impress your betrothed’s parents.” She held up the dress she had
produced from Penelope’s closet, scrutinizing it carefully. “This one is good enough, I
suppose. I was hesitant about you and Lady Danbury choosing such drab colors for your
new wardrobe at the beginning of the season. These are not nearly happy enough, my dear.
But with the result being this match you made, I suppose I can admit you did something
right.”

Ignoring the sting of Portia’s tone, Penelope rolled her eyes. “Mama, did you hear me?” she
pressed. “I am not well.”

“You will be fine,” Portia said, waving a dismissive hand in Penelope’s direction. “But if you
do not hurry, you will miss your chance to eat anything and will have to go hungry.” She
paused, an idea sparking in her eyes. Penelope hated that gleam in her mother’s eye. It could
mean nothing but trouble. It promised schemes and plots too intricate and too complicated to
ever actually work. “Although? I suppose the less you eat, the easier it will be to fit into
your dress. The last thing we need is your figure from several seasons ago making a
comeback, and Mr. Carmichael abandoning your engagement in disgust.”

Tears welled in Penelope’s eyes. They shot to the surface, burning and stinging. A flash of
irritation transformed into full blown rage. Where the fire grew from, Penelope was not quite
sure. But after years of her mother’s belittling comments and condescension, after Colin
telling her she did not know what it was to love, and after her own mess she made becoming
more and more irreparable by the day, Penelope was finished. Sitting up, she glared at Portia.

“What did you say?” she asked, voice lowering to a growl.

“Please, Penelope,” Portia said, rolling her eyes. You heard me. You do not have time to
dilly dally. Get up!”

Penelope erupted.

“No,” she said, shocked that her voice would come out so strong when her heart felt so
fragile. “I said: I. Feel. Unwell. You have run me ragged the past few days, and I have
hardly had a moment to myself. This is supposed to be a happy occasion, and so far, you
have done nothing but make me miserable. Furthermore, I do not see how insulting me and
telling me my betrothed would be so shallow as to abandon me for eating breakfast and not
starving myself is going to make me any more amenable to your requests.” Portia blinked at
Penelope, shocked. Her lips parted, as if she were going to respond, but Penelope would not
hear anything. “So, I tell you once more: I am unwell. I do not think it is anything serious,
but I would request you leave me be today. For I do not think the wedding planning requires
my presence if you are the one making all the decisions anyway!” She did not realize how
loud her voice had grown until she heard how fast her heart hammered in her chest. Though
she was certain some of her tears had escaped the confines of her eyes, Penelope dared not
wipe her face.

Portia, unable to fathom the words that left Penelope’s mouth, stared at her daughter. A
steely glint entered her eyes, and her mouth hardened. Ordinarily, Penelope would have
cowered to see her mother’s face so grave. But all the sight did to Penelope now was make
her wonder what it ever was about her mother that made her cower. The woman held no true
power, held no sway over the opinions of those in society. She was laughed at, mocked by
those she considered her friends. It was so clear to Penelope now, as she watched her mother
hold her dress and try to wrestle her youngest child into submission with just a harsh glare,
that Portia could not force her to do anything she did not want to do.

They glared at one another in silence for what felt like eons. But, gradually, as she saw
Penelope’s position would not change, Portia’s face softened. Her shoulders, once tense with
her attempt at maintaining authority, loosened. Shrugging, she laid Penelope’s dress gingerly
over an armchair.

“You are unwell,” she said, flippantly throwing the words over her shoulder. Portia’s voice
remained devoid of feeling, as though she were commenting on the state of the weather or
Parliament, not being thrown out of her child’s room. “I will leave you to rest, then.
Tomorrow, should you feel well once more, we will resume making the decisions together.”

Without so much as a final backwards glance, Portia took herself out the door and shut it
firmly behind her. The click echoed in the room, feeling like a cavern. Penelope, not
realizing she had been holding her breath, let out the one she was holding. With shaking
hands, she wiped the tears from her face. She could scarcely believe she made Portia go
away, much less that she managed to do so without waging a bloody battle. The idealist in
Penelope wished she could say it was because her mother saw what she was going through,
that she knew that beneath the surface Penelope was hurting. Her practical side, the one that
spawned Lady Whistledown, knew better than to put hope in an idea that she had long ago
given up on.

Sniffling, Penelope laid her head back down against her pillow. She knew this was not just
simple exhaustion. Her heart, battered and bruised, thudded in her chest. Each beat ached
and seemed to echo through her body.

I was so wrong about you…

You do not know what it is to love…

Never speak to me again…

Each painful sentence boomed in her ears. Over and over. The words as stony as all those
nights earlier when he said them. When she closed her eyes, she saw the rageful black
thunder of his scowl and the look of hurt that punctured every layer of her flesh and blood.
Fresh tears bloomed in her eyes. Penelope choked on a sob. She rolled over, slamming the
sides of her pillow around her face to try and block out the noise. It was a futile attempt, for
the goose feathers of a pillow were little match for memory.

A knock sounded from her bedroom door again. Opening her eyes, Penelope glared at the
wood. How could her mother think to come in again, especially after how the first attempt
had gone?

“Go away!” she croaked. She grimaced. Just what she needed, her voice becoming like a
frog’s. Another gentle tap sounded, and Penelope took one of her pillows to hurl futilely at
the intruder. She cleared her throat, willing her voice to come out strong enough to match her
anger. “Mama, I am no better now than I was ten minutes ago! Leave me alone!”
The voice that responded was far softer than Portia’s ever could be. “It’s Edwina.”

Gentle as her friend’s voice was, Penelope did her best not to break into fresh sobs. She
coughed. “Oh. Come in.”

Across the room, the door opened just a hair, enough for Edwina to slide herself inside. She
shut the door behind her and strode to Penelope’s side. Concern painted Edwina’s face as she
sat on the edge of the bed and beheld Penelope’s face.

Taking Penelope’s hand, Edwina gave it a squeeze. “Oh, Pen!” she murmured. “You look so
sad. Tell me, what’s happened?”

Occasions like this, when Edwina’s genuine kind spirit bled out of her body and filled a
whole room, were the ones when Penelope scarcely believed her friend was real. Perhaps she
was just a figment of her imagination. For how could someone this good exist when most
everyone else would have taken one look at Penelope in this state and run in the other
direction?

“I simply do not feel well,” Penelope murmured, squeezing Edwina’s hand back. She
frowned. “Did Mama let you in? I’m shocked. Especially after how I spoke to her just
now.”

Confused, Edwina shook her head. “Pen, how long ago do you think you spoke with your
mother?” she asked. “I arrived not ten minutes ago, but she said you’d been asleep for
several hours, ill.”

Penelope looked out the window. The sky, moments ago pink and just coming up over the
buildings, was fully illuminated, casting the world in a golden hue. She groaned. She must
have fallen back asleep and not realized it.

“Lady Featherington told me that maybe I could talk to you,” Edwina said slowly.

“I take it those were not the words she chose to use,” Penelope muttered.

Edwina blushed and shook her head. “No,” she admitted. “But those words do not matter. I
am here now, and while I am sure you are not feeling well, I think it has less to do with your
body, and more to do with…well, with something else.” She arched a quizzical brow at
Penelope, gently prodding her.

Lower lip trembling, Penelope sat up and crossed her legs beneath her nightgown. She bent
her head. There was no way she could tell Edwina about Colin’s rejection without telling her
about Whistledown. And Edwina, having been a Diamond of the First Water, was written
about extensively in the column. Her reaction would be no different than Colin’s. Penelope
was unsure she could handle hatred from yet another person she loved, especially after the
way Colin and Eloise both reacted upon first discovery.

Edwina tilted Penelope’s chin in her direction. Her wide brown eyes shone with
understanding, and she smiled with so much kindness that it cracked the shield Penelope had
tried to construct around herself.
For the second time that day, Penelope erupted. This time, instead of rage, she expelled all
the grief she had kept contained in the days since the Queen’s ball.

She was not left alone in her tale. As soon as the first sob split from Penelope’s lips, Edwina
was crawling up beside her in the bed and taking Penelope in her arms. She rocked her back
and forth, stroked her hair, gave every comfort Penelope never received from her mother or
anyone in the world, with the exception of Eloise. Even when the parts about Whistledown
were revealed, Edwina did nothing different. She continued to offer comfort and safety, and
Penelope worried when all was revealed she might fall asleep again.

Tucking a lock of hair behind Penelope’s ear, Edwina said, “Pen, I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Penelope blubbered. “It is I that should be sorry. I have written about
you and your family, I have kept things from you. I’m an awful friend!”

Edwina tutted. “No, you are not a terrible friend. You are human,” she said. “Penelope, you
are one of the most intelligent – no! the most intelligent person I’ve ever met. You have your
own business, you make your own living and do not need to depend upon a man to do that for
you. You found a way for your voice to be heard when you felt you had no other options.
Have you made mistakes? Of course you have. Who has not, though?”

Turning her head that had fallen into Edwina’s lap so that she could look up at her, Penelope
stared at her friend. “You…you are not angry with me?”

“No,” Edwina said.

Penelope’s voice cracked. “You don’t hate me?” She could not believe Edwina. This had to
be a trick.

“No,” Edwina said again, grinning. “I could never hate you. You are my friend.” She
hesitated before speaking again. “And Colin does not hate you either.” Even the mention of
Colin’s name caused Edwina to swim in Penelope’s vision. She shook her head fiercely,
wanting to banish him from her mind. But even when she closed her eyes to blink, there he
was. “I will not defend what he said. It is despicable he would ever speak to you in such a
manner,” Edwina went on. “He loves you still, though.”

Though her friend was wise beyond her years in many ways, Penelope doubted this was one
of those times she was right. “He told me to marry another man!” she cried. “Even after we
made these promises to one another. We were one another’s firsts, and he still told me to
marry Carmichael.”

Edwina nodded. Anger flashed in her eyes. Were Colin present, Penelope would think he
would be making a swift exit if he saw the look in Edwina’s eyes. “I know,” she murmured.
“But I have seen the way he looks at you. It is different from the way the Viscount looks at
Kate, but, also, the same. There’s a light in Colin’s eyes, one that only you can ignite in him.
When you enter the room, you’re the very thing that keeps him breathing. It’s the look of
someone who knows the soul of another person as well, if not better than their own. That
light does not go out, not ever.”
Penelope thought back to Colin’s face when he shouted the words that he loved her. She
knew the fire Edwina was talking about, for she had seen it in that moment. She knew the
truth in those words from having felt the burn of them, as though she had stood before the
flames so close that the heat tickled her cheeks.

“Maybe he loves me,” she admitted, “but he will never trust me again. Ever. He made that
abundantly clear.”

Edwina snorted. “And after what he said to you, I do not know how you could ever look at
him the same again,” she said. But even as she said those words, she sighed. “Perhaps this is
one of those moments where you reach a crossroads, and now it is time to truly learn about
one another. I thought I would never forgive Kate for what she and Anthony did. But her
accident…it made me realize how short this time we have with those we love is. I would not
want you and Colin to miss out on a life together when there may be a chance at
forgiveness.”

Silent, Penelope stared out the window. Having finally let her tears out, her chest no longer
felt as though it were being crushed beneath a boulder. Breathing felt natural again. When
Colin flashed in her mind, the thought of him hurt, but it no longer took the air from her
lungs. She wished with all her heart to make things right with Colin. She had no wish to
marry Mr. Carmichael now, not when she had made love with the person she truly wanted to
be with. But how could she possibly be with someone who would not let her explain
herself? How could she possibly be with someone who told her she did not know what it was
to love? Marina had been brought up, but Penelope got the sense he only brought her up
because he was so angry he did not know what else to say.

And Edwina’s words about forgiveness? How could forgiveness occur when Colin would not
even look at her?

No. It seemed the chances she and Colin had been granted to come together had run out.
She refused to chase him after this. Her love for him would fade with time. It had before. It
could, and would, again.

“Pen?” Edwina asked.

“Mmm?”

Penelope looked up at Edwina to see her friend grinning devilishly. “What is it like to be
able to write one word and have the entire ton tremble with fear?”

Giggling, Penelope shook her head. She sat up, sitting back against her headboard and
pillows. Edwina joined her, grinning even wider. No judgment awaited Penelope in her
friend’s eyes, only an innocent curiosity to know more. To understand her.

It was all Penelope had longed for from Colin.

“Considering most of them mock me when they see me,” she said, “it feels…” But no one
had ever asked her this question, so Penelope had never put the words for her feelings
together on it. She did not write only to hold some power over society’s worst and meanest
spirits, though she could not deny that was a delightful perk. “It’s what I am meant to do,”
she said. “Writing, I mean. It’s how I make sense of things. And it’s the way to say all the
things no one would listen to someone like me say.” She gave a wry smile. “It is far more
difficult for them to silence someone they cannot see.”

Edwina smiled. “Nor should they ever silence you,” she said, giving one decisive nod. “You
have a talent few of them could ever hope to have. They do not get to take your voice, too.”
She huffed. “And the same goes for Colin.”

Tears, not from sorrow or frustration, filled Penelope’s eyes again. She took Edwina’s hand
and squeezed. “Thank you, Edwina.” A watery smile escaped her lips.

“Whatever for?” Edwina asked.

Penelope leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. “For not leaving me alone.”

Genevieve’s arrival the next day to do wedding dress measurements came with a cloud of
dread over it. Penelope greeted her as soon as Briarly showed the modiste into the foyer.
Her friend came in, grave-faced and pale. She would not meet Penelope’s eyes at first, and
Penelope thought the floor might drop out beneath her legs.

Something was very, very wrong.

Lady Featherington had not yet appeared, allowing Penelope to get in close to whisper,
“What is it?”

Genevieve grasped her arm. Her frantic eyes found Penelope’s at last. “The courier boy I
found to deliver the dress box this most recent issue,” she managed, struggling to breathe.
Penelope worried her friend might faint. Her eyes shot to Briarly’s retreating back.
Genevieve, too, waited for the butler to disappear before speaking again. “Penelope, it is
very bad. Very bad.”

“Genevieve, what is it? You’re frightening me!”

The seamstress swallowed hard. “The boy got away, but…but the Queen’s men were waiting
for him. They intercepted the dress at the door!”

Penelope’s stomach dropped.

“The Queen knows who the printer is. She’s one step closer to finding us.”
 For Good
Chapter Summary

Colin is given two options.

Chapter Notes

Hello all! It’s Posting Day - I actually mark my calendar for this every week now. I’m so
excited to share the remainder of this story with you, and I’m even more pumped now
that we got that delightful 20 second preview of s3 earlier this week . And because
there is only a little bit left of this story, I have started plotting my next Polin stories.
Stressful as my life has been lately, I truly find joy in writing Polin and sharing it with
you guys. Thanks for the reviews, kudos, and reads!

Song: “exile” by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver

You were my town

Now I’m in exile, seeing you out

“exile,” Taylor Swift, Bon Iver

“Lovely day for a promenade, is it not, Family?” Anthony boomed. He and Kate arrived
arm-in-arm at the tent Violet had set up for the family in Hyde Park. Colin, slumped in his
seat and nursing a flask, could not have disagreed more with his brother. No, the day was not
lovely for a promenade. The sun may have been shining, the breeze may have been pleasant,
and the mood in the air may have been downright jovial, but it all tasted bitter to Colin. Then
again, everything tasted bitter since he fled from Penelope.

Whose fault is that? a traitorous voice said in his head.

Eloise, equally morose and rolling her eyes, lounged beside Colin in her own chair. Her
newest acquisition from the bookshop sat on her lap. “Our eldest brother seems quite chipper
since marriage,” she grumbled, snatching the book back from her lap as quickly as she had
set it down.
“Indeed,” Colin growled back. He took another sip from the flask, letting the spirits burn a
course down his throat. Warmth flooded his belly, but it was far from pleasant. He felt more
nauseous than comfortable.

Benedict arched a brow at them from over his sketchpad. “What was that, you two?”

“Oh, nothing,” Colin replied, waving his hand. “Merely remarking on how well wedded bliss
suits our dear brother. He is annoyingly happy.”

Anthony joined Colin, Eloise, and Benedict while Kate drifted in the direction of Violet and
Francesca. He sipped from a glass of lemonade and popped a grape in his mouth. He stared
at his siblings, quizzical. “I heard my name.” His eyes narrowed like a hawk’s at the flask in
Colin’s fist. Taking a free seat, he nodded to his brother’s choice of beverage for the day.
“Hitting that a bit early, are you not, Brother?” Anthony observed.

Benedict answered for Colin. “Oh, were you not aware, Anthony? Our Col here has been
this way since we all learned of Miss Featherington’s engagement,” he said, dry sarcasm
thick in his voice. “Drowning his sorrows in whatever spirits he can find.” He wrinkled his
nose.

“Not all of us have paints and pencils to keep us preoccupied,” Colin groused. Even hearing
Penelope’s name made him uneasy. A wave of self-loathing overcame him. No matter how
much liquor he consumed, he could not forget all the horrible things he had spewed at
Penelope. Yes, he had been angry. Yes, she had done things that were not right. But none of
that warranted what he said to her. Especially when none of what she published was even a
lie. The memory of his words, venomous as an asp, stung even days later. For the life of
him, he could not figure out why he had even brought up Marina as much as he had.
Sympathizing with her plight did not mean he had in any way forgiven her for the lies she
told or the trap she laid for him. Having quelled his anger, he was able to see none of it had
anything to do with Marina. Colin’s anger stemmed from Penelope hiding things from him.
After being kept in the dark with Marina, it hurt to have Penelope – someone whose love for
him was true – do the same. It hurt, and in his hurt, he said things he did not mean. He
deserved every bit of agony he was in after the way he made Penelope cry.

Anthony’s lips turned up in a small smile. “Yes, well,” he said, “perhaps he should have
moved his feet a bit quicker to get to Miss Featherington’s hand before someone else could.”

Clenching his fists, Colin grew still. Anger rose in him, threatening to bubble over. If only
Anthony knew just how quickly Colin had moved. Especially after Eloise first told him of
Carmichael’s proposal. He had bolted from the room to find her. And then compromised
her. Let Anthony find that out, then he could hurl all the disappointment at Colin he possibly
could. A hearty verbal lashing would do Colin some good. He deserved it. He was forced to
swallow the dark laugh that stemmed from his imagined conversation with Anthony turning
his brother’s face the same color as the grapes he kept popping between his lips.

Eloise watched him from over the top of her book. Colin felt her scrutinizing him, her gray
eyes narrowed. He wondered if his sister knew something was amiss. She had to,
considering Colin had snarled at the whole family whenever they tried approaching him. But
a hint of knowledge glowed in El’s eyes that led him to believe there was more she knew than
she would let on.

“Miss Featherington has a good match with Mr. Carmichael,” Anthony went on, sipping from
his lemonade again. “Far better a match than she could have hoped for.” He chuckled.
“Although, Colin, had you moved a hair faster and asked for her hand, you might have been
doing the whole of society a massive favor. Lady Whistledown claims she was going to quit
writing completely had Penelope married a Bridgerton.” Benedict and Anthony shared a
laugh, while Eloise watched Colin with an indiscernible expression.

Unable to bear the teasing tone Anthony had employed, Colin rose from his seat. His
attitude, abrupt as it was, shocked his siblings. He stomped out of the tent, ignoring the
stunned looks from his family and people in close proximity. Colin did not pay any attention
to any of them as he stalked to the riverbank. He needed a moment to himself, with nothing
but the sound of bubbling water and ducks quacking to calm him.

Staying in the tent might have been preferable.

For now, from his new position at the water’s edge, Colin had a view of a small footbridge
linking the two sides of the river. On it, hair glittering in the sun like the sunsets he had told
her about, was Penelope. She and Mr. Carmichael stood, arms entangled, staring out over the
edge at the water. Penelope threw her head back and laughed at something Carmichael said
as he tossed a piece of bread towards the ducks. The laughter was obviously forced and a
touch lower-pitched than she would be laughing if she were in earnest. But she still laughed
with him. Carmichael was privy to whatever made her smile just now, while Colin was not.
They were much too far away for whatever they said to be heard by Colin, but he could her
smile. And that was enough to make him murderous.

Jealousy rose in his chest, but it died almost as quickly as it grew. There was no one else to
blame for Carmichael earning Penelope’s smiles but Colin. Every fiber of his being yearned
to rage, to weep, to throw a childish tantrum, to destroy something. He fought the urge in his
knees to bolt over to her, to throw himself on the ground and beg she forgive him for his
anger and every word he did not mean.

But instead he stood. Stood and watched the woman he loved, the woman he hurt, move on.

Just as you told her to do .

“You know, moping and behaving in such a boarish fashion is hardly a solution to your
problem.”

Shoulders stiffening, Colin gritted his teeth. Turning on his heel away from the footbridge,
he came face to face with Edwina Sharma. The young woman held her hands clasped in
front of her, a pensive expression on her face. Everything about Edwina was soft and
delicate, but today her eyes were stony and cold.

“Miss Sharma,” he said, forcing a polite greeting. He quite enjoyed the girl his brother hand
almost married, but he had the distinct feeling that today was not one he would be
exchanging pleasantries with her. Colin bowed.
Edwina did not return his bow with a curtsey. She shook her head at him. Disappointment
was written all over her face. He coil tell, he was becoming intimately familiar with the
emotion. “You look a mess, sir.”

There was no mirror about, but Colin knew what she meant. He saw himself this morning:
bloodshot eyes, hair sticking out every which way, dark circles. The valet’s work at making
him presentable only did so much to ease the appearance of someone who felt rotten inside.

“I am aware,” he said, shoving his hand in his pockets in search of his flask. Nothing. He
must have left it in the tent.

Edwina’s jaw set. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Was what she has done truly that
bad that you felt like those poisonous words should have left your mouth?”

“So you know?” he asked. Considering how much Penelope had written about the Sharmas
in the past, he anticipated more of a reaction from Edwina.

She nodded. “I do,” she said.

“And how did you find the truth? Were you unfortunate enough to stumble across it the same
way I was, or Eloise?”

“No,” Edwina said evenly. “She told me. She was quite…” Edwina paused to choose her
words carefully. Colin could see she was weighing how much to trust him with what
Penelope’s true circumstances were. And he did not blame her. “She was quite upset.
Distraught, in fact. I went to call on her, but she had sequestered herself in her room. That is
where she told me.”

Swallowing hard, Colin did his best to banish the image that filled his head, the one of
Penelope in her room, sobbing the way he had made her sob. “She wrote about you more
than most,” Colin murmured. “You were able to forgive her.” It was not a question. Edwina
had, of course, forgiven Penelope. Forgiveness was in her nature. The protective feelings
she bore were all over her face. He looked away. How could Edwina do it so easily when he,
the person who was in love with her, could not?

Edwina nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Quite easily, in fact. She is more than the person who
wrote those words. We are all more than the sum of our mistakes.” The skirts of her dress
hissed along the taller grass near the water’s edge as she moved closer to him. Her dark eyes
scrutinized him more carefully. Still stony, but more open to whatever he might say. “How
is that? That I could forgive her the second I found out, and you could not?”

The question sounded so reasonable and easy coming from her soft voice. Colin wondered at
how the younger woman could do so much to make him rethink the tone of everything.
Edwina’s ease of forgiveness was all the more hard to swallow because he should have been
able to do that.

“You would not be standing over here like a forlorn and forgotten knight in a storybook,
staring at her longingly, if you did not still love her,” Edwina said. Her voice took on an air
of authority that forced Colin to meet her gaze. “Knights do not behave the way you did,
though.”

“I am no knight,” Colin scoffed. Where was this conversation headed? He was fast losing
patience with her. Story books were irrelevant to him. Penelope had been right when she
told him the feelings he bore for her, and the degree to which he felt them, did not exist.
They could not. Not when forces like falsehood and anger could tear them to pieces the way
wolves fought over a carcass.

Edwina scoffed this time. “That is quite obvious. But as someone who has been jilted at the
altar, I would suggest you find a way to resolve this matter before they are at the church. Mr.
Carmichael, while being rather dull, does not deserve such heartbreak. It is quite humiliating,
be you a man or a woman.”

Gritting his teeth, Coling ground them so hard his jaw popped. “Miss Sharma –”

“Do not Miss Sharma me,” Edwina said, voice calm and hard as iron. “You must fix this,
whether it is by apologizing and marrying her…or letting her go. For good.”

The finality of the words “for god” sat in Colin’s gut, a hard stone lodged in his body. Bile
rose in his throat. Letting Penelope go was an amputation, it was losing a part of him he
would feel the absence of always. He looked towards the bridge, only to find the couple had
moved on. They meandered along the path on Colin’s side of the river. He watched, the ache
in his chest growing like a bruise with each step Penelope took. As she passed by Colin and
Edwina, she allowed her eyes to pass over him.

Nothing. Her blue eyes swept over him without an ounce of feeling. They washed over him
as easily as the water washed over the rocks in its bed.

Memories assaulted him. Of standing on beautiful palace grounds. Of the light in her eyes
as she described her purpose, whatever it might be. Of telling her words that Marina had not
said but he believed with all his heart to be true.

What did she say?

That you cared for me…that you would never forsake me. I’m beginning to believe that.

Love. it had been right there in front of him the whole time. Her adoration and love was
always there. Penelope had given him everything in her heart, and like the disappointment he
was, he squandered it. Not just once, but twice. All the ideals he clung to, of not making
love to a woman until he knew she held his heart, of finding a purpose and committing to it –
to her – meant nothing now. Blind anger caused him to throw everything away.

The indifference in her glance now revealed the horrible truth, though: she had forsaken him.
And worst of all, he knew he deserved it.

Looking back at Edwina, Colin grimaced. “You are right.”

Even though he agreed with her, Edwina pursed her lips in disappointment. “You will not
fight for her then?”

“Edwina,” Colin said, dropping all formalities between them, “would you want me to fight
for you if I said what I said to you?”

A moment of silence passed between them. Colin felt like he was being studied, like she was
picking him apart with only her gaze. “That would depend on what you did to fight for me.”

He swallowed hard. “Does…does she want me to?” he asked. “To fight for her?” Hope
rose in his chest. The way Edwina observed him now gave him the feeling that maybe she
was holding back in an effort to stay loyal to her friend. And his hope only soared higher
when her face softened.

“I do not know, Colin,” she admitted, dashing his hopes like waves slamming a vessel against
a cliffside. The soft sympathy she offered him only worked to numb him. Edwina, while
seeming sincere in her uncertainty about Penelope’s desires, did not seem optimistic.

Hands folding behind his back, he nodded. “Thank you for your candor and your insight,
Miss Sharma. It’s been most helpful.” Colin’s feet itched to move. Move out of the park,
out of the city, out of England itself. Perhaps it was time for another tour. India was Kate’s
homeland, and he had heard tales of its wonders. He could head there to start, visit the far
East and experience a new adventure entirely. Maybe he never needed to return.

Bowing to Edwina, Colin left without another word. He had a trip to plan.
 Odd Comforts
Chapter Summary

Penelope embarks on a risky journey.

Chapter Notes

Happy Posting Day! Thank you all so much for your response to this story. I know Colin
has been getting on everyone's nerves, but he'll figure it out, I promise!! He just needs a
bit of help getting to that point haha

It's been another wild week for me, and being able to share our love of Polin together
really does help make me feel a lot better. I appreciate you reading, responding, and
kudoing. And to show my appreciation, I've got a surprise coming for you...

Song: "hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have" by Lana Del Rey

Don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not

But at best, I can say I’m not sad

‘Cause hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have

“hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have,” Lana Del Rey

Every morning Penelope woke up and wondered if it would be the one the Queen knocked on
her family’s door. Granted, only two mornings had come since she found out the Queen even
knew which printer she was using. But that did not change that she had been on edge since
Genevieve told her about the Whistledown draft. She had one last column that needed to get
published, the final one, but she refused to put Genevieve at any more risk. She would be
delivering this final one herself. As soon as she was able. Her maid disguise and Irish accent
should be enough to get her in and out of the print shop undetected. Portia had told her she
could do what she wished with herself today, as she was preparing the home for the
Carmichaels.

Her betrothed parents’ arrival was set for tomorrow, but all Penelope could find herself
thinking of was that this might truly be her last column. She could no longer write
Whistledown without thinking of everything she lost in the effort to keep it going. That was
what she loved so much about writing, though. There was so much to be done with it. The
world could be created and recreated with a flick of her quill. Once she married, she would
be secure in a household of her own, and new opportunities for her craft would present
themselves. And if they did not appear, she would make them on her own.

But her final column could not be delivered until her mother had seen her for the day. To
stop her anxious picking of her nails, Penelope snatched up her hairbrush.

She was grateful she had stopped picking at her nails when she had, for as soon as her brush
touched her head, Portia burst into the room.

“You will marry at St. George’s in one month’s time,” Portia said in greeting, sweeping in
without even looking at her daughter. “The final arrangements were made for that this
morning.” Penelope made no reply, still running the brush through her hair. She had nothing
to say, no words that would spark her out of this heartbroken haze. Her body went through
the motions, knowing what it needed to do, but Penelope herself felt like she was watching as
an observer in her own life. And it only felt worse when she thought of her promenade with
Mr. Carmichael yesterday. It was the first time she and Colin had seen one another since the
palace ball. Having let her pain out with Edwina, she was able to make it through without
breaking down. But that did not change that his presence ached the way pushing on a bruise
ached. She had done well schooling her expression, but one look at Colin had shown that he
had murder in his eyes when he gazed at Mr. Carmichael on her arm. Had Edwina not
stepped over to speak to him, Penelope thought he might have thrown his fist at her fiance.
Every part of her missed him. She longed to feel his hands cupping her face, for his lips to
burn against hers, for his laugh to ring in her ears. She wanted him to throw pebbles at her
window again, take her into the garden, and make love to her amongst the flowers and hedges
with no regard for the state they would be in after. And she wished to beat her fists against
his chest and demand he take back every vile word he spoke to her. She was his lover, she
deserved more than that cruelty from him.

As Penelope brushed her hair, she jumped, startled when Portia bent down and appeared
behind her in the mirror. Her mother narrowed her eyes, meeting Penelope’s in the looking
glass. Penelope met her mother’s gaze, her own remaining blank. Seeing the two of them
together, side by side, Penelope marveled for the first time in her life just how similar her and
mother really did look. Portia’s hair, not yet styled and pinned for the day, was identical to
her youngest daughter’s.

“Have you heard a word I just said, Penelope?”

Blinking, Penelope set the brush down. She shook her head. “I apologize, Mama. My mind
was elsewhere.”

Portia put her hands on her hips. She clucked her tongue. “You know, Phillipa was
positively ecstatic to be making wedding plans with me when she was engaged,” she said.
“As was Prudence, before that beastly cousin abandoned and swindled us. What is it I must
do to get you to act like this is the happy occasion it is, not a funeral procession?”
Tears she refused to shed in front of her mother burned in Penelope’s eyes. Years of
frustration built up inside her threatened to release itself. In an effort to keep it in, Penelope
took a deep breath. “I am not Phillipa, Mama!” Even with the restraint she attempted,
Penelope still winced at the bite in her tone. Portia would notice.

And she did. Huffing, her mother walked from the dressing table. At first, Penelope thought
her mother would just leave the room. After all, she had told Penelope the rest of the day
was hers to do with what she would.

Instead, Portia returned with Penelope’s writing desk chair. She set it down with enough
force to assert her authority, but not quite hard enough to be considered violent. Putting
herself in the chair, she gestured at her daughter.

“Alright. What is this?” she demanded.

Penelope stared at her mother. She arched a brow as Portia waited expectantly for an
answer. Bewildered, she shook her head. Her mother had never cared enough in the past to
sit down and ask what was wrong. “What is what?”

“I am no fool, Penelope,” Portia said. “You have been behaving most out of character, and I
would know the reason.”

Feigning confusion, Penelope said, “Mama, I do not –”

“Stop,” Portia interrupted. “I know you believe me callous and uncaring, but while I do not
simper and coddle you the way Violet Bridgerton might with her children, I do know you,
Penelope. You are my daughter. Mothers know these things, whether they are soft or not.
And I know that this is not your normal behavior. You do not let me see the brunt of your
irritation. These outbursts, the moping. If this is all to do with Colin Bridgerton –”

“Pardon?” Penelope squeaked. Portia, the overbearing mother who never cared what was
happening for her child unless it regarded dresses or dancing, knew how she felt for Colin?
Portia, despite what she had just said, never seemed to notice anything about Penelope. She
did not care for her daughter’s fondness for books. She had forced Penelope into the most
insipid of dresses despite her obvious distaste and discomfort with them. Prudence and
Phillipa’s teasings and japes went ignored.

And now, delicate and tactful as ever, Portia still rolled her eyes. “Oh, Penelope,” she said.
“I am not the most attentive of mothers, but I am not blind. I recognize that you shine
brighter when you see the Bridgerton boy. For years, I saw it and allowed it when it was a
childish fancy, and now when he was vying for your affections with others. You love him.
Something you do not feel for the man you are engaged to.”

“I – I,” Penelope stammered. Portia’s skeptical look came before Penelope could protest.
Sighing, she rubbed her forehead. “Have I been so obvious I do not feel that way for my
fiance?”

“No,” Portia said, waving a hand in dismissal. “You play the role well enough. Well done on
that, by the way.”
“Thank you?” Penelope said, unsure of how else to respond.

“But you must find a way to forget him,” Portia said. “I know every girl wants her love
match, to find the man they read about in fairy tales. But it is not practical. In the world we
live in, your safety and security matter more than whether your heart flutters when you see
your husband. I know you think I am without feeling. I put you into society before you
wanted. But I did so for a specific reason.

“Your father was reckless and irresponsible. He did not think of his family. I knew that
about him, even before he died. And with no sons, there was no way to keep you secure. We
needed husbands for all of you.” Portia paused, tilting her head to the side to observe
Penelope. “I see that you probably already know everything I am telling you. For even
though you believe I love your sisters more than you, I do know your head is not quite as
empty as theirs. It is how you were able to pull off this match with this drab new wardrobe of
yours.” Penelope rolled her eyes outwardly, not caring that her mother saw it. Portia did not
seem to care either, for she continued. “I would see you safe and secure before I see you as
giddy as a princess.”

“Is this why you pushed so hard for me to marry Mr. Carmichael, even when Colin showed
interest in me?” Penelope asked.

“A second son is closer to a title than a third,” Portia said, matter-of-factly. “But also…”
Her mother grew uncomfortable, and in her discomfort, almost shy. “He does not deserve
you. Had he been your only suitor, I would be ignoring that fact. But you do have other
options. And now, a fiance.”

An unbearable weight descended over Penelope. She did not know what to say. Though her
mother was being oddly comforting, she would not go so far as to reveal what had occurred
between her and Colin. That would only lead to further disaster. But the utterly transactional
nature of how her mother spoke of marriage, while nothing new, somehow pained Penelope.
She knew what it was to be loved, to feel wanted and adored, to have someone know her
mind. It hurt so badly because it had been real. Knowing it was real made the loveless
existence Portia preferred all the more unappealing.

“This is for the best, Penelope,” Portia said, rising to her feet. “Even if he bores you to tears,
Mr. Carmichael will give you a home, a life. He will give you children. Be content with
knowing you will be cared for.” Portia’s expression was the softest Penelope had ever seen
it, and she almost balked in surprise when her mother pressed a kiss to the top of Penelope’s
head.

As her mother was leaving out the door, Penelope called out to her, “Mama?” Portia stopped
and looked back. “I think you will make an excellent next Catherine the Great.”

Her mother smiled, paused to open her mouth, but instead of saying anything, she closed the
door behind her.

~
Stepping from her hired hack, Penelope glanced past both sides of her hood for any signs of
Royal guards. The streets bustled with merchants, traders, and laborers. Depositing the
hack’s fee for the first half of the journey, she requested the driver wait, telling him she would
not be gone for more than fifteen minutes.

Schooling her tongue for her Irish accent she used when she did deliveries herself, she started
for the print shop door. When she was using the accent on a regular basis, she had perfected
the way she would need to move her mouth to cover the delicate tone of the aristocracy she
spoke with daily. But it had been a long while since she had used it, and even the practice in
the hack could not stop her from being nervous.

The bell dinged in the shop as she entered. Swallowing hard, she pulled her hood down and
called out, “Is anyone here?” Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head. Confidence. She
needed to project confidence into her tone if she was going to pull off this accent again.

“Hello.” Coming around the corner, rubbing his hands together, was Theo Sharpe. Penelope
blinked. She’d seen him from afar, and never met him, but she recognized him from when
she saw him and Eloise speak together, their heads bent low in flirtatious conversation. “You
require some assistance?”

Swallowing hard around the dry lump in her throat, Penelope held her chin high and nodded.
“Aye,” she said. She could do this. “I am here for my mistress, Lady Whistledown.”

It was just a moment, barely perceptible, but Penelope caught the quirk of Theo’s brow. He
did well to hide his surprise though, and his eyes hardened. “Is that so?”

Penelope nodded. She wondered at the hardness in his eyes. Did he blame Lady
Whistledown for his falling out with Eloise? Had he and Eloise even spoken since last year?
El had told her she was done speaking with him, but she did not clarify when she had
stopped.

“As I said,” she went on, producing the final draft from her cloak. Sparks shot through her
body, threatening to cause her hands to shake. “I have come with the next copy.”

“Ah, did Madame Delacroix get spooked by Her Majesty’s agents intercepting her package
last time?” Theo asked. “No more dresses?”

Penelope arched a brow, pretending she was confused. Genevieve’s name could not be
implicated. Theo probably had no proof Genevieve was involved, otherwise she would have
been taken by the Queen already. But he knew her name somehow, probably from Eloise
when they were working together. Voice cold as steel, Penelope said, “I do not know that
name. And my mistress confides all her secrets in me. If she was associated with any French
woman, I’d know.”

Theo laughed. “Of course.” He held out his hand. “Well. Let’s have it then. Is this how it
will be from now on? Your mistress has done away with the fine dresses and mystique?”

“No,” Penelope said, stepping forward to hand Theo the scroll. “This – this is her last one.
For the foreseeable future.”
He touched the scroll, but he did not take it fully in his grasp, leaving each one of them
holding one end. “Is that so?” he asked. Penelope stared at him. His gaze was cold, nothing
like the kind boy Eloise had told her all about. “Why?”

“You ask many questions for a printer’s apprentice,” Penelope snapped.

“And you have a slippery accent and too fine of syntax for an Irish servant,” he retorted.
Penelope said nothing in response. She froze. Finally taking the draft from her, Theo added,
“You know, I’ve read most of the columns your mistress has written. Perhaps all of them.”

“What purpose could reading a gossip column about aristocrats and Royalty serve you?”
Penelope asked.

Theo shrugged. “I was helping a young lady with a project,” he said. “Reading all of those
columns, I really got a sense of the people getting written about. The characters if you will.”
His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing her very carefully. “Your hair. It’s very red. The young lady
whose project I helped with…she was a member of a very well off family, and on that
account, she was acquainted with many fine families.” His voice lowered. “Before she
stopped speaking to me, we would talk, share things with one another. She mentioned her
dearest friend in the world having red hair like this.” He cocked his head to the side. “If
Lady Whistledown is to be believed, she often dresses like an overripe lemon.”

A spike of fear shot up Penelope’s spine. Her mouth remained clamped shut. What had she
been thinking, coming out here like this? Unable to think of anything in response, she turned
on her heel and headed for the door. She needed to get to the hack and get out of here. Just
because she had not seen any agents of the Queen did not mean they were not about.

If Theo knew her name though, it would not matter.

Ripping the door open, Penelope hurried into the street. The hack was just across a sea of
people, and she tried desperately to push her way through the crowd. Her heart pounded in
her chest, so loud she heard it thumping in her ears. She begged the pardon of anyone she
ran into, yet somehow she still could not get across the street fast enough.

The hack, she thought , just make it to the hack .

As soon as she burst out of the crowd and put her hand on the door handle, an iron arm
snatched her by the elbow. Penelope’s heart leapt to her throat. Whirling around, she found
two armed men waiting for her. One of them already held her elbow, and as soon as her eyes
met the other’s, he took her other arm. She gulped, but she dared not cry out. Both were
dressed as soldiers. She saw men in these very uniforms every occasion the Queen showed
up to.

“Miss.” A much softer voice came from a shorter, stouter man. Splashed across his lush
outfit was a red sash, adorned with a golden star. His name escaped Penelope, but she knew
his face. Anywhere the Queen went, he, too, would be found. “Her Majesty, the Queen,
requires your presence.”
 Choosing Knighthood
Chapter Summary

Colin, Eloise, and Violet receive a visitor with some shocking news.

Chapter Notes

...and here's the surprise! I managed to get Chapter 20 written so fast, I got 21 written
within the same week. Like I said in the previous notes, it's been a week.

I'll see you all next week for the next Posting Day!

Song: "Waiting Room" by Phoebe Bridgers (Colin's REALLY in his angst right now)

And I can wish all that I want, but I know it won’t bring us together

Plus, I know whatever happens to me, I know it’s for the better

“Waiting Room,” Phoebe Bridgers

“Colin Bridgerton, what is the meaning of this?”

Colin winced at the harsh bite in his mother’s tone. He was in the library of her home on
Bruton Street, pouring over a map of India and taking notes on where he might start his
journey. To his utter surprise, as soon as he made his decision to leave, he managed to find a
ship to book passage on that would leave in one month’s time. He just had to figure out a
rough outline of his tour. Although, given the great distance he would be covering to get to
the Asian subcontinent, he did not necessarily need to figure out his whole trip now. But if it
kept him from having to focus on what was happening in London, he would gladly spend his
remaining time at home in the library.

“The meaning of what, Mother?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Violet swept into his view, hands on her hips and a fierce glare on her face. Though she did
her very best to appear stern, Colin noticed she was unable to completely remove her concern
from her eyes. It was in her nature to worry for her children, particularly when she believed
they were acting on impulse. She clapped a hand on the table, disturbing the array of
instruments and variety of books open. The flame of his candle even swooshed from the air
disturbed by her gesture.

“You know very well what I speak of,” Violet snapped. “This – this childish whim of yours
that you are going to run away to India! Of all places! With no return date in mind? Are you
mad?”

“Kate comes from India,” he pointed out, still ignoring the obvious reasons for Violet’s
emotions running high. “Should I not visit the subcontinent?”

“It has far less to do with the location itself as it does the distance, the time, and the fact you
have no idea how long you would be gone!” she exclaimed. “You intend to leave in one
month? And you made this decision just yesterday! All of this, and you have done nothing
that you usually do in preparation for a trip. This is most reckless!”

“I am a traveler, Mother, I go where the unknown calls me.”

Violet’s mouth pinched. “That is not what this trip is, and both of us know that,” she said.
“Trips like the one you are suggesting take far longer than one month to prepare for. Not to
mention, you would miss your sister’s wedding!”

“Oh? Has the Earl of Kilmartin finally proposed, and I was not told?”

“No, but you well know that a proposal is imminent there,” Violet snapped. “ You are
running away.”

Colin snapped his book closed, refusing to meet Violet’s eyes. If he looked at her, he might
break down. Since his decision to leave just the day before, he had done his best to avoid
anyone, particularly his mother. She would make him stay, urge him to change his mind, and,
worst of all, Colin would do it. All because she asked it of him. Either he ran and he would
hurt, or he stayed and it would hurt. No choice he made came unaccompanied by pain in this
situation he put himself in.

“Not running, Mother,” he lied, picking up his book and returning it to its spot on the shelf.
“Merely going on another tour.”

Violet came around the table Colin had his work sprawled across to take his hands. There
was an urgency in her grasp he seldom felt. His eyes shot to the floor to avoid her gaze.
“Look at me,” she said, snatching his chin in a remarkably strong grasp for a woman of such
delicate stature. Upon his refusal to look her in the eye, Violet repeated herself, more
insistent. He finally did as she bid him. But when he looked into the eyes of the woman who
raised him, loved him, and put him and his siblings first in everything, the gaping wound in
his chest hemorrhaged. His eyes burned against his better judgment.

“Dearest,” Violet said, her voice filling with more gentleness than Colin deserved, “what is
it? What troubles you so that you would see an exit that would take you halfway across the
whole of the globe?”
Colin shook his head. Silence would be his best option here. Anthony’s disappointment in
him was one thing; he could live with it because it was not unique to him. Few people had
never felt the slash of the Viscount Bridgerton’s disappointment. But for Violet to somehow
be ashamed of him, Colin would not be able to bear that. His mother lived kindly and with
full generosity. To earn her scorn would mean he had done something irredeemable. Life
would be intolerable.

“Has this to do with Penelope?” Violet asked. At the sound of Penelope’s name, Colin’s
shoulders sagged. Part of his heart that was scabbing over reopened with a vengeance. He
took both of Violet’s hands, less as a reassurance to her and more to support himself in
remaining on his feet. A stricken look overcame his face. “Dearest, what purpose would
running serve? Can you not speak to her? Young ladies’ reputations are not scarred by
deciding to reject a proposal. Perhaps she only accepted another gentleman because she just
needs to hear from your mouth that you love her.”

Colin shook his head. “No,” he managed. “It is not that. I – I told her how I felt. I told her,
and she was prepared to refuse Carmichael to marry me instead.” Violet’s relieved smile at
the idea of Colin and Penelope marrying gave way to utter confusion. She opened her mouth
to ask more, but he continued before she had the chance to speak. “I have made a great error,
Mother. A truly great error. She…I came across some information. That I reacted rather
poorly to.”

His mother’s brow furrowed. “Reacted poorly to?”

Shame overwhelmed him. “I was a monster, Mother.” He sank into the nearest chair and put
his head in his hands. “I told her...I told her she did not know what it was to love. That she
should marry Carmichael, and that she should never speak to me again.” He shook his head,
gut rolling. He could not look his mother in the eye for fear of seeing disgust on her face.
The fact she had not thrust him out of her home after hearing the recounting of what he said
to Penelope was a miracle already.

“What on Earth did you find out that would cause you to say such a thing?” Violet
murmured. She knelt beside his chair, doing her best to get him to look at her, to answer her
at all.

Eyes burning, Colin shook his head. He still could not look at her. If he met her eyes, he
worried the scene would come spilling out: how he had compromised her, how she was Lady
Whistledown, how he had turned away from her and made her cry. “I have ruined
everything,” he said. “And even though I want to beg her forgiveness and make it alright
once more, I am too afraid I fear she will not hear it from me. The look I received from her
in the park yesterday…there was no hatred, not even anger. It was as though she were
looking straight through me, that I meant nothing to her. She did not care. And if she does
not care, she has truly forsaken me.” His shoulders heaved as he gasped for breath.

“Colin, I still do not understand,” Violet protested. “What could you possibly have
discovered that you would tell her never to speak to you again? Or, to tell her that she does
not know what love is, for that matter. That is quite a serious charge.”
Though Penelope had revealed her identity to Edwina, and Eloise knew, Colin was unsure of
who else knew about who she was. He worried about what his mother’s reaction to
Penelope’s alternate identity might be. After the damage he himself caused, he refused to do
anything else that might put her at risk. It would be his only way to protect her from now
on. He would protect her secret and keep it close to his heart, just as he would keep her.

“It must have been something grave for you to be so hesitant to share with me,” Violet
murmured when Colin’s silence stretched too long.

Before Colin could answer, the library door burst open to reveal a frantic Eloise and another
woman whose face Colin knew, but he could not quite place where he had seen her. Violet
rose to her feet, brow knitting in confusion. “Madame Delacroix? Eloise, what is this?”

Hearing the modiste’s name, the name of Penelope’s friend she had told him about, sent
Colin leaping upward. The anxious expression on his sister’s face, and the arrival of
Penelope’s friend at his mother’s home, sent a terrible feeling through his bloodstream. He
met Eloise’s eyes.

“El?” he murmured.

Eloise swallowed hard. She looked at the dressmaker and gestured to Violet and Colin. “Go
on,” she said. “Tell them what you have told me!”

Madame Delacroix’s face grew pained. Her breath shook as she tried to keep her emotions
contained. Her eyes darted nervously between each Bridgerton. She did not trust them one
bit. “I – Miss Eloise, could you not do it instead? I really cannot be here any longer than
necessary! My involvement in this can go only so far. I am only here because if I did not tell
someone, she would be alone!”

“Tell us what?” Violet demanded. “Who would be alone?”

The modiste, eyes misty with a sheen of silver, said, “I did not know where else to go, Lady
Bridgerton. Her own mother would not let me in the home, I am sure of it. I have no idea
where to find her fiance, or if he would even listen to me. But I knew that Miss Eloise, you
were aware of what she was doing, and even though you were not on speaking terms with her
–”

“We are again,” Eloise interrupted. “Well, somewhat. We’ve only just repaired our
relationship, and we have not truly spoken since the night we…but none of that matters right
now! Tell them exactly what you told me, Madame Delacroix!”

Colin was ready to throttle both of his sister and Madame Delacroix when the modiste finally
answered. “It is Miss Penelope,” she said. “I was purchasing some items for my shop when
I saw it. She was leaving the printer and trying to get into a hack she had hired. Before she
could go, though, some of Her Majesty’s troops found her.” She swallowed hard, tears
trickling down her face. “The troops took her with them.”

He felt as though he had been struck. The blood drained from his face. If the Queen had
Penelope, she was in grave danger. Queen Charlotte would string Penelope up for all to see.
Her whole family would be ruined. Questions fired through his mind for the modiste.
Telling the story seemed to have slowed Madame Delacroix down, but she still appeared
ready to bolt from his mother’s home. Even so, she remained at Eloise’s side.

“How did this happen?” Eloise asked. “I thought she had changed her plans, and you were
having the drafts delivered in dress boxes. What could she possibly have wanted to do on
that side of town.”

“We were,” Madame Delacroix said, her voice careful as a pair of feet stepping across creaky
floorboards. If it was protecting Penelope’s secrets she worried about, though, the time for
that was gone, replaced by the urgency to save her. Saving her would not happen without
information. “But one of the delivery boys was almost caught when he delivered the last
box. Agents of the Queen intercepted it, even though he got away. I do not know how they
figured out which print shop we were using, but after they found out, she should never have
gone back there. If I had known, I would have tried to stop her. Her maid’s disguise will do
her no good now.”

Flashes of his drunken night thinking a burglar was breaking into the Featherington House
came back to Colin. He remembered the little blue uniform she had worn, the one that
concealed her so well he did not know it was her. With the hood up, she might have been
concealed, but the moment the Queen’s men took that off, her protection would be lost. His
mouth dried.

Violet held up her hands. “Will one of you please tell me what you are talking about? Why
has the Queen taken Penelope?”

Swallowing hard, Colin answered his mother, “Penelope is Lady Whistledown. It is what I
discovered that caused me to – to say those things to her.” Violet’s mouth dropped, too
stunned to speak, allowing Colin to turn back to Madame Delacroix. He needed to remain
rational, upright. Otherwise, he would be no help to Penelope at all. “Madame, how long
ago did this happen?”

“Only a little more than an hour ago,” she said. “I came as fast as I could.”

Colin nodded. “Alright,” he said. “You have helped us more than words could ever express.
I thank you for your assistance, and we understand it was at great risk to yourself. If you
must go, we will do our best to get her back.” He did not say it, but he would not return from
the palace unless it was with Penelope. Granted, he had no idea how he would get into the
palace, find her, and find a way out again. Nausea rolled through his stomach at the thought
of what was to come.

Madame Delacroix observed Colin with a shrewd glance through her tear-stained face. She
curtsied to the trio of Bridgertons, but before she turned away, she said to Colin, “ Penelope
is my friend. And she holds you very dear to her heart, even when she would try to deny it.
You will make this right.”

Silent, Colin nodded his promise that he would. The moment he, his mother, and his sister
were alone, he began to pace. What could he do? The Queen of England was notoriously
angry with Lady Whistledown, and it was known she had people hunting for the columnist.
Colin would not be able to waltz into the palace, tell her to release the woman he loved, and
get them both out the door intact.

When neither of her children spoke, Violet took the opportunity to ask, “Penelope is Lady
Whistledown? She has been her this whole time?” When neither of them responded, she
blew out a sigh. “I never would have suspected.”

“Yes, that is precisely why she is so good at it,” Colin grumbled, as he contemplated the
logistics of scaling the palace walls to sneak his way into the building. “No one would
suspect her because she hides that part of her so well.”

Violet turned to Eloise. “Is that why you fought with her? Why you refused to speak to her
for so long?”

“I did. But I have spoken to her, we have resolved our issues,” Eloise said. “And we have
talked about everything. Her…reasons.”

Colin rubbed his face. “El, what possible relevance do her reasons have right now? We have
to figure out how to get to her.”

Eloise glared at him. “The relevance of her reasons is quite important, seeing as you don’t
have any idea of what they were,” she said. “You have no idea why she did anything, do
you? If you did, you would not have behaved like a beast to the rest of us. You would not
have allowed this farce of an engagement to continue. You went to find her after I told you
she was getting married, that has to be when you found out about her secret. But you don’t
know anything. She did what she did to protect you, Colin. She wrote about me to protect
me.” At the incredulous looks from both Violet and Colin, she bit her lip and added, “I may
or may not have run afoul with the Queen myself, and Her Majesty may or may not have
thought I was Lady Whistledown. She threatened to ruin our whole family. When I told Pen,
she wrote something about me that she knew Lady Whistledown would never write about
herself. It got the Queen off of me.”

“What did I tell you about keeping secrets from me, Eloise?” Violet cried.

Eloise shrugged. “Well, the situation ended up working itself out?”

“You did not think that you should let us know that you were threatened by the Queen of
England ?”

“Well, as soon as Pen published the fact I was going to political lectures, it did not truly
matter anymore, did it? She thought I was just a regular member of the ton getting my
secrets spilled by Whistledown.”

While his mother and sister bickered back and forth, Colin wondered at how Eloise had
managed to forgive Penelope, too. Was he the only one who had been unable to find it in
himself to forgive her for her actions? Though if what Eloise said was accurate, that she had
told Penelope the Queen came after her, he could see why Penelope would write what she
had about Eloise’s political activities. How much of Penelope’s work had been done in an
attempt to keep a Bridgerton from being ruined or saved from an awful situation?
“She – she wrote about you to keep you from being harmed by the Queen?” he asked.

Eloise nodded and gave a pointed look to Colin. “And she can tell you all about how Marina
and Lady Featherington were plotting over you like a piece of meat, but she protected you,
too. Because she loves you. She loved you then, she loves you still.”

Colin stared at his sister. Eloise, who had been so bitterly opposed to even speaking
Penelope’s name all season, had taken to mounting the strongest defense for her. She spoke
with Penelope once, and after hearing what she had to say, Eloise no longer despised her.
Just as when he slowed down and thought through what he knew, he found he did not truly
despise her either. The desire to grovel at Penelope’s feet returned full force. He cleared his
throat.

“We can talk about the reasoning later I suppose,” he said. He put his hands on his hips. In
order to grovel, he was going to need to find her. “If either of you have any bright ideas on
what to do here, please share them with me. I do not want to despair, but short of crashing
through the palace gates on a white steed, I have no other options.”

It was his mother who snapped her fingers first.

“Love,” Violet murmured. The siblings looked to their mother, and she said louder, “Love.
That is how you get through the gates, and in front of the Queen. She will hear a plea that
appeals to something she has a soft spot for. Simon did it when he and Daphne went to her
for a special license. She witnessed Kate and Anthony dance with one another and saw their
love. If you go to her and tell her of your love for Penelope, she will listen.”

Straightening his back, Colin thought. Could he do this? What words could he even say that
would be sufficient to override the Queen’s hatred of the gossip columnist that openly
challenged her influence? His fists clenched as he fought the hopelessness threatening to
overtake him. Would he even see Penelope? Or would the Queen have already sent her
away? And would the Queen even listen to him? He was not his brothers. Anthony knew
how to charm and play the role society required him to put forth. Benedict, with the soul of
an artist, knew how to craft the world he wanted to see around him, and that gift drew people
to him. Daphne possessed the poise and grace that allowed her to influence and be beloved.

Compared to them, what did Colin have?

He froze. Fear paralyzed him, and the shame and self-loathing resurfaced. He had made so
many mistakes when it came to Penelope, enough that it could be argued he was the worst
thing for her. How could he go before a monarch and proclaim his love for Penelope if all he
had done was say the wrong thing, make the wrong assumption, or press her to marry the
wrong man?

“Now is not the time for doubt, Colin,” Eloise said, breaking him out of his anxious stupor.
She gave him an encouraging nod. “Doubt in her, or doubt in yourself.”

And then she smiled at him.

Something in Eloise’s smile, a little thing, something he had seen for years and years, lit
through the despair. As he looked in her eyes, he saw that she believed in him that he could
help Penelope. Why Eloise would look at him like this, Colin could not say. He did not have
a lick of faith in himself. And perhaps he was imagining things, but whatever Eloise truly
felt, all he saw was belief in him.

That was more than enough.

His sister was right. Colin needed to put aside whatever fears he had if he wanted to be of
any use to Penelope. Even if she did not want anything to do with him after this, he would do
what was necessary to save her.

“I believe we will need Lady Danbury’s help if we are to stage this rescue,” he said, heading
for the door. As he informed his mother’s footman they would need the carriage, he thought
of Edwina’s comments about knights in storybooks. He was no knight, he knew that. But
today he was going to have to do his best to become one.
 The Queen and the Wallflower
Chapter Summary

Penelope is brought before Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte.

Chapter Notes

Howdy all! Happy Posting Day. This was probably one of the hardest chapters for me to
write, because Queen Charlotte is not the easiest character for me to get into the head of.
That being said, I enjoyed the challenge. I hope it turned out okay.

It's hard to believe that this story is almost at an end! Thank you for the reviews, kudos,
and reading. I'll see you back here next week for the final chapter! (The 25th one will be
our epilogue)

I used to float, now I just fall down

I used to know, but now I’m not sure now

What I was made for

What was I made for?

Billie Eilish, “What Was I Made For?”

Penelope said nothing. The Queen’s men took her from the streets of London, into a waiting
carriage, and they pulled the curtains so she could not see where they were going. She was
put in the carriage alone at first, joined only by the stout man who followed the Queen
wherever she might go. Penelope half worried she would be thrown into the carriage to find
the Queen already waiting for her, the same way she had been waiting for Eloise. But it was
merely her and the Queen’s valet.

As the carriage rolled forward, Penelope’s eyes met the man’s in front of her. He gave her a
small smile, not unkind, but not friendly. The threat was clear, as was his allegiance. “Miss,
I am Brimsley, Her Majesty’s secretary,” he introduced himself. “The carriage will be taking
us to the palace, where you will be taken to the Queen. She has many questions for you.”
Though Penelope kept her lips clamped shut, her heart pounded against the confines of her
chest. She reminded herself she needed to breathe if she was to remain upright. Going
before the Queen of England as a simpering maid would not do. She was not simpering, nor
was she even a maid anymore. Facing the Queen was going to require every ounce of
strength she could manage. Queen Charlotte likely thought to scare her, sending her burliest
men that towered over her. And Brimsley, while not appearing to bear her any ill will, was
the Queen’s man through and through. There was power in the red sash and gold emblems he
wore.

“You are the youngest daughter of the late Baron Featherington, are you not?” Brimsley
observed. He leaned back in his seat, watching Penelope. “I recognize you. Though I do
admit that it was difficult to recognize you in something other than the color yellow. Blue
suits you far better.”

Penelope met his gaze, but she said nothing.

“I imagine your mother is unaware of the activities you find yourself embroiled in,” he went
on. “There is no way Lady Featherington would know about such things and be able to keep
quiet. When she learns this news, I wonder what her reaction will be. You and your mother
and remaining unmarried sister will likely have to leave London in disgrace. You
Featheringtons have been embroiled in your fair dose of scandals – first your cousin’s
pregnancy, then your other cousin’s frauds – but now, when the ton finds out who is behind
all of their secrets being spilled? Well, that will be a most difficult stain to wash out.” He
arched a brow at her.

Do not react , Penelope scolded herself. He is goading you to react. Do not react . She
repeated the mantra over and over in her head, continuing to stare back at Brimsley.

At Penelope’s ongoing silence, he smiled. “Yes, I believe the Queen will be most interested
in speaking to you.”

The rest of the carriage ride passed at a glacial pace. Brimsley took to peeking out of the
curtains to check their progress on the journey, while Penelope folded her hands in her lap.
Her mind fluttered to her mother and Prudence. Two women who made her miserable most
days of her life, yet she loved still. Despite the hardships, she loved her mother and sister,
and she was about to be the reason their lives were ruined. Phillipa, being out of the house,
would have the chance to remain unscathed, and for that Penelope was grateful. Perhaps the
Queen would hear an appeal for mercy for them. At least Genevieve, Lady Danbury, and
Edwina would be safe. Genevieve was most at risk, having played a role in the publication,
but they would never know who she was if Penelope did not talk. Theo Sharpe had no proof
of Genevieve’s involvement. And Lady Danbury and Edwina had favor with the Queen;
Penelope was the only one who knew they knew.

Colin and Eloise would be safest of all. All the things she had written about the Bridgerton
family, there was no way Queen Charlotte would suspect them of knowing and withholding
that information.

Penelope dug her nails into the skin of her palms, thinking of what Whistledown had done to
the people she loved most. She meant for it to hold up a mirror to society, to show people
just how awful and hurtful they could be. Perhaps, for a time, the column had served its
purpose in that regard. But now all it had done was hurt those closest to her. Her eyes
burned. She picked at her nails. Was this what she was meant to do? Just hurt people?
Writing had changed her life, it made her feel like she had a voice when the world sought to
tell her she had nothing. Quill on paper gave her the power she was so often denied because
she was told she was not beautiful enough, or wealthy enough, or from the right family. The
voice within her became a twisted, malformed version of itself, spilling secrets that hurt
people and gave them an afternoon of laughter at another’s expense.

When she looked at her life’s work now, she no longer saw the thing that gave her joy. The
result of that was clear, as she sat in this carriage, rocking over cobblestones through the
streets of London toward whatever fate the Queen would bestow on her.

By the time they finally arrived at the palace, Penelope’s bones felt as though they had turned
to iron. There was an innate heaviness to the secrets she held, but never had she been more
aware of their weight than right now. The moment she stepped from the carriage, a group of
soldiers surrounded her from every angle. They moved as a unit, and every step she took,
they took. Everything about them was uniform, from the clothes they wore to the facial
expressions they did not look at her with. It was as though their eyes passed straight over
her. Not because she was invisible to them, but because she was no longer a lady to them.
Her quill had spurned their Queen, she no longer would be awarded social graces or general
pleasantries.

Brimsley gave calm commands and ushered them into the palace doors. Since stepping into
society, Penelope had been to the palace a few times. To see it when it was not made up for
some party or ball made the halls seem even more forbidding. Being presented here before
the very monarch she was being dragged before seemed like an eternity ago. Though where
the halls felt so grand then, and the atmosphere one of possibility, now the halls felt more
akin to a tomb than a palace. She kept her hands clasped together, holding them tight to keep
them from shaking. Her face remained a mask, and she kept her chin as high as it would go
without appearing as though she were looking at the ceiling.

The soldiers took her through the main palace hall to a small audience chamber. Inside,
sitting on a couch, was Queen Charlotte. Her Majesty wore an opulent dress of glowing red
silk, with rubies glistening like blood drops on her neck. Countless rings adorned her
fingers. The moment Penelope came into view for her, her eyes narrowed. Her lips, painted
crimson, pursed. Penelope met Her Majesty’s hawkish glance and did not look away.

“We found this young lady delivering a draft of Lady Whistledown to the print shop we
confiscated the last one at,” Brimsley announced, appearing behind Queen Charlotte.

“She looks familiar,” the Queen remarked.

“This is Penelope Featherington, daughter of the late Baron,” Brimsley reminded her.

If recognition struck Queen Charlotte, she did not let anyone see it. Her dark eyes flicked
between the guardsmen that brought Penelope before her. She tilted her head to Brimsley.
“All of you,” she began, “leave us.”
Brimsley hesitated. “Is that wise, Your Majesty?”

The Queen smirked. “You may fret all you like, Brimsley, but this girl is of no threat to me.
Not anymore.”

Penelope blinked, but she did not look away from the Queen. She kept her mouth closed.
Her heart hammered in her ears. Compared to the Queen, she was dressed in rags. Her
mother would faint to see Penelope dressed in such a manner in front of royalty, particularly
when that member of royalty was the head of the ton and their country.

The entire room emptied, and when the door closed, the echo boomed cavernously. Penelope
stood, shoulders straight and posture impeccable, while the monarch watched her. Neither of
them spoke, and Penelope wondered at how hilarious the image might look to an outsider: a
queen staring down a slip of a girl in servant’s clothing.

“So,” Queen Charlotte said, voice sharp as a knife, “what is your role in this ploy?” When
Penelope did not immediately answer, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, come now. Staying silent
will get you nowhere. Tell me your part in this little game you seem to think you are
playing.”

“Surely Your Majesty would recognize her rival when she comes face to face with her,”
Penelope said. The words spilled from her mouth before she could think them through or
stop them. Her cheeks flamed, but she kept her gaze level. If the Queen would have her hold
nothing back, then so be it.

Surprise lit up the Queen’s eyes, but she only allowed it to show for a moment before
shuttering them again. “You are her then,” she said. “The writer. Well, now is not the time
for cheek or cleverness. A well-aimed barb or metaphor will be no help to you.”

“And I assure you, I am not being cheeky,” Penelope said. “Honest is the descriptor I prefer.”

“A thorn in my side,” Queen Charlotte shot back. “A thorn in my side that does not seem to
grasp the gravity of what she has done. You cannot be even twenty years old, what could you
possibly know of the world that makes you think you are any match for me.”

Penelope shrugged. “One does not need to be older to be wiser,” she murmured.

“A wiser person would not taunt the Crown in the way you do.” The Queen, famous for
being able to look bored even in the most amusing of occasions, seemed anything but that as
she leaned forward in her seat. The way she observed Penelope now, she seemed as though
she were trying to solve a riddle. Whether she thought Penelope was the riddle or just a part
of it, Penelope could not tell. “This is most intriguing, though, I will admit that,” Queen
Charlotte murmured, stroking one of the rubies on her dress. “When I pictured them bringing
Lady Whistledown to me after they found her, I imagined a woman . Her face escaped me,
an ever-moving shadow, but I imagined someone far older than you. Someone sure of
themselves. Which you are, as you stand before me. But when I have seen you at other
times, as forgettable as those times have been, you have not been. You are a wallflower, you
seek an escape from the spotlight and the whispers that would follow those who are in it.”
She squinted. “Why is that? Is it because you are jealous?”
A snort sounded from Penelope’s lips before she could control it. The Queen appeared taken
aback by the noise, and a thunderous expression overtook her face. Penelope held up both
hands, apologetic. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, for that detestable noise I just made,” she said.

“I most certainly will not pardon you for it!” the Queen snapped. “You would dare to laugh
at me, and at such a serious moment? Do you not realize that I have the power to ruin you?
And your whole family. I have not yet figured out what I will do, but the severity of it will
most certainly depend upon how this conversation goes.”

“Again, I do apologize, but I was not laughing at you, Your Majesty,” Penelope said.

“Then what, pray tell, was so funny to you, Miss Featherington?”

Penelope smiled. She was ruined no matter what would happen now, she might as well be
honest with the woman who would be responsible for her ruination. “It is just, in the entire
time I have been doing this, this was the first time the question of jealousy has ever arisen. I
have known envy in my life, but never for the things most people would expect. I do not care
that there are other debutants far more beautiful than I, or that they have packs of suitors
while none would look my way. For example, one might envy you , Your Majesty, for the
wealth and riches you possess. They might envy you for your love for the King, that you
were able to marry and build a magnificent life with the man you love. But that is not what I
would envy you for.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed again, but the more she narrowed her eyes, the more Penelope
realized that it was not something she did when she was angry. The Queen was intrigued .
“And what is it you would envy me for?”

“I envy your voice,” Penelope murmured. “I envy that when you speak, people will listen.
Even men, powerful men, listen to you when you speak. You have the ability to change the
world, and you have done so in the past. The love you share with King George managed to
make the world better for all of us, by bringing two worlds together that were once forced
apart. You are the Queen of the most powerful country on the globe, your actions have the
ability to shift how the planet turns.” Longing swelled in Penelope’s chest as she thought of
all the ways the Queen had the ability to make the world different. Someone like Penelope
could never have that. She did not necessarily know what she would do to make the world
different, but it was only because she knew she had no power to make any of those changes.
Had Penelope the voice of a Queen or head of state, maybe she would think of all the things
she would make different.

The Queen beckoned that she come closer. She pointed on the ground in front of her where
Penelope should stand. Penelope took the steps, watching as the Queen scrutinized her.
“You are not the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld,” Queen Charlotte said, after
many moments of studying her. “Nor are you dreadful to look at. And you are far too short
to be graceful. What season is this for you?”

“My third, Your Majesty. I recently became engaged. At your nephew’s ball, in fact.”
Penelope left out the fact that she had two offers of marriage, and that she had accepted both
of them.
“Not the worst for a debutante,” the Queen mused. “I’ve seen girls wait far longer. If it was
not jealousy that caused you to write this column, what was it then?”

Penelope squared her shoulders. “Your Majesty could not possibly understand.”

“Not with an attitude like that I will not,” Queen Charlotte snapped. “Do make an attempt to
explain it to me.”

Clearing her throat, Penelope said, “My entire life, I have never had the opportunity to
speak. Women are so rarely afforded that chance, but for me, it was worse. My mother and
my sisters speak quite loudly, it comes naturally to them. They make great spectacles of
themselves in the process, but somehow they are able to say what is on their minds without
the words getting lodged in their throats. Others, more fashionable ladies, have been able to
speak their minds and charm everyone around them because they are beautiful and gentile.
People have a tendency to want to listen to someone elegant and graceful. As you pointed
out, I am not what someone thinks of when they think of a great beauty, and I am far too
short.

“But between the pages of a book, where I sought my refuge, it did not matter if the most
beautiful person was speaking. Their voice was heard, because the person reading is in their
mind. I thought to myself, why not try that? Put what was in my mind out, for the world to
see, without my face or name attached. No one would listen to what I have to say when the
words came out of my mouth, even if I could muster up the courage to say them aloud. And
unlike Your Majesty, who has the grace to just ignore young ladies like myself that do not
catch your eye, there are those in the ton who are cruel and make japes at my expense. It
hurts. The man I loved, who I thought above all the cruelty, even joined the fun. And it
broke something in me. It snapped my connection to the few people I depended on. I felt
very like a wolf caught in a trap. And when a wolf is hurt, it snaps.

“It was very much a surprise to me that people responded the way they did to the column,”
Penelope continued. “Of course, the hook to my column was that I named everyone I wrote
about. I even named myself, talking about how insipid my mother’s fashion choices were,
how insipid her conduct was. But soon I realized there was power in my words. Nothing
revolutionary by any stretch of the imagination, but the name Lady Whistledown was one
that caused people to respond. I was able to point out the hypocrisy right in front of our eyes,
and people either had to acknowledge it, or continue to face what they had done and everyone
knowing what they had done. Even Your Majesty appreciated the distraction I offered for a
time.”

Queen Charlotte guffawed. “Yes, until you took it upon yourself to begin aiming your lens at
me .”

Penelope offered her a smile at that. “Yes, well, eyes are always watching the powerful,” she
said. “Writing gave me my voice. It is a small thing. There are certainly mistakes I have
made. But it is mine.”

“I do hope it was worth it,” Queen Charlotte said.

The pit in Penelope’s stomach churned. Speaking and using her voice had cost her dearly.
Perhaps that was the nature of things. Perhaps she could never have everything she longed
for and be happy too.

“Might I ask you something, Your Majesty?” she asked, suddenly feeling very small. Her life
as she knew it was over, but that did not mean she could not ask this question.

Queen Charlotte pursed her lips again. She squinted at Penelope again, considering her
request. Finally, she responded, “You may.”

“What is it like? To have the power to change things?”

This time when the Queen looked at her, her stare penetrated straight through every layer of
Penelope’s armor. The monarch could see all her secrets, as though Penelope had written
them all out and laid them bare for reading. It was quite clear Penelope was not at all what
the Queen had expected Lady Whistledown to be. But despite her obvious surprise, there
was great curiosity. She was still aghast at the fact that someone like Penelope could be
behind the unknown figure that was her nemesis.

“What you are asking about comes with immense responsibility, Miss Featherington,” the
Queen said at last. “That sort of power is not to be used lightly. When I consider my
influence, I know that I must be thinking of all the options available to me. And with each of
those options, I must consider the outcomes that could potentially arise. My life is to serve
the King, so any choice I make must also be made with what it will mean for him and his
legacy. Such responsibility is something you do not exercise, and it is why you feel so
conflicted about what you have done.” She nodded. “I see your face as you speak. You have
made many missteps, and you feel the weight of those. They are so heavy because you did
not think through what you were doing when you set out to do it. That is where you are
woefully inexperienced. You have talent, to be sure. But you do not know what to do with it,
how to use it for what you claim you want. Great writers can change the world. If they know
what they are doing.”

As Penelope nodded in agreement, the Queen added, “You know, Miss Featherington, I
understand what you are talking about with regard to feeling voiceless. Far more than you
would realize. While I may be royalty, I was not always the experienced woman I am today.
When I was a young woman, there were many times I held my tongue when I should not
have. Even when I wanted to scream and rage, I held back. And these were things far more
serious than frivolous matters of the ton.”

For the first time since Penelope was brought before her, Queen Charlotte looked away. Her
eyes drifted to a distant point behind Penelope, as if she were gazing into her past at moments
long forgotten until now. Having known the Queen to be foreboding and intimidating all her
life, it was strange for the guard to be dropped and for Penelope to be able to witness the
older woman looking into her own history. As Penelope stared at the Queen now, she felt
like she was witnessing a glimpse of the voiceless Charlotte that understood what it was to be
silenced. She wondered what could have happened to this woman, the one who exuded
power and influence as soon as she entered a room, that could make her appear small.
Penelope knew it would mean nothing, not after all she had written, but to feel a kinship with
the Queen over anything at all was special. She knew there were few people that would ever
see their monarch in such a way.

Snapping back to the present, Queen Charlotte’s eyes sank into Penelope again, like a pair of
fangs. “Finding a way to speak and have others listen does not come easily,” she said. “It
requires patience and a desire to learn from your mistakes. It also requires time. Time that
you have thrown away. It is a pity, truly. To see one so talented throw their craft away before
she could ever really find her footing.” She tutted. “For as intriguing as I find you, Miss
Featherinton, you will answer for what you have done. You –”

Before the Queen could finish her statement, a bellowing broke out on the other side of the
door. Penelope’s head snapped around. Several voices could be heart, all men, all yelling
and making demands. A woman’s voice also broke through the din, followed by several loud
thumps on the ground.

The woman almost sounded like…Lady Danbury?

Penelope jumped as the door was thrown open. Her heart leapt into her throat. Just out the
door, amidst a throng of soldiers all struggling to hold him back, was Colin. He stood at least
a head taller than any of the guards, but each of the guards had far more bulk on them than he
would be able to handle on his own. Her hand shot to her mouth to keep from calling out to
him. Green eyes found hers, and he hollered her name.

“ Pen !”

Brimsley entered the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Closing his eyes, he rested
his back against the door as he composed himself.

“Brimsley, what is the meaning of this?” the Queen demanded, her skirts rustling as she rose
from her position on her loveseat. “What is happening out there?”

Smoothing the front of his jacket, Brimsley straightened his back and said, “Your Majesty,
Lady Danbury, the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, and her son, Mr. Colin Bridgerton are
requesting an audience. Lady Danbury is quite insistent.”

“Well, inform Lady Danbury that once I have finished with Lady Whistledown, I will see
her,” the Queen said, waving a hand in dismissal. “And get that rowdy gentleman out of my
palace, he is far too noisy.”

“Actually, it is that issue which they are requesting an audience for,” Brimsley said, eyes
flicking to Penelope. “They request they be able to come before you to make an appeal for
Lady Whistledown. Who the young man claims he loves.”
 A Thousand Times
Chapter Summary

Colin makes a desperate plea to the Queen.

Chapter Notes

Hello all! Happy Posting Day, and thank you all so much for being patient with me that I
did not respond to reviews. It's been a relatively busy week at work (I planned my first
ever author visit with an author that lives out of of my home state!), and I was somewhat
worried I would not even get this chapter done. It's crazy to say, but we've only got the
epilogue left after this! In the meantime, I have started my next story, so keep an eye out
for my first ever attempt at enemies-to-lovers haha.

Thank you all for the kind words, kudos, and for reading!

Chapter song: "You Are In Love" by Taylor Swift

See the end of the chapter for more notes

You can hear it in the silence

You can feel it on the way home

You can see it with the lights out

You are in love, true love

Taylor Swift, “You Are In Love”

“Oh, you can all get off of him,” Lady Danbury ordered, shooing all the Queen’s guards away
from Colin that had surrounded him. He could see why each of these men was chosen to
guard the queen. Their grips on him were like iron, wedging him into one position that only
breaking his bones would get him free from. “He will behave himself, with no more
swinging at you lot. Isn’t that right, Mr. Bridgerton?” She fixed him with her hawkish gaze,
narrowing her eyes to slits.

Colin set his jaw and nodded. “Yes.” He shifted his shoulders as the guards let him go but
kept their eyes glued to him. They all were on their guard for him to swing his fists once
more, something he had done when the Queen’s secretary, Brimsley, had appeared around the
corner. Colin was not the type to go hitting men at random, but here he was doing it in
defense of Penelope for a second time. He flexed his fingers, doing his best to ignore the itch
to plant them in one of these guards’ faces.

Violet shoved her way through the mass of guards, her face a ghostly white as she took
Colin’s elbow. “Dearest, are you alright?” He felt her hands trembling as she took hold of
him.

Lady Danbury moved in closer to them both, hissing, “When I told you to play your emotions
high, that was not exactly what I had in mind!” Colin only responded with a shrug. As soon
as she was in their carriage with them, she began instructing him on just what he would need
to do in order for his plea to make an impression on Queen Charlotte. He was merely doing
what she had told him to do to put on the best show.

Soliciting Lady Danbury’s help had been quite a simple task. She was already very fond of
Penelope, but when Colin explained the situation to her, she had not seemed even a little bit
surprised that Penelope’s alternate identity was Lady Whistledown. She either knew, or she
already suspected something. Colin had not cared to pause and ask why she did not do much
more than blink when informed the young woman she had been spending so much time with
was the gossip columnist who had everyone frantically guessing at her identity.

The moment they were in the carriage, Lady Danbury had begun instructing him on exactly
what he would need to do. A fair amount of it was an education into the inner workings of
the Queen’s mind. “Our fair monarch is always going to find entertainment in the dramatic,”
Lady Danbury had said. “Emotions must run high, raise your voice. Any display to show
you are a man desperate in love. She will be unable to turn away from such a presentation. It
is true that beneath her hardened exterior, the Queen is quite fond of a love match. Mostly
due to her love story with the King that we all know. But also because she understands
difficult circumstances and that there is struggle in loving someone. She will be moved by
your desire to fight for Miss Featherington. Anything you can pull out of yourself to show
her just how much you are lost in love will be advantageous.”

So, that was what Colin had done. Attempting to strike a palace guard had seemed like it
might help in showing just how desperate he was to get to Penelope.

In fact, he had not needed to play his emotions up much at all. They were already running
high, and likely would continue until Penelope was safe. Panic coursed through him the
entire ride to the palace. Seeing Penelope through the door that the Queen’s secretary had
disappeared through had only made Colin’s nerves worse. No matter how many sentences he
tried to string together in his head, they all crumbled or disintegrated. This had to be the
most perfect speech he ever made, but all he found himself able to do was fumble around a
few words.

“But you have done well enough,” Lady Danbury begrudgingly approved. “The fact she has
not sent you away yet proves she is going to let us in.”

As if the Queen had heard Lady Danbury’s lowly spoken declaration, the door opened again.
Brimsley presented himself, nodding to Lady Danbury. “Her Majesty will let you in to plead
your case.” Colin might have hugged the man if his mother were not ushering him into the
audience chamber already.

The audience chamber was not the largest, but it was ornately furnished and glowed in the
candlelight. Queen Charlotte sat on a rich sofa, garbed in crimson and appearing irate.
Penelope stood before the Queen, tilted to see the Bridgertons and Lady Danbury entering the
room. She was dressed in her blue servant’s uniform, the one Colin had caught her in that
night in the garden. The moment his eyes found Penelope’s again, he began to head for her.
She stood statue-still, hands folded in front of her. Her knuckles were white from how tightly
she clasped her hands together. “Pen,” he breathed.

“Colin?” she murmured. The realization she was his entire reason for being at the palace
played out on her face. She opened her mouth, as though she were going to ask more, then
clamped her lips shut. She did not seem nearly as terrified as he would have expected her to
be. But then again, her double life and the things she did to maintain it likely meant she had
been in her fair share of frightening situations. Perhaps she was just used to this.

Before Colin could make it very far across the room, Lady Danbury’s cane shot out to stop
him. He glanced at her, wanting to know why she would stop him, but he found her and his
mother curtsying before the Queen. In his haste, he had completely forgotten propriety.
Clearing his throat, he looked away from Penelope and towards Queen Charlotte. Her glare
she met him with was frosty enough to chill his blood. He bowed as low as he could.

“Your Majesty,” he said, heart thumping in his ears.

“What is the meaning of this?” the Queen said, ignoring Colin’s attempt at manners.
“Brimsley tells me you struck one of my guards in an attempt to get here to plead for mercy
for Lady Whistledown.”

Colin scratched at his collar. “Er, well, Your Majesty, I did not actually land a hit. I only
tried to.”

The Queen’s eyes blazed at him. “Now is not the time to argue technicalities, Mr.
Bridgerton.”

“Of course not,” Colin said hastily. His eyes darted to Penelope, who watched him with a
doe-eyed expression. She bit her lip. Doing his best to return his attention to the Queen, he
added, “Yes, I am here to plead that you be merciful to Lady Whistledown. I am in love with
Penelope Featherington, Your Majesty, and I would ask that before you condemn her to a life
of ruin, you would consider those who love her first.”

Queen Charlotte threw her hands in the air, causing him to flinch. “Lady Bridgerton, you do
realize this is the third season in a row that one of your offspring has come before me in a
most unexpected way,” she snapped, eyes shifting to Violet.

Violet, to her credit, smiled softly. She appeared almost apologetic. “Yes, Your Majesty,”
she said. “I am quite aware.”
Exasperated, the Queen’s eyes drifted to Lady Danbury. “And you, Lady Danbury,” she
barked. “You are yet again at the center of a breathless plea to me on behalf of a Bridgerton.”

Lady Danbury grinned. “What I wouldn’t give to not be at the center of another Bridgerton
romance, Your Majesty.”

The Queen pursed her lips. “Should I be concerned that you are keeping secrets from me?”
she asked, arching a brow. “Because you all seem to know this young lady is behind Lady
Whistledown, and you all have come to plead for – what? Mercy? Something else?” But
even as the Queen attempted to look bored with the situation at hand, amusement twinkled in
her dark eyes.

“Your Majesty, I must confess, I was shocked as you are when the third Bridgerton here came
to me begging for my assistance,” Lady Danbury said, holding up her cane. “He merely
came to me, knowing that you and I are particular friends. My afternoon was empty, so I
decided it would be a fine thing to help a young couple out. You know how beautiful it is to
watch young love bloom. It seemed like a wonderful use of my time.”

While the Queen was distracted with Lady Danbury and the two bantered back and forth,
Colin took the opportunity to look at Penelope again. She watched him, studying him for any
signs that this moment was, in fact, real, not merely a figment of her imagination. He prayed
he was able to convey everything he wanted to say to her into his eyes. She would hear from
him soon enough, but this look was just for her. He wanted her to know he was ready to fight
for her. And Penelope looked wary. He knew she had every right to feel so, and it only
cemented his resolve that he would make this situation right. He needed to make her see, to
show her once more how deep his love ran.

“Well, Mr. Bridgerton,” the Queen said, forcing him to look at her again. “You come before
me without a cravat, without proper manners, without even a jacket! What was so urgent that
you could not bother to dress for your Queen?” Colin opened his mouth, but his mind went
blank. He could hardly think of any words, much less profound ones, that might free
Penelope here. His silence dragged, earning a huff from Queen Charlotte. “Is he dumb?
Mute? Speak, Mr. Bridgerton! Brimsley comes barging into a room telling me you are here
to vouch for the woman you love, I would hear you vouch for her, not just stand here.”

Swallowing hard, Colin found his tongue.

“Your Majesty, I am here because I have been a fool,” he said. Though the Queen snorted
and muttered something under her breath, Colin continued. “I have been the world’s most
monumental fool, and I did not even know it until very recently. And it is fools like me that
are the reason we find ourselves here, in this mess. For if there were far less fools in this
world, Penelope would not have needed to start her column.”

The Queen leaned forward. “Be quite careful here, sir,” she said. “If this is your way of
trying to call your Queen a fool, you’ll want to stop before you get so far.”

Colin shook his head. He was not off to his best start here. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, it is
not you who I speak of. I speak of the members of our society who prance about as though
they were on a stage. For those who hold no regard for the actions they take or those they
injure. For the ones whose hypocrisy is so glaring it could be seen from the Heavens if we
were able to fly.” The Queen looked at him skeptically, but she bid that he continue. “I am
one of those fools. Sometimes, anyway. And I have been when it comes to matters of the
heart.

“For so long, I was blind to what was in front of me. I thought the love of my life was a
woman who deceived me because she thought I was an easy mark for keeping herself safe.
To say I was naive would be putting it far too mildly. But I was saved when a writer
published that secret, and while I regret the ridicule and scorn society showered upon the one
who sought to trap me, I do not regret that I was saved from a farce of a marriage. And I
know that the only reason it was published was because no one would listen to the woman
warning us against it.”

Taking a shaky breath, Colin’s eyes fidgeted around the room, looking at the skeptical Lady
Danbury, the worried Violet, and the increasingly more disinterested Queen. He swallowed
hard. Lord, he was about to make an even bigger mess than he thought possible. What had
he been thinking, barging in here as though he knew what to say? Shame threatened to
swallow him whole through the floor of the audience chamber. His cheeks and ears burned.
Here was yet another moment he would fail to live up to his family’s promise. He would
stand out from his siblings again. Not as anything special or accomplished, but as a
disappointment. A laughingstock in comparison to the other great love stories the rest of
them had lived. “I –”

But then he glanced at Penelope. The indifference he had seen on her face in the park had all
but melted away. As his tongue grappled for the words to describe what was in his heart,
Penelope stared at him with the same compassion in her eyes he saw everyday of their
friendship. The sheer magnitude of his foolishness slammed into him even harder. But
instead of feeling the brunt of humiliation for his ignorance, the reminder came as something
else. Instead of shame, it was a gentle prodding. A nudge towards the truth that only
Penelope could lead him to. Her eyes shone with this light every time he entered a room.
She held him in her heart the same way the sky held the sun. He could not believe he had
seen her this way all this time and never realized he was looking at the person who loved
him.

Without looking away from Penelope, Colin finally spoke. His voice rang through the
audience chamber. “I love her, Your Majesty. My own foolishness I spoke of extends much
further than the mere trivialities of society I described, the ones that are responsible for her
creating her column. My foolishness is far worse. I thought I was lost. For years, I have
searched the world for what I imagined to be my purpose. I am a third son, I have no talents
that distinguish me. I can be charming and charismatic, but it all felt like a farce.

“My best friend, who I wrote to and told of my fears and dreams, who I confided in, was
always right here. She knows me, she sees the very best parts of who I am – as well as the
bad – and she does not judge me for them. She encourages me. And I have made grave
errors along the way. I told a group of gentlemen I would never court her. And when I
stumbled upon her identity, I said the most horrible things out of anger. Things I am ashamed
to even recall coming out of my mouth. I was so incensed and irrational that I told the
woman I love to marry another man, to never speak to me again. But what I should have said
to her was that while I am hurt that I was lied to, that the truth was kept from me, and that it
reminded me of how another woman attempted to trap me through deception, nothing that
she has ever done could change the love I have for her. I cannot breathe without her, and
there is no other woman in this world I would seek to marry.

“She is the most remarkable woman I have ever met, the smartest, with the most witty mind I
have ever encountered. Nothing delights me more than her gracing me with a smile. Or,
even better, when she shares with me the reason behind that smile. Often, she will surprise
me with a delightful quip that no one else on earth could ever create. She is unlike anyone I
have ever met, and it is because of all of that that she was able to dupe us all. And I am
proud of her, every part of her, and what she has accomplished. Penelope told us the truth
about ourselves. She has never published a lie. And though it is true much strife has resulted
from these columns, a mirror being held up to society and presenting it with the image of our
faults, or even a different perspective on them, is hardly the worst thing to happen.
Penelope’s words are a reminder of that. There are things in my life I never would have
discovered if it weren’t for her words.

“So, I stand before you, proclaiming fervently, assuredly, loudly –” He raised his voice just a
touch on the last word. “ – that I love her and cannot live without her, and I beg that you find
a way to forgive Lady Whistledown.”

Penelope’s eyes glittered with tears. She gave him a watery smile. Hastily, she wiped her
face. Colin longed to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and never let her go again. Even
if the Queen chose to ruin her, to destroy her and her family’s image in front of the ton and all
of England, he would go with her wherever she might want. They could run to the far
corners of the world and explore it together, or find a place isolated from society’s prying
eyes where they could hole up. So long as they were together, they would still find a life
with one another. They would forge a life together, no matter the cost.

“For such an awkward start, you certainly found a way to turn that around.” The Queen’s
voice broke through Colin’s haze as he stared at Penelope. Blinking, he looked back at the
monarch and was delighted to find her smiling. His heart leapt, cheeks twitching with a
desire to grin. “There is a rather serious matter that acts as an obstacle to your love affair,
however. And I am not referring to the fact she is already engaged to be married to another
gentleman. While I may be able to find it in my heart to forgive this young woman, there is
the matter of her column. It cannot continue. You make a compelling point that she shines a
light onto things other members of the ton need to be made aware of. However, petty gossip
is different from writing about me . I serve the King, and I will not have my household and
family opened up to ridicule for the ton, all so she can sell her gossip sheets. Whether or not
what she writes is true, it takes aim at us. And I do not tolerate threats. Nor do I take kindly
to the perception that I have weaknesses that can be exploited..” Her lips puckered, eyes
narrowed. Colin gulped.

“Your Majesty,” Penelope murmured. “I did write that if Penelope Featherington were to
marry a Bridgerton brother, Lady Whistledown would give up her quill?”

There was a beat of silence before the Queen threw her head back and let out a sharp laugh.
She clapped her hands, almost in delight. “And what is it you propose, then? That you give
up Lady Whistledown, marry the love of your life, and find a new way to hone your craft that
does not involve poking at the beehive that is the palace?” Colin held his breath as the Queen
giggled uncontrollably from her seat. Brimsley, standing his five paces behind the Queen,
smirked, clearly amused at the scene unfolding. As the Queen continued to laugh, Colin and
Penelope exchanged nervous glances. Was Queen Charlotte’s mind not changed? Colin
thought he may have done it, that he’d saved Penelope from ruin.

She finally spoke again, swallowing her laughter so she could speak clearly. “You would be
correct that this plea from Mr. Bridgerton moved me,” she said. “But even more than the
plea, I am fascinated by Miss Featherington. You are not at all what I would have pegged as
a potential rival for myself as most influential member of the ton. And I’ll admit that when I
thought of meeting the writer behind the column, I did not anticipate such an entertaining
backstory! A young woman with seemingly no charisma managed to outsmart the entire ton
and send even the most fashionable of her peers reeling. You have surprised me, and if you
can find it in you to write anything else – perhaps, a romance? – I would be most interested to
see what you have to say. Too many women do not look for their voices. You have found
yours, and if you cease to write your column, I will watch your career with interest.”

Penelope nodded her head. “I think I would be able to find something else to write,” she
assured the Queen. “My desire to write the column as it is now has fizzled. And when I look
at what it has cost me, or what it has almost cost me –” Her eyes flickered to Colin. “ – I can
think of one thousand and one better ways for me to write what I have to say.”

The Queen smiled. “Very well then,” she said. “It is settled.” Her gaze moved to Penelope,
and a glint entered her eyes that hinted at conversations had between just the two of them.
“Remember what I told you, Miss Featherington.” Swiveling her head carefully, so as not to
disturb her massive wig, the Queen looked at the rest of them. “And all of you can settle
down. I can see from here that Lady Danbury is grinding her teeth, and I imagine Lady
Bridgerton will be wanting her future daughter-in-law to end that engagement to the other
gentleman so she can get planning a third wedding. Or, is it a fourth? I know our season’s
diamond has been quite smitten with the Earl of Kilmartin.”

Colin could have thrown himself at the Queen’s feet in gratitude. Instead, he settled for
grinning and bowing to her as she rose from her spot on the couch. Confidence bloomed in
his chest, filling his body until he felt like he might float away.

“If I may have Your Majesty’s permission, could I, er, borrow your audience chamber? I
would like to propose to Penelope,” he said. “In a more official way.”

The Queen let out an exasperated sigh, though her eyes continued to glitter with amusement.
Violet and Lady Danbury, who Colin had almost forgotten were in the room with them,
glanced at one another knowingly.

“Yes, Mr. Bridgerton,” the Queen said. “You may have the room. But nothing
inappropriate. I would like my furniture to remain…unscathed.” Penelope and Colin’s eyes
met, both of their cheeks flaming at the memory of the scathing they had given another piece
of furniture within these very walls. Penelope bit her lip, trying to stop herself from giggling.

Swallowing his own laugh, Colin nodded to the Queen. “My thanks.”
The Queen, Brimsley, Lady Danbury, and Violet left Penelope and Colin all on their own in
the audience chamber. As soon as the heavy wooden doors boomed shut, they ran for one
another.

When he woke that morning, Colin thought he would never hold Penelope in his arms again.
But here they were now, holding one another like the other was the last person on the planet.
The moment he wrapped her in his embrace, felt her arms snake around his neck and hold
him possessively, his eyes watered. He lifted her off her feet, spun her around, and his heart
thumped with pleasure as she giggled. The citrus and orange blossom scent of her
overwhelmed him as he buried his face in her hair. Her lips found his neck. He was
overcome with the need to look into her eyes, to know this moment was not some figment of
his imagination he dreamt up to deal with the pain of losing her. His eyes found hers, shining
with the ecstasy of the fact they had survived the wrath of the Queen. Penelope swam in
Colin’s vision, and he captured her mouth in a fierce kiss. He poured every ounce of his
devotion to her into this kiss. She returned his kiss tenfold, her tongue sliding between his
teeth to claim him. Her hands splayed across his skin were a brand, marking him for herself
for the rest of time. When they broke apart, gasping for air, Colin rested his forehead against
hers to steady himself.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I am so, so sorry. For everything I said, and –”

Penelope interrupted him with a kiss. She used her thumb to wipe the errant tear that trickled
down his cheek. “Did you mean what you said to the Queen?”

“Every word. And more. I –”

“Then you need not say anything more,” she said. The smile on her face, the one so full of
forgiveness and light, warmed him. She was the star peeking through the darkness, guiding
him home. Her small hand stroked his face. “And I am sorry that I hid this from you. You
should never have been made to feel as though you were a fool. I did not know how to tell
you, and I worried that if I did not say it exactly right, that you would despise me.”

Shaking his head, Colin nuzzled at her nose with his own. “Nothing could ever make me
despise you,” he said. “I knew that as I walked out of that room that night. That even though
I was angry, what I felt most was hurt. In that hurt, I said things I did not mean.”
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, everything he had kept lodged away the past few
days came spilling past his lips. “I was going to let you go. Since I saw you in the park, I
began planning to run to India. The things I said, I was too ashamed to face you after them.
To apologize for my idiocy. But in my heart, I knew that no matter how far I ran, you’d
always be there.” He placed his palm over his chest for emphasis. “But now, I will spend
every day making up for all the things I said, until they are nothing more than an awful
memory that we forget. I am yours, Penelope. Until both of us have stopped breathing. And
then for whatever comes after that.”

She smiled at him. “I like the sound of that.” A question sparked in her eyes. “By the way,
how did you know where to find me?” Penelope asked, pressing her lips to the back of his
hand. “Not that I am not truly grateful, but no one knew I went to the printer.”
 “Genevieve found us,” he explained. “She saw you get taken by the Queen’s men and came
to my mother’s house to tell us. I was making my plans for India when she and Eloise burst
into the library to find us.”

Penelope pouted. “Oh, well I do hope you do not mind my interrupting your tour planning,”
she teased.

“I would never travel another step if it meant I got to hold you in my arms for the rest of my
life,” Colin vowed. He squeezed her tighter in his arms, kissing her neck. “When Madame
Delacroix told us that the Queen had taken you, my world stopped turning. I could not even
breathe. I could not think until I knew you were safe. I was prepared to run away with you if
the Queen would not show mercy. I’ll run away with you still, if you wish. As I said: I am
yours.”

Setting her back on her feet, he sank to one knee, never letting go of her hands. He looked up
at her. This was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, who he would worship
and care for and love until there was no breath left in his lungs. She gazed down at him,
cheeks pink and eyes wide. Her smile covered her face. “Marry me, Pen?”

Penelope took his face in her hands. The smile on her face was all the proof he needed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “A thousand times yes.”

Chapter End Notes

Only the epilogue left!

 Epilogue: All Roads That Lead To You
Chapter Summary

One year later...

Chapter Notes

Hi all! Sorry this update is so late today. It's been a rough week. We've arrived at the
epilogue of this story. Thank you all so much for coming on my first Polin-fic journey
with me. It's been such a wonderful experience to share this story with you, and I'm even
more excited to share future stories with you, too.

Song: "Arcadia" by Lana Del Rey

All roads that lead to you as integral to me as arteries

That pump the blood that flows straight to the heart of me

Lana Del Rey, “Arcadia”

One Year Later

“Faster, faster!” Penelope moaned, gripping Coli’s shoulders as he thrust into her. Hedges
scratched at her back. Pale light from the full moon above them shone down and glowed off
her husband’s eyes, almost black in his lust for her. With each thrust of his hips, she got
closer and closer to her peak. Every nerve ending burst into flame. The prickles of the
garden hedges, combined with the force of Colin’s hips and his lips on her neck sent shivers
down her back and straight to her core. Everything about their moonlit tryst, from the fact
anyone might discover them, to Colin’s insatiable need for her made her heart thump faster
with delight.

“Are you close?” Colin panted, his thumb tweaking her exposed nipple. His eyes closed, his
breath hitched. She smiled. He was so sweet and attentive to her, not wanting to indulge in
his own release until he was certain hers was also imminent.

She opened her mouth to tell him that she was so close, but before any words came out, her
breath caught. Gasping, her head fell forward onto his shoulder, her pleasure rolling over her
like ocean waves. Not a moment later, Colin shuddered, and his release pulsed inside her.
She hugged him close, inhaling the scent of his cologne that mingled with his sweat. Even
after a year of marriage, Penelope still got tingles and thrills from her and Colin finding their
pleasure in one another.

“Are you alright, my love?” she asked, kissing the side of his head when he was quiet for too
long.

Colin grunted, remaining inside of her. He looked into her eyes, a lazy and boyish grin
sliding onto his face.

“Perfect,” he said, setting her on jelly legs. He helped her straighten her bodice. She turned,
allowing him to retie some of the strings that came loose in their frenzy. His lips peppered
kisses along her shoulder.

“Redo my curls, please,” she murmured, handing him a hair pin that had gotten caught on the
hedge. “The one in the back. You remember?”

Without a word, Colin’s fingers lovingly pinned her hair back in place. His fingers idly
stroked her scalp, taking their time. Warmth spread from her heart, through her limbs, and
between her legs where the remnants of his release trickled down her skin. Sometimes the
feeling snuck up on her, the one where she realized she was possibly the most loved person in
the world. It was a warm embrace that wrapped around her, an ever-present reminder she had
a place to land if she fell. Even when he was silent, she felt it. Each caress of his fingertips
was filled with his adoration.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

“You missed your calling,” she teased, turning to face him. Colin chuckled as he readjusted
his pants. “You do my hair better than any maid.” She took to straightening his cravat.
There was something beautiful in the simple act of redressing themselves after lovemaking
that made Penelope realize just how happy she was. They saw one another in the most
intimate and exposed state, but there was also joy in knowing they were a part of how the
other appeared in the world around them.

Offering her his arm, Colin grinned. “It is only my calling because it is your hair,” he said.
“Now, shall we return to our social duties for the evening? Vauxhall is, after all, a lovely
venue. And we do have so much history here. It seems only fair that we should share our
happiness and love for the place with other people.”

Penelope nodded, accepting her husband’s arm and following him back through the gardens.
She sighed. “I suppose we should. Thank you for indulging me and taking a little jaunt to
somewhere more…private.” She smirked. Really, they took turns indulging the other in
similar fashions at various social events. They made a game of it, seeing where was most
risky and what they could manage to do to the other , after which they returned to their duties
as though nothing was amiss.

Arm-in-arm, Colin and Penelope returned to where the voices and the music and the dancing
could be found. No one even looked their way, confirming just how good they were at fixing
themselves.

As they mingled about in the crowd, Penelope heard snippets of conversations, the very ones
she might have published in the past.

Did you know Lord Fife is actually considering marriage?

Someone on my mother’s staff was told that the Princess Edwina is with child! How exciting!

Have you read this new novel, The Wallflower’s Awakening ? It’s magnificent. No one
knows who the author really is. And if I may say, one of the characters reminds me quite a
bit of Cressida Twombley…

Penelope and Colin continued walking, but they each exchanged mischievous grins with the
other.

“You know, every time I hear someone mention your novel, I feel even more proud of you,”
Colin whispered in her ear. His breath tickled her skin, making her giggle. Only the people
who knew of her previous identity knew she had written a book. But Colin was her greatest
champion, assisting her when she needed fresh eyes on the page or suggestions on where to
go next. Knowing he supported her, after everything they went through the year before, put
her at the top of the world. To think they had come from losing their virginities to one
another in the palace, followed by a soul-crushing rejection, to Colin begging her for the next
page so he could devour its contents never ceased to amaze her.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton!”

The couple stopped and looked behind them at the approaching Lady Danbury. Penelope
grinned at her friend. Since Edwina married Prince Friedrich and left for the continent, Lady
Danbury’s household had been empty, save for herself and her servants. Her favorite
grandson, Gareth, came to visit often, but being closer to Gregory and Hyacinth’s age, he did
not stay for extended periods of time. Penelope visited at least twice a week to keep the older
woman company, dragging Colin along as often as she could manage.

“You both disappeared for a while,” Lady Danbury observed. “I do hope nothing is wrong?”

Colin grinned. “You are kind to be concerned after us, Lady Danbury. However, I was
merely showing my wife a lovely constellation I was shown by a sailor on an evening in
Cyprus from several years ago. Quite lovely. We merely wanted some quiet to observe it
better”

“Oh? And what constellation would that be?” Lady Danbury blinked twice, face blank.

The grin dropped from Colin’s face, and the tips of his ears burned. He recomposed himself,
smiling through gritted teeth, and hummed. “Er, well…”

“Oh, do share with an old woman,” Lady D said, “I do so love discussions about astronomy.
Such an under-studied area of research.” Laughter bubbled behind Penelope’s lips. Lady
Danbury had the truly unique ability to sniff out a Bridgerton telling a falsehood. Before
Colin could stammer on too much more, Lady Danbury threw her head back and laughed. “If
you must do some thinking, I’m sure the name will come to you. Don’t fret your handsome
face off.”

“We appreciate your graciousness, Lady Danbury,” Penelope said, stepping in for Colin.

The older woman winked at her, squeezing Penelope’s arm before heading on her way.
“Thank me by naming your firstborn after me.”

Colin stroked his chin. “Agatha Bridgerton,” he said, rolling the potential name on his
tongue. “An intriguing possibility.”

“And if it is a son?” Penelope asked, facing Colin. Her lips twitched in a smile as she stared
up at him.

Not caring that they were amongst a crowd and that physical affection was most improper,
Colin cupped her face in one hand. His thumb stroked her cheekbone. A serene smile lit up
his face, and he shook his head. “Maybe someday,” he mused. “But we will have a daughter
first. She’ll have your fiery hair and be just as witty as her mother.”

Penelope arched her brow. “You seem quite confident of this.”

He shrugged. “It’s just a feeling,” he said. “But a strong one.”

“Oh?”

Above them, fireworks began popping and flashing. The world exploded in pinks and
oranges, and the crowd cooed with delight. They stared at the colors with an awe reserved
for the extraordinary. All the while, Colin’s eyes never left her face. Even when she looked
up for a glimpse of the display, she felt his eyes caress her face.

Wonder covered his face, just as it did everyone else’s, but he did not care about the
fireworks.

Colin leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. She smiled. He never cared if anyone
was standing around them when he showed physical affection towards her. Truly, he would
look at her, and the rest of the world disappeared.

“You’re part of me, a piece of my heart,” he said, placing her hand over his heart. She curled
her fingers into his jacket. “No matter where our future leads, so long as I have you by my
side, the road there will be worth it.”

“Good,” Penelope said.

Then Colin Bridgerton kissed his wife for all the ton to see.
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