Chapter Text
Mon Cher Lecteur
My Esteemed Reader…
New to you as I am, allow me to refresh your day with a little news here, and a little gossip there.
While there are others who may claim to be the only column worth paying dearly for, I am here to prove that no one is infallible.
Not even the great Lady Whistledown herself.
I have spent many a morning reading the biting barbs and delicious tidbits of our Ton’s most famous author, but in truth I believe she has become rather lacklustre of late, reporting only half of what she could.
Her quill has not been so sharp as I would like it to have been. Nor her wit so keen.
And our great Queen, I am sure, is not as amused as she should be.
We all have our favourites, we who observe, and it is easy to avoid saying what must be said to avoid ruffling certain feathers, so some healthy competition may be just what is needed, mon cher.
And perhaps, if we are lucky, my esteemed colleague will favour us with her true thoughts once again…
Le Journal de la Société, 1815
Several Years Earlier…
Thirteen year old Colin Bridgerton, third born of the 8th Viscount and Viscountess's eight children, was rather pleased with himself, riding his new horse through Hyde Park.
It didn't matter that the ground was a little soaked from the rainstorm the night before and dreadfully uneven, or that there were puddles everywhere covering his steed's hocks with muddy water as they ran gleefully through, or even that his eldest brother, Anthony, was a much more accomplished rider, and several yards ahead.
Determined to prove himself, to catch up to the Ninth Viscount Bridgerton, Colin hunkered down in the saddle and worried the horse with his crop.
A sudden burst of speed almost unseated Colin, but he held on, grinning like a fool, wind rushing through his hair, his hat having been forgotten, as he rounded a corner, close on Anthony’s heels.
It was early, but not so early there weren't people enjoying the fine morning with a warm wind to keep them cool, and it felt good.
Freeing .
But Colin was not the kind of young man who really dwelt on negatives, decisive and frank to a fault. He loved being social and even as young as he was, was more adept than either of his elder brothers at connecting with people, his generosity and warmth in contrast to Anthony's aloofness or Benedict's sharp edged charm.
But here there were no social graces, just the ride and his task at hand, even if those taking their daily constitutionals were scandalised by the two Bridgertons racing in the Park.
The wind was stronger on the promenade, and he could see his mother off in the distance, talking to the family who had just moved in across the square.
The Featheringtons.
He'd met Lord Featherington in passing, though none of the daughters were out in society. He believed they were around Daphne and Eloise's ages. All redheads apparently.
He was just steadfastly avoiding a rather large puddle that was looming ahead, when something bright and very yellow suddenly flew at him.
He thought for an instant that it may be an escaped canary.
But his last thought before the infernal thing hit him square in the face, was that birds did not have ribbons.
The sudden shock made Colin go very rigid in the saddle, and he was riding at quite a tilt as he battled with the devilishly yellow bonnet, but it was too late to reclaim his seat as he jerked out of it, and found himself face down in the very muddy puddle he'd just that moment tried to avoid, hitting it with a resounding splat.
As his horse ran off without him and he lifted his face out of the mud, to his complete mortification the sound of stifled giggles greeted him.
He looked up from the ground to see a dress that matched the yellow bonnet, and then found the biggest, brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen in his life.
His first impression of her was that she looked like a doll, with the palest skin and rosebud lips to go with her enormous eyes, her hair a red like spun copper.
And she was steadfastly attempting not to laugh at his predicament. And steadfastly failing.
‘I believe this belongs to you, Miss?’ he said dryly, pushing himself up so he could find his feet again, the offending article somehow having escaped even so much as a smidgen of soiling, while he himself was covered from head to foot in the stuff, which thankfully seemed absent of manure, though he would certainly have to call his horse and head home for a bath forthwith.
She was staring at him wide eyed as he offered her the head covering, while still kneeling in the mud. She took it gingerly, her small fingers brushing his own.
What a curious sensation.
‘Apologies, good sir,’ she said, in a sweet, girlish voice, ‘It was a very strong wind, you see, blew it clean off my head. Are you hurt?’
‘Not unless you count the injury to my pride’ he said, wryly, standing up and attempting to ascertain the damage.
‘But it may be an idea to tie your ribbons a little tighter in future,’ he continued, ‘So as not to unseat unsuspecting riders with such an undeserved assault?’
The girl blinked twice, looking up into his face with an unnerving intensity.
‘Well, if the gentleman were more proficient, perhaps he would not have fallen?’ she answered, matter of factly, ‘I cannot believe that such a delicate thing as my bonnet would unseat a rider who was, perhaps, acting in a more civilised manner than racing his horse in the Park?’
Colin blinked a moment and stared at the girl, who was a good foot shorter, but must have been on the cusp of womanhood, if her blossoming curves were any indication, even if mostly hidden by that dreadful frock.
Most likely younger than him by a year, two, maybe?
And was she… Was she teasing him?
The self satisfied turn of her mouth and direct eye contact said that yes, she absolutely was tormenting him. Mercilessly, in fact.
What an interesting young lady…
To said young lady's surprise, Colin burst out laughing, unable to contain his amusement. She flushed a little but didn't look away from him, her smile widening, pleased, he thought, that he'd reacted thusly.
‘Touchè,’ he grinned, giving her a little bow, ‘Colin Bridgerton, at your service, Miss…?
‘Featherington…’ she replied, ‘Penelope,’
She gave him a low curtsy in return.
‘Charmed, Miss Penelope,’ he replied, unsure what was wrong with him that he could not wipe the smile from his face.
A woman's voice interrupted them.
‘Penelope Featherington, what have you done!?’
Whom he assumed was Lady Featherington was striding towards them with a thunderous expression, his own mother, sister Daphne, and two other girls who must be Miss Penelope's elder sisters, hot on her heels.
Penelope looked as though she wished to disappear into the ground.
‘Mama… I-’
‘-Was saving this young gentleman from a muddy demise…’ interjected Colin, steadily, directing his attention at the formidable looking mama. Or hers, to him, rather.
‘Forgive me, Lady Featherington,’ said his mother, assessing the situation immediately, ‘This is my third son, Colin… He is out breaking in his new stallion, or so it would appear.’
She gave that light chuckle that he knew, for sure, meant a scolding in his future, but not here in front of their neighbours, of course.
Lady Featherington was a tall, stately woman with dark auburn hair, and eyes a piercing blue not unlike her daughter's, though hers were calculating, where Penelope's held a keen wit and kind warmth.
‘Delighted to meet you, Master Bridgerton,’ said the lady, and introduced two awkwardly leggy teenaged girls, Prudence, the eldest Miss Featherington, about his age, and Phillipa, second born, and then indicated her youngest as an afterthought.
That did not sit right with Colin, and as they exchanged niceties, and invitations for afternoon tea were offered, he ensured he caught young Miss Penelope’s eye, and gave her a little smile and a wink.
And when the two families took their leave from each other, Penelope lagged behind a little, tying her bonnet back on her head, and Colin had the most curious wish to tie it under her chin for her, just so, so that it would not come undone, as he had done for his sisters on occasion, of course.
As Colin turned to follow his family, Anthony leaning against a railing to keep watch from a distance as he minded the horses, Colin turned back, catching the girl looking after him, and to his surprise she gave him a smile and wave, before she rushed to catch up with her sisters.
He found himself raising his hand, spreading his fingers, to wave back at their retreating figures, not really sure why, before he caught up with his family too, fielding their curious looks with a mere ‘charming girl’ as he took the reins from an amused Anthony, and then headed for home and a bath.
And when he passed the Featheringtons on the way back, he was sure to give the youngest one his most winning smile.
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
His fall from his horse soon became Colin’s favourite story to tell, with added embellishments of course to enhance the hilarity, Eloise already sure she would love this Miss Featherington just for her nerve.
And when it was time for the neighbours to visit, both Colin and Eloise were the most excited, neither allowing their new friend a word as she sat between them, clad in an eye watering shade of lemon, trying and failing to tell the story from her viewpoint as requested, as they both kept interrupting her, the three of them descending into giggles over some newly discovered detail or joke several times.
From that day forward, Pen, as she was now dubbed, and Eloise, were the best of friends, and Colin was glad that he got to share in that somewhat, close to both girls, as much as a boy becoming a man really could be.
Pen would spend summers with them at Aubrey Hall, and happily listened to him wax lyrical about his studies, which took him to Eton eventually, asking him questions and testing his knowledge, evidently a great reader herself.
And he'd secured in her a promise to write to him while he was at Eton, telling him of all the gossip and details his family were sure to leave out, ensuring that he never felt as if he was missing anything.
No day passed more pleasantly than in her company, on the few occasions when Eloise wouldn't take her off to whisper about female sensibilities, and he felt glad that he could be a brother to her when she had none.
For young Colin Bridgerton never imagined that the little catch in his throat whenever he saw her was ever anything more than shock at whatever awful frock her Mama had forced on her that day, nor that his newfound favour for adding shades of gold, champagnes and yellows to his waistcoats and furnishings was anything more than his growing into some elegance of mind as he matured.
Not in his wildest dreams did it occur to young Master Colin, that he could ever feel anything for Penelope Featherington beyond friendship.
A friendship just as dear to him as his family were.
And when Penelope made her Debut, at seventeen no less, he watched her marvel at the general splendour of the room, and found himself delighting in her curiosity, knowing that there would be nothing more diverting than a season where he had Pen to keep him company.
And she was, of course, a great comfort to him after his failed engagement, as he licked his wounds abroad, his tender heart broken by his forced separation from a certain Miss Thompson, and her betrayal, and even once returned and sworn off women, there was never any question that he would give up his closest friend.
Penelope would always be special to him.
Then that Ball at Aubrey Hall changed everything, as suddenly, where once there was a bubbly young redhead who’d laughed at his abysmal horsemanship, there now stood a woman, whose curves had filled out until they were impossible to ignore, and her eyes were bright with a fierce longing, with an electric need, her lips reddened and plump where she’d worried them with her teeth.
Colin had barely slept that night, and when he did, he'd dreamt only of her.
In the weeks and months that followed, it became painfully apparent to the gentleman himself, that somehow, somewhere, at some mysterious point in time, he, Colin Bridgerton, had fallen in love…
With the girl in the yellow bonnet.
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
After his afternoon at Sir Philip’s Estate, Colin decided to forgo the ball, and instead spend some time alone, trying to digest what Marina… Lady Crane had said to him. Especially about Pen.
Penelope…
Her name kept going around and around his head.
Halfway through his mother’s ball, Colin snuck down to the kitchen, purloining a plate of pastries, a pasty, some fruit, cheese too, a knife to eat it with, and one of Anthony’s prized bottles of cabernet sauvignon.
He’d just made it back up to the hall, when someone bumped into him.
‘Oh forgive me…’ he said, as he turned toward her, before looking surprised, ‘Pen?’
Penelope ran her eyes over him in shock, mouth wide open.
‘Colin!?’
‘Are you well?’ he asked, as she gawked at him, silently, and there was something about her right then, her hair tousled slightly into curls around her face, her pale cheeks stained pink, her chest heaving to the point where he noticed how large her bosom truly was as it strained against her corset, her eyes wide as they raked over him, and he was surprised to see something rather new there.
Something that made his stomach flutter, a line of flushed skin trailing down her neck and over her breasts creating a warmth in him he had not felt for anyone since…
‘I am, thank you,’ she said with uncharacteristic sharpness, her usual sweet smile for him absent, and he felt its loss somewhat keenly. ‘I merely lost my way looking for Eloise.’
‘Oh?’ he said, thinking himself rather silly for the momentary consideration she might have come looking for him, ‘Up the backstairs and third door on the left,’
‘Mmm, thank you,’ she said, though she did not move to go back the way she’d come. In fact she looked as if she was running away from it. ‘Ballroom?’
He pointed the other way.
‘Take a right and two lefts, can’t miss it,’
‘Indeed,’ she seemed to settle, and that smile crept over her mouth as she looked at him, but there was something else in it now. He noticed how dark a pink her lips were.
‘I suppose that you are not coming to the ball…’ she said, her little smile broadening, ‘And raiding the kitchen too, I see?’
‘Yes,’ he chuckled ruefully, ‘After yesterday… I just did not feel up to it…’
Penelope shuffled uncomfortably, and instead of staying and hearing what he had to say about Marina… Lady Crane rather, she made a sound of discontent.
‘I should go,’ she said, quickly, ‘If anyone finds us here, alone, we might be forced into marriage or something,’ she babbled, not looking at him, ‘Mama is just itching to have another of us married off, she will find any excuse… I will see you tomorrow, enjoy your meal…’
And with that Penelope had walked away from him, and Colin stood there a moment, not quite understanding what had just happened.
Then he shrugged his shoulders and headed for the back stairs, just as Anthony and Kate emerged from his Lordship’s office, and Colin hid in a doorway until they were gone, running up the stairs two at a time wondering idly about Penelope's very odd behaviour.
When he got to his room, dressed in golds and yellows, he arranged his spoils on the desk, then relaxed into the window seat.
It was odd to him that Pen would not know where she was going, she’d spent several summers with them here, practically a Bridgerton herself.
And he could not stop thinking about the brightness of her eyes, or of the way her flush trailed so charmingly across her perfect skin.
He tried to imagine her without the fuss of the ringlets so severely curled around her face, wearing something that would enhance her figure rather than stifle it.
Perhaps something in Bridgerton blue?
He’d danced with her before so had a good idea what those horrible dresses hid within their skirts.
The image he had in his head of her was rather unsettling.
He realised that Penelope was quite beautiful under all that fuss, not that he’d ever thought her not handsome on some level, but her beauty was irrelevant to their friendship, so he’d not really ever considered it.
Yet, suddenly, he thought it might be worth joining civilisation again, to have a dance or two with her. Perhaps he would feel better, in the company of someone who had, indeed, always shown him so much kindness, who was always eager to see him, and had tried to warn him of Marina’s ulterior motives.
But, he stayed put, eating his dinner off the edge of the blade as he sliced cheese and grapes, letting a warm wind play with his hair from the open window.
And that night, as he drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of her, of dancing with her in his arms, of his name gasped between breaths, of following the flush over her skin with his mouth as he made his way to her lips, waking up in a cold sweat.
The next day, when he found her on the staircase, about to leave, Colin thought he’d feel awkward in that moment, wanting to ask her why she had been so out of sorts, but Penelope asked him how he’d slept before he even got the words out.
‘Well, thank you. And you?’
‘Comfortably, thank you, yes…’ she found his gaze, and he could see the same fire burning there. It made him feel as if some strange beast had taken up residence in his belly. One that was purring. ‘My cousin, how is she?’
‘Content…’ he said, ‘Or so she says.’
‘Colin...’
‘I just keep thinking of what our lives could be, all of us, had Lady Whistedown not rushed to print her gossip. I cannot help thinking that instead of merely being content, she would have been happy.’
‘With you?’
‘Yes…’
Penelope licked her lips, and stepped forward so she was closer, standing on the landing two steps above him. She gave him an appraising once over.
‘And what of you, Colin? Would you have been happy? Knowing what you know now? Raising her children as your own?’
‘I…’ Colin went to say ‘of course I would…’ But the words stuck in his throat. He closed his eyes and shook his head a little. ‘My happiness isn’t…’ Again, he couldn’t quite get the rest of his words out.
He could only stand there, mouth slightly open, staring at Pen, who just gave a little nod, knowing that he would have sacrificed everything for Marina, knew how he would have felt when the twins were born, because they both knew that Marina would never have told him, not until it was obvious, how betrayed he would have felt, and for a moment, he thought Penelope might reach out for him.
Wanted, very badly, to fold himself into her arms, in fact.
To lay his head against her breast, and have her run her hands through his hair and tell him that everything was going to be alright…
The sound of her mother calling startled them both, and Pen merely placed her hand on his arm as she took her leave, and said she would see him in Mayfair.
And as he turned to watch her walk down the stairs, Colin knew that something fundamental had changed between them, forever.
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
Colin Bridgerton sighed heavily, stepping down from the carriage, having spent the last few months travelling Europe, trying desperately to rid himself of his feelings.
Trying so hard to convince himself that the woman he loved did not love him.
Not anymore.
But as he looked up at his family's London townhouse, wisteria dripping from the walls, he knew that no amount of bored Contessas or buxom French barmaids, unable to resist a woman who reminded him even a little bit of her, could ever rid him of his deep need to lose himself in Penelope's eyes every day, and kiss her lips each morning…
Or make her laugh over tea…
Penelope Featherington…
The notorious Lady Whistledown.
His heart ached at this maddening sort of love that felt so impotent. So poised and ready to be given. And it was all for her.
Lines creased across his brow and as the carriage rode away, he turned, and the home of the Featheringtons was revealed.
He half expected to see a yellow clad figure, half hidden behind a conifer across the way, her yellow dress a giveaway. Every time he so much as caught a glimpse of a yellow ribbon, his heart leapt.
Only to be bitterly disappointed.
Is this how she'd felt all these years? Loving him from afar while he was oblivious? He could only imagine her pain when she'd discovered his plan to take Marina… Lady Crane to Gretna Green. He could not blame her for acting as she did.
Now that he was on the other side, he could not imagine what lengths he would go to to stop Pen marrying someone else, if he thought for a moment she'd be unhappy, and he didn't have nearly the clout of Lady Whistledown.
As it was, he lived forever in fear that he would read in the papers, or even her own column, that some Lord or other had taken her to wife.
The thought made him sick!
The only consolation he had was his steady stream of correspondence with Eloise, whom he'd taken a little while to forgive for her part in keeping him from Pen, but who was apparently sympathetic to his plight.
She was even keen on the match, which surprised him greatly. She'd always considered matrimony a curse.
He still had nightmares about that ball though…
Insisting on checking the house for Pen, just to look out of the window and see a cloaked Penelope appear for a moment in the street below, framed by the doorway of the carriage. For her to look up at the hallway window and blow him a kiss, tears glistening on her cheeks, and for him to run into the street, shout after her, realise he could not catch up, then dash for his horse.
He didn't even wait for it to be saddled, eager to catch her before she got too far.
But alas, she’d disappeared into the night, as the enigma she was.
And when he'd searched the streets in vain, morning on the horizon, he'd gone home a wreck, and was on his way to catch the ferry to France early the next morning.
He was inconsolable at first.
Angry and hurt.
He'd drunk and charmed his way across the continent, even seducing a young, bored, fiery Contessa who'd had an arranged marriage, an open one, and had taken an Englishman to bed to annoy her French husband.
But his favourite thing about her, was that she would listen to him talk about Pen for hours, intrigued by love stories, enthralled that his great love published, that she spoke her mind, and had even traded wits with the English Queen.
She did not care that he thought of Pen when they were together, and liked when he told her about his fantasies.
Through her, he found perspective. Realised he'd been a brute about the entire thing. Declared himself without first getting confirmation from his lady, so sure of her feelings he did not think to hold his tongue until he knew hers.
He realised too that he'd loved Marina the way a boy does, with pure affection, and intentions. Perhaps a part of him loved the idea of her still.
But there was nothing pure about how he loved Penelope. Or rather nothing reserved about it.
He desired and admired and ached and pined for her, body, mind and soul. Just the absence of her laugh and her eyes and her wit, and her support… She was so gentle in her love… It left a hole he wasn't sure anyone else could ever fill.
Colin loved her, wanted her so fiercely that five minutes alone in a carriage such as this with her? Well… He would not be able to stop himself from making her his.
If she would accept him, of course.
Everything he was feeling he would pour into her, imagining how well her supple body would feel against his, how her pale skin would taste and smell. How gorgeous she would look in his house colours, fitted to show off her magnificent assets.
The Paris fashions would suit her well too, he thought.
He'd give her the world if only she would accept him!?
He'd written to Eloise on the crossing, demanding to know everything. Enclosed love letters to Penelope, to ask for her hand, should his sister find her.
Even in his despair, even as he consoled himself, he still had hope she would send for him.
He found out weeks later, once Eloise’s replies found him, that the official reason she left was that Penelope had apparently received word that evening that her Aunt Petunia was ill, and wished one of her niece's at her bedside, so she’d set off immediately to Cornwell, leaving a note for her mother and a note for him too, which Eloise enclosed in her letter.
As well as some excerpts cut out of Penelope's column.
An obvious fabrication but it did solve two problems. Lady Whistledown had commented the next morning, apparently, that after such a declaration, she assumed Mr Bridgerton must have been just too late, for what lady would not swoon to catch such a man's eye? And how she'd have considered the match quite excellent, for they seemed well suited in interests, with some typical musings on if he would pick up his pursuit next season, if the Miss ever returned that is?
It was a kindness in a way, to have her absolve him of any fault.
And then there was her letter…
That short piece of writing had been read and reread over and over, the pages almost tearing at the folds, from where it had been lovingly handled, and kept close to his heart:
My dearest Colin,
I must apologise for leaving as I have.
I heard you say you would propose, and it made up my mind.
You do not love me, Colin, You do not even know me. Not truly.
All these years, and just now you see me? Why? It makes no sense.
You will regret your choice, when you realise this for yourself.
I will not allow you to ask for my hand, knowing this.
I love you, and have since the day we met. Your friendship means the world to me, and one day I may receive you as such again.
But for now, do not try to find me.
You have so much to offer, and I consider myself lucky you thought of me like that at all, but I sense you seek in me what you should find in yourself instead.
So this is adieu, until we meet again.
All my love,
Penelope.
A tear escaped, followed by another, but he let them drip unhindered from his chin, as if he were not standing in the middle of Grosvenor Square, his feet having taken him to the public garden there.
He sat on a bench and just stared at the house, far enough away no one would notice, the hour quite early so few passed by.
He fondled the letter, safe where it lived in his breast pocket.
It hurt so much that she did not see what he saw in her at all. It was torture that she loved him yet doubted his love for her.
She’d spent so long clinging to walls and feeling invisible, she couldn’t see her own light, shining so very brightly. All he wanted was just to be bathed in it, to call her his wife, his Penelope, his everything. To keep her safe from the world by wrapping her in his arms.
It was strange indeed, how he did not care about her being Whistledown at all.
He had, when he’d overheard her and Eloise that day, as he’d come in from riding, trying very much not to think about a certain Miss Featherington at all, analysing each interaction he’d ever had with her over and over for clues of her love, elated at finding her in his back garden with El, before he heard what it was they were conversing about.
Hurt, anger, and betrayal had lanced through him. He was welded to the spot. He could not breathe.
But, then, it all made so much sense. Of all the people clever enough to be the Scribe, Penelope was the only person who had the bravery, the wit, and the access to the Ton to be her.
Whistledown still published every Monday, Thursday and Saturday, according to Eloise, which made him wonder how exactly she could still be finding out the latest gossip from so far away. Yet it occurred to him she may not be that far, in fact. Just close enough. Yet, she would clearly need help to publish.
And a new scribe had risen to challenge her: Madame La Meilleure.
Interesting.
In truth, he was impressed. Very impressed. And a little envious in fact. Her skill was legendary within the confines of Mayfair. So much so, that any thoughts he may have entertained about publishing his memoirs one day died in that moment. Who would read them when they had Pen’s cutting wit and sharp observations to entertain them?
His anger had burned so very brightly for a moment, as it had all hit him at once.
He’d wanted to rage and storm and make her pay for her crimes, right there in his back garden, furious at her for such deception.
But then it almost immediately fell away.
For the only punishment he could possibly envisage for her was to take her in his arms and never let her go. To ruin her for anyone else. To make her his alone.
To interrupt her scribblings by taking her on her own desk, her ink stained fingers tugging at his hair, and running over his skin as she shattered in his arms.
The realisation had made his breath quicken and his knees buckle.
It was a gratifying idea, to be the one to possess the most notorious gossip in all of London; the famed author of the most scandalous of scandal sheets.
To know that however sharp her tongue or withering her quill, that he, alone, would get to see her come apart at his merest touch.
She was still Pen after all, still warm and generous and soft…
Now she was so bright in his mind, but then, she always had been, he’d just dismissed it as how one thought about their very good friend.
Until that day… The day he'd imagined releasing her of those pink and yellow dresses, of pulling the pins out of her coiffure, and finding out just exactly what the fire in her blue, blue eyes meant…
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
‘Absolutely not…’ said Eloise, sharply, her shock making her pace the small patch of grass in the back garden at Bridgerton House, a place she and Penelope would often escape to as younger girls.
How they had longed to be grown so they could go out into the city together.
Oh how things had changed since then.
Penelope sighed as she sat on the picnic blanket, sipping the tea that had been placed on a low table next to them.
‘Well, it is either that, or I turn myself in,’ said Penelope with a heavy sigh, ‘I don’t see any other way about it if I’m honest.’
‘Oh, no,’ answered Eloise, ‘As you said, she would not believe it, as we are close friends. And even if she did, I do not want you to give up your only way to be free of your family’s situation. And even if she does, I feel as if my standing with her will forever be tarnished anyway, and my family’s with it. But a fortune seeker seems rather improbable.’
‘Why?’ asked Penelope, ‘People have no doubt noticed you sneaking away. A young woman, only out this season, with a fortune to be bestowed on her by the Viscount Bridgerton once she marries, finding herself the pitiable victim of a man without principles, is as likely a story as any. And I can write it from an empathetic point of view, and say we do not know the gentleman, that he seems rarely in town and not even I can find him out.’
‘If it was just me that would suffer, I would do it without hesitation. But my family, Pen…’
Eloise felt quite ill, and Penelope merely nodded as she nibbled on a biscuit.
‘I wish there was another way…’ Eloise opined, pulling on the leaves of a nearby birch just to have something to do with her hands.
‘As do I,’ said, Pen, leaning back and letting her face turn up toward the sunlight, as a bumblebee buzzed around the jam tarts.
‘They will ask me about it, and I will not know what to say to them. And who discovered us… Me and this mystery lover?’
‘I did,’ said a voice, and to both the ladies’ shock, Colin Bridgerton stepped out from behind the large shrub that blocked the view of them from the house.
He was dressed for riding, in his long, brown overcoat, and his hair tousled fetchingly over his brow.
‘Colin!’ gasped Eloise, putting her hand to her mouth, ‘How long have you been there?’
‘Long enough to know your plan, and the identity of the elusive Lady Whistledown too…’ His gaze flicked to Penelope, and it seemed to blaze as he looked her over, slowly, as if seeing her for the first time, ‘Pen, how lovely to see you…’
He gave a little bow in Penelope’s direction, and in truth she only just had the presence of mind to greet him back, then he turned his attention back to his sister.
‘You really should speak more softly if you do not want to be overheard, El.’
He glanced between both silent women with a serious mien, eyes lingering on Penelope a moment too long again.
‘I am here to offer my support, such as it is,’ he finished, putting his hands behind his back.
‘You would help us?’ asked Eloise, incredulously, keeping her voice soft and low, ‘Even though what we are planning could ruin us?’
Colin tilted his head to the side.
‘Well, then, all the more reason for me to lend some credence to this yarn you want to spin,’ he said, pulling off his coat and throwing it over the bench that was opposite Penelope, ‘And you can say that it was I who discovered the scheme and intercepted you, before you were carried off to Gretna Green and anything untoward could happen. And it was me waiting for the gentleman along with my younger sister, who was sent off knowing not to come near London for a very long time. And to certainly never interfere with a Bridgerton, ever again.’
To Penelope’s shock, he then proceeded to sit himself next to her, and stretch out, helping himself to grapes.
He had a very strange look in his eyes.
One she’d never seen before.
Anger?
No, it was something else…
‘Would Anthony believe you?’ asked Eloise.
‘I believe so…’ he said, ‘But both he and mother will be upset with both of us, for not including them. We must get our story right. And perhaps…’
He tailed off.
‘What?’
‘El, call for a carriage tomorrow night, at around ten pm, I will let you know where to go. An actor friend of mine is looking for work. Perhaps I can help him out, and make this all very believable to boot.’
‘Indeed, Colin. I did not believe you to have a head for such things,’ said Eloise, ‘Though you always did love to write stories.’
‘Oh, I believe I could rival even Her Ladyship here for intrigue, when I put my mind to it.’
His eyes glittered with mischief and Penelope flushed hotly at what was a barb and compliment in one.
It was strangely gratifying.
‘I feel better that you are with us, big brother. What do you think, Pen?’
‘We would need somewhere where servants at least would be able to witness whatever you have planned, and I would have to be hidden nearby to get a detailed view. But, yes, it is the best plan we have, and Her Majesty will have no choice but to give up this notion of your being Lady Whistedown.’
‘Then let us make a pact. No one but us three will ever know the truth. Oh, and Theo. I must tell Theo.’
‘Theo?’ asked Colin.
‘Must you?’ asked Penelope, with a frown.
‘He is an apprentice printer out of Chancery Street, who has been helping me find Lady Whisteldown. I have been going to see him in secret and unchaperoned…’
‘Aah, so that is why Her Majesty pegged you for the infamous scribe, eh?’ smirked Colin, ‘So the secret lover is not so much a work of fiction, as a slight twist on the truth? Well, well, El. Such a dark horse…’
Penelope could not help but chuckle as Eloise tossed Colin a scathing look, folding her arms irascibly.
‘He is not my lover…’ she snapped, her hands now on her hips.
Colin merely grinned at her, and Penelope covered her mouth with her hand as she stifled a giggle.
‘Oh, don’t encourage him,’ said Eloise, sharply, looking between Penelope, sitting demurely in one of her bright yellow dresses, Colin laid out like a panther behind her, wearing an open necked shirt.
‘You’ve been out riding a lot lately, Colin,’ said Eloise, as if suddenly noticing, ‘Since we returned from Aubrey Hall. You look different too. Are you trying to impress someone?’
Penelope sucked in a breath, and almost choked on a biscuit.
‘Merely enjoying the exercise and the time out in the fresh air, sister,’ he said, ignoring the weird little noise from Penelope, ‘And I have lost a little weight, I think. Does it suit me?’
‘What do you think, Pen?’ asked Eloise, and the scribe’s blue eyes opened wide, but she dutifully turned toward Colin and gave him a quick appraisal.
‘You look in excellent health, Colin,’ said Penelope, wanting to vanish into the cushion she sat on, and he smiled widely.
‘It certainly suits you,’ said Eloise, as she looked between them, strange notions forming themselves in her mind.
Ones she dismissed immediately.
‘I would wager there is a lady involved, to be sure…’ she insisted.
‘Perhaps…’ said Colin enigmatically, and they spent the next ten minutes trying, in vain, to get a name from him.
Or rather, Eloise did, Penelope mostly silent on the subject.
A call from Violet from the house summoned them back inside. Eloise responded, and selected a biscuit to take with her, as she pulled herself to her feet, having taken up the far corner of the blanket, which was in sight of the house, and then she reached out to Penelope to pull her to her feet amidst a few giggles.
But as Penelope brushed herself off, and navigated around Colin, Eloise already walking off, a hand caught her wrist.
She looked down to see Colin was sitting up now, just behind the shrub, hidden from the house, her hand caught in his grip.
‘Colin?’ she said, as she stared down at him, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I wondered for a long time what I would say to Lady Whistedown if I ever met her,’ he said, with feeling, ‘Now I find I am lost for words…’
Oh no…
Marina…
He would be angry.
‘Let me go,’ she hissed in an undertone, ‘Someone will see.’
She was facing Eloise, who’d turned to see where they were.
Penelope merely smiled and waved, as Colin rose to his feet, releasing her somewhat reluctantly.
She stepped forward and he moved to walk beside her.
‘I must apologise, Colin,’ she said, as quietly as she could so he could still hear her, ‘I did not mean to hurt you. Or Marina. I merely wished to stop you from…’
‘Marrying her,’ he finished, ‘Because you knew about her condition.’
‘Yes. Are you angry?’
‘No, he said, with a smile. ‘You were trying to save me from a deeper betrayal. But, you should have told me, Pen. And I believe Marina…’ he sighed, ‘Lady Crane, I should say, would have told me before we were married.’
‘Perhaps… Would you have believed me if I had?’
‘Of course,’ he smiled, as they stood speaking in the middle of the lawn, Eloise having gone indoors already. ‘We have been friends a long time. And you have always been there for me, something I have only lately realised.’
She sighed.
‘Even if she had, which I can tell you she was not planning on doing, you still would have married her anyway,’ she said, as she turned to look up at him, ‘Would you not?’
‘I would have,’ he replied. ‘But you did not know that.’
‘And would you have been happy?’ she asked him, tilting her face toward him.
‘I would have been content that I was making her happy,’ he said, softly.
More gently than she deserved, she thought.
‘And that is a risk I could not take,’ she replied, with complete honesty.
And she left a stunned Colin standing in the middle of the lawn, as she disappeared indoors.
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
As he’d walked beaches in Greece and saw the sights of Rome, Colin wrote of his travels, and of his need to wed his sweet lady. While his letters to Pen, sent via Eloise, were filled with declarations of desire, descriptions of his travels and proposals, all unanswered, his journals were filled with descriptions of places, of people, of emotion and musings, and with very explicit notes on what he wanted to do to Penelope.
It occurred to him too, during this time, that the Featherington Ball was not the first time he’d danced with Pen at all. In fact, he had seen Miss Cowper bully his friend in Daphne's season, and his first instinct was to put himself between her and the threat to her happiness, taking her onto the dancefloor.
How could he have forgotten how pretty she'd looked in that pink and blue dress? her red curls so soft around her face? Her laughter so infectious? Her smile lit up his day every time he saw her, and he'd even offered to dance with her on other occasions too. How stupid of him to not remember that. She’d also been his anchor after the debacle with Marina, not knowing then that it was she who had saved him from an even deeper pain, and he’d looked forward to her letters as he’d found himself.
What had never occurred to Colin, however, was that it would be so easy to love Penelope once he’d stopped denying his feelings for her. And how hard it was to be separated from her once he'd found them.
At first the lack of response to his declarations had pushed him into the arms of the women willing to let him lose himself in them. Beautiful, soft and giving they were, but they weren't Pen. Eventually he’d stopped taking his delight, even with his Contessa, as spurned lovers are want to do, unable to touch someone who wasn’t her, and instead took to wandering aimlessly through mountains and cities alike, across beaches, and through forests, chronicling their beauty as he wrote to her. Promising that they would see all these wonders together, someday.
Yet still, it went unanswered.
And now, he was home.
And he would find her.
He had to.
For, if the Right Honourable Mr Colin Bridgerton knew anything, it was that he was in love.
And that he must find his lady so that she could be loved in the way she so very much deserved to be.
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
Dearest Gentle Reader…
Whatever some may feel they know, and others invent to further their own agenda, This Author is hardly without her resources.
So, when eager usurpers aim to unsettle one such as I, who has, for years, delivered only the most delectable news to our esteemed Ton…
Who summons knowledge at will, in fact.
Forgive me if I remain unafraid.
For I, like Her Majesty, have a throne, of sorts…
And I refuse to acknowledge any coup that may be afoot to claim it.
For none come to spar in my Colosseum, and leave it without scars…
Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 1815