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There was something deeply humorous about being in a dining room with so many people, including his to-be-family-in-law. Perhaps it had something to do with the layers upon layers of relationships in the room. Perhaps it was due to the guillotine of perceived manners they were all meant to have, none of which were being met. Perhaps it was because none of them looked as though they were dressed to go to the same place.
Or perhaps it was just Portia Featherington, who, for her part, had spent the majority of dinner looking at him either flabbergasted or with a glare, both of which looked all too funny on her. The feeling was mutual, frankly speaking, but he'd like to think he'd softened to her since he'd fallen so deeply for Penelope, sitting just beside him looking, as always, as though a goddess in flesh. Her beautiful, ruddy curls caught the light in the enormous dining room his mother had invited them into, tousled loose and so touchable down her back. Her cheeks, in high color, curved so cutely when she took too big a bite of bread. Her eyes, endlessly blue, endlessly beautiful. He sighed, having rested his jaw in his palm, ignoring his mother and Portia's combined glare, now, at the breach of manners.
He marveled, constantly, that someone as kind, perceptive, amazing, wonderful, lovely, and understanding as Penelope could be raised by a woman as ruthlessly judgmental as Portia, but she was, for all intents and purposes, his mother in law.
Well, in everything but name. He’d been waiting for the perfect moment to propose but that perfect moment just didn’t seem to be lining up. Not yet, at least. He consoled himself with the fact that they had a trip to Santorini coming up at the end of the month and he couldn’t wait to put the gold and emerald engagement ring on Penelope's fourth finger.
Oh, he couldn’t wait to call her his wife.
Not that he didn't already, however. He’d been doing so in his head for well over a year. In his mind and out his mouth, in fact, something Pen never stopped teasing him about. Every time he’d call her ‘wife’, she’d sweetly say ‘Hm? Where is she?’ or ‘Was I asleep for that proposal?' or 'Oh! Should I go get her?'
Thus, he couldn't wait to call her his wife and have her unable to say any of those things back, the cheeky little minx.
He’d show her.
But he had to get through this dinner, first.
“So, Archie, what’s new with your business?” Mum asked politely, sitting at the head of the table. Why she insisted on having these grand affairs where everyone and their mother was present, he’d never understand. At least Kate’s family was fun, Edwina and Mary were easy enough to convince into pranking Anthony by cutting him off with a “huh” every time he said something and he was entertaining himself immensely by eavesdropping.
“Anthony, tell me more about your newest case at the firm.”
“I’m glad you-”
“Huh?”
“Oh, I said I’m gla-”
“HUH?”
“Well, we’re-”
“Speak up, lad.”
“I’M-”
“Anthony, darling, why are you shouting? I’m sitting right here.”
“Ah, not much,” the man said, drier than a saltine cracker. Colin tried to understand the man, truly he did. Portia wasn't his biggest fan, so he needed to curry favor somewhere. He was going to be his Father in Law, and, frankly speaking, there weren’t many of them to pick from in the entire Bridgerton line up. It was on his shoulders, else there would be no grandpapa for any of the Bridgerton babes, but there was only so much of discussing the London Stock Exchange he could stand, particularly when he didn’t dabble. Where Portia was frustration and a painted mask, her husband was the definition of a stale end of Wonder Bread. He was the color ‘eggshell’ come to life. He was the personification of a crumpled napkin. “Good figures coming in.”
The table waited for him to say something else, but Archibald Featherington just continued tucking into his mashed potatoes and Colin had to reach for his glass of water so he wouldn’t say something like ‘wow, that was riveting, you should write books’. Penelope cut her eyes over to him, as though she could read his mind, and lifted a single brow as he smiled sheepishly at her, caught staring, once more.
Oh, Penelope. Penelope Penelope Penelope. Two years into their romantic relationship and he still couldn’t stop writing love poetry about her. Sure, it took him 12 years of friendship to get to the point where they were an item, but he was certainly making up for it now. Even now, he was leaving sticky notes for her in their fridge or above the sink. She refused to take down the Magnet Letters Acrostic Poem he’d written for her well over a month ago.
Perfectly
Engaging
aNd
Endlessly
Lovely
boObs
Please
nEver wear a shirt
Eloise didn’t take kindly to it when she visited last, but it wasn’t for her, anyway.
He was a better travel writer, admittedly, but it was the thought that mattered, he'd like to think.
So, damnit all, he was really, really trying to get along with her family. Portia cleared her throat. “What Archie means to say,” she started, cutting her gaze across at her husband, who seemed as though he were off in space rather than sitting at a table of nearly 20 people, “is that the business is doing quite well, Violet. Thank you for asking. And how are your affairs? Any new weddings in the future?” she prodded, casting her eyes on Gregory, no doubt trying to link him with Felicity.
The fact that she didn’t look at Penelope when they’d been dating for well over 2 years now was astonishing. Penelope, for her part, blinked blankly and glanced at her plate to take another bite of her salmon, shaking her head at him when she felt him still looking at her. He finally looked away.
“We just had o-” Anthony began, to which Edwina immediately said “Huh?”, causing the vein in Anthony’s temple to swell visibly even from where he was sitting. Colin chortled behind his glass, reaching for a napkin to cover his mouth, even as Benedict and Sophie giggled from their comfortable little corner.
“We had a wedding just a few months ago,” Kate said, grinning, even as her now-husband was doing his best not to explode at the end of the table.
“Oh, yes, yes, but- well, the more the merrier. How has Gregory been, by the way?”
Gregory looked up from his phone that he was, very not discreetly, staring at under the table. “Uh. . .I’m. . .fine?”
“He’s been annoying as always, Mrs. Featherington,” Hyacinth replied, cheerfully. “In fact, I just beat his high score again-”
“You did not! And anyway-”
“Darlings,” mum said, trying to keep a light tone, but it carried the same weight as her snarling with the edge to her voice and the painted smile on her face.
Ah, well, he supposed it was time for him to ease the awkwardness, as he always did. “Family,” he began, tapping on his glass with a butter knife, long since having all but inhaled his dinner, and Eloise groaned, tipping her head back and slumping in her seat.
“Not again- Colin, come on-”
“I’ve a toast to make-”
“You’ve always a toast to make-”
“HUH?”
“I told you he’d do it, didn’t I-”
“Isn’t this the 5th toast in a row-”
“I said he’s always a toa-”
“HUH?”
“To my darling girlfriend-”
“Penelope, yes, we know, it’s always to Penelope-”
“Wasn’t the shirt enough, Colin?”
“Awww, I think it’s sweet-"
“Family!” he tried again, but Penelope started laughing, her hand in front of her tipped-up mouth as she giggled. He turned to her once more, transfixed as she regarded him with those twinkling blue eyes he saw in his very dreams, clearer than any sea. He smiled at her, watching as her hand came back down to the table, as she tossed her head back to stare up at him, connecting their gazes, a stray curl coming over her shoulder and onto the ‘I’m Pen’ shirt she’d worn to match his ‘If Lost Return to Pen’.
He didn’t even realize the entire table had gone quiet with it, and he leaned over to tuck her hair back behind her ear, feeling his lopsided smile dimple at his left cheek. She laughed again, shaking her head. The right side of her lip tipped up as her brow twitched.
Again, Colin, really?
His grin eased as he tilted his head at her, lifting both brows, now.
Yes, really. Did you expect anything different?
“Oh, please, the two of you are sickening ,” Eloise said, faking a gag, and the moment broke.
“Aww, I think they’re quite cute,” Daphne spoke up, now holding Simon’s hand, even as he looked like he wanted nothing more than to be home.
“Dearest,” Mum piped in, and he looked over at her, realizing he was still standing up, “your toast?”
“Oh, yes! Family, a toast to Penelope: the smartest, most wonderful woman I’ve ever met.” And soon to be his wife. “Every day, I grow more in awe of you, and every night-”
“Colin, please, we’re in company-”
“Why don’t you ever make toasts to me?”
“I’ll make a toast to you, now-”
“Huh?”
“Edwina, for the love of the Lord, could you-”
“Hm?”
Colin shook his head, grinning. “To Penelope!” he said, holding out his glass, and everyone, for their grumbling previously, cheerfully held theirs out as well, clinking together, though Portia looked as though she’d etched her smile onto her face rather than wore it comfortably.
When he sat down, Penelope, who a few months ago would likely have blushed at such a public declaration, was now well accustomed to his antics, reached for his hand and squeezed. “You’re a dork,” she said, quietly, smiling in his absolute favorite way. The way she smiled at him: it made his heart stutter and his chest flutter and his blood beat her name. Like she were looking at something radiant and worthy and wonderful.
“Your dork,” he said, and she chuckled.
“Always.”
He didn’t stop smiling for a good few minutes, passively watching the dinner go by. His head was already elsewhere, imagining what was going to happen once they could finally excuse themselves and go back to their flat. Just a little longer to go and after dessert, surely to be served once the main course was cleared out, and they'd be home free.
“Oh- hey, Daddy, can you pass the salt, please?” Penelope asked, and he didn’t think before he reached over.
Just as her father did.
The cacophony of the table silenced so quickly, it was as though a director had yelled cut. He looked across the table at Archibald Featherington, who was staring at him slack-jawed, and then at Portia, who seemed as though she’d swallowed a lemon. No one moved. No one said a damn thing.
Penelope choked from beside him and it cracked the silence clean in half.
“Oh my God-”
“I didn’t want to know, I could have gone my entire life without knowing-”
“Wait, why did Colin-”
“Did she say daddy-”
“I need a bucket- mother, I need a bucket now-”
Penelope put her face in her hands, her cheeks clearly burning bright red from the peeks he could see between her fingers. Archie, her actual father, for his part, was still suspended, completely frozen. Colin chuckled and it rang nervously even in the midst of the new wave of chaos he’d brought about.
“Hey, uh- seems we have more in common than we thought, huh?” he tried, and when Penelope kicked him under the table, her universal sign for ‘stop talking, please just stop talking’, he put on his most charming grin and handed her the salt she’d asked for.
"Every night, huh, Colin?" Benedict teased, and the entire table erupted once more.