Chapter Text
“What a shame she went mad. No one likes a mad woman. You made her like that."
Gentle Reader,
As the last season came to a close the ton was left abuzz with the latest gossip, of course, selflessly procured by yours truly. With the mishaps and, dare I say, a scrumptiously scandalous love match between Viscount Bridgerton and his new Viscountess, Lady Kathani Bridgerton. One must hope that the new Lady Bridgerton possesses younger and tougher nerves of steel as the baton of dutifully overseeing the Bridgerton name, has been passed on. It seems however that she has failed even without the protection of being yoked.
The reason for that, dear reader, being the third son, Mr. Colin Bridgerton, was found loudly and publicly declaring that he would never court a Miss Penelope Featherington. That the very notion outlandish and the fabrication of wild fantasies. Regardless of how obvious that sentiment was beforehand, Mr. Bridgerton took it upon himself to be clear with his intentions. Clear indeed, perhaps the back biter is in hopes of courting someone more appropriate in stature, wealth, and status, perhaps The Diamond when her Majesty the Queen finally selects her. Or perhaps the Charming Colin Bridgerton is not as amiable as previously perceived. I say, publicly declaring a young debutante ineligible is decidedly a cruel pursuit, is it not? But to dare say it at the debutante’s ancestral home, how beastly.
Despite how disagreeable the grapefruit-like girl may be, with this action, Miss Featherington seems to permanently have secured herself a spot at the spinster’s table for the foreseeable future. One can only wonder what her Ladyship must have to say to her youngest daughter becoming an outsider before rounding the fruitful age of twenty. Oh my, Such tragedy.
One happy occurrence from this humiliation may be that Lady Portia Featherington will finally retire the sickly gowns that gifted her daughter that same spot.
Nevertheless, if this predicament is subject to change, which is much against this Author’s better judgment, I assure you dearest reader I shall share the sordid details.
With much ado London let the festivities of the season commence.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
Lady Whistledown Society Papers Monday, November 6th, 1814
Penelope Featherington was a quiet girl; she was sweet and kind and had a forgiving heart.
That’s how she liked to think of herself as. She strived to be like that, maybe even to a debilitating degree.
She was quiet, not because she didn’t have her own opinions, quite the opposite, in fact, she didn't want to be the woman that begged others to speak to her – she had at least enough self-respect for that; The bluestocking in the room that seemed to know everything but how everyone would laugh at her when she turned her back.
Or the church bell who never seemed to shut up no matter how many stopped listening to her.
That’s how she liked to think of her predicament.
But she knew better than that, she knew that she held back because of that pain that must come with being deemed uninteresting, and unintelligent when she had little else to offer – it would break her heart to where she’d never be able to truly repair it again.
Time and time again Penelope would plant the seeds of love for others. Take her time, conjure up the courage to truly say what she wanted to say, only to dig them up as the day went and night came.
When one finds oneself in such a situation they should declare it fervently, assuredly, loudly.
But she didn't and she couldn't.
She was a coward, she knew that.
Eloise knew that.
Colin must have always known that.
But perhaps that was for the better.
For far too long she'd dedicated her life, her love, her body, and soul to a man who didn't look at her as he did everyone else. To a man who thought of her as a friend but didn't treat her as such.
She was naive, she knew that; She’d read the books Colin liked so he’d think she was smart. She’d spit prose and barbs like nothing so he’d grin that boyish smile that made her weak. She’d curl her hair, apply her rouge so and so, and sit demurely so he’d look twice. All she’d ever done was to be enough for him, so he’d let her inside his heart.
None of it mattered in the end. He fancied girls like Marina, girls that held the air of effortless beauty something, she, a Featherington could never copy.
“Ah, are you mad? I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington, not in your wildest fantasies Fife.” His words rang through her mind like a ghost from another life – as she read his letters, and traced his name with her finger, his empty laugh would be on repeat.
He’d laughed at her, surrounded by friends, he’d stood and laughed at her.
He’d mocked her; thought her unworthy, undesirable, and a joke.
Her heart has been broken and blistered again and again by the same man. She’d allowed herself to play the fool, to indulge in this unrequited fantasy that is ‘love’.
Love shall have no place in her life, in her business. Whatever had enticed her in the idea had now become dead and gone, as well as her hopes.
She'd have burned for him for so long, so quietly it's a wonder she hadn't turned into the tender embers herself.
Penelope sat up in her bed, opened her bedside table, and rummaged through the many letters of her and Colin’s correspondence over the summer. Pulling them out she walked over to the fireplace, taking a stake she threw the papers inside the open mouth of the flam - Watching it with the weight of unshed tears as it burned with the ghost of the heat simmering over her skin. She ought to not waste her time licking old wounds.
The youngest of the Bridgerton brood all sat in the drawing-room, Colin peacefully eating a sandwich on the couch - Completely unaware of the storm to come.
The lot of them flinched when a loud bang of a door rang through the house and the bustle of many footsteps sounded through the hallway.
“Where is he?” Anthony’s growled, thundering into the room with the fiery temper of a thousand suns “Where is the third son?!”
“Colin Bridgerton!” His mother flew through the corridors into the drawing-room with Kate right behind her. Benedict followed Anthony his shoulders slumped, and arms crossed. The four of them together formed a terrifying picture of the most dreaded substance: disappointment. Colin could already feel the cold sweat forming along his shoulders.
Anthony, as always, was the first to fire his shots. “You blithering idiot!” He slapped the back of his head and pushed him to sit up properly.
“Ouch!” Colin didn’t look forward to the incoming hurricane, much less the scolding as he rubbed his now red neck. “Whatever is wrong?” His mother did nothing to stop Anthony. As Colin looked at her he could see the paper in her hand and recognized the crumpled column in her fist. His mother never got angry at him, at least very rarely. He swallowed a lump as he looked into her fiery eyes, unsure what he’d done to deserve the ire of all four Bridgetons at once. Whatever he’d done it’d been grand enough to end up in Whistledown.
“Brother, what were you thinking?” Benedict said. His brother looked disappointed next to the expression of the other which were damn near thunderous in nature. Anthony only seemed to become angrier by his confused look as if he was beckoning him to dig himself a bigger hole.
His eldest brother peered down at him and pointed at him accusingly “Did you or did you not publicly declare that you would never court Penelope Featherington to a group of eligible men? That the very notion preposterous?” Gasps rang through the room, their eyes shifting between Colin and Anthony.
“You what!” Eloise grunted. His sister had an enraged look on her face, she sat up quickly, her book falling onto the floor, her hands in tiny fists– like a gnarly beast had just been awakened.
“It wasn’t like that!” Colin reasoned though he had the feeling that regardless of what he said their faces would remain slightly homicidal.
“And how was it , exactly?” Anthony barked, only calming slightly when his mother put a hand on his shoulder.
As he backed off Violet stood in front of him, her gaze heavy with disappointment. Colin could feel a gnawing growing in his abdomen. He felt nervous, anxious even, but most of all like a complete ass. He’d done something cruel, and he’d disappointed his mother – he hadn’t felt this way since his failed nuptials to Marina.
Maybe even worse than then.
But Penelope would forgive him. Surely, they were the best of friends and they both knew that neither held such a candle for the other. Of course, she’d forgive him. She’d always been such an understanding girl, so sweet, Colin could swear she’d never gotten angry. Not once. She’d understand it was an accident, a misunderstanding that’d been blown out of proportion.
His mother’s eyes stayed on him, she’d never looked so morose, so upset since…. since their father’s passing. “Children out of the room,” Her voice rang with a tinge of disappointment, but mostly, from what Colin could tell from the coldness of her blue eyes – she was sad. The knot in Colin’s chest tightened by the sight of it.
His siblings ran out of the room though not wasting the opportunity to glance at the chastised young man, Eloise hesitated but went scowlingly when Kate nudged at her.
The atmosphere hadn’t lightened with fewer eyes on him. It’d only grown more thunderous as the four eldest glared at him. Colin could feel the sweat prickling on his palms "It – it wasn’t meant like that alright, Fife and the lads were pressuring me and – “
“And instead of acting like a gentleman, the gentleman that we raised you to be, you publicly humiliate her? Disparage her in front of the most eligible gentlemen on the entire marriage mart?” Violet reasoned; her arms crossed beside Anthony; eyes ablaze as she stared him down. “Declare her ineligible, effectively situating her at the top of spinsterhood?”
His mother had taken care to enunciate the 'we' reminding him that while they were one less than they were ten years ago, the walls still had ears.
“I didn’t mean to humiliate her! It was just to some of the lads and we’re not courting anyway!” Kate sighed heavily; murmuring something along the lines of ‘poor girl’, Benedict closed his eyes tightly, smoothing his hand over his face as if Colin’s reply pained him.
Quietly he added, “We’re friends,” he whispered. He looked to Benedict, who only looked at the floor with a disappointed brow and still mouth.
“Oh, Colin” His mother sighed, moving to rub her hand across his shoulder.
Anthony and Kate pounced “You will apologize to her as soon as possible, you will grovel, beg, whatever it is she has you do and you will make this right.”
"I know you did not mean to hurt her my dear," Violet starts hands warm and holding his cheek tenderly “But Bridgerton’s do not disrespect their friends Colin, let this be a lesson to you.” His mother noted. Colin agreed, his voice rough and sad. His mother’s eyes seemed to soften, bit by bit, but not quite enough to let herself comfort him further.
While his mother often let him off with what could be considered blue murder, she couldn't quite let him off the hook this time.
Colin could understand why.
“You’d bring her flowers and chocolate if you had an ounce of consideration left in you,” Benedict said before pushing the column into his chest. And like a storm, fickle and violent, they all came and went.
Colin stood alone in the drawing room, sitting down as he began to read the column. The gnawing feeling in his stomach didn’t leave him for the rest of the day.
Lady Danbury’s ball had been as entertaining as a ball could get; Colin decided with a huff. This evening was different from the rest nonetheless, tonight he had a mission: To find Penelope and give her a proper apology.
Since the interrogation that took place at Bridgerton House Colin had come to the Featherington estate multiple times to apologize. Only to find that Penelope was neither in nor accepting callers at the moment. With each day that went by a sickly feeling grew stronger. Eating at the very fabric of his conscience.
Was Penelope ignoring him?
It was very likely, given how he’d acted like an ass. But for her to flat-out ignore him was not something he’d predicted in his plan to make amends.
The many bouquets he’d bought had become rotten by the time of Lady Danbury’s ball and he’d decided that while ignoring callers as an unpopular household was not uncommon, to completely forego the social season of the ton would be considered social suicide. Lady Featherington knows this, surely, she’d be able to convince Penelope to go. At the very least to save face for their family.
As he entered the ball the eldest of the Bridgertons following him closely he scanned for a familiar sweet face and auburn hair.
“Pen!” he called, ignoring the inquisitive looks of bystanders as his long legs strode him over to her. She was standing near the refreshments table, sliding up against the wall farthest away from the dance floor.
He saw her visibly stiffen “Mr. Bridgerton,” She curtsied quickly but did not look up at him with her usual cheerful smile. Her eyes were shifty and forlorn as if she didn’t want to speak to him. A cold chill ran through his body. The very thought of losing Penelope’s friendship made him upset.
Colin started; his voice taut and reminiscent of his time during puberty “...Are you enjoying your evening Pen?” Her eyes flicked up at him but she looked away just as quickly. He felt his neck strain as he tilted it trying to catch the gaze of her cerulean blues again.
“Quite, Mr. Bridgerton,” sotto voce. Curt responses. Penelope was never curt when she spoke to him. Just in their correspondence, she’d used such vivid imagery and wordplay that had Colin excited for every single one of her letters' arrival. Pen was never short when she spoke to him, she’d always had such a quick, sharp mind that could never allow for any boring small talk. If it were to other people, people she didn't know as well or wasn't as comfortable with she was quiet - Colin had prided himself on getting Pen to talk more for years.
Penelope was angry with him. Clearly. Colin opened his mouth to speak but nothing would come out. The feeling of eyes on him grew as the tension between them became more intense. Embarrassed by the situation he found himself in, Colin took a deep breath –
“Penelope, -“
“I must excuse myself Mr. Bridgerton, my mother seems to be calling for me.” Lady Featherington was not calling for her. In fact, her ladyship was busy pushing Prudence onto Nigel Burbrooke, who took It all in stride without single strife of dignity. Even more so Portia Featherington was on the other side of the ballroom, but Penelope was moving out onto the terrace. Colin looked after her as she left, following her quickly.
Colin yells after her, his voice strangled and hushed as they left the ton's watchful eye “Pen! Please let me explain, I know – I know what I did was completely inexcusable but -”
“But, he says – “ Penelope scoffed. A sound so harsh and steely that it didn’t match her kind disposition. She didn’t speak like this, it came as a surprise to Colin that she could even make such a sound. “It is inexcusable, but I am sure you will be able to make up some outlandish excuse to apologize with, you always had a talent for halfhearted apologies.” She turned, her yellow frock spinning with her.
For the first time of the night, Colin looked at her. He looked at how the moonlight shone on her auburn hair, the way the moon seemed to make her porcelain skin come alive under the thick depths of red hair. The beautiful scenery of the terrace makes even the garish citrus dress make her the spitting image of fire – wild and unashamed.
Her scoff, her snarky voice, her cold disposition – Colin wished he could capture the moment in a bottle because despite how mortifying an angry Penelope Featherington may be, the view was quite spectacular.
Penelope looked ravishing. Beautiful, though she’d always had been. Colin had just never taken it all in, he realized. He’d always thought of her as a pretty girl but somehow, at some point, she’d gone from being a girl to being a woman.
It surprised him, mostly because he didn't think it was appropriate for him to appreciate a woman's beauty when she was clearly very cross with him.
Colin released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held “Penelope… I am so sorry, truly, so so sorry.” His voice came out broken and brittle at the emotion threatening to overcome him, all while the light of her beckoned him closer. It was all so confusing. “I…I didn’t mean it like that, it just, we’re not courting, and we’ve never really planned to. You’re my greatest friend I could never dream of disparaging your name like that.”
“Oh, but you did. Mr. Bridgerton. In fact, you went on to deem me ineligible even though I am only in my third season. Whatever hope I had for a future of marriage, romance, and full life has been tarnished by you .” Her voice rattled at the mention of romance, though Penelope was quite a great deal shorter than him, Colin had never felt so small in his life; so meaningless, yet cruel and overbearing at the same time. Her tongue was like a whip lashing at him again and again. “I find that you think entirely too highly of yourself, Mr. Bridgerton. –“
“Would you stop calling me that?” Colin rushed. Penelope was distancing herself, distancing herself from him, purposefully. He felt as though the world had turned on its axis all too quickly and he felt dizzy.
She held her hand up silencing him “ – That you must point out the women you would not court. As if our entire sex waits with bated breath to be picked by the likes of you – a man without any real means, any real ambitions, that sails country to country for more … exotic experiences. Or should I say conquests?” Penelope raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him, a smirk to match as she watched him squirm in horror. Colin felt like he’d just been drenched in a bucket of ice-cold water – shivering as she dressed him down so thoroughly.
“I can assure you Mr. Bridgerton being courted by you would be a fate I hold no interest in.” In a game of fencing, the finishing blow could be painful, no jab with a sword could compare to this – a pain that would throb in his Achilles Heel for years to come. Penelope was furious with him, not just that but she’d insulted him in such a clever way that Colin could only clap his bruised hands – applauding her for presenting such strength.
“Pen…” Colin rasped, his voice and posture tired from the lashing he’d just received. He’d always known Penelope to be quite witty, but for her to be this harsh, ruthless – it was a side of her that he’d never experienced before.
“I’d appreciate it if you stop referring to me with such informality, we wouldn’t want people to think something untoward was betwixt us, after all, it would be quite embarrassing for a man of your status.” She looked at him up and down, finishing with a sly raise of her eyebrow and a strained smile, “I bid you good night Mr. Bridgerton.” And with that Penelope scurried away from the terrace, her yellow frock swishing as she marched away from him.
Penelope rushed through the ballroom, swaying between ladies and gentlemen alike in her hurry. The absolute last thing she needed was for the entire ton to watch her cry. In her rush to leave she bumped into the hard surface that she let out a soft exclamation, keeping her head down she apologized and rushed through, into the hallway, into a room slamming the door behind her.
Despite having been a debutante for the past three executive seasons Penelope has not gotten used to the sweltering heat of the ballroom, the fluorescent lighting that always made her seem paler than usual and made the unseemly rouge her ladies maid applied under mama’s instruction, positively horrific. She’d always preferred the dark corners, the safety of the walls, or the comfortable studies she’d sneak into to catch her breath.
Or in this case, break down sobbing.
There Penelope sat in the dark corner of a room trying to quiet her sobs and failing.
How stupid she’d been. Stupid to have fallen in love with him, stupid to have trusted his pretty promises of protection and adoration – She was supposed a smart girl, a girl so smart she’d allowed herself to play a fool for a man who did not want her. A man who publicly mocked and then felt no need to give a good apology or at least understand why his words had hurt her so.
A fool indeed, a tragic loveless fool.
As she ran from the ballroom she could hear small yells of her name echo, surely drawing attention to her red puffy face as she held back tears. How mortifying.
It was all so…humiliating.
Hiding her head between her knees Penelope hugged herself, she’d have to wait until she stopped crying and, on her mother, and sister who were always the last ones to leave a ball. To busy gossiping with the rest of the ton, she could only wish them fun as they’d have to gossip about the overripe citrus fruit, Penelope.
The handle of the door cringed as someone opened it. Shooting up Penelope found herself face to face with Lady Danbury.
“Miss Featherington? –“Lady Danbury exclaimed.
“Whatever are you doing in my husband’s study young lady -!” Her heart ached so strongly, the threads breaking as she couldn’t it in anymore, Penelope couldn’t hide the sob that ripped from her throat.
The countess blinked away her shock “Oh Child! What is the matter?" The lady Penelope thought she knew disappeared, her voice normally so sharp with wit and snark was replaced with what she could only assume was motherly affection. The mere idea brought forth more tears in her eyes.
“I – He,” remembering him, Colin, her eyes flooded with tears “I can’t –!” Penelope cried, hands and arms flailing as she sobbed, stuttering so much her words were nonsensical. The words wouldn’t come out and had they she was sure they’d be cracked and sorrowful. Her chest heaving with sobs, viciously bawling that she was sure her heart rocked to the rhythm of her crying – Penelope was coming about at the seams and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Lady Danbury quietly stepped closer to her, staring at her with pitiful eyes, seemingly assessing her; only to embrace her after. Penelope found herself in the arms of what should be virtually a stranger though she’d never felt safer. Squeezing her eyes shut she let herself be rocked – Lady Danbury shushing her.
“There is no need for tears my dear.” She spoke. “Whatever that boy said I am sure it is not worthy of such distress, come. Sit.” The countess sat them down on the windowsill. Penelope stared out at the night sky suddenly embarrassed at the prospect of hysterically crying in front of someone.
Penelope could feel Lady Danbury turn to her, only to quickly look in the same direction. “No need to feel embarrassed Miss Featherington, what you have gone through these last days mustn’t weaken you.”
“Yes, Lady Danbury.” She said her voice rough and tired. The lady scoffed good-naturedly.
The warmth of her tear-stained cheek felt the soft silk of a handkerchief, gently whipping her tears away with such care – Penelope leaned towards it, allowing herself to indulge. “As a debutante, you never truly stroked my fancy - always shying away from attention it seemed. However, you’ve been able to keep up with Miss Bridgerton for so long, which shows you have a pleasing intellect. There are sides to you you’ve been hiding Miss Featherington.”
She scoffed lightly “Me thinks your ladyship doth praise too much.” as she sniffed.
“Witty too.” Lady Danbury smiled motherly, gently tilting her head to wipe at her eyes.
Penelope should have felt intimidating, embarrassed, or at the very least shy, at being found upset at a ball by the hostess, but she felt nothing of the sort. “When I was a girl some centuries ago… I could barely speak to people without bungling my words. I was terrified of my own shadow, which made me feel inferior to other girls my age as they did not share my problem – but as I grew older, I sharpened my wit, my wardrobe, and my eye – everything, and I became frightening .” Her ladyship’s voice didn’t falter at all, ever so reassuring and powerful, Penelope could only wish she’d ever measure up to that woman.
The Countess's eyes met her own and Penelope tried her hardest not to cry again. “You, my dear, know what you must do.” Neither of them looked away and Penelope felt the strange feeling that she’d be spending a lot more time with the Dowager Countess. With the tender clasp of hands, Penelope Featherington felt her fate change.