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It is a beautiful day for a promenade, Portia Featherington thinks to herself as she leads her family into the Hawkin’s exhibition. She doesn’t care for the miracle of flight, nor for the spectacle of the giant balloon contraption wobbling precariously on its stage, but she does care about her family being seen after all that nonsense with Colin Bridgerton and her youngest daughter. She has been lax, she knows that now. She should have noticed before how Penelope was spending more time than she should with that boy, who would no sooner court her than kiss her. Penelope has been spending too much time with all the Bridgertons in fact. No more. She had allowed it because of their good standing in the Ton, a connection with the Bridgertons is no bad thing, but Colin Bridgerton has caused her nothing but trouble. She will ensure Penelope no longer fills her head with their fanciful claptrap.
No, she must make sure Penelope sees reason. Lord Debling took an interest in her at Stowell House, that is a good match. A reasonable match. Portia turns, looking past her older daughters and their husbands for Penelope, but her eyes do not find what she is looking for. She breathes out through her nose as Varley taught her, taking a fortifying moment to steady herself and maintain her composure. Why must she be continually tested? She searches the crowd, sweeping her eyes back and forth for a glimpse of red hair and can’t help the scowl she feels creep across her face when she spots Colin Bridgerton trailing after Penelope.
He follows her like a dog sniffing at a bitch in heat. The audacity of him is astounding. What does Violet Bridgerton teach them for her children to be so indecorous? And why do they always seem to fixate on her daughter? She watches them duck between tents with a glare firmly fixed on her face before turning on her heels and marching forward once more.
“Prudence, get your sister.” She keeps walking but gestures towards where Penelope had been heading, no doubt with that insufferable man still in tow.
“Phillipa is right here,” Prudence complains, making both her vapid husband and Phillipa laugh. Mr. Finch, however, turns a concerned eye to the crowd as Portia had just done and likewise notes the missing member of their party. He’s really been quite good with Penelope since marrying Phillipa. She is glad that two of her three daughters seem to have husbands who, while not clever, seem besotted enough to keep their wives contented. Penelope, too bright by half and too generous in the middle, is unlikely to be so lucky. Certainly not now, with Colin Bridgerton always hovering at half a pace behind her like some six-foot hound. They must make the most of the interest from Lord Debling.
“You have two sisters, do you not? See if you can’t drag her away from that damned Colin Bridgerton,” she snaps. She has the stirrings of a headache forming over her brow and she absently smooths her fingers across her forehead to relieve the ache.
“All right,” Prudence grumbles, departing towards the line of tents and leaving her husband to scramble after her.
Prudence is not actually looking for Penelope. Whatever she gets up to with Colin Bridgerton is none of Prudence’s business and, in fact, it might be good if Penelope spends more time with Colin Bridgerton. Phillipa might be dim, but she pointed out over tea that if Penelope were to continue seeing Mr. Bridgerton unchaperoned, they really ought to be married. Obviously, someone like Colin Bridgerton could not possibly be interested in marrying her plump, bookish little sister, but society doesn’t care whether he likes her or not. Really all they would need to do is leave them to it for a bit and then start shouting that Mr. Bridgerton compromised Penelope. Hard to believe but no one could call them outright liars. She thinks her mother will find the scheme quite clever when Prudence tells her. So determined, Prudence stops in her tracks and turns to her husband. “We are not looking for Penelope,” she says firmly.
“We’re not?” Harry looks bewildered but then again, he always looks a little bewildered.
“No, we’re not. I wanted to see the balloon, it is enormous!” He smiles and she is distracted momentarily by how pleasant he looks.
“Indeed! And now that you are feeling better, ready to take off!” He giggles and holds his arm out to her. She lets him drag her some way off between stalls and tents before he whispers. “If we are not looking for your sister, perhaps we could be alone?”
He has been very touchy with her of late. Always grabbing at her and kissing her lips. She does not dislike it, but it does make her feel nervous when he does so outside of their home. She follows him along, attempting to find somewhere for them to be alone, even as the wind kicks up and rattles the silk walls around them. The noise is loud and disorienting, as it drowns out the crowds. They are surrounded by nothing but ropes and stakes and white silk. “Are you sure this is a good place? It is rather windy,” she tries to object but the look on his face is so eager and boyish that she allows him to step closer to her.
“Please, I need to feel your lips upon mine,” he begs, “you look so... so windswept.” Prudence is not sure if that is a compliment or not but the way he reaches for her is compliment enough. He presses a kiss to her lips fervently and she tries to respond in kind. She inches forward as he presses against her, anxiously fluttering her eyes to keep a lookout as her husband paws at her impatiently. She almost loses herself in the passion of his closed mouth against her until she is startled by the sight of Colin Bridgerton over the shoulder of her husband.
She shoves Harry off of her and he goes down to the ground with a start, but Colin Bridgerton is walking towards them and so she cannot spare a thought for Harry’s clean, white breeches as he brushes at them. Mr. Bridgerton’s jaw is clenched in an unusual way and though she can see behind him, Penelope is not there as she expected. Her mother was sure Penelope was with him. Mr. Bridgerton is upon them faster than he should be and Prudence watches in frozen shock as he strikes a blow to the back of her husband’s head. She would scream if she could, but her throat feels stuffed with linen. Harry slumps to the side and Mr. Bridgerton sidesteps him to grab Prudence’s neck. Colin Bridgerton and she are of an age, though he has never once spoken to her as he speaks with her sister. He has never once, that she can remember, so much as made eye contact with her. This disparity in attention used to bother her but that all seems silly now as she struggles against the press of his fingers against her throat. It is true, he has never looked at her with the kindness of expression that he often looks at Penelope with, but she has never seen him so startlingly, terrifyingly devoid of feeling. His blue eyes are empty as she struggles for air in his grip.
Her arms flail and she tries to grip the tent wall behind her, but the silk is taut, cool, and slick against her fingers. Prudence’s grip fails as the edges of her world begin to go black. She kicks ineffectually at him, but Colin Bridgerton only smiles at her as she thrashes.
“Sleep well, sister,” he tells her, his voice sounding so very far away from her. “Do not worry, I will make sure Pen is well cared for.”
Back on the thoroughfare, Portia Featherington watches disdainfully as Benedict Bridgerton ducks into the main exhibition tent hurriedly. He is apparently running from Lady Cabot and her oldest daughter, and she wonders at her own missing children. Surely Mr. Dankworth has been distracted by something or other and in turn has distracted Prudence. It is a surprise anything gets done at all that she doesn’t do herself. Ahead of her, Phillipa is nattering on happily to Mr. Finch about butterflies or some such faff without a care in the world, so she lets the couple continue without her. She will simply have to find both Penelope and Prudence herself. She makes her way back, away from the Queen’s pavilion, and towards the sweets tent. That is usually where Penelope and Mr. Bridgerton end up. He might even be to blame for Penelope’s weakness for sweets! She tries to think of her daughter had a sweet tooth before they moved to Mayfair but she can’t remember rightly. Still, it is simply another reason that Penelope should steer clear of all the Bridgertons.
She flits between the tents, avoiding merchants and keeps a steady eye out for any flash of ginger amongst the crowds. It’s a beautiful day and the Ton has come out en masse for the event, making it difficult for her to see very far, even with her stature. Once she is closer to that damnable balloon, she is happy to see Penelope in conversation with Lord Debling. Miss Cowper and another godsdamned Bridgerton are with her but thankfully Mr. Colin Bridgerton is not present. She briefly looks over the crowd and is satisfied not to find him.
She makes her way back towards the Queen’s pavilion, searching for Prudence as she goes. One of the Queen’s new favorites, Lord Samadani, is heading towards the exhibition tent when she sees him. Lady Bridgerton and her younger girl, Francesca, watch serenely after him from beside Lady Danbury. She almost goes to greet Lady Bridgerton, to inquire whether her third son might be prevailed upon to return to his traveling, when she sees a glimpse of red hair ahead of her. She foregoes the greeting, choosing to only nod in their direction as she goes off in search of her oldest daughter.
Colin Bridgerton leads the couple through the labyrinth of tents, guiding them between the rows and finally gesturing towards the body of Mr. Harry Dankworth which is sprawled on the ground right where Colin left him. He’s already disposed of Prudence, rolling her lifeless corpse into spare tent silks, ready to be taken home for his siblings and the littles. They’re still growing, after all. This has gone surprisingly well if he may permit himself to think so. His mother had planted a seed of concern in him that morning but thus far it has been easier to isolate the Featheringtons than he’d thought it would be. In fact, he’d hardly needed to do anything at all! He waits to strike until the two are crouched beside Mr. Dankworth, viciously landing a kick to the back of Mr. Finch’s head with his heavy boot. He has Phillipa’s neck in his grasp before she has even a moment to react. As he squeezes, feeling her windpipe collapse under his fingers, Colin reflects briefly on his mother’s lack of faith in them. He hopes Ben is handling his part of the afternoon, their mother had been very worried that morning.
“I mislike it,” Violet Bridgerton had muttered before taking a sip of her tea in the drawing room. Though she seemed composed, a long, smooth lilac-colored tendril lashed at her side impatiently and knocked rather pointedly into the foot of her chair as she sat across from Benedict. Thump. Thump. Thump. Colin was intimately familiar with the tell-tale sounds of his mother’s worry. “With Anthony gone, you will hardly have any assistance, and the exhibition will likely be well-attended. Colin will have his hands full with the Featheringtons. You know neither Gregory nor Hyacinth is old enough yet to be helpful and Francesca doesn’t fare well amongst large crowds.”
Benedict had huffed in annoyance and Colin had nearly interrupted them then to offer his aid but held himself back. His mother was correct, but Anthony had already approved of Colin’s plan to assist Penelope with her relations. He did not want to delay his plans simply because Anthony was no longer going to be present to help Benedict in their scheme. Colin had promised himself that once he had sorted out the ladies Featherington, then of course he would be happy to find Benedict and offer his services, but he intended to make no other promises.
“Anthony has entrusted this to me and, though I don’t disagree with you, I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I did not try with Lord Samadani. We may not get another chance.” Benedict popped a biscuit into his mouth and before he had even finished chewing, continued, “mother, have you seen the littles? They yearn for the sunlight and to grow. I could not make them wait for Anthony to return from India.”
“Oh, I know that, of course, but I wish there was another way. Lady Danbury believes the Queen will want Francesca for Lord Samadani and if she does, we will have ample opportunities. He will call, he will come to us.” She’d finally set her tea down with a sigh. “But I suppose we cannot place all our hopes on the whims of the Queen,” she conceded thoughtfully. “You will be careful?”
“Of course, mother,” Benedict stood and kissed her gently on the head. “I’m always careful.”
“And you?” she had asked, turning towards the doorway that Colin had been lingering in. “You will be careful? Three are not too many for you to handle?”
“Three is fine, mother, and I will be very careful. Everything is already in place and the Featherington’s are excited to meet Pen,” he had said at the time.
Colin finally abandoned his perch at the door to make his way into the drawing room then, dropping a kiss on his mother’s head. Her tendrils, which had been agitatedly whipping back and forth, finally steadied and then stilled as they came around both Benedict and Colin in an embrace. Colin had been happy to allow his mother to snuggle him, allowing himself to relax into the embrace even as Benedict extricated himself. “You’ll be there, with Eloise as well. Do not discount yourself. Do not forget, we have seen you with the rest of the mamas, you’re still incredibly formidable when you’ve a mind to be.” His comment had the desired effect, his mother laughed and pushed him playfully away.
“Enough of that now, go on. You’ll need to be early to separate Miss Featherington from her mother and sisters. Portia is tenacious, she won’t be easy to sway away from the populace. She does so enjoy being seen.”
“Everything will be fine,” Colin had assured her. And he had been right, he thinks viciously, as Phillipa scratches at his hands and her legs twitch beneath her garish day dress.
Colin quite agreed with his mother and found himself unable to hold back the grin from his face as Phillipa struggled. Portia Featherington has been allowed to behave too appallingly for too long, he will be glad to put an end to her. His family has been quietly improving, in his opinion, the quality of the Ton’s populace for some time. However, once Anthony married Kate, his brother had begun to take the initiative rather more seriously. This social season they’ve already managed to replace Lord Cho, Lord and Lady Abernathy, all three of the Wentworth girls, and the entire Smythe-Smith family. The Smythe-Smith Musicale this year promises to be a refreshing change from years past. However, Anthony’s final design of the season was to be Lord Samadani. Only he is not here to execute it and so the responsibility has fallen to Benedict.
Colin is only grateful that Anthony agreed Benedict would be able to handle it on his own and Colin, if he felt confident, could be allowed to finally remove the Featheringtons per his own request. Except his Pen, of course, whom he already received permission to court after replacing her mother and sisters. His own mother was delighted at his decision, even though he and Eloise had come to blows over it. He winces, remembering how Eloise had sliced open his bicep. It’s truly a testament to their superiority that he is able to choke the life out of Phillipa Featherington with the hand of that same arm less than a fortnight later. He’d savaged Eloise, however, tearing into her midsection and nearly severing her left wrist before she conceded. She’d been forced to wear an awkwardly warm muff for days after their fight to hide the healing wound.
He’d never seriously rowed with any of his siblings, certainly never to blows, but once he had tasted Pen, he knew he could not have another as long as he lived. He refused to give her up to Eloise, Penelope Featherington was made for him. He’d felt guilty, passingly, for his sister’s injuries but it was their way. She forgave him for his ferocity. He can feel the flesh at his back shift, his own tendrils coiling and tense from his reminiscence of the fight. and the brief struggle of the woman on her knees before him. Phillipa’s face is purpling and the color, he thinks, clashes with her hair.
“Mr. Bridgerton!” He hears Portia before he sees her, caterwauling behind him. He does not turn fully, he does not have the time. Instead, once he’s glimpsed her over his shoulder, he allows his coiled limbs to shoot out from him. This is, strictly speaking, not allowed, but these are extenuating circumstances. He can feel his tendrils catch Portia around the waist and haul her forward. He effortlessly lets them squeeze her throat closed to prevent further screeching as Phillipa slumps at his feet. In all the activity he had snapped her neck without realizing. He drops her with a grunt and finally turns to look at Penelope’s mother.
He has imagined this moment a thousand times, since well before he knew Penelope would be his partner, his mate, the mother of his children. Portia speaks of Pen as an afterthought, a burden. She disparages her daughter’s lush figure, her clever mind, and everything else wonderful about Penelope that has set her apart all these years. Portia Featherington has been working to quash all of the things that he and Eloise and the rest of the Bridgertons have worked to foster in their dear friend. He does not realize he is growling until he hears it over the rush of blood in his ears. He still has a grip on her neck, the dark blue appendage coiled tightly and not letting up, but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. Portia is wheezing for breath, and he finds the sight immensely satisfying.
He drags her closer, watching her eyes bulging in their sockets from the strain. Her eyes are a muddy gray blue, nothing like the sparkling marine of Pen's. He watches as they begin to dim, so he loosens his grip slightly to let her take in a few gasping breaths.
“I am going to marry your daughter,” he tells her, delighting in the look of horror on her face. He does not need to tell her which one, she knows. “I am going to make her my wife, she is going to bear my children, and they will never know you.” She claws at his waistcoat and jacket, but her nails simply scrape at the fabric and do little else. He does not have time for this. His largest tendril strikes her from behind, severing her spine and punching through the front of her breastbone messily. He is covered in the hot gush of blood that follows.
He makes quick work of wrapping Portia and Phillipa up with Prudence, rolling the bright white silk neatly and tying the ends with sailors knots he learned on his way to Greece. He finishes not a moment too soon because as he is emptying the contents of his flask onto the two Featherington husbands, still out cold, he hears the first screams.
Benedict.
He needs to find Pen.