Work Text:
1818 – London
“– I have asked Miss Featherington to marry me and she has accepted.”
What???
Colin coughs, saved from choking to death on his biscuit only by a harder-than-strictly-necessary thwack on the back from his eldest brother.
“Why on earth would you want to marry Pen?” demands Eloise before anyone else speaks.
“He has been alone for nearly fifteen years,” Anthony says calmly, “and she needs to marry.”
How the hell is Anthony so calm? This is insane. The very height of madness! Their father has surely taken leave of his senses and now Anthony will have to step in and take charge –
“That is a very long time,” Kate agrees, just as serene as her husband. “And we all think the world of Penelope.”
“That’s not the point,” Eloise snaps. “She’s my best friend!”
“Should you not like to have your best friend become part of your family?” asks Father mildly.
“For heaven’s sake, Papa! I wanted Penelope for my sister, not my stepmother!” Eloise raves, almost upsetting her tea.
Now that Benedict is spoken for, you will have to do, Eloise informed him the prior year after Benedict and Sophie became betrothed. I expect Pen would prefer it, actually. Far be it from me to understand why, but she has always liked you better.
For God’s sake, Eloise, I am not going to marry Penelope!
Oh!
Normally, any Bridgerton worth his or her salt would crow when proven right, but the last thing in the world this news makes him want to do is crow about it.
In fact, it makes him want to put a fist through the wall.
Or his father’s face.
He flexes his hand unconsciously, even as he recognizes they are alarmingly and uncharacteristically violent impulses.
“She is young enough to be your daughter. Even younger than Daphne. It's disgusting!”
“You cannot be serious about this, Father,” he finally manages, barely able to make himself heard over Eloise’s ranting.
“I am perfectly serious,” replies their father, maddeningly calm.
“This is unacceptable,” insists Eloise, jabbing the table with her pointer finger for emphasis.
Daphne speaks up at that. “Papa asked and Penelope accepted. Clearly it is acceptable to them and that is all that matters.”
Eloise rounds on their sister. “You cannot possibly condone this.”
“I do,” says Daphne evenly. “As I’m sure does Simon.”
Predictably, her husband nods.
Daphne could say the sky was green and the once-formidable Duke of Hastings would just nod adoringly. Usually, he is mostly glad his sister is happy, but today it’s especially sickening.
“She would be our stepmother,” Eloise emphasizes. “And she is years your junior,” she adds, with meaningful looks to Anthony, Daphne, and him.
Anthony shrugs. “We’d hardly be the first adult children of a first marriage to acquire a younger stepmother.”
He stares at Anthony and Daphne, aghast.
“And we all know she needs to marry this season; I refuse to permit her to return to Berbrooke Hall,” Daphne says firmly, with a delicate shudder. She has served as Penelope’s chaperone this season, with Lady Featherington gone abroad with her second husband and her sisters in the country.
It’s a very good thing Penelope is out just now, he thinks distantly. She excused herself and Posy just as soon as he arrived, their maids trailing obediently behind them. Something about ribbons? Gloves?
With characteristic tact and consideration, she had probably wanted to give Father the opportunity to break the horrible news to his children en famille.
Frowning, Daphne continues, “I do not trust her sister to protect her from that man with their mother away.”
“Nor I,” concedes Eloise grudgingly, “but –”
“I, for one,” interjects Hyacinth, smiling beatifically at their father, “am happy for you, Papa. I like Pen very much, you know.”
“Perhaps we might have some champagne to celebrate?” asks Gregory hopefully.
“Oh, could we?” Hyacinth pleads.
He could shake them. Celebrate?
What the devil is their father thinking?
And has everyone but Eloise and he gone stark raving mad?
No. Surely if Benedict and Francesca were in town, they and their spouses would see reason.
Wouldn’t they?
—
His announcement was received with entirely predictable pandemonium.
Well, from Eloise, which was to be expected. Colin had clearly been displeased, but subdued.
On the other hand, Anthony and Daphne – not to mention Kate and Simon – accepted the news with worryingly good grace, as had Gregory and Hyacinth, whom he assumes were taking their cues from their elders.
But Colin, for all his more controlled initial reaction, takes action the following afternoon after Daphne, Penelope, and Posy arrive at Bridgerton House for tea, Daphne having suggested that the ladies of the family gather to begin making plans and Eloise having apparently been somewhat calmed by subsequent discussion with Kate.
He is just turning the corner, far enough away not to be noticed, when he sees his son intercept Penelope in the corridor on her way back to the blue-and-cream drawing room, where the others are assembled, Anthony and Simon having just arrived, their distaste for discussion of wedding minutiae overcome by the promise of Cook's butter biscuits.
“Pen? Might I have a word?”
“Colin,” she says, voice high and strained. “Of course.”
“A private word,” Colin adds quietly, gesturing toward the door to his study, which he knows he locked earlier that afternoon. But then Colin pulls out a key.
Note to self: have the lock changed. It is not to be borne that fully half of his children have keys to his supposedly private study.
Colin opens the door, loud on its slightly rusted hinges (another note to self: order the hinges oiled at the earliest opportunity), and ushers Penelope in before closing the door soundly behind them.
It may be unbecoming of a man of his years – not to mention a highly-respected viscount – to listen at keyholes like a child, but it's not as if he's left mischief behind him entirely . . .
—
“You cannot marry him, Pen,” says Colin without preamble. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” Penelope asks after a long pause.
“Why not?” Colin echoes in disbelief. “He is old enough to be your father, that's why!”
"I’d hardly be the first woman to marry a man many years my senior," she replies reasonably.
“I – but – you –" Colin sputters. “You just can't."
“I must. You know I need a way out of my sister's household and he has generously given me that way out. I will be free.”
“How does shackling yourself to an old man constitute freedom?” Colin counters fiercely.
He is not so very old as that!
“Colin! You are being horribly rude,” Penelope hisses, “and about your own father –”
“Precisely. My father. I cannot bear the thought of seeing you at his side at every family dinner –”
Penelope sounds truly hurt. “You claim to be my friend –”
“I am –”
“Then why is the idea that I should join your family so abhorrent to you?” Penelope asks tightly. “Even Eloise has begun to make her peace with it. Why can you not?”
“I am not Eloise –”
“Yes, I know; she has my best interests at heart.”
“So do I!”
“So, you think it’s in my best interest to return to Berbrooke Hall at the end of the season?”
“Of course not,” Colin says instantly, sounding at least somewhat abashed. “You can come to Aubrey Hall.”
“You know I cannot without a chaperone. Only as –”
“I’m sure my aunt Georgie wouldn’t mind an excuse to visit,” Colin interrupts a little desperately. “Or you could stay with Anthony and Kate. And there’s always Aunt Billie at Crake. Or Clyvedon, or My Cottage, or Kilmartin. No need to take such a drastic step as marrying Father. Marriage is forever, Pen.”
“Speaking of forever," says Penelope, “I cannot impose on your family’s hospitality indefinitely.”
“Posy isn’t exactly hurrying,” Colin points out.
“That is different; she is Sophie’s sister –”
“Stepsister, and you’re as much a sister to El as any of ours; you can at least stay long enough for you to –”
“For me to what? There is nothing else. No one else. I haven’t exactly got a trail of suitors beating a path to my door. And I haven’t got Posy’s excuse for it.”
She is being somewhat unfair to herself. Portia Featherington was only so much better than Lady Penwood when it came to exerting suitable efforts to marry off her youngest child and, unlike Posy, Penelope lacks a dowry thanks to Archibald's idiocy. Of course –
“You cannot tell me you will be happy marrying a man old enough to be your father,” Colin insists, returning to his earlier theme, “and a grandfather several times over –”
“I did fancy him when I was a girl,” interrupts Penelope matter-of-factly.
He stifles a laugh at the horrified noise Colin makes.
“You cannot tell me you could ever look at him . . . look at him as a man, for God’s sake,” Colin spits, seeming to forget that he is in the presence of a lady and descending into blasphemy, voice laced with such disgust that he nearly feels offended.
He is head and shoulders above his peers, thank you very much.
“It does not matter.”
“Of course it matters!”
“It doesn’t,” Penelope reiterates, “because he does not expect me to do so.”
Colin chokes on air. “I beg your pardon?”
“It will be a marriage in name only. He was adamant about that.”
That had been a most uncomfortable conversation. The whole thing, really. But after Daff let slip that Lady D has an actually promising prospect for Penelope – a very decent fellow whose only real requirement for a wife was youth enough to provide him an heir – and is fully intent on making the match, he knew it was time for a drastic intervention. Lady D plays to win and he must head her off at the pass.
“Who’s to say he wouldn’t change his mind, when faced with the reality of you at his side every day?” Colin counters, an undercurrent of longing in it that Penelope clearly does not hear.
“You needn’t worry about that. But for my present dilemma, he would never have considered remarrying. He says he buried his heart with your mother.”
He closes his eyes a moment. Even now, he aches at the loss of Violet.
Would she have approved of this mad scheme?
Doing whatever it takes to make sure their child doesn’t let happiness slip through his fingers?
Yes.
He opens his eyes.
“I could not take her place in any way. Nor would I wish to.”
“That doesn’t mean –” Thankfully, Colin chooses to cut himself off rather than perturb an innocent by pointing out that what happens in the bedroom and what whispers in the heart can be two very separate things. "And is that enough?” he asks instead.
“It must be. It is more than I expected and I will have no better,” answers Penelope, her voice a painful mixture of poignant and practical.
“Yes, of course. You will be a viscountess,” Colin agrees coolly.
He hears the singular sound of skin meeting skin, wincing at the solid smack of it, picturing the small white hand splayed over his son’s tanned cheek.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Now, Penelope sounds as if she’s about to cry. “I’m not sorry,” she sniffs, sounding very sorry indeed.
“You shouldn’t be,” Colin assures her lowly, sounding at least as ashamed of himself as he ought to be.
“This is the finest and truest family I’ve ever known,” Penelope continues with quiet dignity despite the tearful note, “and it would be the privilege of my life to join it.”
“But why does it have to be like this?”
“Well,” Penelope begins, now with a touch of asperity. “I can hardly wait until Gregory has finished his education in hopes that he might take pity on a dried-up spinster. I haven’t the time.”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
"What are you?” echoes Penelope disbelievingly. “Let me see . . . ah, yes, you are the man who once shouted on a public street that he wouldn’t marry me.”
He groans quietly. For such a clever man, his son could still be such a stupid boy. For half a moment, he considers banging his head against the nearest wall. That won’t do. They are already giving him a headache. He rubs his temples.
A long silence.
“I was an idiot. Being annoyed with Eloise’s nagging was no excuse to be so rude. But please understand, Pen –”
“Don’t call me that!"
“We’re to be family if you go through with this, aren’t we?" protests Colin, a sudden sharp, sardonic edge to his voice. "My dear stepmama-to-be."
"Do not mock me," Penelope orders tightly.
"Since when is it mockery to state a fact?"
"I never dreamed you could be so ugly," Penelope whispers.
Colin groans, muttering something under his breath. "I’m making a complete hash of this. I’m sorry."
"Are you? What for?"
"Everything. Today, that day – especially that day. I've been a beast. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. So I need you to understand – it wasn’t about you. I didn’t want to marry anyone, not then.”
“And what has changed in a year?” He can hear the skepticism warring with hope.
“The fact that you and my father – Good God, I can’t even say it. The very idea makes me ill –”
“I just told you it’s not like that.”
“You don’t understand!” Colin bursts out.
“Well, you’re not making any sense,” Penelope retorts, “and I don’t see a point in further conversation –”
Do better, boy, he thinks helplessly as the doorknob turns.
But the door does not open.
“It’s not just the notion of you marrying my father that is driving me half out of my mind,” Colin carries on desperately. “It’s – Look at me. Please –”
A soft gasp, followed by a loud thump against the door.
“It’s the thought of you marrying anyone –”
A softer gasp.
“Anyone but me.”
Silence, but for the softest exhale. Then – “Truly?”
“Yes. And I know I’ve been foolish and I’ve taken far too long to know my own heart, but will you have me anyway?”
A long enough pause to worry him. Say yes. Say yes, say –
A sigh of relief.
The unmistakable sound of lips meeting –
A pause. Breaths being caught.
“Say it, please. I need to hear it, Penelope.”
“Yes! Yes, of course.”
Another kiss, then laughter, soft and high intertwined with rich and deep, the joy of it contagious.
They can have a few more minutes, he decides magnanimously.
“You’ll have to break the news yourself,” Penelope warns, laughter still in her voice.
“I'll handle it,” promises Colin. “Trust me,” – an infinitesimal pause – “darling.”
All these years later, he still remembers that feeling – heart overflowing with affection, yet still a little shy of showing it so nakedly – that came with using an endearment for the very first time; that moment before the plunge; the lightness he felt at letting it cross his lips at last; the warm glow at seeing Violet's lovely heart in her beautiful eyes, the contentment shining through her soft smile a perfect mirror to the new peace flowing through him.
—
The sound of the doorknob turning and the door opening snaps him out of his reverie.
Colin emerges from the study alone. After closing the door behind him, he pauses to lean back against it, grinning like a fool.
It is only when Colin pushes himself forward and turns to walk off that Edmund finally speaks. “You do realize that it’s highly irregular for an unmarried lady and gentleman to be closeted away alone behind a closed door for more than a quarter of an hour?” he asks with studied mildness.
A horrified squeak from the other side of the door.
Colin’s wide grin fades and his eyes widen.
Clearly, his son and his (obviously now-former) fiancée had meant to time their exits discreetly, not accounting for any listeners lurking nearby. They are very fortunate that the rest of the household is otherwise occupied.
“Especially when the lady is engaged to the gentleman’s father,” he adds, unable to resist.
But then Colin shrugs. “I think it hardly signifies when the purpose of the interview was for the gentleman to render a marriage proposal –”
He wouldn't have described it quite like that.
“– and that proposal was accepted. I’m afraid the best man has won, Father,” Colin concludes with a patronizing pat on the shoulder before strutting proudly down the hall, a spring in his step like he hasn’t a care in the world –
And wearing a smile Edmund hasn’t seen in years.
As soon as Colin is out of sight, he smiles, too.
—
Not a one of his five other children present looks surprised at this news.
“We knew this would happen,” Kate finally informs him.
His jaw drops.
“Papa,” laughs Daphne in his thunderstruck face, “never was there a wilier pack of plotters and schemers than this one you raised. Surely you did not think you had us fooled as to your true intentions?”
“Clearly, I managed to fool two of you,” he mutters defensively.
Colin and Eloise scowl at him, even as Eloise mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ”not for long.”
”Oh no, don’t pretend you were clever enough to figure it out on your own, El,” protests Hyacinth.
“And me,” says Penelope ruefully.
“What I would really like to know,” continues Kate thoughtfully, “is what you would’ve done if Colin hadn’t come to his senses.”
Colin scowls at her, too.
Kate only rolls her eyes.
“I had contingency plans for that,” he replies modestly.
“How many?”
“Never you mind, Katharine,” he says mysteriously.
Not nearly enough, he realizes now. He’d gotten damned lucky that it worked.
“What if he hadn’t realized till the wedding?” asks Hyacinth, curious as ever.
Gregory gives her an uncharacteristically withering look, as if her question is simply so stupid that he is certain he cannot have heard her correctly. “He would’ve stopped it, obviously.”
“Making a fool of himself does sound par for the course with that one,” Anthony laughs. “Can you imagine: bursting right in as the vows are being said like some ghastly Gothic novel?”
Gregory pauses – his romantic's heart clearly at war with the Bridgerton penchant for teasing and tormenting one's siblings – before snickering.
“Colin has a bit more finesse and a good deal more discretion than that,” Daphne disagrees, lips twitching, “but I would’ve paid good money to see it.”
Simon hides a smirk behind his drink.
“Lady Whistledown would’ve needed to devote at least two columns to it,” Hyacinth says wistfully, sounding almost sad that her brother’s betrothal is not entirely irregular. “One of which would cover the subsequent elopement and all the speculation as to whether he’d be disinherited and disowned or whether Papa might feel forgiving.”
He stifles a smile.
Somehow, he suspects Lady Whistledown wouldn’t have devoted many column inches to that particular spectacle.