Chapter Text
Tonight marks the final ball of the season. The social gathering to celebrate every social gathering that came before it. Each one an important chapter in some lucky couple’s love story. That’s what Violet Bridgerton would say, at least. Benedict would call it a celebration of the friendship and art (and sex, wine, drugs, etc.) forged in the last six months or so. Eloise would say it’s the last time she’s forced to endure a corset before retreating to the country for the remainder of the year. Tonight, Colin would argue that it’s an excellent place to drink. And to catch a glimpse of a certain elusive redhead.
He stands in the depths of Lady Danbury’s ballroom, swishing back the last drops of champagne from his glass. As the bubbles prick his throat, he half-listens to Violet and Francesca’s commentary on his sister’s first official season.
Colin had earnestly attempted to take interest in his sister’s debut. It’s a momentous time in any woman’s life — or at least that was what he was told. But despite these attempts, Colin did not take an active role in Francesca’s debut. Nor Eloise’s second season. Truthfully, he did not even take an active role in his own social expectations this year. There were simply other, more important things occupying his mind, leaving little room for other matters.
Well, there was one thing on his mind.
One person, really.
One of Francesca’s (discarded) suitors approaches the group to share a word. If Colin gave slightly more of a damn, he might roll his eyes at the man’s feeble attempt to win a lady’s favor on the final night of the season. Instead, he takes the opportunity to slip away. He follows the path his eyes have been trained on all night.
Moving through the crowd between them, Colin watches Penelope as she dances across the floor. He supposes “dance” is somewhat of a generous term for the act. It would be more accurate to describe Penelope as being “thrown around” by the geezer she’s been paired with.
Her “dance” partner is Jeremy Michaelson, a Welsh lord who’s attended these events a few weeks now. To this day, Colin has never spoken a word to the man, but he knows his type. The type to wander into the Ton halfway through a season and expect to scoop up whichever young bride fits his liking. Judging from his performance on the dance floor, out of sync with not just his partner, but the room around him, Colin also takes him for a deaf man with two left feet.
As the orchestra grows louder, the strings building towards a climax, Colin’s eyes shift back to Penelope. She’s wearing a dress of blush and gold, the floral fabric reflecting the light of the room. It’s as if every step she takes changes the light around her. It’s entrancing. Literally. Colin cannot take his eyes off of her.
Penelope’s hair is loosely pinned atop her head, pink flowers laced through red curls. She looks beautiful, even with that unmistakable frown persisting on her lips as she’s guided by Michaelson. When Colin thinks of Penelope, he usually thinks of her smile before anything else. Before this season, she rarely spoke to him without that smile gracing her lips.
When the music finally draws to a close, Penelope takes a step back from Michaelson and nods politely. Her partner, in turn, starts hacking relentlessly. His old lungs were clearly not built for the dance routine. His greasy fingers latch onto Penelope’s shoulder for balance. That is Colin’s last straw.
The 1815 season had been markedly different than years past for several reasons. The most prominent, distressing difference for Colin was in his relationship with his best friend. Before the season even began, he could sense that something had shifted between them. During his travels, he had sent her countless letters, persistent but always unanswered. While it was not unusual for his siblings to leave such letters unanswered, he did not expect the same from Penelope.
In that time between seasons, he could sense that a shift had occurred between them. But, for the life of him, he could not think of a single logical reason why — so he brushed it off. For months, he foolishly held on to hope that he was simply over-thinking Penelope’s silence. That all would be well once they were together again. Once he could look into her eyes and speak to her directly.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” she had called him, the night of the Queen’s inaugural ball. Her eyes were apathetic. Her voice was cool. The fact that she had run out of every room he had walked into that night should have been the first clue that his suspicions were correct. That something of significance had changed between them. But Colin has a tendency to overlook such details.
“Miss Featherington,” he calls to her now.
Penelope’s head turns quickly, a look of surprise on her face. Although Colin’s eyes have been transfixed on her all night, clearly she was unaware of his presence.
“Colin?” she says quickly. Her surprise carries through to her voice. He suppresses a grin when he hears his Christian name fall from her lips.
“It is getting quite late.” Colin takes his eyes off of her for just a second, just to glance at the old man. He’s coughing up a storm a foot away from where they stand. “I was hoping you might save me a dance before the night is finished.”
Colin looks down at the dance card tied around Penelope’s gloved wrist. From this distance, it appears disappointingly full.
“I believe the lady said she was about to retire —”
“Yes. I believe I have one dance left in me,” she says, cutting the old man off. Colin is so pleasantly surprised that his brain seems to stop working for a moment. Then Penelope’s hand is in his, leading him towards the other side of the dance floor.
“Thank you,” she whispers once they find their positions across from one another.
“Whatever for?” Colin responds, a smirk on his face. The music starts.
He pulls Penelope, hand already resting in his own, a few inches closer as their feet move in step.
“For saving me from that…” She glances behind her. Michaelson is now walking towards the staircase at the opposite end of the room. It looks as though the distance might kill him.
“Walking corpse?”
Penelope laughs in spite of herself. Colin considers it a win.
Though his mouth remains closed, Colin wants to tell her that he would save her from a million men like Jeremy Michaelson. He wants to tell her that he would do anything to make her happy, to protect her. He wants to tell her all of this, but he fears uttering those words aloud will only make it easier for him to let her down. Again.
The music picks up and, despite the tension between them this past season, Colin cannot help but notice their movements are as natural as they ever were. It always feels natural with Penelope, he remembers.
About halfway through the dance, Colin notices Penelope’s attention float to the back of the room. Curiosity getting the better of him, he turns to investigate what has stolen her attention away from him. That’s when he sees Portia Featherington… speaking very closely with Jeremy Michaelson.
Suppressing a groan from deep within his gut, Colin gently pulls his dance partner towards the other side of the room. Towards the garden. As if taking Portia out of view could magically save Penelope from her mother’s scheming.
Colin’s movement disrupts the flow of the dance floor. He weaves Penelope through the other couples while they continue following the intended steps (silently, Colin prays Anthony is not watching from the corner somewhere, or else he will surely receive a lecture on the embarrassment of improper dance etiquette later that night). While Cressida Cowper may throw him a disgusted look for nearly stepping on her dress, Penelope does not miss a step.
Once they land on the edge of the dance floor, Penelope squeezes his hand. Leaning in a bit closer, she says, “This hall is starting to feel a bit crowded, would you say?”
Colin’s brow furrows. What is she getting at?
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“I believe a stroll through the garden would be quite refreshing at this time of night,” she says, her eyes fixed on his intently. Earlier in the season, Penelope would have said something like this to avoid Colin’s company. The way she’s looking up at him now, her gaze open and uninterrupted… This is an invitation.
Maybe there’s hope for them yet.
Colin clears his throat. “Yes. And the perfect weather for star gazing.”
The orchestra plays on. The other couples move in sync. Colin and Penelope exit the dance floor. No one notices them slip into the moonlight.
⚘ ⚘ ⚘
Colin has no idea if his comment on star gazing was true or not. As he strolls along a row of lily bushes, the only sight his eyes can focus on is the girl walking beside him.
She’s telling him about her friendship with Lady Danbury, who had taken Penelope under her wing that season. Her voice grows louder as they walk farther away from the crowd behind them. She’s telling him about the many hours she spent in this very garden. She’s talking with her hands; she nearly chops a lily off its stem as she recounts stories Danbury had shared with her. Particularly, about Queen Charlotte and her many… quirks.
“She has somewhat of an obsession with flowers. She has them sent here from points all around the world, just to ensure that there is always something blooming in her garden.”
“Even in January?”
“Yes!” Penelope exclaims excitedly. Her gloved hand accidentally brushes against Colin’s bare knuckles. “Well, not necessarily in her garden, of course. But she supposedly has a magnificent bush of Jasmine in her green house. It blooms at the start of every new year.”
“Flowers for the new year,” he repeats back to her, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
Penelope approaches a rather large willow tree and presses her back against it. Colin realizes that they’ve walked so deeply into Danbury’s garden that they can no longer hear the ball they left behind.
Silence hangs between them.
For months, Colin had been very cautious around Penelope. At the start of the season, he could barely speak a word to her without her running off. When she did stick around long enough to spare him a conversation, it was brief. Formal. Always delivered to a “Mr. Bridgerton.” Never to “Colin.” Those first few months were difficult for him to navigate, but eventually, he learned to adapt.
Desperate not to lose her for good, Colin found a balance between giving Penelope the space she needed and receiving the company he so ardently desired. Around the midpoint of the season, they spoke briefly, but politely to one another at most social gatherings. Although not as familiar as the conversations they had once entertained, they were certainly preferable to silence.
Around the time that Prudence had gotten engaged, things had shifted between them again. He’s not sure exactly what did it, but Penelope’s defenses began to lower. Slowly.
Although rare, Colin lived for the moments when he and Penelope resembled the friends they once were. But he also knew that if he wanted their relationship to truly go back to what it once was — or perhaps even more — he needed to remain cautious. He could not push things too far. He could not say the wrong thing. He could not meddle too much, even if…
“Do I need to worry about that Michaelson fellow harassing you?”
“Harassing me?” Penelope questions, incredulously. “No. Lord Michaelson is harmless. Just old. And quite boring.” Her words relax him. A little. “It’s my mama I am more worried about.”
“How so?” Although he doesn’t have to ask.
Colin is no stranger to meddling mamas, and he knows Portia Featherington well enough to know she would do anything in her power to secure prosperous futures for each of her daughters. His mind goes back to that image of Portia and Michaelson conversing at the base of Lady Danbury’s stairway; his heart sinks before he can push it aside.
“She thinks he would be a suitable marriage match for me.”
“That’s ridiculous! He’s old enough to be your grandfather,” he exclaims without thought. He knows this conversation is anything but cautious — that it could potentially derail all the work he had done that season. But that fact is greatly overshadowed by threat of Penelope marrying a man like Jeremy Michaelson.
“I am not going to marry him, Colin.” There’s a confidence in her voice that soothes his nerves. A bit. “I do not wish to marry for any reason other than love, and I certainly do not see any prospect of love with that man.”
“Well… good.” Colin stammers out. He’s having trouble finding the proper words to navigate this exchange. He had discussed the topic of marriage with Penelope on occasion before, but the matter had never felt so… serious.
“You deserve to marry for love, Pen.”
Even in the dark cover of night, he can see her nose scrunch tightly. A look of doubt crosses her face. She opens her mouth, but instead of arguing with him, she merely says: “As do you.”
A short, comfortable silence passes between them. Then Penelope speaks up again, a forced-perkiness to her voice. “Tonight marks the end of the season. What foreign land will you be setting off to in the morning?”
“Oh… No. I’m planning on staying in Mayfair. For a little while at least,” he says, hoping his response sounds casual enough. Penelope looks baffled.
“What happened to your insatiable need to explore exotic lands? To forge new experiences, to eat delicious foods, to —” She’s throwing his words back at him. Words he had written to her in confidence while on his previous travels. It does not escape his mind that she is reciting fragments of letters she had previously claimed not to have read at all. Colin knows she could go on like this for hours. While he does find it somewhat amusing, he does wish to move past the subject.
“I can do all those things after next year’s season. I am four and twenty. I surely hope that time is not running out to achieve such goals.”
“Well… Yes. But you could be married by the end of next season. It will surely be more difficult to explore the world once you have a family of your own.”
Colin desperately wants to move past this subject.
“The last time I checked, I have a family now. If you were to ask my mama to inquire on the subject, she would undoubtedly tell you that I have spent enough time away from my family as it is. Enough to last us all a lifetime.”
While that may technically be true, Colin feels guilty implying that that it is the primary reason behind his choice to remain in England in the coming months. In truth, there are too many reasons to count and he refuses to spend enough time on the subject to determine which is most pressing. But if he were to rank them, he knows that Violet’s passive aggressive comments would be far from the top of that list.
“Will any of your family be with you here? In Mayfair?”
“No — well, Anthony will be traveling back and forth. And Benedict always grows bored of the country and returns to Mayfair early. But… more than that… I doubt I will remain in Mayfair all that time. Without any travel plans restricting me, I’ll be able to visit Daph and Aubrey Hall as much as I please.” Colin realizes that he is rambling. That he is talking stupidly fast. Attempting to bring himself back to a normal tempo, he adds, “Actually, the entire family is traveling to Aubrey Hall for a week to cap off the season. Daphne’s even bringing little Auggie.”
Penelope smiles at him, earnestly. “When do you depart?”
“Tuesday.” Less than four days from now.
They are silent a moment. Then Penelope says, “It’s admirable, how close you are with your family.” There is an unmistakable sadness — or maybe longing — in her voice as she says this.
“Will you be presiding in the country for the remainder of the year?”
“No, actually,” she says, to Colin’s surprise. The Featheringtons always travel to the country during the off-season. The whole Ton does, really. “I will be here in Mayfair, as well.”
If he hadn’t sensed an unease in her voice, Colin would have been elated to hear that he and Penelope would be living in the same city a little while longer. He might have taken it as a sign. A blessing, even.
“So you and your mother —”
“No,” she cuts him off. She looks away. “Mama is traveling to Ireland to visit an ailing aunt. She’s likely only traveling there to secure me a rich cousin to marry. Either way, I would only get in the way.”
Colin’s body goes rigid, panic coursing up and down his back. When she finishes speaking, he manages to say, “So you’ll be here… alone?”
Penelope pushes herself off the willow tree. She is back standing firmly on two feet. “No, the staff remains here year-round.”
“That is not what I meant.” Pleasantry quickly fades from Colin’s tone, panic rising up to take its place.
“Did you not just pronounce that you, yourself, will remain alone in Mayfair for some time?”
“That is different.”
“How so?”
“You are an unmarried lady of nineteen. Do you really think —”
“Colin.” Her voice is stern, cutting him off before he has the chance to say something truly insulting. “I know it is unusual, but these are my circumstances. My father is gone. Philipa and Prudence are both married off. It is just mama and myself now. And I can promise you that traveling with her to Ireland would result in an infinitely worse fate than whatever could happen to me alone in Mayfair.”
When she stops speaking, she watches him, waiting for him to object to the obviously insane notion that she should stay in Mayfair alone for any amount of time. But Colin doesn’t object, he’s too busy weighing the scales in his mind. Questioning if he needs to push Penelope towards logic, or if that will simply push her away from him.
Softer now, both in the tone of her voice and look in her eyes, she says, “People tend to underestimate wallflowers. They assume that there is an inherent weakness in those who are overlooked. A lack of sense in those who do not speak up. But I do have sense. I have spent enough time alone to learn how to survive on my own.”
He knows there is truth to her words. He knows firsthand how easily it is to overlook Penelope’s intelligence. Her resourcefulness. Her value. But if her words were meant to convince Colin to accept her preposterous plans, they surely failed her.
“I know your worth, Pen. But even if you can live on your own, it should not mean you have to.”
Her shoulders move backwards, as if his words land a physical blow to her body.
“I will be fine. I promise.”
Colin has to literally bite his tongue to keep himself from saying the wrong thing. He wants to protect her, of course, but it is not just that. He wants her to be happy. He wants her to be surrounded by people who love and care for her. He wants her to possess the family she deserves.
“You could come with me to Aubrey Hall this —”
“No, Colin. I cannot.” Any ounce of anger or annoyance is gone from her voice. She simply sounds tired. “Eloise has made it clear that she does not wish for me to remain in her company any longer. It would be wrong of me to cross that boundary.”
“You would be my guest.” His words reek of desperation.
Penelope simply shakes her head. “I will stay here, in Mayfair. I shall be here when you return.” Then, “Goodnight, Colin.”
As she turns on her heel, Colin feels a sense of dread boiling up from his stomach. He had spent the last six months expertly towing the line to bring himself back into Penelope’s favor. Ten minutes ago, they were laughing and conversing like old friends. Ten seconds ago, Penelope said goodbye to him with a familiar coolness to her voice. He wishes she had left him angrily. That would have given him more hope for their future.
Feeling lost within himself, Colin watches as Penelope walks away from him. Her skirt sways behind her. The gold beading reflects the silver of the full moon above. The iridescent reflection turns her dress into a constellation across her skin. It’s mesmerizing.
He wants to walk towards her. He wants to call after her. He wants to go back in time. He should step forward. He should, but he doesn’t. It’s like ivy suddenly sprouts from the ground and twists around his ankles. He could easily break free from its grasp, but he can’t.
He wants to follow her, but he fears that if he gets too close, she might disappear forever.