Chapter Text
London, 1815
Penelope Featherington sits in the back of her carriage, nearly in tears. She is ruined. She is absolutely ruined. Her one marriage prospect, her one chance at a happy life, has slipped through her fingers. Because no matter how hard she tries, no matter how much she has told herself that she needs to move on with her life, her heart won’t let her. Her dumb, stupid heart that refuses to be practical.
As much as she hates it, she can hear her mother’s voice yelling at her for making such poor decisions. The disappointment that she has not secured herself a husband flows through her, and she once again feels like a fool for believing that she could have a happy ending. She has to make peace with the fact that it’s unlikely that she ever will. She buries her head in her hand, no longer able to contain her tears.
She’s so lost in emotion that she doesn’t notice the yelling from outside the carriage; she doesn’t register when the carriage grinds to a halt, or that there’s a banging on the door. Doesn’t notice, at first, that it’s Colin Bridgerton who has abruptly stopped her journey home. There was once a time when she would have been delighted to see him. At the moment, all she feels is anger and resentment.
“Penelope.”
“I do not wish to speak with you,” she says, turning her head away. She feels so vulnerable, tears still in her eyes. She doesn’t wish to be humiliated any further.
“Please! Let me in.” There’s a desperation in Colin’s voice. As mad at him as she is, she’s never been one to tell him no. She is already ruined. What does it matter anyway?
She tries hard not to look at him, not to meet his gaze as she tells the driver to stop at Bridgerton House first. Tries hard to ignore him, but he stares at her with such intensity that it’s hard to look away. “What do you want?”
“Did Lord Debling propose?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“I need to know. Did he propose?”
She scoffs at him. She can’t believe his nerve. “It is odd. When I asked for your help in finding a husband, I did not realise that meant you’d also try to deny me one as well.”
“It is my business, because I care about you,” Colin insists. “You cannot marry that man. He will leave you. And he is too particular. And he’s--he’s just not right for you, Pen.”
“He did not propose,” she bites back at him. She’s feeling so many conflicting emotions at once, and they all seem like they’re about to burst out of her. “In fact, he rejected me because of you. Because the scene you caused led him to believe you had feelings for me, an idea so preposterous I do not know what to do besides laugh. Now will you please let us ride home in silence and leave me alone?”
“I cannot.”
“Please!”
“I cannot! Because… what if I did have feelings for you?”
“What?”
Bang!
The carriage suddenly jolts as the horses begin to neigh. Penelope isn’t sure what has happened, but suddenly they’re going faster. Too fast. Outside, the drivers have lost control of the carriage. They’re screaming at each other about something having spooked one of the horses. The carriage is rickety and rocking dangerously back and forth. Colin throws himself at her side, and she clings onto him as the bumpy ride continues.
Suddenly, the horses make a sharp turn. Too sharp. The carriage can’t take it, and it begins to topple over. Penelope feels herself being thrown into the side of the carriage.
“Colin!” she calls out, grasping for him. But then her head hits something hard, and everything goes black.
London, 2025
Penelope Featherington’s head is killing her. She isn’t sure what happened, only that she’s lying on the ground and that there are a lot of voices around her.
“Penelope!” She hears Colin’s voice cry. She tries to open her eyes but is met with a blinding light. “Penelope, are you alright?”
Her eyes flutter open. It’s daytime, and her head still hurts, but she manages to sit herself up. Colin is at her side, cradling her, running a hand through her hair. “Colin?”
Her surroundings come into focus and… It’s definitely Colin beside her, only… something is different. His clothes - they’re all wrong. She doesn’t recognise his form of dress. She looks down at herself and sees that she is no longer wearing her evening gown, but some unknown fabric clings to her body.
The world around her begins to come into focus. It’s loud. The buildings are looming over her, and a large crowd of people is starting to form around them. She grabs onto Colin, feeling nervous. Something happened when she hit her head. She doesn’t know what, but one thing seems clear.
This is definitely not the world she’s used to. What happened to them?
Penelope looks around them, trying to catch a glimpse of the carriage, but it has disappeared. She tries to sit up, but Colin’s arms around her make it difficult. Wincing at the movement, she settles back down and tries to crane her neck to see beyond the gaggle of people closing in on them. Nausea swells in her belly, but she bites at the corners of her lips. God help her, she will not be sick in front of all these people.
Everything is so loud.
They’re asking them so many questions. Are they okay? Do they need an ambulance? (She’s not sure what an ambulance is, but she suspects she does not want one.)
“Pen? You did not answer me. Are you alright?”
Penelope’s gaze darts to him. She does not know where she is or what is going on, and she is fairly certain that, as far as any reasonable standard goes, she is not alright. But she cannot help but feel safe in his arms, like even if things aren’t okay right now, they will be eventually.
Colin doesn’t look like he did just moments before, when he was on his knees in front of her, confessing his feelings for her. Worry has furrowed his brow, confusion glazing over the nervousness even as he tries to steel it back into something harder and more vigilant. He is just as scared and confused as she is, no matter how much he tries to hide it.
“I-I think I’m alright. Or at least as alright as I can be. Colin, what happened? Where is the carriage?”
Colin looks around before returning his gaze to her. He doesn’t know any more than she does.
The crowd around them thins once they realise that neither she nor Colin is in immediate distress. Colin murmurs and reassures lingering onlookers that they are, in fact, alright and don’t need any medical assistance. They murmur back, eyes darting between the two of them in doubt as they leave. The words they use are odd, terms and phrases she has never heard before slide from their mouths and settle into her brain like misshapen pieces of a puzzle she has only half the pieces of.
After a few more moments, Colin shifts back and stands, holding out a hand to help her up. It’s only then that she finally has a chance to look at him, really look at him.
Gone is his formal wear, the clothing he wore in the carriage replaced by something altogether unrecognizable. His shirt, waistcoat, and suit jacket have been swapped out for a dark, short-sleeved shirt, and his breeches replaced with dark blue trousers.
He still looks worried, though, as he looks her over, seemingly unconcerned that she is not properly dressed for the public. She has no idea where her evening gown has disappeared to, but she does know that what she’s wearing now is restrictive in ways her gown was not. Dark blue fabric encircles her thighs, a button digging uncomfortably into her belly. Something that is certainly not a chemise covers her chest.
“May I?” he asks.
“May you what?”
Colin nods down at her, his hands lingering awkwardly by her sides as he gestures up and down. “I was going to check you for injury. Anything we may have missed now that the shock has worn off. I was trying to be a gentleman about it, though it seems that wherever we are has no mind or care for propriety.”
Penelope scoffs. Propriety. The man chased her carriage down after ruining her engagement; she hardly thought he cared for propriety. “I do not think the shock has worn off, Colin. What is happening?”
“I assure you that if I knew, I would have told you,” he replies, looking around again. “I know just as much as you, Penelope. It looks like we are about where we were when the carriage lost control —”
He pauses, his gaze finding hers as he clears his throat and places a hand against the back of his neck. Colin’s cheeks flush as he drops his gaze and swallows. He was about to tell her how he felt when they crashed, when their world upended itself, and they got cast into…whatever this was. She’s not even sure it’s not a dream, some injury-induced addlement from the accident, a nightmare she is sure to wake up from any moment.
Right?
“Pen, in the carriage—”
She does not want to hear it.
Do not say things you do not mean is what she was going to say.
If this is a dream, she does not want to hear what he says next. If he never finishes his thought, if she never knows what comes after, and she gets to stay in the version of reality where Colin reciprocates her feelings. Where he tells her he loves her too, and everything she has ever wanted is realised.
However, if it’s not a dream, well, she hardly thinks they have time to talk about it now. They’re in a strange land that looks vaguely like the Mayfair she knows, more jagged pieces to the puzzle. Her head throbs with pain, a scrape lines the span of her forearm where her skin’s been rubbed raw from the ground, and her entire body aches.
“Colin, I do not think it is the right time to discuss that.”
Something flashes in Colin’s eyes, his lips hardening into a thin line as he nods. “Alright, then.”
“I know we will need to talk about it, but Colin…”
“I know,” he says, his voice harsh and stern. Immediately, it softens. “I apologise, Pen. I admit I am also a bit shaken.”
Penelope nods in understanding, turning and offering her hand to him, watching as he intertwines their fingers. “As am I. I have been thinking about what we should do. All of this feels like it may be a dream, but it all feels so real at the same time. I’m frightened, Colin.”
There it is. The sickening feeling has been settling uneasily in her stomach since she woke up. Beneath all the confusion, the pain, and the uncertainty is the fear. That, reality or dream, something is wrong. The fear that they are not home, not in the way they used to be, and that there is a chance that they may never go home again.
“You said Bridgerton House was a comfort for you, or at least it used to be?”
“Yes, but —”
“Then shall we see whether or not Bridgerton House exists wherever we are?”