Chapter Text
Some hearts must break to learn how to heal.
Penelope Featherington had not expected that, on the eve of her wedding, she would feel so much and, at the same time, understand nothing. Joy and ecstasy collided with sadness and anxiety, each emotion pulling her in a different direction until she no longer knew what was real and what was not.
She had visited Madame Delacroix in hopes of quelling her fears about the big day ahead and sharing her joy with a friend. After the quarrel with Eloise, she had been left alone. Her mother was always busy with other matters, and her sisters were married, at their own homes, far too preoccupied for Penelope’s troubled mind.
So there she was, wandering the streets of Mayfair to return home, when a tall figure nearly collided with her in the darkness of the narrow streets.
“What are you doing here?” His sharp voice broke her heart a little more than it already was. Penelope swallowed hard, wanting to reply, when his piercing voice interrupted her.
“Actually, don’t answer. It’s clear I’ve found you in the middle of some secret affairs. I don’t want to know.”
He turned decisively to leave and a dull pain blossomed in her chest.
So this was how their marriage would be? There would always be accusations and distrust? Did she want a marriage like that? And what was he doing wandering the streets of Mayfair at such a late hour?
Penelope was Whistledown—she knew everything that moved in town, she knew of his adventures at the brothels, the women he met.
She suppressed the sigh from her chest and stepped toward him.
“And what secret affairs are you up to, alone on the night before our wedding?” Penelope could barely breathe, or think. She gripped the thick, velvety material of her blue cloak just to steady her trembling hands. Once upon a time, Colin Bridgerton had told her he loved her, and she had believed him. She had believed he would be devoted to her alone and that their love would be so strong it could overcome any obstacle. She had been wrong.
“What right do you have to ask me that?” He turned toward her, furious. His eyes were dark, exactly like that afternoon on the couch in their future home, only now for a different reason. He was angry in a way she had never seen before.
“After everything you’ve hidden from me,” he said bluntly. “Everything you’ve written over the years, all the harm you’ve caused.”
“You’re right,” she replied in the same raised tone. If admitting her mistakes meant his forgiveness, then so be it. “I know how much harm I’ve caused, and I deeply regret it.”
Penelope nibbled at her lower lip, just to suppress her tears. She was convinced she was about to unravel in the worst possible way, right in front of him, and she did not want that.
“What were you thinking when you wrote about Eloise?” he asked, furious.
What had she been thinking? She had only wanted to protect her from the queen, to keep her reputation intact, while actually hiding the serious actions his sister was taking, meeting a man from outside society in secret.
“I just wanted to protect her.” Her voice softened. All she had wanted was to protect Eloise. Never had writing a column been more difficult. Never had she hated herself more than when their friendship had broken. Everything had been her fault, hadn’t it? His anger made sense; she deserved it. So, she accepted the accusations that were rightly directed at her.
“I know I was wrong.” Her fingers dug into the thick material of her coat. “Don’t cry!” she repeated in her mind, as she had when she was a child and her mother scolded her, in front of her older sisters.
“And when you wrote about Miss Thompson?” His harsh voice and eyes darkened by fury made her flinch, taking a step back. Miss Thompson—Marina hadn't been Miss Thompson for a long time. She had been Lady Crane for two years now, but it seemed Colin still hadn't gotten used to it, or perhaps he refused to accept it. Penelope was on the verge of falling apart. So that’s what this was all about—about Marina and the chance she had stolen from him to marry her. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a sensation akin to nausea settled in her stomach. Her mouth grew dry, and her ears rang as she tried to find the right words to defend herself. But none came.
'Without the gossip published by Whistledown, perhaps things would have been different.' His words from last season, after the visit to the Crane estate, echoed in Penelope’s mind. How naive she had been then, believing that if he visited her, he would finally get over the childish passion he had carried for that woman. What a fool she was to believe that. It was clear that meeting her had unsettled him because he had wished things had turned out differently. He truly wanted Marina Thompson to be his wife, and Penelope had destroyed his dream; she had ruined his first love, and he was furious. That was the real reason for his anger, she knew it now. It wasn't about his sister, or even what she had written about him at the beginning of this season. It had always been about Marina. He wanted her, and Penelope should have known that better than anyone. No matter how much Colin had hurt her over time, she hadn't stopped loving him, not even once. 'Lady Crane wanted to trick you, Colin. I only wanted to protect you.' The tears she had struggled so hard to suppress finally broke, streaming down her cheeks.
“You should have told me yourself,” he remarked, insensitive to her tears. “The decision was mine, Penelope. I had to decide what I wanted to do with my own life. I didn’t want it dictated by others, and certainly not by you.” His words were poison for her soul. How was she supposed to get through this night? How would she face the altar tomorrow? Was there still any chance for them?
“I understand!” she whispered between sobs. “I—I truly regret it, Colin. I regret it from the bottom of my heart.”
He looked into her eyes for a few moments, as if weighing something only he could understand, then, with the determination of a man who wanted to carry out his plan for that night, he turned his back on her and left, leaving her heartbroken and her face streaked with tears in the darkness of the night. For the second time since their engagement, Penelope had been abandoned by him in the street as if she had meant nothing at all.
“Maybe it’s not too late to run,” she told herself. She could write a column, making it appear that she was the one to blame for their broken engagement, leaving his reputation untarnished. She arrived home and sat on the bed for just a few minutes, long enough to outline her escape plan, but her eyes stung from the tears and her eyelids felt heavy. Her heart was broken, and all she wanted was a little rest. So she lay down, without even changing out of her dress, and closed her eyes for a few seconds. She had to take the Whistledown money and hide it in a suitcase. A few dresses would be enough. She didn’t know whether to head south or north—or perhaps leave England altogether. She knew nothing for certain. She only knew she had to leave. But the seconds turned into minutes, then into hours. The morning rays and a few loud knocks on the door made her jump. She had slept through the entire night.
Today was her wedding day.
And she wasn't ready at all.
*****
Penelope gazed silently at her wedding dress. It was beautiful—perhaps the most beautiful dress she would ever wear. While Rae and Mrs. Varley prepared her for the big day, Penelope could not help but wonder if she was worthy of the immaculate dress she was about to wear. She looked into the mirror at the way her curls fell harmoniously around her face. Her face, perfectly arranged like that of a bride, was too perfect for the storm raging in her soul.
She looked at her chest, constrained by the specially made corset from Madame Delacroix for this day and the wedding night, and she liked what she saw. She hoped Colin would be pleased with her, at least that much.
The Featherington house was full of relatives from Ireland, so Penelope was grateful when she finally stepped out of the door and climbed into the carriage that would take her to the church. A wave of excitement swept over her at the thought that tonight she would share the same house with Colin. She wondered if he was still upset with her, if he would be happy to see her, if he would kiss her again when they were alone. Penelope had experienced an unusual longing for Colin in recent days. It was no longer about that quiet longing she had experienced when he traveled and she saw him rarely. No! The longing she had felt in recent days had been devastating, consuming her. She had craved his closeness more than ever; she had even tried to mimic his touch in her intimate area, but without success. She hoped, oh how she hoped, that tonight she would again be his, loved by him, even though she knew he did not fully love her—she knew his heart was not completely hers. She had somewhat reconciled with this—or at least, that’s what she told herself. She would find out later whether she was right or wrong.
The first thing she felt as she stepped into the church was the delicate scent of flowers filling the air. White peonies, with petals soft as silk, stretched among pale pink roses, arranged carefully in elegant bouquets, while the yellow roses, bright as the morning sun, shone among crystal vases.
Her first step on the red carpet leading to the altar made her heart leap. The ceremony had begun, but for Penelope everything felt like it was happening in a dream. Sunlight filtered through the church’s stained glass, playing on the floor with warm colors, and every flower petal seemed to vibrate at the touch of her gaze. The white peonies swayed gently, almost as if breathing with her; the yellow and pink roses added a sweet, delicate fragrance that enveloped her senses, making her feel that anything was possible.
Each pew was decorated with small heaps of flowers tied with fine white and golden ribbons, bathing the room in a warm, almost magical light. Penelope felt her steps on the soft carpet tremble under the weight of her emotions. And yet, there was no fear. Or perhaps there was, but it had been swallowed by immense joy, a feeling of being completely at home. Above all, Colin awaited her at the altar. Not a stranger, not a man she had never wished to marry, but Colin—the love of her life. In his immaculate navy suit, he looked like he had stepped out of a painting: broad shoulders, a confident posture, and each step radiating calm and determination. The closer he came, the more Penelope could see how the sunlight caught his chestnut curls, giving them golden highlights that seemed to shine just for her. His eyes glimmered with a warm intensity, his lips curved into a smile that made her heart leap, and she stepped toward him with steadier steps, feeling, for the first time that day, completely at home.
When the priest began the service, Penelope’s heart began to race faster and faster. She felt her pulse fluttering under her veins as Colin gently squeezed her hand, seemingly seeking the same anchor to hold onto, assuring himself that everything would be alright.
Penelope spoke her vows with conviction, looking into Colin’s eyes the entire time with love and devotion. Her heart froze in her chest when she noticed the hesitation in his voice and the way his gaze seemed to constantly slip past her shoulder. Their kiss was chaste, a mere light touch of the lips, and she knew it wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Her soul grew increasingly bitter as they approached Featherington House for the wedding breakfast. Colin kept his eyes fixed on the ground the whole way, barely speaking to her. They were husband and wife at last. They should have been enjoying one another, pampered with tender gestures and feeling close. She discreetly wiped away the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She would not cry today. If he was upset, she would give him the time he needed, just to be as they were before.
Featherington House was packed with guests. Portia had boasted about her youngest daughter’s wedding, inviting every acquaintance and friend just to spite them. The Featherington family was finally united with the Bridgerton family, and Penelope knew this had been her mother’s dream for a long time. So, she had placed herself in her hands, letting her handle everything.
For a moment, Penelope lost sight of Colin for a moment in the frenzy of guests in the drawing room, only to spot him a few minutes later, sipping champagne, laughing heartily, and talking exclusively with Lady Crane. Before she completely lost her breath and her self-control, Penelope noticed their closeness. She saw the way Marina's hand had touched his, tracing faint circles, almost imperceptibly.
The ground seemed to vanish beneath her feet. Her vision blurred, and her heart pounded wildly. She leaned on the drinks table, trying to gather her strength. She was now Mrs. Bridgerton, and Colin was her husband. She was not going to let such horror ruin this day. She gathered what control she had left, ignored the pounding in her ears and her weak legs, and stepped toward them.
“Lady Crane!” she said in a thin tone, foreign to her own ears. “I didn’t know you’d be coming after all.”
Marina immediately removed her hand from Colin’s arm, and he took a step back, his gaze downcast.
“Philip stayed home with the twins; they haven’t recovered from their cold yet. But he allowed me to come to my dear cousin’s wedding, so here I am!”
Marina’s syrupy, fake voice turned Penelope’s stomach. She swallowed hard, trying to push back the bitter taste rising in her throat. She could hear Colin humming contentedly beside her, pleased with Marina’s presence at their wedding breakfast, and for a moment Penelope felt dizzy. She wanted to sit down, convinced she might faint.
The conversation continued, but she heard it all as if through a haze.
“Isn’t that so, Pen?” her husband’s voice drew her attention, bringing her back for a moment.
“Excuse me, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Marina, I mean Lady Crane, said Lady Featherington has no spare rooms, and she must return to the Crane estate tonight.”
Colin’s voice was firm, almost pushing her toward accepting the situation.
“I told Marina she can stay one night with us, and tomorrow morning she can head off.”
Penelope blinked several times, confused, when Marina intervened:
“I could never do that. It’s your first night as husband and wife; surely you don’t want anyone around.”
Her falsely sweet and saccharine tone turned Penelope’s stomach. She wondered why Colin would subject her to such torture at their wedding breakfast. Was this the ultimate punishment for all the mischief she had written in Whistledown over the years?
Colin’s gaze fell on her, firmer this time:
“Pen, Marina can stay with us for one night, can’t she?”
His intense look left her no choice. She nodded uncertainly, and Colin disappeared from beside them, leaving her alone again.
Penelope remained by the drinks table, feeling her entire body tremble. Her heart was broken, and her stomach churned with a mix of anger and fear. She tried to gather her thoughts, not letting herself be overwhelmed by what she had just witnessed. Colin, her husband, the man she loved above all else, had been near another woman, and she had learned again that she could not read his heart.
She remembered clearly the previous night, when she had met him on the dark streets of Mayfair. The way Colin had looked at her, his sharp voice, the reproaches that had broken her heart… it all came back like a painful echo. And then, she had felt for the first time that in their marriage, storms would never truly end.
Now, at the wedding breakfast, the feeling was the same, but far more intense. Colin had lingered near Marina, laughing openly, and Penelope felt as if her world were falling apart right before her eyes. She tried to take a deep breath, steadying her thoughts, refusing to let her tears fall. Not today. Today, she was a bride.
Yet, the anger and the pain had not disappeared. She felt them piercing her chest, and every accidental touch of Marina’s hand on Colin’s arm was like a flame burning her heart. Still, she did not cry. She stood upright, clenching the fabric of her dress, breathing deeply, and trying to focus on her own strength. Penelope knew deep down that this day would never be just about joy. It was the beginning of a struggle she had never anticipated, and for which she might not even be ready.
Her heart beat wildly as she stepped once more into their home in Bloomsbury. A strange sense of déjà vu stirred in her chest, as memories of that day—when he first brought her here—surfaced. For the first time that day, Penelope felt she would cry. She was going to collapse under her own suffering and weep until she died. The feelings cornering her were overwhelming. She wished she had never stepped into this house before; then, he would have had no reason to marry her. 'Perhaps this was one of your plans to trap me.' Penelope began to have more and more regrets as the minutes passed alarmingly fast, while Colin remained just as stoic and cold in her presence.
“I’ll show you to the guest room myself,” his slightly enthusiastic voice said to Marina. “We don’t have any staff at the moment; they’ll start tomorrow.”
Penelope saw Marina’s sly smirk and bitterly regretted the night she had asked Colin to kiss her.
A few minutes later, when Penelope settled into the room that should have been their bedroom, Colin burst in, saying he would not share the night with her and would sleep in his own room. She felt her blood drain from her body and regretted the night she had let him enter her carriage and take liberties with her. When the door closed behind him, she wept. What had just happened? This was supposed to be their wedding night. Why wasn’t he here with her?
She lay on the bed, exhausted from the tiring day, letting herself succumb to tears. She regretted every dance, every letter, every declaration of love she had spoken, and she cried. She cried until her eyes were dry, and the twilight at her window had turned into a night black as pitch, without a single star in the sky.
Penelope stood up, suddenly feeling breathless. She tried to undo her dress, but her reach was too short and she simply couldn't manage. She felt as though she were suffocating; with every passing moment, it felt as if her corset were tightening around her body like a vice. Her breaths became increasingly ragged, and she found the courage to step out of the room to ask Colin or Marina for help, just enough to loosen the laces of her dress and corset. As she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, Penelope was first struck by air cooler than that of her room. She took a few steps while her heart refused to ease its wild pounding in her chest. A strange sensation of anticipation pierced her breast, and for a second, Penelope wanted to go back into her bedroom and hide under the covers. A woman's faint giggle echoed down the hallway where the bedrooms were, like a ghost haunting late at night, and fear flooded her soul. Her steps carried her forward against her will, leading her to a tall, dark oak door, slightly ajar, from which whispers could be heard clearly in the silence of the night.
“I want this,” Colin’s unmistakable voice made her pulse race, leaving her breathless.
“If you ever regret it…” the woman’s voice was abruptly interrupted by a strange sound that seemed like a kiss. Penelope was curious, even though she knew what she would hear or see would break her heart into a thousand pieces. She wanted to know once and for all that it wasn’t just her imagination, that her beloved husband had indeed broken his wedding vows, still warm, on their wedding night.
She pushed the door gently, and to Penelope’s surprise, it did not creak at all. The image reflection in the mirror of that room would haunt her forever. Colin—her husband and the love of her life, the man she had adored and tried to protect at all costs—was kissing Lady Crane. A sound resembling terror escaped her lips, and she immediately covered her mouth, hoping not to be heard. The two lovers were too absorbed in their passion to notice anything else around them.
The room was filled with candles, creating a soft, diffused light, perfect for viewing. Penelope saw that Marina was dressed in a short, seductive white nightgown, and she saw Colin’s hands wrapped around her waist. The kiss grew increasingly desperate, until Marina unclasped the buckle of his pants, which fell pooled at his feet. Only then did she notice that Colin was not wearing a shirt. Her husband stood completely bare in front of her cousin without shame. Then Marina touched him. She touched him the way Penelope had wanted to touch him the first time, and he did not stop her. Colin groaned loudly, too loudly for the quiet of the house, and Penelope froze like a statue in the hallway, watching their reflection in the mirror.
Colin turned Marina with her back to him and pulled her nightgown over her head, leaving her naked before him. Penelope admired Marina’s body—tall and slender, proportioned generously at every curve. She fit perfectly beside Colin—this had been her first thought. Penelope was small, plump, with hair too curly and red with too many freckles on her face; she hated herself. It wasn’t the first time she had wished to look like Marina, but that night she had wanted it more than ever.
“You drive me crazy,” Marina’s whispers pulled her from her reverie.
Penelope saw in the mirror how Colin massaged Marina’s perfect breasts and kissed her neck like a starving man. Then he turned her to face him, lifted her into his strong arms, and pressed her against the nearby wall. Penelope now had an even better view, seeing exactly how her beloved husband began moving inside the woman who was her cousin. Tears streamed endlessly down her face as she watched, hypnotized, unable to turn her gaze away. Their moans were no longer whispered, and Penelope could swear that even if she slept, they would wake her. The lascivious sound of skin slapping against skin echoed powerfully through the room. Colin’s moaning, mixed with Marina’s, was like a whip striking her. Every time she saw her husband’s hips rolling into Marina, it was like a dagger thrust into her heart.
She remained there until the last moans faded into the night. The two lovers fell asleep in each other’s arms, and Penelope wondered suddenly if she could find sharp knives in the kitchen. Most likely not; she had no idea where the kitchen was, and her steps were still glued to the floor. Completely in shock, she eventually retreated to her room. She collapsed on the floor, still in her wedding dress, regretting the day her yellow bonnet had knocked him off his horse, and she had heard his laughter. Only then did the reality of what she had just seen hit her like a ton of bricks. She wept uncontrollably, pleading to fate and to God to give her just one more chance. She almost screamed from the pain, wishing she had never known him, wishing she had never written that column about Marina. How foolish she had been to think he could ever love her. In her selfishness, she had wanted him only for herself, regardless of the consequences. She screamed in pain, touching the fabric of her dress over her chest with her hand, trying to calm her anguish, but it was in vain. Her cries echoed through the house, a pain that pulsed in every corner of the room. Yet no footsteps could be heard in the hallway; no one heard her cries of pain. At one point, she felt something warm slide down her thigh, and when she lowered her gaze, she saw that her white dress was now red. She felt her whole body go cold as panic took hold of her mind. She tried to rise to find cloths to stop the bleeding, but her vision blurred. Penelope collapsed on the bedroom floor, her last thought pleading for the right to a second chance.
Penelope Featherington woke up gasping for air, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She tried to gather her thoughts and detach herself from the horrifying dream she had just experienced. “And yet, if it was only a dream, why did it feel so terrifying, so real?” Her questions, certainly, had no definite answers, and Penelope attributed all her agitation to the disturbance of yesterday, when she had attended the announcement of Marina’s engagement to her beloved Colin. Yes! It had to be just a cruel imagination of her mind. And yet… what if it was a warning? "Perhaps this was one of your plans to trap me.! A dull ache spread across her chest. Was this to be her fate? A dreadful fear swept through her mind. To have Colin and yet for him not to love her, but to still love Marina—this would destroy her. Her thoughts flew back to yesterday, to Colin’s announcement of the engagement, to the happiness on his face. Penelope had spent half of the previous night thinking only of Colin and his well-being. She wondered how she might write a Whistledown column in such a way that he would come out of the scandal Marina was about to provoke with his reputation intact. But was that the wise choice to make? If he so desperately wanted to marry Marina, regardless of her hidden pregnancy, why should she stop him? The memory of the dream was so vivid in her mind, as if it had happened only a few minutes ago.
Penelope could no longer endure the terror of her thoughts and got out of bed, choosing the dress she would wear today. She looked through the myriad shades of yellow and orange and sighed. Well, perhaps she could spend some of the coins she had saved from Whistledown on a new dress.
The memory of the dream hit her again, like a wave crashing violently against the shore. The unanswered questions echoed in her mind: was it only a dream, or a warning from fate? Penelope did not know. She felt only a knot in her stomach and a cold shiver running up her spine, while the memory of yesterday’s pain lingered persistently in her mind. Whatever the truth was, she knew she had to be cautious and ensure that her actions would not destroy anyone’s chance at happiness, even if it meant it would be painful for her.
"I only wanted to protect you.
"Then you should have told me to my face!"
Penelope shook her head at the memory of her dream—or of her future. If Colin wanted Marina, he would have her, but he would hear the truth from her own mouth, not from a scandalous column.