Chapter Text
On what could have been an offensively early regular Thursday morning, Penelope Featherington stood on the last step leading up to a carriage.
In the midst of Lady Portia Featherington’s preoccupation of strictly commanding servants of the house, she abruptly paused. Due to her overly dramatic sigh, one could think she stood on a theatre stage. The street outside their home echoed with emptiness. With clenched fists resting on her hips, she rolled her eyes hopelessly. An immovable determination radiated from her.
”You always forget the key,” she reprimanded her daughter, who instantly froze.
A relieved servant gasped in delight, happy the dramatics were not addressed to him.
The iron key dangled in Portia’s hands, almost taunting Penelope’s miserable and shattered destiny.
Blasted!
Every part of her detailed plan shared with her chambermaid Rae went straight down the Thames.
“But it was hidden incredibly well!”
Unimpressed, her mother’s jaw clenched as she handed the key to the coachman. ”Protect this one. It opens my daughter’s trunk.” Clearly, and rightfully so, not even trusting to give it to Rae.
Penelope’s gaze followed, sadly viewing how her bulletproof plan broke. The justified excuse she would have used in order to cancel the trip, have the carriage turn around and skip the nonsense fate had forced her into.
“Should I be concerned you deliberately tried to sabotage this opportune occasion?” Portia questioned. “Even if you had forgotten it, you’d simply have to wear what you are wearing right now, and I would have sent the key with a few days delay. This doesn’t change anything.”
How lovely.
Despite the ruthless scolding, Penelope still doubted wearing this rag for days, instead of the finer gowns from the locked trunk would not have done the deed to even change her own mama’s determination. Appearing poor gave no one as much a sour distaste as for Portia.
Overwhelmed, she closed her eyes. Too upset to sense the angered tears threatening to burst by her eyelashes.
“Mama, I cannot—I won’t…”
“Penelope,” Portia drawled to effectively silence her.
With the tone hinting of empathy, Penelope opened her eyes, again growing hopeful.
“Please,” she pleaded. “Do let me stay.”
“That would be very unwise.”
”What if I refuse? What of my opinion?”
“Now, be sensible,” Portia reasoned. ”With Mr Dankworth’s interest in Prudence, we must play our cards well this season.”
Apprehensively, Penelope dispiritedly watched servants loading the carriage with trunks. Rae, who already was inside the carriage, adjusted smaller tasks to organize for the journey. In other words, doing her best to avoid being targeted by Portia.
This silly thing should have been called off a long time ago. In the end, Penelope had naively allowed it go way too far. Her underestimation had been her downfall.
”But I seek to find a husband,” she pleaded, trying to steady her cracking voice. ”I am determined to marry, Mama. Should I be in luck, there could be someone out there taking interest in me.”
”Oh, Penelope…”
”I assure you, I should try my hardest.”
She truly intended to find a marriageable gentleman.
After throwing all that spoke of Colin Bridgerton out of the window, she had become sensible. When neglecting the romanticized views of love, she could not wait to try her slim luck this time around. Perhaps not being wrapped around his finger would do her good this season.
The pitying eye she received from her mother was enough telling what naivety Penelope suggested. At least a motherly warmth forced Portia to not express her concern by words.
”Being one of very few selected is certainly something to be proud of,” her mother spoke, adding emphasis as an early morning couple promenaded past them. ”The reputation shall do you good once you return.”
Seeing where this was going, Penelope groaned. How on earth she could get herself out of this humiliation felt like an unsolvable riddle.
”But I—”
”Besides, you’ve always liked Aubrey Hall,” Portia reminded her. ”And that… boy. You’ve always stubbornly stuck to that friendship, and now it appears he is seeking a wife. What better can we do, than you enjoying your time there for as long as it lasts?”
The words at the tip of her tongue cut sharply, ready to spill what traitorous mask the gentleman had worn, how foolishly naive she had been and how she wished for nothing more than to forget about the Bridgertons.
In vain, she ended up shaking her head. ”Mama, I believe we misunderstand each other. Neither does Mr Bridgerton want me there, nor do I wish to go.”
Inasmuch Portia considered her daughter’s request, she still ended up dismissing her.
”All I ask of you is to make your greatest effort,” she finalized. ”We can hardly decline Lady Bridgerton’s most personal and generous offer of personally inviting you. If anything, you ought to be grateful she considers you a possible candidate for her son.”
Penelope sighed. ”Yes, I am very flattered.”
To her horror, a footman began wrapping up around the carriage.
”Please,” she desperately begged. ”The least, if I only could—”
”Oh, Penelope.” Portia took a deep breath. ”The worst thing that could happen is to be sent home.”
”And it’d be humiliating,” she argued. ”I shall not last for a day!”
It felt as if she was being sentenced to death.
With not only Eloise’s broken friendship, she had clearly mistaken Colin’s false politeness of portraying a friendship that never was. The dreadful words still echoed in the back of her mind, piercing through her each time she allowed the memory to flourish.
She would most likely not even finish packing up, before she would have to reload the carriage. Entering a home she was not welcomed at.
Bless Lady Bridgerton’s blind eye, in regards of the cold fallout with Eloise and her motherly obliviousness to Colin’s obvious disinterest in Penelope.
At least, Penelope was no longer blind, drowning in that girly naivety.
”Once you return, we shall all have the finer attention sprinkled all over us, preparing for Prudence’s wedding,” Portia proudly announced, a bit overly loud as more promenading people passed by. ”We shall use that joyous occasion to assure humble words are to advance your chances.”
”I do not believe—”
”There’s no more time to debate this any further,” she cut her off, waving to the coachman. ”I have a ball attendance to prepare for. We’re invited to the lot of them.”
If only her mother could understand her reasoning.
”Please, Mama—”
”Lady Featherington,” the coachman interrupted them. ”The carriage is ready for the journey.”
Without any further word, Portia motioned towards the carriage.
”No, please,” Penelope begged. ”Please, allow me to stay.”
With Portia’s confirmative nod, a footman began to close the carriage door, consequently forcing Penelope to back inside.
In her stumble, she practically fell down in her seat. Desperately in one last attempt of a plead through the window, she was prevented by the sudden jolt of horses pulling the carriage away. And she could only glimpse how her mama returned inside Featherington House.
”Miss!” Rae ushered to adjust her mistress’ appearance, pitifully eying her.
”Unfortunately, this shall not be a pleasant visit,” Penelope expressed, eyes still grieving the passing sight of the familiar streets of London.
She really had thought her plan would come to fruition. This morning had gone as horribly wrong as it possibly could have. Now how she was supposed to get out of this almost cracked her entire mind.
The silence stretched for long before Rae replied. ”I shall assist you in the best way I can, Miss.”
Empathically, Penelope gave her chambermaid a disheartened smile, as she allowed the journey to continue in silence. Rae would keep herself busy with embroidery and Penelope, as restless as ever, could not find herself being able to concentrate on anything beyond analyzing the terror of entering Aubrey Hall.
What would seem an old childish girl-dream had turned out to be nothing but a grave nightmare. Would Colin Bridgerton seek a wife, Penelope of all, had nothing to do there. The fresh memory still punctured her heart, echoing how indecently he ridiculed her to his friends. Fully openly expressing such distaste of her.
To the ton.
In order to find reason to invite Penelope, she was certain a debutante on the real list had gotten snatched off the rack by a suitor. There simply was no other sensible explanation to have her among actually matchable women that suited Colin’s taste. It was painfully obvious that she was the last person who should have received the request.
Perhaps it was difficult finding dozens of eligible women of the ton, willing to steal their important time, only to dedicate them a mere six percent chance of catching the big fish.
On another note, the percentage was slightly higher, as Penelope stood no chance. She only spaced out the numbers. Because she was just Pen, who Colin Bridgerton would never court. Not even in his wildest dreams.
Ah, the sweet offense struck her as sharply as ever. Fortunately, she was clearing her vision.
Nowadays, she could not even stand hearing his name. The words tasted sour on her tongue. Poisonous even.
Colin Bridgerton.
Somewhere in the midst of her inner monologue, she must have fallen asleep. Because when she awoke to a sudden stop, it was nightfall.
Three happy seconds passed when she, blissfully unaware of her surroundings, thought herself to have arrived back home after a long-lived tiresome soiree.
The sight of the grand front of Aubrey Hall swallowed her entire window, and she realized her terrible luck.
They had arrived.
Sparing her no moment to gather herself, a footman approached the carriage to instantly welcome her.
”Miss Featherington,” he greeted. “Welcome to Aubrey Hall.”
Too distraught to scan the environment, she absentmindedly responded her greetings and allowed herself getting guided towards the entrance.
She was well-familiar with the place, but the feeling greatly differed.
Both behind and in front of her carriage, dozens of other debutantes were arriving. All eager to steal Mr Bridgerton’s heart. The staff of the Bridgerton House introduced themselves in rush, humbly determined to welcome each guest.
She wanted to snort and roll her eyes.
This had got to be the most humiliating assignment she had practically been forced to do.
The fact that Colin, of all men out there, had decided to orchestra such a pathetic gathering, also went beyond her comprehension. What she would deem uncharacteristic, was soon judged as her acknowledging the probability of never really knowing him at all. He frequently displayed the traits for it—her absolute unawareness of what man truly hid behind that charmingly polite mask he wore.
She noticed Rae speaking with a butler organizing her trunks and quickly set punctuation to the ideas being discussed.
”It won’t be necessary to unpack my gowns,” she declared. ”We shall be leaving shortly.”
Both Rae and the butler stood stunned, but their discretion was pleasant enough as they smoothly recovered. A nod and ’Of course, Miss Featherington,’ followed.
However, she was pleased to be led to her room. A safe space where she could hide before Colin would spot her and immediately cut her attendance short.
To her surprise, it was not her usual guest room, where she typically resided when visiting Aubrey Hall. A passing maid had briefly spoken to Rae, redirected their passage and informed how, ”Lady Bridgerton insisted on this room for Miss Featherington.”
First notably difference was a pair of double balcony doors. The interiorly delicacy welcomed more warmth than the usual Bridgerton-elegance. A room suiting Penelope perfectly, even with a neat desk by a window. With the fireplace already crackling, she realized how she anyhow merely was to get settled before she would return home.
Contract papers were placed on the desk, beside a welcoming note written by Lady Bridgerton.
The contract was clearly not written by the dowager viscountess. More likely by a juridical person with Viscount Bridgerton’s contribution.
Penelope and her mother’s vague signatures were by the bottom. A reminder of what disaster she reluctantly had been convinced to participate in. The papers were full of nonsensical nonsense.
Admittedly she had found no interest in thoroughly reading them, as her original plan had been to turn around by the outskirts of London, dramatically complaining how her trunk’s key was missing. In her mind, there would have been no other option but to cancel the trip and remain in London.
Leastwise, she knew she would be sitting in her carriage on her way home by the time the night would be over.
Instead of quietly humiliating herself, as per usual; here she was, publicly for the entire world to witness her grand miserable attempt of catching a most unwilling suitor.
The occasion was nothing but sadly laughable.
In hindsight, she should have burned those letters when she had the chance to.
Gravely underestimating the situation, she had unfortunately misjudged the invitation for a mad jest and mistakenly ended up chuckling. As soon as the serious face her mama wore worsened, she had coughed on that morning tea. In vain, crying out a horrid ’NO!’ Only for Portia to be sufficiently stubborn for the both of them.
So, here she was. Destined to make a perfect fool out of herself.
Perhaps she ought to write a sad comedy out of this miserable event. Publish it under a pseudo name, just like Whistledown. At least she would profit in some way from this depressing shame.
Hopelessly, she sank down on her bed. This had got to be the worst day of her life.
In despair, the air tightened. It pushed down on her, heavily suffocating her. Chipping for air, she dragged herself towards the window by her desk. In need of a crisp breeze, she practically lunged to push it open.
And she was instantly struck by a familiar voice.
A too familiar voice.
Oh, no.
Completely taken off guard, she froze.
She was not ready for this.
Rather suffocating than hearing him speaking, she knew how she should close the window back. For sure, she could endure the heat inside. She would survive her rambling of negatively worrisome thoughts. They would pass and she preferred anything in contrast to hear his voice.
Tremblingly, her arm was unmovable, making her question just how difficult it was to close a window.
Why could she not just…
And no. No, no, no. She could not betray herself by looking at him.
All the work of removing her feelings should stick rigidly inside her like a stone of compact gold. He was not worth it, he did not deserve her attention and he certainly did not—
Blasted, she could not resist.
There he was, Colin Bridgerton.
Down her window, outside on a private terrace she knew belonged to a study, he sat on a stony fence. Arms crossed, fully relaxed in the company of his brother, Benedict Bridgerton.
Her breath was stolen and she cursed herself for it.
Due the angle, it turned out to be difficult to catch his facial features, but Penelope knew.
She would recognize the sight of this man even if she had been entirely blind. Had she had been deaf, she still was sure she would distinguishably hear him.
Like a massive curse, which ran through her blood, the man was glue to her gaze. No matter her resistance to the overly powerful magnetism, his mere presence tumbled her entire inner.
She closed her eyes, hopeful he would disappear once she opened them.
With her polished fingernails clenched into the wooden windowsill, she decided to look.
Unsurprisingly, not only were the two brothers still there, but her focus was unforgivably sold to the third Bridgerton son.
While she wholeheartedly detested how bewitched she was, her gaze was infernally unable to remove itself from him.
She had more dignity than this. She swore she did.
Mentally convincing herself this maddening reaction was due the sudden surprise of seeing him after such a long time, she was practically spellbound when he began gesturing down the garden.
All of a sudden too caught up in overhearing possible gossip, or literally anything that left Colin Bridgerton’s mouth, she stood as glued on the spot.
”Naturally, I’ve noticed some interest in me,” Colin said. ”However this madness has got to be an entire new level I am not sure I am comfortable with.”
His voice… Like a silky dagger prickling her.
She frowned.
From promising herself not to care, the sight of him hugged her heart like a rose, tightly squeezing with its sharp thorns.
She was pathetic.
The man was literally stomping on her heart, which he unwittingly had torn from her, and yet she allowed him this reaction.
Benedict, sitting on a white-painted ironclad chair by a small garden table, waved as if to brush off his brother’s concern.
”Each debutante has accepted,” he pointed out. ”A contract has been sent to each family and returned. Fully signed, might I add. Everything is according to a well-planned and thought out procedure.”
Shaking his head, Colin protested. ”I’m a third son, fully undeserving of such attention. Do please spare these women some dignity by sending them home. This is only a waste of their time. All of our time, might I add.”
Benedict looked up from his drink. ”Anthony thinks differently,” he said, his nose twitching as he spilled his heart. ”And as I suspect, so does Mother.”
”This is unfair. Just because he now happens to be happily married, he simply cannot start to meddle in my life,” he debated heatedly. “Worse, encouraging Mother in her match-making nonsense. This whole idea is bonkers.”
Penelope leaned further towards the opening of her window. The intrigue of hearing how this preposterous occasion was at least not Colin’s doing. She hated how her heart leapt at that. As if restoring any good part of that man would magically erase all deceiving cuts he had wronged her with.
”They are positively in belief you shall stay in London, the very least in England, should you have a wife waiting for you at home to share your life with,” Benedict pitifully explained, continuously sipping his drink.
”That is rubbish!”
Benedict’s eyebrow quirked. ”Admittedly you are the softest between us. Even Eloise hardens you out.”
”I just don’t…” Throwing his brother a glare, Colin shook his head. ”Why don’t they invest in you?” he remarked. ”You are after all the second son. Wouldn’t it be more convenient, in fact more logical to focus on getting you married before me?”
Horrified, Benedict snorted. ”Please, do not dare giving them any ideas,” he politely warned. ”Besides, as long as I stay in London, expand my artwork and you are the one fleeing to the continent, I fear it’s Mother’s worry that speaks the highest. She wants you settled and… happy, I guess. Should you stay in London, in her mind, she can keep an eye on you.”
In frustration, Colin buried his face into his hand. ”I am happy and I don’t need to be watched like a hawk, as if I am ten.”
Unbothered, Benedict agreed. ”It’s Mother who needs your conviction.”
Colin snorted. ”And I do not need assistance in finding a bride. For God’s sake, I am a mature adult gentleman.”
Nodding understandingly in his indifference, Benedict finished his glass. ”Well, this wasn’t my idea.”
”Should this information have reached me in time, I’d have had the captain bribed to turn the ship around,” Colin grumbled.
”And there you have why Mother never told you.”
Colin threw his brother a glare. ”A warning would have suited me.”
Suddenly, Penelope almost pitied him.
In contrast as to how he made sure no gentleman out there should consider her marriageable, the man himself was literally drowning in willing debutantes. The ones she briefly outside had thrown a glance on were beyond pretty. Many of whom she could picture suiting Colin. A perfect beauty for the perfect handsome gentleman.
Benedict’s voice brought her back to the moment.
”Perhaps we ought to be grateful they all stayed in London for the preparations for Francesca’s season. Thus,” Benedict said, raising a glass triumphantly, ”focusing less on the two of us out here.”
Speechless, Colin merely blinked.
”Haven’t you gotten the winning ticket?” he eventually snarled, snatching Benedict’s drink out of his hands to immediately down it. He grimaced to the strong taste. ”You are to guard this silly race out here and shall effectively postpone any attention on you until at earliest next year. I do nothing but envy you.”
As if saluting the genius idea, Benedict raised another glass. ”Brilliantly done of me, wasn’t it?”
”Well, I have been trapped,” Colin muttered. ”Forced to perform as a main character in an absurd form of selection I have no wish to participate in. Might it even occur to Mother and Anthony the chance of how I might not find compatibility in any of the debutantes?”
A thick silence downed as a cloudy fog.
”Perhaps they hope for a bit of more intensity than the feeling of compatibility,” Benedict suggested.
They were expecting love, Penelope deemed.
Lady Bridgerton always expected love for her children.
Sliding off the fence, Colin swallowed. ”I cannot quite believe any debutante would truly accept this ridiculous policy. Where did these ideas even come from to begin with?”
”I believe it’s Anthony,” Benedict speculated. ”But I suspect the Viscountess had a finger in this. Perhaps some tale she had heard, or a story from a book, I am not quite sure. Initially, it’s Mother’s deep wish to have you wed, and consequently being a pain to Anthony about it.”
”They must stop trying to dictate my life,” Colin groaned and fell into a musing silence. ”So what I can do according to the procedure, is to pick a woman who I hope will refuse my final rose.”
Nodding to his brotherly dumbness, Benedict seemed bought on it. ”Perhaps that is not too stupid. Quite risky but…”
“There are no other options.”
“What about actually considering this opportune moment a chance of finding true love?”
Annoyed, Colin glared at Benedict. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, of course.”
Colin crossed his arms. ”In a few months time, or weeks, when I am supposedly a happily married man, I presume I am to join Anthony’s club of aggressively seeking out a wife for you then?”
Almost falling of the chair, Benedict’s eyes widened.
“So, what was the plan now again?” He immediately focused on Colin. ”Choosing someone who you can convince to turn down your offered hand?”
“Precisely,” Colin determined.
Benedict refilled his glass again. ”There will be a choice the winning debutante shall make. I suppose if you somehow magically succeed to disinterest any of these highly eager debutantes,” he said, pointing his glass towards Colin in his amusement. ”Then I shall openly declare how you outsmarted our entire family. Anthony and Mother will be pleased to hear how their bulletproof plan failed.”
A sudden brisk knock on Penelope’s door caused her to leap.
With her pulse hammering in her throat, she stepped away from the window, afraid to be caught eavesdropping.
Even though a wary heart reminded her of how he regarded her behind her back, while portraying a different side to her face, she had admittedly thought this spectacle uncharacteristic of him.
Participating in something as egocentric like this did not seem like the Colin she had known. Being matched with a bunch of debutantes he personally had not picked. Her, the one he would not dream of courting, among them.
She sighed.
This was a disaster.
When there was another knock on her door, followed by Rae’s voice, ”Miss Featherington,” she immediately opened the door.
”I have been given the information that all debutantes are to meet the Bachelor,” her chambermaid announced. ”Shall we make it in time, I believe we need to begin preparing.”
Absentmindedly nodding, Penelope thew a glance to her unpacked trunks.
The delicate gowns Rae neatly had packed and Penelope’s attempt of protesting, but in the rim of arguing with her Mama, had lost herself to the focus of changing Lady Featherington’s strong determination.
And here they were.
If she was to meet Colin for one evening, perhaps it would not hurt looking her best.
When he would send her home, now openly dismissing her, at least she would look fine. Should she write about the humiliation in Whistledown, it would hurt less if she could avoid downgrading her appearance as well.
Showcasing the fine Parisian gowns, Penelope’s eyes were drawn to a particular one. Her new wardrobe had been purposely sewn for the upcoming season and she had emptied quite a few sacks of coins to have the Modiste deliver such delicacy.
”The emerald will do,” she finally declared.