Chapter Text
He should have noticed.
The first sign was a lack of appetite; unfortunately, he was too anxious thinking about what had been published in Whistledown to pay any attention to the clues of his own body.
He couldn't think of anything but Penelope and the letters she didn't answer, so he didn't notice that he had gone from eating several meals in the day to just one. Everyone became concerned when driven by the desperation he felt, he began to act strangely and felt the need to explain the situation.
Explain was the wrong word; he confessed his crimes. The whole family read the column, except Anthony, who was on his honeymoon and expressed not only their displeasure at the words spoken but also made clear their repudiation of the person who had dared to affront Penelope's good name. The angriest of all, Eloise, vowed revenge and threatened to duel the culprit.
He had not yet finished licking his wounds at the thought of Penelope's possible hatred when he met the disappointment in his mother's gaze and his sister's cutting tongue. "Something tells me you'll pay for this, little brother," Benedict told him with a smile and a grave countenance on an afternoon filled with despair.
Ben had been right. He had paid for it.
He paid for it with long weeks without news of Penelope, without being able to sleep because every time he closed his eyes, the night he failed as her protector and friend returned to his mind. And with the image of Penelope weeping in loneliness as she read what was written in Lady Whistledown's column, feeling betrayed by the person who promised to take care of her.
Determined to get her forgiveness, he did not give up and wrote her his apologies, wrote her his reasons, and promised to make up for his lack of tact and weakness in the face of social pressure. He swore if she forgave him, he would not hurt her again, and their friendship would be a priority.
Just before he lost his temper and gave in to the despair that had taken possession of his heart, when he was about to send the consequences of his actions to hell, before giving it all up and heading for the Featherington country residence, he received a letter.
Penelope forgave him.
She not only wrote that she understood the situation. Penelope also assured him that there was no need to make up for his behaviour in any way and that he had only told the truth.
"Never be ashamed of the truth," she wrote in a letter that he strangely could not read in her voice. He assumed it was due to his conscience and promised himself to help her improve her reputation during the coming season.
He set off for Italy with renewed vigour and a light heart, knowing he had not lost his Pen.
He wrote to her as often as he could, telling her of the sunsets he saw and how they reminded him of her hair, telling her of the sea and how the blue of the waves and the sky made him nostalgic. He even told her of a fleeting infatuation with a young woman he met in the villa where he was staying and the crazy dream that crossed his mind when he wished to marry her. He asked Penelope if she thought his mother would be angry with him if he did it. Then, he joked that she would be the one to break the news of his whirlwind wedding to his mother, and in return, he would help her find a suitable husband when he returned.
Penelope replied to all his letters. With kind words, short stories of what was going on at home and some anecdotes she remembered from the stories he had written to her. He read every page lightly, excited to hear from her, listening to her voice inside his mind with each stroke of ink. He imagined her sitting at her desk, concentrating and smiling at the blank sheets of paper slowly filling up.
He was so happy to know her as his friend that he dared to tell her of the time when the food made him ill, giving him a terrible fever and tremors that left him sore for days. "Remind me to be careful with seafood in future, dear Pen," he wrote as a postscript. From then on, in every letter, Penelope wrote in small handwriting a reminder to him, «Stay away from seafood.»
He knew their trust in each other grew when Pen wrote to him about the young vicar, who was beginning to frequent the Featherington residence and her wish for the gentleman to fall in love with her sister Prudence so that she might, at last, make a good wedding.
«If he's as clever as you describe him, he hasn't been to see Prudence. Just make sure he doesn't steal my place in your heart, Pen», he wrote on the same paper where he drew her a sketch of the view from his room.
«Never. The place you have in my heart is yours until the day you decide to leave it», she replied on a sheet of paper with pressed flowers.
"Then you will never get rid of me", he replied out loud as he stroked the soft yellow petals of the dandelion. He was never happier.
Fate showed him that happiness costs tears.
He fell ill for the second time a week after receiving his mother's last letter, asking him to come home, eager to spend some time with the family before the start of the season. He was in bed for three days. The fever held him imprisoned inside his mind mercilessly, showing him images he didn't understand and torturing him viciously.
A white dress in the dark. A reddish flash of light. A female voice crying and calling his name.
He didn't think he would survive. But he did and returned home with trembling hands, a pale face and blurred vision.
The first to notice that something was wrong was his mother. "Are you cold?". He wasn't cold, but since waking from the nightmares, he had been shivering, had lost weight from the journey and was tired beyond comprehension. A constant wish was to be able to fall asleep. But secretly, he was afraid he would never be able to open his eyes again.
He reassured everyone with stories of his trip and mentioned his brief illness, emphasising that he was better and needed to return home and be with his family to recover fully. Anthony and Kate returned from their honeymoon trip, and the whole family allowed themselves to ignore worries to create happy memories.
Until the fateful afternoon, he started coughing.
He didn't remember much. Just the pain in his chest, the feeling of his throat closing, the desperation to breathe and the yellow petals glowing against the candlelight before he lost consciousness.
Now that he thought about it in retrospect. The truth had paraded in front of him many times. And he had been so blind that not only had he failed to recognise that something was wrong, he had also made sure to dismiss his mother's concerns, which would have helped him realise it much sooner.
He wanted to run away and not look back. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to deal with what was apparently fate. And he didn't want to think about what would happen when everything went to hell. His beloved family, just imagining their suffering would break his heart.
A coughing fit made him get out of bed. It passed soon after, leaving flowers on the floor and a restless heart.
Damned be his luck.
As a child, he had secretly longed to be one of the main characters in the stories his father used to read to him. He imagined himself as a knight who saved princesses and slayed dragons, as a pirate who sailed the seas collecting treasures and as an explorer who lived adventures in faraway lands never seen before.
Now, he stood there, looking at the yellow petals that made him the protagonist of a legend and condemned him to die young.
He should feel something. After all, he was dying of unrequited love, according to the bishop and the doctor, but strangely, he felt no sadness. He felt empty. As if the will to live had slipped from him and the world's colour had faded in the blink of an eye.
The discomfort in his chest was due to his illness, and the difficulty in breathing was a problem that condemned him to stay inside the family home, so he was already used to the sensation of his body cruelly turning against him.
He had to admit that as soon as he heard the news, he imagined that before long, he would be trying to tear down the house walls in a desperate attempt to get out. He was used to coming and going as he pleased, to living at his own pace, and he had plans that would not happen now. As the days passed, the long-anticipated despair never came, but instead came a sad acceptance that filled his eyes with tears he didn't shed.
He spent his time reading everything that had nothing to do with his problem, remaining surrounded by his family and trying to comfort the hearts of everyone around him as best he could. There were songs, dinners full of sad smiles, and his mother's regretful sighs. Even with the masks of calm and happiness on his family's faces, he could tell they were doing their best not to remind him of his situation and that they were frightened.
He knew, of course, he knew.
He knew about Anthony and his emotional breakdowns in which he would curse the name of god and himself, saying that if anyone should die young, it was him. Kate must have been devastated to hear the regret in her husband's voice. He regretted being the reason why their marital bliss seemed to have come to an end, swallowed up by anticipatory mourning and sadness.
He also knew about Benedict and his nights of drinking himself unconscious. He had sneaked him into his room two times because Anthony already had too much to deal with.
The worst part was his mother, too similar to when his father died. Knowing it was his fault that his mother seemed like a ghost hurt him in more ways than he thought possible. So he was spending as much time with her as he could, and Daphne had been a godsend in trying to comfort their mother and prepare her for what was to come. He didn't have much faith that they would succeed in "preparing" his mother. How does one prepare for the death of one's child?
To his surprise, the tragedy brought good things.
His relationship with Eloise improved, and the two became closer. His sister even asked him to help her improve her pianoforte skills. He was grateful to be closer to her, even if it stemmed from loss, but he was worried. Terrified, if he was honest.
Eloise had not gone out or spoken to Penelope once. It took him a while, but he realised this situation had occurred since before he left for Italy. It was the first time one of their fights had lasted this long. And of all people, Eloise would need the most help. He knew it as well as he knew himself.
Eloise. Always independent, confident and brave. Even witnessing death knocking at the door when she was just a child, Eloise had remained poised and quiet, focused on Daphne's efforts to drown out her mother's agonised cries. She would need someone to remind her that it was okay to feel, that she could afford to be human. That it's okay if she's not always strong.
He had an idea of how everything would change when he was gone.
Daphne would focus on keeping their mother alive, for she would cease to exist a little every day, consumed with grief if left on her own. Anthony will withdraw into his shell, blaming himself as if he hadn't done everything to save him. Kate exercising as the head of the family and keeping Anthony sane. Benedict will care for Gregory, the only younger brother who would look up to him as an example from then on. He regretted in anticipation Benedict's ordeal, raising his baby brother with the echo of his lost brother's voice in his mind; he was grateful little Greg didn't have blue eyes. It would be too much for Ben. Francesca would protect Hyacinth, comforting each other and preventing the house from being silent. "Silence is the realm of sadness," Frannie said all those years ago when they lost their father.
They would all protect each other and share the same grief. But deep down, Eloise would feel alone because she can't open up with the family, and Benedict would have challenging responsibilities helping Kate and Anthony. «She'll need Penelope», he said to himself.
Making use of Eloise's newfound weakness for him, he tried to find out the reason for the fight. "She asked you to talk to me?" his sister tried to sound cold and angry, failing to hide the longing tone in her voice.
"No. Penelope never mentioned you were angry. I could tell on my own," the disappointment in Eloise's eyes gave him hope. "I don't know what happened between you two," he wished he knew, but Eloise wouldn't tell him, "But I think there's no way the love you have for each other is that easy to forget." His sister fidgeted in her seat and he knew he was right. Eloise might be angry, but she hadn't stopped loving Penelope and probably missed her terribly. "Penelope misses you. I know it. I could read it in her letters," he just needed to create a spark.
Eloise didn't disappoint him. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation, and he could almost see her brain start to move. He smiled. "Mind your own business," Eloise said before leaving the room.
Penelope would look after Eloise.
And Eloise would look after Penelope.
He had not thought about her since he came back to London. No, that was not true. He had refused to think about her since he woke up in his room, surrounded by solemn expressions.
"Colin, we need to talk," was his first time hearing Anthony like that. It scared him. In another situation, he would probably have been happy to know that out of every human being in the wide world, he was the one who had a soulmate. «An eternal love», in the bishop's words.
He remembered the stories. They were read to him as a child, always with happy endings and romantic pictures.
It was not his case.
His soulmate had rejected him. A curious thing since he doubted he had ever met her.
And because love is fickle, he was going to die.
"Flower sickness," said the bishop, "It's rare, a legend." When Colin coughed, and the yellow petals appeared in front of everyone, the man of god sighed. "There's no cure," the voice of the doctor watching him from across the room sent shivers down his spine. He heard his mother sobbing. "Not once the petals appear," the man of science finished.
Strange and unusual, the doctor and the bishop agreed.
"There is a way," said a female voice from outside; he recognised Hyacinth. Anthony tried to stop his sister from entering the room, but nothing could stop Hyacinth. "Marriage, isn't it?" the girl asked eagerly, staring at the bishop.
"Pardon?" Colin almost smiled. The older man with the power and rank bestowed upon him by the church cringed at the look on his little sister's face.
"If Colin marries his soulmate, the flower sickness stops," the certainty in Hyacinth's voice hurt. Clearly, it didn't work like in the stories because the bishop looked down.
He still didn't know how they had explained to Hyacinth and Gregory what was going on, and though he was ashamed to admit it, he didn't want to know. He couldn't bear that it was his fault that his younger siblings no longer believed in fairy tales and souls loving each other in more than one lifetime. Hyacinth didn't bring up the subject again; none of the family. He was grateful. He didn't want to think about it too much.
It was strange; he was not angry with this faceless person. He was sorry for himself, but he was not angry. Nor did he feel bad to know that his plans for the future would not happen, «One good thing about not having a purpose», he thought.
The only thing he hated was the sleepless nights.
Midnight. That's what the clock above the fireplace said. He got out of bed with an uneasy feeling in his chest and another coughing fit, needing air. He walked carefully, making sure not to wake Benedict, who was on duty, drunk, as was his recent habit.
The night's chill was welcome, reminding him that he was alive and, for a moment, making him forget his dying lungs. He began to walk through the garden, feeling nostalgic as he passed the place where he played so often with his brothers when they were little, smiling as he looked past the corner where Anthony taught him fencing, sighing as he saw the stone bench where he taught Gregory to play cards. Soon, all those places would be just memories that would live on through the longing of his family.
«This is where Colin stumbled while chasing Eloise.»
«In that bush, Colin hid for three hours to scare Benedict.»
«That's the window Colin broke when he tried to climb the vine once.»
He only hoped that their mourning would be short-lived.
He was about to turn to enter the house when he saw a hooded figure heading for the service entrance. Concern made him move without thinking. Watching closely, he followed the person around the side of the house until they reached Eloise's window.
When he noticed she was about to throw something, he emerged from his hiding place in the darkness. "May I know what you are doing here at this hour?" The startled gasp made him smile and feel a little guilty.
"Colin!" The relief in her voice made him smile even more. Her voice, almost musical, thrilled him with happiness.
"Do you make a habit of waking my sister at midnight, Pen?" he said as he advanced without taking his eyes off her. Was she always this pretty in the moonlight?
"N-no. You know I don't," Penelope looked down, "It's just..." She looked scared, and he heard her sigh. He moved a little closer, trying to encourage her to talk. "You're going to think I'm crazy," the sad tone in her voice caused a heavy feeling in his stomach, so he leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Never, Pen. I would never think that of you."
Penelope looked up, and he smiled at her; when she smiled back, he could breathe again. Had he been holding his breath?
"Colin... Is everything all right?" The question startled him, and she seemed to see it on his face because she continued speaking, "Maybe it doesn't make sense. I'm probably wrong, but..." As if a dam had broken, the mood changed. Penelope turned, looking at him with an intensity that threatened to bring him to his knees.
"These last few weeks, I've felt something is wrong," her voice was filled with despair and... fear? "Your mother replied you were going to take it easy this season," her voice cracked, "She never takes it easy!" he could see her whole body begin to tremble; all he could think about was how much he wanted to hold her, "And then, then..." the fear in her voice turned to panic, "Eloise answered my letter," she said with the expression of someone who had heard that the end of the world was near.
He smiled at her. He was grateful for her concern and amazed at the way her mind put it all together, coming to the correct conclusion.
"Colin," her seriousness made him control his expression, not wanting to make her think her concerns didn't matter. "Eloise wouldn't forget our fight so easily," he examined her face. She looked beautiful, even with that worried expression and her eyes glistening with tears.
"Maybe Eloise has realised it's not worth the trouble to stay angry," he said gently. «She's going to need you soon because she'll need someone to keep her in one piece». "Don't worry, Pen. It's good news, isn't it?" he smiled at her again, trying to reassure her.
Penelope, ever so clever, could see through the smile, and whatever she saw in his eyes did not convince her because she shook her head insistently. "No, there's something else." When he saw her bring her hands to her chest, in that nervous gesture she made when she was afraid, his heart ached. "You haven't answered my letters, and you promised you wouldn't forget," he was silent.
He did not know about those letters.
His family probably hadn't even checked their correspondence these past few weeks. They were too busy grieving and focused on spending as much time together as possible.
He took her hands, feeling the soft fabric of the gloves between his fingers, and looked into her eyes, trying to convey peace. "Pen," he said under his breath. Using the tone of voice he knew would reassure her.
He secretly regretted it. A good friend doesn't lie unless they have a good reason, and he did have a very good reason.
But Penelope looked at him in that way. The one he knew so well, the one that said, «I believe you». Is the sea sweet? I believe you. Is the sky pink? I believe you. Is the moon green? I believe you.
In all his years of knowing her, he had seen that look a million times. Most recently, at the ball at Featherington House at the end of last season, the night he told her she was someone special to him.
Then it finally dawned on him.
He had a reason why he avoided going near the window facing the main entrance, the same reason he would not look at his desk and refused to touch his quill even though, to him, it was like an extension of his hand.
Because he would think of her, and by thinking of her, he would miss her, and by missing her, he would want to see her.
And if he saw her, he would have to lie to her.
And he didn't want to lie to her.
He took a deep breath, trying to get the courage to say the words. «Everything is okay.»
"Colin, please," her plea broke something inside him. He couldn't do it. "Come with me," he heard himself say in a low voice.
He took her by the hand and led her to the willow tree where he had met her all those years ago when she still wore calf-length dresses and he still wore shorts. What he wouldn't give to be able to go back to those happy, carefree times when all that occupied his mind was Penelope telling him some of the stories she had read that week.
Penelope followed him without question, not letting go of his hand. When they sat down, he took a moment. How should he tell her? «Pen, I'm dying.» «Pen, we may never see each other again.» «Pen, I'm going on a trip far away.»
He looked at their hands, still intertwined. The white of Penelope's glove brought back a bittersweet memory of when they were still children, and he accidentally got ink on her glove. That day, Penelope was very frightened because her mother would scold her, and he promised her he would take responsibility and ensure nothing happened to her. Lady Featherington couldn't have cared less, telling them they could always buy more gloves. But for him, that was the first time Penelope had ever looked at him with stars in her eyes.
He looked at her again.
Her beautiful blue eyes glistened with held-back tears and worry.
He still felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest at the memory of how those same eyes, which shone brighter than stars, were shadowed on the night of the Hastings Ball. After telling her that he was going on a trip. Would it happen again? Would her eyes lose their sparkle when she knew the fate that awaited him? Would she weep for him?
"Colin", she pulled him out of his thoughts with the gentleness only she had. He took her other hand for strength and looked down, afraid of appearing fragile.
"Penelope, you're right," he said in a calm voice, "Something has happened, and it's the reason everything seems strange," he forced himself to breathe calmly, "And I need you to understand that even if it doesn't seem that way, everything is going to be okay," he prayed he was right.
"Colin?" He could hear her fear, cold and cutting. He pulled her close to him. He had never felt so much like taking Penelope by the hand and running away, leaving reality behind. He couldn't protect her from the pain.
"Pen, you love reading about soulmates, don't you?" That got her attention, she nodded. "What happens when one half rejects the other?" The fear in her gaze hurt. "Do you remember what would happen to the rejected person?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, but the lump in his throat tightened, and he could feel the tears forming.
Penelope nodded, with a terrified glint in her eyes and trembling lips. "The heartbroken person starts coughing up flower petals," she whispered. If they weren't alone, he wouldn't have heard her.
«Do it. Lie. Say there is nothing to worry about», he said to himself.
"I'm ill, Pen." He couldn't lie to her. With a stabbing pain in his chest, he saw the exact moment when she stopped breathing. And before his eyes, Penelope was consumed in pain.
He didn't have to tell her in words. He didn't need to explain to her what it meant. Penelope understood with a look, and her heart broke under the star-filled sky, with him watching and unable to do anything to stop it.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," she said. Tears sprang from the ocean of her eyes like a hurricane. "Tell me it's not true." The force which she squeezed his hands hit him straight in the heart. "Colin, tell me it's a mistake," he couldn't answer her, "Colin, please." Penelope sobbed. And in that first sob, all her energy was gone; he could see it. Her whole body languished with grief.
He couldn't stand it.
He embraced her. Forgetting decorum and his position as a gentleman, he let her cry against his chest, feeling the tears soak his shirt and Penelope tremble in his arms. There could be nothing worse in the world than to hear her cry, to know she was hurt and to be unable to do anything to alleviate her anguish.
He was in hell.
For the first time, he cursed his soulmate. Not for rejecting him without knowing him, condemning him to die without having explored the world, or for bringing him misfortune simply by existing. No. He cursed her for making Penelope cry.
"You're wrong," he felt his throat tighten, "There's no such thing as soulmates," he didn't know if she was saying it to him or herself, "You can't die of unrequited love," either way, it hurt like being stabbed in the heart. "Colin, there must be something we can do," Penelope let go of his embrace and looked at him in a way that shook him internally, " I'll talk to Marina. If I ask her, she'll come."
It took him a moment to understand what she meant. "Pen," he tried to calm her down. She kept talking, "I'm sure her husband will understand."
"Pen," he repeated, squeezing her hands. Penelope looked up at him again, and he smiled at her. "It's not Marina," his words did not reassure her.
Seeing her shrink under the weight of grief made him shudder, and he found it hard to hold back tears. "There's nothing to do, Pen," he whispered.
Penelope rose hastily as if a ray of hope or madness had flashed through her. "No," she said in a firm voice, "No!" she repeated, pacing back and forth. She was so terrified, so desperate, her heart in the air and full of agony.
He closed his eyes, feeling unable to see her suffer.
"It can't be; it's a cruel joke," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. He dared not to open his eyes and felt like crying, like screaming. "Please, God," Penelope sobbed again, and he heard her fall to the floor.
He didn't move. If he moved, he would break, too. And if that happened, who would rebuild Penelope?
"Not him, God, please not him," he heard her say. He held his breath.
It all made sense.
He had been too immersed in the wrenching pain of watching her cry, too worried about her reaction, too focused on keeping himself in one piece. That he hadn't thought about the reason Penelope was heartbroken.
And the memories came in waves, one after another. The smiles, especially the one that was just for him. The adoring looks that seemed to have his name written all over them. The way Penelope said his name.
Good God.
Penelope loved him.
He opened his eyes and saw her kneeling on the floor, hugging herself. He dropped down beside her, afraid to touch her. What could he do? What could he say to her?
"Pen," his lips moved of their own accord. "Colin," she answered between sobs.
They embraced, without thinking, without caring about anything else. He just wanted Penelope to stop suffering. Why did he have to break her heart?
In the middle of the night, with the moon shining in all its glory, in the same place where he dried her tears at twelve years old, he comforted Penelope.
And he let her warmth comfort him, too, feeling he didn't deserve it but grateful for the gentle balm of her love on the inner wounds he had left to bleed in silence.
The dream ended with the echo of the clock in Anthony's office. How long had they been kneeling there?
Reality came back like a blow to his side that knocked the air from his lungs and shook him with guilt. Penelope would face ruin if anyone saw her leave the garden unaccompanied at such an hour.
A cold terror ran through him. He could not let his last act on earth be to ruin Penelope.
"Pen, you must go home," time had run out for them.
"No, I can't leave," she hugged him tighter, and tears flooded her eyes again. Penelope didn't want to let go because she was afraid.
"Pen, I'll be here tomorrow," he told her confidently. The doctor had said two months. They still had time.
"No, if I leave..." she didn't need to finish the sentence.
He understood her, «I won't see you again.»
"Mother will invite you to afternoon tea. I'll see you in a few hours," the calm tone of his own voice sounded strange to him. How could he speak so calmly when he felt a tornado inside?
Penelope shook her head and looked down, not letting go of his shirt. He smiled like an idiot. Knowing Penelope loved him so much comforted him in an absurd yet marvellous way.
"Pen, I promise I'll see you later." She finally looked up. Her nose was red from crying, and her eyes glistened with tears. She was so tragically beautiful.
"I don't want to leave you," she said, her voice full of emotion.
He was on the verge of bursting into tears like a child. "I swear, by all that's holy, I'll see you later," he said without thinking. If he had to damn himself to stop Penelope from looking at him in that forlorn manner, he would do it gladly.
She accepted his oath and let him go.
As soon as they were apart, the cold enveloped him. He could feel his whole body begging him to hold her, but he couldn't let himself do it. So he stood up and then took her hand to help her up. "I'll walk you to the entrance," he said to her with an unfeeling conviction.
They walked forward in silence, holding hands, and when they reached the main entrance, he forced himself to let her go. "Colin." He looked into her eyes, imploring her not to say it out loud. He couldn't bear it. Not when he had to see her go. Penelope, as always, understood. "Goodbye, Colin." She ran off.
He forced himself to stand still. He watched her walk away as he held his breath and felt his heartbreak. When Penelope turned to look at him, he bit his cheek to prevent himself from saying her name.
If he called her, she would come back. If he said her name, she would run to him and embrace him.
And they would both end tragically. Death would come for him in a few weeks, and Penelope would watch him pass away and then sink into the hopelessness of loving a dead man. He could not allow it. No matter how tempted he was to run after her. It was not their destiny to be together.
Penelope wiped her cheeks and turned away, then finished crossing the street.
He kept looking at her until she disappeared into the darkness. When he could no longer see her, he dropped onto the steps at the entrance to the house.
What a humble feeling. To know himself loved by her.
His heart pounded, and Penelope's voice calling his name echoed in his mind. He cursed fate. Of all the people in the world, if he could choose anyone, it would be Penelope.
Now that there was nothing to hide, he could, at least, accept it for himself. He could see it, or rather, he could see himself.
The flowers and walks. A duet in the family parlour. A dance in front of everyone. Secret whispering in the ear. A kiss at the altar. He could see every scenario leading to them being together, to having a family.
If only he had the time.
Sitting on the cold floor, looking up at the star-filled sky, he did what he had not felt the need to do, not even when he received his death sentence. He wept. For the things that could not be. For what he didn't know he wanted until it was beyond his reach. For the dreams, which he did not know he had until he confirmed that they would not come true.
He wept for Penelope. And what they could have had if fate wasn't so cruel.
Benedict found him leaning against the green door of their home, with the early morning breeze drying his tears and his heart broken with grief.
"Watching the sunrise?" his brother said in a mushy voice. He smiled at him, nodding with a solemn expression. "Are you feeling alright?" asked Ben, a worried expression on his face. He took a moment to answer him.
"I miss riding," he told him in a friendly voice. To his ears, the lie sounded like the truth.
Benedict smiled, "I can make it happen." He nodded and got up from the floor. "Are you okay? Really?" he heard something strange in his brother's voice. But he didn't want to think about it.
"Fine and tired," Benedict believed him, smiled and opened the door.
They did not go out riding. Neither did he tell his mother about the invitation to tea for Penelope. He dared not think of the reason. Too tired, too overwhelmed, too fragile to offer explanations.
He spent the morning playing with Hyacinth and Gregory, singing with Francesca, and reading with Eloise. Ben and Anthony took him to the office in the afternoon to discuss things he no longer remembered. He knew the family noticed his distressed countenance and tried to distract him. Unfortunately, only one person could help him, and he did not dare to go and look for her.
Lying to her had been the right thing to do, even if it wasn't a lie at the time. He couldn't bear to see the despair, the grief and the panic in her eyes. Or imagine Penelope mourning his death.
The very thought made his heart ache and threaten to stop.
He was startled by a coughing fit. And the damned yellow petals that were going to kill him floated in the air, falling gracefully and delicately. It would be beautiful if they weren't evidence of his misfortune.
He spent the rest of the day staring out the window masochistically, immersing himself in the painful imprint on his chest that somehow reminded him that he was still alive.
At dinner, he smiled as much as he could without feeling it. The family pretended not to notice the falseness in his smile and carried on as if nothing had happened. He drank the doctor's remedies and pretended not to hear Kate talk to the butler about arrangements for the future. His sister-in-law was as hard as steel; he was grateful for her.
Then it happened.
The uncomfortable feeling in his chest increased. He could not breathe. He could feel the petals clumping in his throat; he started coughing.
He fell to his knees.
He tried to scream, unable to do so.
He began to lose his sight, and all he could think about was that he had to get to the desk.
"Colin!" he heard Eloise shout. Then he felt her kneel beside him. "Anthony! Ben!" his sister's voice was full of panic. Soon, there were footsteps everywhere.
He kept coughing uncontrollably.
Petals undulated around him, turning into yellow flashes amidst his blurred vision.
He couldn't speak, and he needed to tell them. Beg them. Plead to them.
«Bury me with Penelope's letters.»