Chapter Text
Colin trudged back to the Bridgerton House, his shoulders slumped and his steps heavy with disappointment. Yet again, it had been another fruitless, disheartening day. Two long weeks had passed since Lady Danbury’s ball, two weeks since he’d last seen or spoken with Penelope Featherington. The weight of her absence pressed on him as heavily as the dreary night air, and he exhaled a deep, weary sigh. The memory of that evening had been haunting him ever since.
He had returned to Mayfair freshly back from his second world tour, his body still aching from the rigors of travel. Yet, despite his exhaustion, he had made a point to attend the ball. It hadn’t been for the music or the society or even the Bridgerton family’s usual expectation of his presence. No, it was for Penelope. He had been eager to see her, desperate even, to ask why she hadn’t responded to any of his letters—not a single one. Penelope always wrote back to him. Always. But for months now, there had been nothing. Not a word, not a note, not even a passing mention. The silence had eaten away at him during his travels, leaving a hollow ache that dulled the joy of every new sight and adventure.
As soon as he arrived at the ball, he sought her out, his heart light with anticipation. He couldn’t wait to see her smile, to hear her laughter, and to share all the stories he’d been saving for her alone. He’d imagined her usual warmth, her excitement to hear about the places he’d seen and the people he’d met. Instead, what he found was… Penelope, but not Penelope.
She stood across the room in a striking green gown, a color he rarely saw her wear. Gone were the sunny yellows he had long associated with her. She looked… different, and not just because of the dress. There was a coolness in her expression, a distance in her eyes. When he approached her, trying to greet her with the easy enthusiasm they’d always shared, she barely smiled. In fact, she barely acknowledged him at all. Her replies were polite but devoid of warmth, and the casual comfort they had always shared was nowhere to be found.
The realization struck him like a blow: something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Penelope had never been this formal with him. They weren’t like that. They were friends, really close friends. She was one of his dearest confidantes, the person he could always count on to tease him with wit and affection. But tonight, she was cold. Unreachable.
And then, as if to drive the point home, she snapped at him.
"You missed me?" she asked, her voice laced with biting sarcasm. Her emerald-green eyes burned with an intensity he had never seen directed at him before. "You missed me, but you would never dream of courting me, is that it?"
Her words were sharp, each one hitting him like a dagger. Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and walked away, leaving him frozen in place, his mouth agape, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened.
She was furious with him. Angry, bitter, hurt—and all because of something he had said. Or rather, the way he had said it. He cursed himself under his breath as he replayed her words in his head. God, he’s such a fucking idiot.
That night came rushing back, the memory as sharp and painful as ever. He hadn’t meant it—at least not the way she thought. The words had slipped out during some drunken, ill-fated conversation with his idiot friends, who had been badgering him about his close relationship with Penelope. "I will never dream of courting Penelope Featherington. Not even in your wildest dreams, Fife." he’d said, dismissively, his mind clouded by wine and bravado. But what he’d meant, what he’d truly meant, was that he hadn’t thought about her that way—not because she was unworthy, but because he’d always thought of her as something… more.
More.
But not in a romantic way, of course. (🤦♀️)
And now, she hated him. Deservedly so, perhaps. He had hurt her, and no amount of groveling seemed to be enough to repair the damage. For two agonizing weeks, he had tried everything to apologize. He had gone to Featherington House every day, sometimes twice, sometimes three times, hoping to catch her, hoping she would relent and let him speak. He just needed one chance. Just one. But Penelope had been resolute. She refused to see him, refused to hear him.
It wasn’t just that she turned him away at home. She had stopped attending balls altogether, as though she had vanished from society. She had cut him off completely, leaving a gaping hole in his life where she had always been.
And Colin? He was lost without her. He couldn’t imagine a life where Penelope wasn’t part of it. She was too important, too integral to his world. She was supposed to be there, always. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, and yet that was exactly what was happening.
Every step he took toward home felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the fear that he had ruined the one friendship that mattered most to him. But no matter how long it took, he vowed to fix this. He had to. Because without Penelope, his world felt unbearably empty.
He will fix this. He will win her back. Her friendship, that is.
As the night wore on, Colin found himself waiting, the cool air of the evening doing little to calm the restlessness bubbling within him. His thoughts were consumed by the look in Penelope's eyes the last time he saw her, by the anger, the hurt, and the coldness that still lingered between them. He couldn’t let it end this way—not after everything they had shared, not after how much she meant to him. So, he waited.
When the clock struck ten, he rose from his place, heart racing, and made his way through the quiet streets of Mayfair to the back of Featherington House. It was dark and quiet, but he knew where to go. As he approached the door, his eyes met Rae’s—the maid who had been the only one willing to help him. She gave him a small nod, and he returned it with a sense of both determination and fear.
She gestured for him to wait, and he did, pacing slightly, his mind a whirlwind. Five minutes later, the door creaked open, and there she was—Penelope, stepping out in her nightdress, her bare feet silent against the cold floor. Rae shut the door quietly behind her, leaving the two of them alone in the dim light of the hallway.
“What? Rae—” Penelope started, but before she could finish, Colin spoke.
“Pen.”
Penelope froze at the sound of his voice, her body stiffening as she turned toward him. The shock in her eyes was fleeting, quickly replaced by something sharper—anger.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was low but filled with unmistakable bitterness, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she glared at him.
Colin swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look away, but he couldn’t. Not now. “Pen, please, will you talk to me?”
Her gaze remained icy, unwavering. “There is nothing to talk about, Colin. Leave.” She turned to knock on the door, but before her knuckles could make contact with the wood, Colin reached out, his hand closing around her wrist, stopping her.
“Just… just hear me out, Pen. Please,” he practically begged, his voice softening as he saw the hesitation flicker in her eyes. But she yanked her arm free from his grip.
“I don’t want to hear anything from you, Colin,” she spat, the words stinging like venom. “I think I’ve heard enough.” She leaned against the wall, her face turned away as the door remained closed between them.
“Pen,” he called out, his voice raw, desperate. “At least let me apologize. Please.” His chest tightened as he tried to hold back the emotion that threatened to spill over. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, but after a moment, Penelope turned to face him, her expression softening just a fraction.
“Alright,” she said, her voice quieter now.
Colin’s heart skipped a beat. “Pen, I… I don’t know where to start,” he stammered, his mind racing as he searched for the right words. “But I want to tell you that what I said… it wasn’t meant to degrade you or insult you in any way. You’re one of the smartest, wittiest, and most beautiful women I’ve ever known. I… I regret what I said more than you know. I know it sounds like a weak excuse, but I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking straight, and… I let myself be pressured. But I’m truly sorry, Pen. Please, forgive me.”
.
Penelope’s gaze softened, though the tension in her shoulders remained. “Apology accepted,” she said, her tone almost too composed.
Colin’s face lit up with relief, hope flooding his chest. “You forgive me? Are we… are we friends again?” he asked, a smile breaking through despite the uncertainty that still lingered.
Penelope shook her head slightly, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “No, and no. I let you apologize, and I accepted it. But that doesn’t mean I forgive you. Now, please… leave.”
His smile faltered, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Pen… please,” he begged, his voice breaking.
Penelope crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “You said you wanted to apologize, and now you have. So, go.”
“Pen!” he whined, his voice desperate. “Forgive me, please. I’ll do anything. Anything, just to have your forgiveness.” The words spilled out before he could stop them, and for a moment, Penelope just stared at him, her expression unreadable.
“Anything?” she asked, her voice soft with a trace of amusement.
“Yes, anything,” Everything. He mentally added as he replied without hesitation, his gaze never leaving hers.
Penelope tilted her head slightly, a playful glint flickering in her eyes. “Kiss me, then.”
Colin froze, his mouth going dry. “Penelope!” he exclaimed, scandalized by her suggestion.
“What?” she shrugged nonchalantly. “You said anything.”
“Yes, but that’s highly inappropriate!” He protested, his face flushing with embarrassment.
Penelope smirked. “Alright, then forget about being forgiven.” She turned to leave, but before she could take a step, Colin reached out and grabbed her wrist, his pulse quickening.
“Wait!” he gasped, his voice catching in his throat as he faced her once more. “Alright, I’ll kiss you.”
Penelope fully turned to face him, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Colin took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest, his hands trembling as he stepped closer to her. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and cupped her cheek, closing his eyes as he leaned in. His lips brushed hers—soft, fleeting—before he pulled away, the kiss barely a whisper against her skin. It was enough. It should’ve been enough.
But as he pulled back, he saw her frown, her disappointment palpable.
“That wasn’t a kiss,” she said flatly, and Colin groaned, his frustration mounting.
He pulled her back to him, his resolve hardening. This time, the kiss was longer, deeper, more desperate. His lips moved against hers with a fierce intensity, and his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. She responded in kind, kissing him back with equal fervor. The world around them seemed to blur, time slipping away as they lost themselves in the sensation.
Seconds turned into minutes, then minutes into what felt like hours, before she finally pulled away, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Colin tried to chase after her lips, but she was already smiling at him sweetly, a soft, teasing smile that made his heart race.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“Am I forgiven now?” Colin asked, his voice a mixture of hope and longing.
Penelope chuckled, the sound rich with amusement. “Forgiveness isn’t given, Colin. It is earned,” she said, her tone light but final. “See you tomorrow.” She winked at him and turned to leave, her nightdress fluttering as she disappeared into the dark hallway.
Colin stood there, breathless and disoriented, his mind racing with the realization that what had just happened was only the beginning.