Chapter Text
Penelope always thought that the day her true heartbreak came, she would be prepared for it. But as all smart girls, she was, of course, very, very wrong.
The heartbreak hit her like a hurricane, with no time for her to process it or brace herself. Before that, before the world fell down — at least her world did — she used to allow herself to have short self-pitying sessions, when she could be sad for a little while and imagine different scenarios in which she finally lost Colin once and for all; in those moments she used to climb under the covers, cover her head, squint her eyes and imagine how she would watch him fall in love with some beautiful debutante, how they would laugh and whisper and dance, and how Penelope would mourn the loss of her first and only love, but would gracefully stand aside to let them be truly happy. She used to think that she was doing so in order to get accustomed to the thought of Colin no longer being there in her life. But reality was much more cruel than her fantasies ever could be. In reality, there was no other girl, beautiful or not; the heartbreak came as Colin himself, laughing with his friends at her expense and forever shattering the idea of the perfect man of her dreams he once was.
The man that never existed in reality.
To tell the truth, Penelope was not offended by him stating that he would never court her — well, not really. His words stung, sure, but she had no one to blame but herself for allowing the dream that one day he would finally see her and love her to linger for so many years. He didn’t owe her his love.
What he did owe her, however, was his loyalty.
It was the ‘are you mad’ part that made the whole interaction so hurtful, so… unforgivable. Because it implied so much more — one would just need to be observant enough to fill in the blanks.
‘Are you mad? Have you seen her?’
‘Are you mad? This is ridiculous to even think of.’
‘Are you mad? Me and her?’
And oh, filling the blanks Penelope’s mind did. She wanted to stop coming up with new words to torment her bruised soul, wanted to stop imagining Colin saying them, his sweet face she knew so well twisted in a cruel smirk. But every night before going to bed her thoughts started to drift, and she would end up thinking of more and more things Colin could have said to his friends, each one worse than the previous.
The fact that God or heavens or universe or whatever decided to be merciless enough to make Penelope’s every worst nightmare materialise in the span of one hour was proving that real sinners did not need to wait till death takes them to end up in hell. Losing the dream of Colin was one thing, but losing Eloise’s friendship was entirely another. Maybe Penelope could hold up with her sanity intact if it was one or the other, but to be left without two most important people in her life at the same time was the most brutal punishment she could imagine.
Was she deserving of it? She wasn’t able to answer that question honestly. Sometimes she thought she did. After all, she spent the majority of the previous two years airing out the dirty laundry of every lord and lady worth gossiping about, not to mention the fate of Lady Crane, née Thompson, which was the cornerstone of all her guilt.
But sometimes she couldn’t help but ask herself, was it really so awful to speak about things others were doing? She wasn’t making anything up, she wasn’t pushing anyone to make those decisions. Don’t do bad things if you don’t want to get caught — that is what Penelope believed in. If the ton’s most respected folk didn’t want their affairs to be discussed at length by the gossiping mamas at every ball or soirée, they should not have done all the scandalous things they did in the first place.
But then again, was retelling scandals all she did? Or was her providing opinion on other people’s character and behaviour a crime in itself?
This was a vicious cycle Penelope had found herself in for all the months awaiting the new season, trying to acquit herself in her own eyes, finding fault in her own words and actions, and then getting angry with Eloise for her harsh cruel words and for abandoning her with no one else to turn to - over and over Penelope was going through the steps in her mind, like dancing the horrible dance with no end in sight.
The closer the beginning of the new season came, the more agitated Penelope felt. Before that, she, a gentle-bred Mayfair lady, the flesh and blood of highly cultured London society, had only one path in life, her plan A: to attract a good husband that would be able to provide for her and for their kids, to fulfil all her wifely duties and to lead respectable life as a Mrs or Lady Something. But if the previous seasons had taught her anything, it was that not everyone was made for the same purpose, and she definitely wasn’t the one to sit back and just wait as her life happens to her.
So, Penelope made a decision. Plan A became plan B. She wasn’t opposed to marriage, but she wasn’t ready to settle for anything less than perfect. It wasn’t about finding love — that ship sailed the moment Colin Bridgerton thought that mocking her with his dim-witted friends was an okay thing to do in Featherington gardens of all places. No, her perfect match would have nothing to do with love. It was about finding someone kind, someone smart, someone who would see her as his equal, someone who would ask her opinion while making decisions and will actually listen to it; someone who would allow her freedom and who would care for her. And if she wouldn’t be able to find such a person, she would rather spend the rest of her life a spinster.
Whether the things she had done were good or bad, she couldn’t yet decide. But she knew, knew with all her heart, that the thrill of making her own decisions, even if they turned out to be mistakes — she couldn’t let it go. She couldn’t let a random man become her master, couldn’t let someone decide her fate for her — it would be a torture far greater than having to tend for herself.
So, that was plan B, and she needed a new plan A now. It was pretty simple: she would find the way to give the money she already made to her family without causing too much suspicion, and then she would spend the next couple of seasons restoring her funds and making sure she had enough money to provide for herself if she did stay single forever. If something happened, and she would not able to continue publishing, she would convince her Mama to let her go somewhere far enough from London so the influence of Featherington matriarch would not reach her. She was ready to become a governess somewhere in the farthest part of Ireland, as long as it gave her freedom.
But that was a thought for another day.
Penelope was smart to understand that her plan was not well-thought-out, but she decided that she would have to make changes as she went along. Her main goal was her independence, and the exact steps she needed to take to reach it could be altered later.
The season came, and she felt as prepared for it as it was possible in the circumstances she found herself in. The fact that her plan A already started working was a refreshing change for the better, the first one in a while: she found a way to provide for her family with the money she made during her first two seasons as Whistledown. It was a miracle that it worked, honestly, but perhaps her mother was just too happy to get the money to thoroughly look into the story of their great aunt miraculously (and conveniently) leaving them inheritance when they most needed it. Whatever the case may be, Penelope was just glad that she succeeded - and because she knew that the money was in fact earned by her work (and her mistakes and sacrifices), she felt confident enough to finally take a stance and convince her Mama that she could make her own choices in regard to her appearance this season.
She was exhausted by that point of looking in the mirror and seeing someone that wasn’t really her. She didn’t like flashy colours or extravagant hairstyles, not to mention the unbecoming cuts of her gowns, made for someone with an entirely different body type. Unlike her Mama and her sisters, Penelope had taste, which only made the matters worse. She knew deep down that she had a chance of making the styles her mother chose for her work, but only if she truly thought that they were becoming her. But she didn’t — that’s what made her feel ugly. She could see the ways her looks can be drastically improved, and it only added to her discomfort when someone was looking at her.
Luckily, it didn’t take much to convince Portia. Penelope knew her Mama well, and she knew exactly which buttons to push to win her over. But Mama, surely the drastic change will draw attention to me? Mama, it will be good if girls and I look differently, so we can attract the suitors that were previously not interested in that particular style. Mama, maybe Lady Whistledown will even write about it! She can, can she? And Mama, when I inevitably go back to your style, it will attract even more notice!
The first ball of the season was approaching fast, and Penelope was trying as hard as she might to calm her nerves. She didn’t have Eloise’s usual support this time, and she was surprised and, frankly, mildly annoyed by just how much harder it made things for her. But Penelope didn’t have much choice. She had to face the music, and there was nothing she could do but keep her head high.
Madame Delacroix — bless God her soul and her talented hands — created the most gorgeous gown Penelope ever had the privilege of owning. And for the first time in her short life, Penelope felt pretty. Not beautiful, not gorgeous, not striking — but she felt pretty, and it was such a huge step forward from her usual unconfident self, that she almost teared up the first time she looked in the mirror with her new dress on.
It took longer than usual to get ready since her maid had to improvise her way through the styling of Penelope’s hair, and her sisters and Mama were very mad at her for being late to the ball — late by their standards, of course, since Featheringtons were usually among the first ones to arrive. Penelope took breaking this tradition as a good sign — it seemed that she had a chance to have a season that was different from the previous ones after all.
As soon as they entered the ballroom, Penelope left her family behind and did what she did best — became invisible. She stood quietly near the wall, making sure she could hear everything, see everything, be everywhere.
Penelope’s eyes were taking in the crowd, making note of everyone who she thought might produce the valuable information for the new issue of Lady Wistledown Society Papers, when her gaze met Francesca Bridgerton, all but embedded into the pillar she was desperately pressing her back to. In front of her stood Lord Thomas Greenwood, gesturing imposingly, making his companion more and more uncomfortable by the second.
If it were one of her sisters instead, they would have found the way to escape the man already. Daphne would have pretended that she heard someone calling her name or mentioned Anthony’s bad mood nonchalantly, just as a subtle hint, and Eloise would’ve simply ridiculed the man till he decided to flee himself. But Francesca was not Daphne, nor she was Eloise; Francesca was polite and sweet, and, as it was becoming apparent to Penelope, unable to stand for herself if not faced with immediate danger.
Penelope looked around. Violet Bridgerton, surprisingly, was nowhere to be seen — which was very unlike her, usually watching her numerous offsprings like a hawk. Penelope spotted Anthony on the ballroom floor, swirling Kate in his hands, them both radiating happiness and content. It would take them some time to finish their dance, and Francesca was running out of it.
“Here you are,” Penelope said, almost running up to the couple in the corner, making a show out of how out of breath she was. “Your mother is looking everywhere for you! You were supposed to help Eloise with—” she looked at Lord Greenwood as if she had just seen him for the first time. “Lord Greenwood!” she bowed quickly, turning back to Francesca.
Penelope could see the quick swirl of emotions running through Francesca’s face: surprise, confusion, and finally, amusement.
“Where are they?” Francesca asked, doing her best to sound worried.
“They are with Lady Danbury… Oh, please, do come quickly… Excuse us, Lord Greenwood…”
And with short curtsies, Penelope and Francesca disappeared through the crowd towards the garden.
“Well, it was fun,” Francesca giggled once she and Penelope were out of Lord Greenwood’s sight and in the comforting twilight of the garden, “thank you so much, Penelope. Aren’t you worried he would think your manners improper?”
“It’s nothing, Francesca,” Penelope smiled, “you looked like you were about to get sick any minute if he didn’t leave you alone. And as for Lord Greenwood’s opinion on my manners, I would not lose my sleep on account of a man who tried to kiss on his neighbour’s maids in the said neighbour’s garden. He is lucky he is still welcome to these parties at all.”
“How do you know that?” Francesca asked, surprised.
“It was in one of the Whitledowns last season,” Penelope shrugged.
“I still hope he won’t try to find us to continue the pleasant conversation we were having,” Francesca winced, “since you haven’t told him where you were taking me, or what the emergency was.”
“I didn’t need to,” Penelope smiled, “all he needed to hear was that I am taking you someplace where furious Dowager Lady Bridgerton and Dowager Lady Danbury are eagerly awaiting your arrival. He will not follow us — he is incredibly scared of Lady Danbury.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen Mother truly angry in years,” Francesca said, amused, “well, not with me, I mean.”
“You’re lucky indeed,” Penelope smiled, “the sweeter your Mother is when everything is fine, the scarier she gets when any of your siblings do something stupid. Like using her shawls to make a net to try to catch fish in the pond…”
“When was this?” Francesca laughed quietly. Penelope quite liked the sound of her laugh, it reminded her of Daphne when she was younger, before she became the Duchess of Hastings. As far as Penelope was concerned, Daphne was the prettiest girl she had ever seen in her life, so comparing one to her was the utmost compliment Penelope could make to a person.
“I believe it was four or five years ago, when I was visiting Eloise in Aubrey Hall,” Penelope smiled, the memory tugging at something in her chest. Somehow, talking to Francesca about Bridgertons didn’t bring the same level of hurt as when Penelope was thinking about them in the quiet of her bedchamber. This conversation they were having made it sweet, like a cherished memory of how happy she once was, without the usual aftertaste of loss. “I thought your mother would dismember Eloise then and there.”
“It was Eloise?” Francesca snorted.
“Well, it was Gregory with Hyacinth’s help, but Eloise was the one who took them to the pond in the first place, and she was the eldest of them, and worst of all she didn’t stop them,” now Penelope was smiling too.
They stood side by side for a bit, taking in the fresh air.
“I want you to know, Penelope, that we miss you in our house,” Francesca said quietly. “I don’t know what happened between you and Eloise, but I do hope that you will reconcile. I can see that she misses you, too.”
Whether Francesca was telling the truth or just trying to make her feel better, Penelope was grateful. She wanted to believe her, wanted to believe that their friendship meant enough so that Eloise would be at least half as sad as Penelope was now that they were no longer on speaking terms.
“Thank you,” Penelope said softly, “I don’t believe we will, but I will always hope.”
She could tell that Francesca wanted to ask her about it, to know more, but she didn’t, and Penelope was even more grateful for that.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t believe you miss the noise and the chaos,” Francesca wrinkled her nose adorably, “I know I didn’t. I sometimes wish that I could play pianoforte for even half an hour before someone drops something, breaks something or comes into the room yelling.”
Penelope laughed again. ThIs quarter of an hour she spent with Francesca was the most fun she had in months. “I know that your brothers and sisters can be… a lot,” she said gently, “but I do love each of them. Almost as if they were my own.”
Francesca smiled again, and Penelope knew that was because she saw that Penelope was telling the truth. Bridgertons were always kind to Penelope, and she repaid them with all the love and loyalty she could master.
What good had it done to her in the end, huh.
“I know that,” Francesca replied, her voice as soft as her touch on Penelope’s wrist, “I think I can safely say we all know what. Anthony always speaks about you as if you were more a sister to Eloise than me and Daphne together. Gregory and Hyacinth probably do not remember the time when you were not in our lives. And Colin…”
“You know what”, Penelope exclaimed cheerfully — probably a little too cheerfully, “we do have a pianoforte in the drawing room, and, well, now that Prudence is married and doesn’t need to show off her incredible skills…”
Francesca giggled.
“So,” Penelope continued, “I will be very happy if you can come to us from time to time to play.”
“Penelope,” Francesca said, smiling brightly, her beautiful eyes sparkling, “that is entirely too generous of you to offer.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree,” Penelope said hotly, “it would be as much for my benefit as it is for yours. I can stay at home and read a bit while Mama promenades with my sisters and their husbands. She will be okay with me staying as long as I have someone respectable to entertain, and I would very much enjoy listening to someone who truly knows what they are doing with the instrument. And we can just sit in silence for a bit, and then we can have tea… If you are amiable to the idea, of course,” she added, suddenly feeling all too shy for her proposal.
Francesca took her hand.
“It sounds like a dream,” she said, beaming, “I would love that.”
At that moment, when Penelope dared to think that the universe finally allowed her to catch a break and have one pleasant evening, it all went straight back to hell.
“Francesca, I’ve been looking for you every—”
Penelope didn’t have to look back to see who approached them. She feared that even if she spent half a century strangled on a deserted island, it would not be enough to forget the sound of this voice.
Francesca turned around swiftly, and Penelope had to as well, although doing that was the last thing she wanted at that particular moment.
There he was, looking as handsome as ever, Colin Bridgerton in the flesh. Penelope would have cursed if he wasn’t standing so close.
“Penelope,” he gasped, his smile growing wide, “I didn’t recognise you. You look lovely.”
“Well, it’s a shame that looking lovely made me unrecognisable.”
Francesca shot her a quick glance, but stayed silent.
“Of course not,” Colin laughed nervously, “I am just too rusty for a pleasant conversation, forgive me. You always look lovely, I just meant that I didn’t see you in this colour before. It rather suits you.”
“Thank you, Mister Bridgerton,” Penelope said flatly, “well, I do believe that Mama must be looking for me everywhere. It was nice seeing you, Mister Bridgerton, Francesca,” she didn’t want to emphasise her changed attitude, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Pen,” Colin reached out to her, not touching her hand but not letting her leave, either, “could you stay a moment?”
“My Mama…”
“Is with Lady Cowper right now,” Colin spoke over, his hand still outstretched and in Penelope’s way. “I believe she will be able to do without you for a couple more minutes. Frannie,” he turned towards her sister who was doing her best to seem interested in the bush on her left, “would you mind giving us a moment? I will be with you and Mother shortly.”
“I don’t think…”
“Please?”
Colin looked pleadingly towards Francesca. Penelope stayed silent, as she didn’t want it to look as if this situation was meaningful to her at all. She kind of hoped that Francesca would stay, but it seemed that as long as Penelope didn’t protest, Francesca decided to grant her brother his request, so with a quick nod of her head and a soft smile towards Penelope, she left.
Damn her and her kindness.
“Pen,” Colin said as soon as Francesca was out of earshot, “how have you been?”
Penelope raised her eyebrows.
“This is what you wanted to talk about? Alone? In the garden?”
“Well, not exactly,” Colin laughed nervously again, which was something that was unusual of him. “I just wanted to talk to you, that’s all. I didn’t get the chance to talk to you while I’ve been gone, and I wasn’t sure you received my letters, or maybe you’ve just been busy, I don’t know,” he started rumbling, which was even more unusual.
“Thank you for asking, I’ve been okay,” Penelope answered, her voice even, “I hope you are fine as well.”
Colin remained silent for a second, clearly trying to find something else to say.
“I missed you,” he said suddenly, his smile sincere, and Penelope thought that she would ruin it all then and there by starting to cry desperately in front of him. The problem was that it was still Colin, and she still loved him, whether she was disappointed in him or not. He was still someone who could make her whole world spin with just one touch to her gloved hand, and it was his opinion of her that mattered the most — still.
Which was exactly what made her furious.
“You missed me?” she asked, trying as hard as she might to keep the irritation out of her voice. She didn’t want that, didn’t want him to see how much he affected her, how much power his words held onto her, “but you would never court me, correct?”
He looked confused, and that made her even more angry. He did it, he ruined her dreams, he haunted her thoughts for months, and he didn’t even notice. He couldn’t remember it. It was insignificant to him. That interaction, the one she repeated in her head over and over again before crying herself to sleep almost every night — it didn’t even register in his mind as something of importance.
“Don’t bother,” she said very quietly, “it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Pen, I can see it, but I don’t understand…”
“You don’t have to understand,” she was getting tired of this, of him, of that conversation, of having to explain her feelings as if she owed him something. “I don’t want to talk about that and it is stupid. It’s nothing of note. I need to go find Mama.”
“Pen—”
“I overheard you,” she blurted out, accepting the fact he would not stop following her around until he had the answers he wanted. It was something he shared with Eloise and most Bridgertons, this blind, unrelenting stubbornness which was something Penelope admired and could never hold against them. So it was easier just to get over with it. “At my Mama’s ball last season, telling everyone how you would never ever court Penelope Featherington.”
Colin looked tense, opening and closing his mouth several times trying to find the right words.
“Penelope, I never thought that you would ever want… That is, it is not something… I mean, we were always…”
Oh, good God.
“You are mistaken,” she said, trying to regain her composure. “It’s not about me wanting to be courted by you, for God’s sake.”
It was only a half-lie, after all.
“It’s about your total disregard for my feelings, for my reputation… for me. I am used to being laughed at, to never being taken seriously, to be someone that no one finds… desirable,” she felt some sort of vicious thrill as she saw his face growing pale as he finally, finally understood. “I just always thought that I could trust you. That you were better than that. That you will always be kind to me.”
”Penelope—”
“If you say that you were wrong or that you are sorry or that you didn’t mean it, I would never talk to you again,” Penelope was not planning on talking to him either way, but he didn’t need to know that.
They were silent again, longer this time.
“What do you want me to say, then?” he broke the silence desperately, “if I can’t say what I want to say?”
“Nothing,” she cut off, “I don’t want you to say anything because there is nothing left to say. I just want to be left alone and in peace, and I want to have at least one season without scandal tainting the name of me or my family or both. I’m tired of being a joke and I don’t want your pity. So if you don’t want to have to explain not courting me again,” at that Colin winced, “please stop finding me alone in compromising situations like, may I repeat, standing alone in the dark garden.”
She didn’t find satisfaction in his hurt expression anymore. It was Colin, and she still loved him, and she was hurting him with her words — deliberately. But she couldn’t stop now. She just wanted it to be over so she can go home and have a good cry alone.
“So,” Colin said quietly, after another long pause, “you hate me now.”
Penelope sighed.
“I don’t hate you, Colin. I don’t believe I could even if I wanted to,” she said. But before Colin could smile, she added, “I just don’t really care anymore.”
Colin froze. Penelope didn’t think he had ever seen him at a total loss for words before. So she took the opportunity, curtsied, stepped back inside and quickly disappeared into the crowd before he got the chance to gather his thoughts.
She wasn’t sure, she couldn’t be, but at that moment he looked like he would’ve preferred Penelope slapping him or spitting in his face.