Chapter Text
Prudence took Penelope away and there was an instant chill across his chest with her warmth gone. He felt Pen’s arm brush the ring box and pulled it out of her way by instinct. She drifted from him and into her sisters’ staring caution, like an averted kidnapping in full public view. He did not know what had gone wrong. He could not fix it. Words stuck in his lungs and felt like a fatal illness that would stop his breath. They didn’t have to make him feel like a bear attempting to maul her.
He did not ask too much. He did not overshoot his own efforts. He did not dally with all the women and pretend he was suddenly attached. He had always shown Penelope was his favourite, though it did not have the weight of romance and eternity until he was threatened. But he had not cheated anyone, and would not believe his own dealings had damned him.
Colin did not believe he was a greedy man. He had grown up knowing there was no destiny laid out for him, but that he was loved and had plenty. He understood the family money made him lucky, and his kind parents made him bright and willing to explore. He knew many men in his position who were made to feel like something worse than a spare. They were the unintended third or later sons whose births were omens only for future trouble with the inheritance. Girls could at least be married out, but young men who had no titles were asked to get out of the way of the household.
He had known his boyhood was a ramp to school away, then an expectation he would travel and show some talents that helped out. He knew he was not asked to stay away, but it could be easier to do so. Men close in age had differing ways of solving their troubles. Anthony’s methods were not the same as Benedict’s or Colin’s. The estate was the family income and it was difficult not to voice contrary opinions when there was a problem.
Bridgertons did not think in that calculating way. Mother would be glad to have all of them living in the house until the walls burst with grandchildren and pets. That sweet outlook did not remove the idea that Colin was not educated so he could go nowhere and accomplish nothing. He traveled for his own pleasure and looked around the world. Men did all sorts of labour and he became a one-day master of many talents. He could boil his own egg and dig his own flower beds. He could keep the ledgers and pick lemons. What was a useful skill elsewhere was a shameful and childish hobby in London. Wanting to be useful when one already had an elevated family and accounts due to be settled upon reaching his majority made him look like a ceaseless boy who sought approval.
He had deluded himself into thinking he had the overarching approval of Pen’s impossible mother, and took it as proof he’d pleased his bride. A refusal now meant more than her panic over his first one, or the way she waved off his attempts to ask other times.
Colin wanted people to like him. He did not think there was anything wrong with that. He had become the connection between members of his family. He brokered peace when there were quarrels. He saw needs people felt couldn’t be said, and offered succor for things that no one would ask. And when Penelope had needed a friend in every ballroom - long before Eloise deigned to join the fray - he had made himself at least that companion.
“Come with me,” Benedict said brusquely, his grip around Colin’s neck tugging him into a half embrace. A kiss landed on his forehead, and his brother walked him the long way around to the garden entrance. The doors were propped open, though the breeze was not as warm as full summer. The patio was sparsely populated. People were not eager to be in nature with any hint of damp or cool.
“There we are,” his brother said softly. “I cannot imagine you wish to stay longer, but we must give them time to depart before we are also waiting for a carriage. Would you like to sit?”
There was a bench, but that only reminded Colin of the nights he had despaired of his success with Pen. She had given him little territories in her world, but guarded the border where all the very important spaces shone with temptation beyond high walls. Pen wanted most of him with most of herself, but they shared more in history than in the future. He was passing the ring box between his hands, and Benedict took it firmly.
“I need that,” Colin snapped.
“I’ll keep it safe,” Ben told him. “Right into the pocket, and you’ll have it back soon. You’re tossing it like it’s burning your hands. When you can calm your breathing, I’ll believe you’re not going to toss it into a lake.”
He turned around, looking helplessly at the overly shaped trees and the flower beds that were cut so irrationally square they seemed to contain artificial flowers. The night sky was flickering with stars, and the air was still agreeably warm. It was the very last of a lovely summer. Colin had been tormented emotionally most days, but the weather was not the issue. He knew he wasn’t actually burning up, but the humiliation was putting pressure on his chest.
“There is no lake. She didn’t want it,” he said quietly. “She closed the box and turned her back. Prudence took her away. Pen doesn’t even like her sisters.”
Benedict hummed an agreement. “But she still loves her sisters. Prudence couldn’t leave Penelope there any more than I could have walked away from you. And it’s no small thing to marry. I can see how she might be overwhelmed. It might not be about you. The Dankworth lad proposing was ridiculous,” he said. “I can see how she might not have wanted the day of her engagement to include it.”
Colin had wanted to propose any day she would have him. He had asked multiple times and waited until he had the approval of both Featherington ladies. He drank an ocean of tea and lemonade, making polite conversation between the jokes that brought out Penelope’s playful real personality. He had put up with a lack of trust and a low standard for his intellect. He had stood back so other men could court her. He had choked back jealousy when he had watched the speculation grow. His pretty wallflower with the carefully guarded sense of humour had started showing off for the gentlemen who mocked her.
“Harry’s brother did not matter,” Colin said sourly. “He was a child acting the way he imagined a man would. Pen and I have lived enough years that we can choose one another. We have the experience. It is significant that we would see our potential. She was not nervous at the beginning of the ball.”
Ben’s hands went out to his sides, as if grabbing him and bringing him down might be necessary. “I know that you and Penelope are a real thing. She also must know that. But it is difficult, is it not? Even you - with your very soft heart full of trust - you fought it at first. And there was more to know about your lady, just as there was more you have not yet said to her. It is a deep thing to be known and loved. The start of it is very fond, but it can delve into harder topics. Your love races ahead. It is a fine thing, but it cannot be something you require only from a wife.”
He took out a flask and offered it, but Colin shook his head. “I think someone said something to Pen,” he said. “Perhaps not her mother anymore, but Prudence is not sure of me. It might be any of the sour debutantes who somehow thought I might choose them despite being strangers to me. Pen loves me. That hasn’t changed. She waited for me for so long, and she is too good to leave me like this.”
His brother took a sip of the flask and grimaced. “She is good. I’m glad you can recall that even in this moment,” he said. “Have you . . . How physical have you gone with her? I am not Anthony. I will not judge. Some women fear the marriage bed. You are plainly fond when you touch her, but you are very bold lately.”
Penelope’s untouched state was clear when Colin had kissed her for the first time. She had not even known enough to comprehend his own devastation. Her hesitation was everything modest and humble, and it was a long climb to make her confident in seeking pleasure.
“I have not bedded her, Ben. I have touched her and pleased her. I made sure she was not afraid or unwilling,” he said hoarsely. “I used to be unaware I was hurting her feelings, and now I watch for every flicker of suffering. I have delayed to excess waiting for her consent.”
His brother nodded. “I’m not accusing her or you. The love is obvious. It is also natural to be nervous. Perhaps that is all this is, and will be fixed by asking her somewhere quiet. I think you should come back to the house with the family, and you can see Penelope in the morning. I don’t want you to be alone.”
Colin shifted his weight and scrubbed at his eyes. He was not ashamed to cry over Penelope, but he was not giving up like this. He put out a hand. “I want the ring, please,” he said. “I am used to carrying it around.”
They walked the long way around the house, avoiding the stares of the lingering celebrants and the chance of meeting the Featheringtons where the coaches were brought around. Colin stuffed his hand in his pocket with the ring box, nodding grimly to himself. He would send a note to Bloomsbury to have the dog cared for in the morning. He would not have his marriage to Pen start with the strain of performance for a crowd. A garden proposal would suit them much better. He had been quite blind to their surroundings when she was in view.
“It will be well between you,” Ben told him. “If you must, you can show off the fine wedding bench I have made over for you both. She will lose all her doubts.”
If it got the necessary assent, Colin would send Benedict to propose on his behalf. “I would like to marry for my own sake, but I will use customized seating if I must. It is a misunderstanding. I do not need a scene with many gawkers. My lady is a most sincere, generous soul. She will not deny me when she is at ease.”
He ignored the twist of pity in the look directed at him, and climbed into the carriage with deliberate calm. It would be sorted in the morning.
Rae and Mrs. Varley were ready with champagne chilled. They had not been sure if the engagement toasts would take place across the street or in the Featherington home. They had wanted to be ready. So much planning had gone toward other suitors, and then into a wedding with a man yet unnamed. To have both bride and groom known and clasped together with the Banns read would remove some of the hardship of a society wedding. The work was lighter with happy endings in the offing.
Penelope was handed into the house first, her teary face not the alarum it might have been since Colin Bridgerton had caused tears more than once. To leap into a life as a married lady was a sentimental thing. She would weep with the alteration of it.
“Oh Miss! Best wishes,” Rae said eagerly.
“I must - Can you get me out of my dress? I am so pinched and cramped I might be ill,” Penelope said weakly.
Mrs. Varley was looking behind her. “Did your mother not ride in the carriage with you? Has she gone to the Bridgerton’s?”
Penelope’s face went even more pale. “Mama lingers outside to see if Colin’s carriage is following us. I don’t wish to see him. I am going to bed.”
Stupidly, Rae imagined some distress that could be mended with a bath and a new gown. Perhaps Miss had bled through her gown despite the extra layers added to keep her courses from ruining her big moment. Mr. Bridgerton was a lively dancer, and a napkin would not keep in place with great swings of legs.
“Have you felt ill all night? You took your tea for the pain before you left,” she said. “Come with me and we will get you into your blue gown. It is all ready for tomorrow night for dinner, but I will press a new one before I go to sleep.”
Mrs. Varley went to the door and opened it, going out. Penelope started walking toward the stairs.
“May I see the ring?”
Penelope stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her hand catching the rail roughly. “There is no ring. I have made a mistake. I will not drag him into it,” she said quietly.
There was no man more willing to be dragged behind Miss Penelope’s gravest error. He would gladly ride to the wedding under the carriage with his face in the gravel, cobblestones and horses’ leavings as long as he could wash before the ceremony. Rae chased her mistress up the stairs, looking for some flaw in her dress.
“You told him to ask you tonight,” she said, unable to let the issue go without some understanding. “Did he imbibe too much and embarrass you? He will be so contrite tomorrow, we will need to put his flowers in the bath to have them in water. Mr. Bridgerton will waste no time making it up to you!”
“Please do not speak of him,” Penelope said desperately. “I am terrible.”
The near run to the bedroom was nearly peaceful compared to the way she tore at her gloves when the door was shut. Rae peeled off the sheer tulle and hurried to get the back of the dress open. She pulled the corset laces roughly, making them whip free of the eyelets. Rae was a skilled maid, but it took full minutes before she was taking off the borrowed pearl necklace and helping Penelope step out of the dress.
“That’s enough. I need the chamber pot. You can leave me.”
There were dozens of pins in her hair, and little pearl decorations that would bite into her scalp if she tried lying down.
“Do you want me to get you something to settle your stomach? I can come back and take your hair down,” Rae said.
“No. Please. I need privacy.”
Penelope pulled the chamber pot from under the bed, sitting next to it in her petticoats and open corset. She pulled the corset over her head and undid half her pins abruptly tossing the stiff fabric.
Rae was carrying the dress, and threw it over her arm to go to the wardrobe for a wrap. “You will freeze,” she said.
“I am too hot! I am mortified, Rae. Please let me be. I cannot explain,” Penelope said. She hunched over the chamber pot, holding her belly.
“Oh, Miss.”
There was a muffled noise as the door shut behind Rae, but she could not tell if it was a sob or gagging hidden behind a hand still without a ring. She leaned on the bedroom door with the gown crumpled in her arms, disconcerted. Miss had left the house with every notion she would be a fiancee upon her return, and Mr. Bridgerton would have to perish before he abandoned her.
She went downstairs after a few minutes of hoping the door would fly open and some aid would be permitted. Rae found Mrs. Varley serving wine in the parlour, Lady Featherington propping her legs on a footstool with malicious jabs of her heels.
“Is Penelope in bed,” she asked of her daughter.
“Not in bed, but undressed for it. She said she feels very unwell but did not want me,” Rae told her.
Mrs. Varley felt the anxiety of that and responded as if it came from disapproval a ladies’ maid should hide for her employers. “Miss Penelope has had an eventful time,” she said. “A good sleep will right it.”
Rae knew she was not wanted to wait on Lady Featherington, but she was hoping something of the matter would be spoken. The point had been a small but public proposal. Lady Featherington would have watched it. She had been happier than Penelope at times to have a Bridgerton groom join the family.
“Penelope has her moments of making herself goggled,” she said wearily. “Colin is aware of it. It was very odd. He said barely a word and she refused him any answer. It was unbearable. His face was ashen, and my poor girl was so flushed she could have fainted. Prudence took her away and the Bridgertons will just have to understand. Penelope is never at her best in a ballroom. The show of it is not so vital. We just need the engagement.”
The season was nearly over, and taking Penelope out of London as anything except a bride would put her on the shelf forever. Rae understood that rule as much as she thought it was silly. She was older than Penelope and had never come close to being properly courted, and yet she was not considered too old or set in her ways to marry. She was a woman and would not spoil like milk. Ton misses were the best of all young ladies, but also more fragile because that standard would break any but the youngest back to carry it.
“I will wait up in case Miss rings for me,” Rae said solemnly. “All will be sorted tomorrow.”
She would help her young lady without any orders, because it was too much of a shame to lose a love that grew up with you. They would be lucky to get to daylight without Mr. Bridgerton’s knock at the door.
Lady Featherington looked ready to twist arms until the wedding was accomplished, and Mrs. Varley was scarcely less ferocious in her upholding the family honour. Rae left them to it, sure those ladies would speak more freely about Penelope and Colin only when they were alone.