Chapter Text
“Heaven above…”
Despite her distance from the garden, Penelope heard everything. The intake of breath. The rustling of muslin against the smooth, stone bench.
Surely within moments she’d prove her suspicions correct—that her mama and sister Prudence had run off to whisper about Penelope’s new, unusual dress for Lady Danbury’s upcoming ball. For not a single moment did Penelope believe their story about wanting to smell the flowers, or take in the sunshine, or listen to the gentle, whistling wind.
They left the sitting room under the guise of beautiful autumn weather and instead, they’d come to hurt her. She was certain of it. And while she rarely took comments from her mama and sisters seriously, the criticisms had become more acute.
Her father’s death and the subsequent hardships left Penelope fractured. Cousin Jack’s deceit only served to worsen the fissure.
But the struggles felt survivable.
Or they had, until Eloise learned her secret and cast her aside.
In her heartache, Penelope didn’t believe anything could wound her further. There was nothing left to destroy her. Her father was dead, her family and their reputation were in shambles, and her dearest friend in the world treated her like a pest.
But never one to be content in coming in second—or third, rather, given his place in the family line-up—Colin Bridgerton made sure he was the one to twist the knife. The third Bridgerton son had proven to be the most traitorous of them all, the most intent to belittle and betray.
His words lived in her memory like a nursery rhyme, repeating the same rhythm and cadence until they became as elusive to her as breathing. The words were no different than the man. Colin Bridgerton was a learned intuition, the unconscious and uncontrollable part of her being that directed her wants and needs like the strings of a marionette.
He was unforgettable. And while Penelope Featherington had long ago accepted her unrequited love as such—unrequited—she hoped he would remain a friend. That he would remain someone she could trust.
Given his behavior at the end of the season, perhaps it was fortuitous that he spent the summer traveling. His absence allowed Penelope to focus on repairing her friendship with Eloise. Or groveling, really. Any ounce of integrity she had was gone. In her desperation to save her one true friendship—the one real relationship she felt she had left—she said whatever she needed to say.
She apologized for anything and everything.
It worked. Their friendship was restored and their treasured teatime at the Bridgerton household resumed. And besides what felt like endless conversation and questioning from Eloise about Lady Whistledown, life returned to normal. Summer turned into autumn. The ladies of the ton prepared for the social season. Colin Bridgerton continued his global tour, writing letters to her as if he hadn’t destroyed her heart.
Her mama wasn’t panicking about money. Even Prudence was nicer.
For once, with Eloise aware of her secret and her household in better spirits, Penelope felt at ease.
Or she had, until her mama and sister scrambled from the sitting room moments ago, leaving half-finished tea and biscuits in their wake.
Penelope clenched her book to her chest. She stood behind a particularly ample bush, watching her sister and mama stare into the distance, positively giggly. She wondered, as she watched their closeness, if she should return inside.
The last time she found herself eavesdropping, she ended up with a broken heart.
But as she turned on her heels to head into the house, Prudence’s breathy whispers stopped her in her tracks.
“I dare say he’s made from marble. How else can a young man look so delectable?” Prudence asked, fanning herself as she stared towards the towering oak tree on their property. Penelope couldn’t see much from her vantage point, let alone who this mysterious young man was.
Mama laughed. “My darling Prudence, you are lucky to have such an open-minded mother.” She sat up and joined Prudence’s fanning. “It is not proper for a lady to speak such words about a gentleman.” As her fanning increased, her polite smile grew into a lecherous smirk. “But given we are in the privacy of our home, I shall allow it. He is rather delectable. And to think, when Mrs. Varley mentioned the visible rot on the oak, I thought it to be an over-priced nuisance.”
Prudence giggled. “And instead, it has brought us Nathaniel.”
“Indeed, it has. We may need to study up on botany. Perhaps if the rest of the trees encounter rot, Nathaniel will need to stay longer to do his work.”
As her mama and sister continued to giggle, Penelope ventured deeper into the garden, managing to hide behind every overwhelming brush and tree across the green lawn. The further she walked, the quieter her sister and mama became.
When she reached the oak tree, she discovered the source of their abrupt departure and girlish gossiping: Nathaniel Fletcher.
He’d arrived not more than fifteen minutes ago, led into the sitting room and introduced by Mrs. Varley as one of the best arborists in London. He would remain at the Featherington home for the day, focused on handling their decaying oak tree and checking on the well-being of the rest of the trees on their property.
Penelope had paid little attention to the man brought into her home, instead more focused on her book and second cup of tea. But now that she saw him in the sunlight, she understood her mama and Prudence’s giggling. Even while hunched over a sack of tools, he was… handsome. Strong, thick legs were encased in rather tight tan pants, and a muscled back was taut under a flowy, white top. His forearms were bare, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up as he worked in the sunshine.
He stood, an unknown garden tool in his hand, and noticed Penelope. She staggered backwards at his attention, afraid she’d been caught doing something wrong. But instead of chastising her, he merely smiled and waved.
My was he…
Tall. Strong. Handsome. Overwhelmingly so. Tanned skin from the sun, choppy, dark strands of hair falling into bright blue eyes the same color of the Irish Sea…
He reminded her of Colin. Older and rougher, but still so much like the third Bridgerton boy.
In fact, with the comparison made in her mind, she felt her knees go weak. She grabbed hold of the tree she hid behind, an insipid voyeur spying on Nathaniel as he worked.
Penelope watched the straining muscles in his arms as he dug into the soil surrounding the tree. She watched broad shoulders curl, how he made himself smaller to get as close to the roots of the plant as possible, how his gloved hands were gentle, firm fingers pressing into damp soil…
A warmth spread over her and her once comfortable dress became scratchy. Tight, and hot, and unbearably uncomfortable on her person. The back of her neck dampened, and a knot grew in her throat, making it difficult for her to swallow.
When Nathaniel looked her way once more with a polite albeit confused smile, she bolted, book clutched tight to her heaving bosom. The moment she made it to her bedroom, she shut the door and launched herself on her bed, unable to get comfortable until her day dress was discarded, and she laid atop the linens in her undergarments.
She stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, hair astray, and skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, and she couldn’t help but move her hands and feet across her bed linens, completely desensitized from the friction of the fabric.
What was happening to her?
Was she ill?
Penelope forced herself to take a deep breath, counting from fifty in her head until she felt like her heart would no longer explode. But while her body recovered from the physical episode, her mind did not.
Every time she closed her eyes, she was reminded of the arborist. Of tanned skin peeking out from under the white shirt, from strong legs and a generous height to delicate strands of dark hair sticking to sweaty skin…
The noise that escaped her was neither a laugh nor a cry. She buried her face in her pillow and let out a screech. Because as scary and inexplicable as this episode was for Penelope, her biggest concern was now why her mind had conflated the arborist and Colin.
She knew Colin was handsome. It was a cruel fact, one that had taunted her since the moment she met him. But she had never paid much attention to his physicality outside of his face and height, both attributes which were hard to ignore. He was always dressed nicely, and since he kept with current styles, that was enough.
She never thought to really… look at him.
But she had looked at Nathaniel, just as her mama and Prudence had.
Penelope exhaled and buried herself beneath her bed linens. She hoped the weight of the blankets would calm her body down. Maybe even settle the new, curious ache she felt between her legs.
Perhaps tomorrow she’d need the doctor.
A week passed.
She didn’t need the doctor, but she did need Eloise.
Penelope wasn’t sure what was worse—Colin returning to London and spending nearly every day trying to apologize to her for his cruel words the previous season, or Nathaniel the arborist overstaying by five days, as suddenly every tree on their property seemed to need his expertise.
She wasn’t sure if it was a scam on his part or a clever ruse on her mama’s, but the man remained, and Penelope lived in a perpetual state of disarray.
At home, Nathaniel remained her focus.
Or at least until she shut her eyes, and it was Colin Bridgerton covered in sweat with gardening tools in each hand. And as Colin occupied every unconscious thought, he occupied her attention every time she left the house.
If she promenaded, he was there. If there was a ball, he was there. If she visited the Bridgerton home, he was there.
As before, Colin Bridgerton was everywhere at once. Between him and the arborist, she spent every night tossing and turning in a heap of messy hair and a sweaty night dress.
She was going crazy. She was convinced of it. And so, at the week mark, she finally confided in Eloise over tea at the Bridgerton home.
For once, they were blissfully alone in the sitting room. The Viscount and Viscountess were out, Benedict and Colin were fencing in the garden, and the Dowager Viscountess had taken the remaining siblings to the modiste. It meant as soon as Penelope and Eloise were served a fresh round of tea and biscuits, they were free to share as they pleased.
“I’m not sure I follow,” Eloise explained, after Penelope’s explanation of her ailment. “This illness leaves you… what? Heated?”
“Yes. I’m… hot all over. But it’s not simply that. I feel so… unbalanced. Like I need something.”
“Like medicine?”
“No, no, not like that. It’s as if I… am missing something. The issue is, I am not sure what I am missing.” Penelope cleared her throat, staring into her teacup. She was hesitant to admit the most pressing ailment, given how inappropriate it was, but she trusted Eloise. “The most… bizarre of my symptoms is an… ache between my legs.”
Eloise raised an eyebrow. “An ache? Is it painful?”
Penelope considered the question. “I can’t explain it. It’s not painful the same way cutting yourself is. But it does bring pain.”
“Hmm.” Eloise sipped her tea, contemplative. “And you’re certain you don’t need to simply relieve yourself?”
“I’m certain. It’s not the same sensation as needing to use a chamber pot.”
Eloise tapped her chin. “Well, unfortunately I am at a loss. If you do not wish to visit a doctor, might I suggest a visit to the library? Surely one of my father’s books would cover the subject.”
Penelope perked up at the mention. “Oh! I did not think of that.” She jumped to her feet. “You know my mama does not keep our study well stocked with books, especially of the scientific variety.”
“It’s all yours.” Eloise returned to the couch and slumped onto it, quite unlike a lady. She waved a beaten book in the air. “If you don’t mind, I shall remain here. I’m in the middle of Julius Caesar and I do not wish to step away.”
Penelope laughed and thanked her again before journeying up the stairs and into the familiar library of the Bridgerton home. It was an overwhelming room, filled to the brim with books and plays in more languages than she could count. Penelope knew that Eloise’s father—the previous Viscount—was a passionate reader, with a well-documented love of science and nature. Given his interests, Penelope easily found a plethora of medical books, all tucked away beside a generous selection of books on botany and zoology. She grabbed a promising volume and reclined across a chaise lounge, flipping through each malady in search of anything similar to her current ailment.
She’d skimmed through at least a dozen diseases when the door opened. Expecting Eloise, Penelope didn’t look away from her studying. “This is a promising start,” she said, flipping the page, “but no luck yet. I’m afraid I may need to read every medical book your father has until I found a solution to my condition.”
“Condition? Are you ill, Pen?”
At the sound of Colin’s voice, Penelope slammed the book shut and sat up, meeting his curious gaze. He leaned against the doorway, watching her, disheveled hair falling into his eyes.
She took in his fencing attire. Tan pants, flowing white shirt, sweat-slicked hair…
Suddenly, any remaining thoughts of Nathaniel were gone, replaced by Colin standing before her. Her cheeks flushed, forcing her to look anywhere but at him.
“I…” She gulped and stood, the medical book hugged against her. “I’m not sick,” she explained. “Or at least I don’t think I am.”
Colin stepped towards her and crossed his arms. “You don’t think so? Have you consulted a physician? If you’re feeling ill, I insist. I can have the family doctor brought—”
“No!” His eyes widened at the interruption. Penelope cleared her throat. “I appreciate it, Colin. I do. But I don’t believe this is serious. Hence why I am comfortable consulting the written word over a doctor.”
He pursed his lips and glanced at the open door. He studied it for a few moments, before deciding to shut it. Once closed, he sat on the edge of the large desk in the room and looked at her. “We have privacy now. I wish for you to confide in me. My travels have exposed me to many holistic and unique medical practices. Perhaps I’m familiar with your symptoms.”
Penelope glanced at the shut down and back to him. They were breaking approximately ten different rules of etiquette in the moment—some minor, like Penelope wandering around a home not her own, and some major, like the two of them unchaperoned in the library, door closed. She opened her mouth, on the brink of pointing out the faux pas, but ultimately, she decided against it.
Colin had spent the week apologizing. She wasn’t sure if she forgave him, but she wondered if she’d have to take the same route she did with Eloise.
If she wanted him in her life in any capacity, she’d have to accept whatever it took.
That meant forgiving him.
That meant trusting him.
And so, she determined she could trust him about this.
“If you insist.” She returned the book to its place on the shelf and turned to Colin, cheeks reddened at the prospect of sharing with him. "My symptoms began approximately a week ago. They are… inconsistent and unpredictable. Some days I have not experienced them at all, and other days, I am burdened for hours.”
“I see. And what are these main symptoms?”
“I get very… warm. It’s like laying in the sun on the hottest days of summer. It makes my garments tight, and itchy, and so very uncomfortable. When I look in the mirror, I see how red I become. I feel… sweaty.” She frowned and looked away from his concerned gaze, hating to discuss something as revolting as sweat with Colin Bridgerton. “I become weak in the knees. Restless, aimless, unbalanced… I feel so very… incomplete. As if I am missing something.”
His eyebrows furrowed, his concern shifting into an unfamiliar expression. “Is that all?”
“There is… one other main symptom.”
“Go on.”
She bit her lip and stared at the intricate ceiling tiles. How could she possibly talk about this with Colin? With a deep breath, she accepted her fate. Women visited doctors. There was nothing wrong with being honest.
“I get an… ache between my legs. It’s painful, but not the sort of pain I associate with a sickness or injury. I don’t know how to handle it and relieving myself never helps.”
She was met with silence.
When she finally braved a glance at Colin, he was staring at her, blue eyes wide and pink lips parted. He shifted on the desk and cleared his throat, leaning closer to her. His following words were hushed.
“This… ache you feel. And the rest of your symptoms. What… prompted them? Do you recall a catalyst? An… irritant perhaps?”
Penelope flushed. “I…”
“Penelope.” His voice was demanding. Raspy. Unlike anything she’d heard from Colin before. “Answer me.”
“Mama hired an arborist,” she explained softly, staring at her hands instead of meeting his gaze. “The first time this happened, I was watching him work.” When she looked back to Colin, his jaw clenched, like he was biting down on tobacco. “Could I have inhaled a toxin from his work? The oak tree was rotting—”
“You did no such thing,” he interrupted, rather abruptly. He jumped off the desk and to his feet, stalking towards her until only centimeters separated them. “This arborist. Were you fond of him?”
“Fond of him? I barely know him,” she explained. “He seemed nice but—”
“Do you like him?” he interrupted again. “Are you attracted to him?”
Her eyes widened. Never had a man asked her such a question, let alone Colin. “I—attracted? Colin, he’s a gardener—”
“Penelope.” This time, his interruption was… angry. “Did you find this man to be handsome?”
She crossed her arms. “I don’t see why that matters but yes, I do find Nathaniel handsome.”
“Ah. You refer to him by his Christian name?”
“He is a gardener, Colin. It is like calling my lady maid by her given name.” She smoothed her dress, suddenly conscious of how close he was. “I do not see why this matters. Are you familiar with my ailment?”
He watched her for a few moments, eyes narrowed, until he turned to face the window, his back to her. “I am familiar,” he replied, rather cryptically, “however, I am unfamiliar with any medicinal or holistic cure for your ailment.”
Her shoulders fell. It was impossible to conceal her disappointment. “I see.”
“There is, however, one remedy you may consider trying.” He turned back to her, eyes dark. “That is, if you’re willing to try something… unorthodox.”
Penelope thought back to her sleepless, aching nights. She nodded eagerly. “I am.”
“The next time it happens,” he said, voice hushed, “you are to return to your bed chambers. Close your door and make sure you’re alone.” He stepped forward, running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair. “Then, you are to remove your garments. It will help with how warm you feel.”
Penelope swallowed. That advice alone was scandalous. She was never nude except when bathing and changing. “Okay.”
“Then,” he whispered, “you’re going to put your hand between your legs. You’re going to soothe the ache, Pen. Do you understand me?”
“Soothe…it?”
“Yes. You’re going to… massage it. Touch and rub the space there. You’ll know it’s working because the ache will diminish. Your stomach will clench and if you do it right, you may even see stars.”
“Stars?”
“Indeed. You’ll keep soothing that ache until it disappears. And when it does, the rest of your symptoms will go away.” He swallowed, his gaze dropping to her gown. Penelope frowned, hoping she didn’t look too disheveled after her time reading. “And if the symptoms return, you soothe the ache again. And again. And again.”
“That seems… permissible.” And it did. Rubbing the ache away seemed easy enough. She rubbed her hands constantly whenever she experienced a cramp from writing too much.
Colin returned to the door. Unlike before, when he retained his usual helpful, friendly disposition, he now appeared reticent, his back tense and his words clipped.
She couldn’t have upset him…
Right?
He volunteered to help. And while her condition was embarrassing, it wasn’t nearly as… graphic or nauseating as most medical conditions.
Why was he now refusing to look at her?
“Thank you, Colin. I shall try this solution the next time I encounter the condition.”
“Is Nathaniel still present?” he asked.
“He is. Mama has tasked him with ensuring every tree on our property is in perfect health.”
“I see.” He gripped the doorknob, glancing over his shoulder at her for only a second. “Have you told anyone about your… condition?”
“Only Eloise. She wasn’t familiar and suggested I study a medical book. That’s why I’m up here.”
He visibly tensed again. “I see. You mustn’t tell anyone else about this, Penelope. If Eloise asks, tell her it was ill effects from too much sunlight and to cure yourself, you will eat an extra serving of fruit at each meal for a week. Do you understand me?”
She nodded. Except she didn’t understand. But Colin seemed serious and so, she decided she’d listen to him. “I do. I won’t speak of this again.”
He cleared his throat and opened the door. “Good luck, Pen.”
Then, he was gone, leaving nothing but the woodsy scent of his aftershave. Penelope sighed and returned to the chaise lounge. She was already feeling unbearably hot again and seeing Colin in his fencing attire had her heart beating faster than usual. After some internal back and forth, she decided to give herself a couple of minutes of relaxation before returning to Eloise downstairs, needing a chance to calm down her racing heart and think through the rather bizarre interaction with Colin she just had.
But the minute she closed her eyes, he was back, muscular forearms visible beneath his fencing shirt, his thick thighs straining against the material of his pants…
Suddenly, the ache was back, and Penelope couldn’t think straight. She jumped to her feet and rushed downstairs.
As soon as she said farewell to Eloise, she could be on her way. In mere minutes she could be trying Colin’s remedy and hopefully, finding salvation for her problem. It was all she could think about as she rushed through the Bridgerton home.
Well, that and Colin.
Colin…
And just like that, the ache intensified. Penelope whined as she hurried down the stairs.
This remedy had to work.