Chapter Text
The air smells like woodsmoke and snow as Penelope walks back to her flat. She’s just taken her last final exam for her second to last semester at uni and, with that immense weight removed from her shoulders, she can’t help but stop and at least figuratively smell the roses. Although today that involves pausing briefly in the middle of the quad and inhaling deeply. Some would say it smells like Christmas, but it would be Christmas people who say such things, and Penelope is not a Christmas person.
She doesn’t enjoy Christmas music or decorations or parties. She finds no joy in Christmas foods or light displays. Shopping for gifts makes her anxious and, ever since she started at uni four years ago, even going home for the holiday break has been stressful. It’s difficult to make herself want to go home to a family that insists on celebrating every year despite the fact that they don’t even really like each other.
Penelope wishes this weren’t the case. She isn’t the kind of person who thinks it’s cool or ironic to not like Christmas. She doesn’t have any personally held beliefs about the conspicuous consumption or consumerism that has overtaken the holiday. She’s not bothered by the religious root or the secular rituals. She is not predisposed to hate things that bring joy to children.
In fact, she reckons she would have been a Christmas person if her family had been different. Less acerbic and more well… loving. Christmas is about selflessness after all. But there isn’t a Featherington in at least the last three generations who could be considered a paragon of altruism. Not even Penelope herself, though she maintains that is the result of nurture not nature. Had she been raised in a different family—perhaps a family that saw gifts from Father Christmas past the age of seven—she might love Christmas. In fact she’s always thought that with distance from her mother and sisters she will reclaim Christmas as a holiday that she enjoys rather than dreads.
This coming week will provide an opportunity to test that. A hypothesis waiting to be proved true. Because this year, instead of trudging home to her mother’s flat which has been adorned with holiday decorations that somehow manage to be both gaudy and trendy to the point of being trite, Penelope has been invited to spend the Christmas holiday with her best friend Eloise and her family. Instead of snipping with her sisters over whipped turnips (less carbs than potatoes), Penelope will be breaking bread with the Bridgertons (carbs be damned)—a real family that is huge and loving and, more specifically, loves Christmas so much that they typically spend the holiday skiing in the French Alps.
And so, for the first time since she was seven years old, Penelope Featherington is looking forward to Christmas.
-
“Mum texted to tell me that you can use Hyacinth’s old boots and skis,” Eloise calls out from her bedroom as Penelope enters their flat. “She also wanted me to tell you how pleased she is that you can join us this year.”
A pang of something that feels dangerously like longing stabs Penelope in the heart. How does Violet Bridgerton always know what to say to make her feel better when she’s beginning to doubt herself? Also, how did she know Penelope was beginning to doubt her invitation despite her packed bag and paid-for plane ticket?
Penelope knows she was only invited on this trip because Daphne dropped out. She has a new beau and it’s quite serious. Serious enough that she and Simon were taking their own, very romantic sounding, vacation to Prague.
Penelope wants to imagine herself in a world in which she would be dropping out of a ski holiday with her large and loving family for something more romantic, but she just can’t do it. Aren’t the French Alps romantic enough?
She peeks her head into Eloise’s room. To put it mildly, it looks like a bomb went off. Clothes, toiletries, books, personal electronics and various charging cords are strewn about everywhere. In the middle of it all sits Eloise and her open suitcase–a sleek Tumi carry-on case in a limited edition wedgewood blue–which is still mostly empty. Eloise manages to look regal, even amongst the mess, which, Penelope notes, includes an electric kettle and her vibrator. Surely she isn’t planning on packing that?
“They really didn’t have to pack extra skis for me,” Penelope tells her. “I’m not even sure it’s a good idea for me to use them.”
Penelope has never been on a “proper ski holiday,” which is how Eloise had sold the trip to her back in November when the idea of Penelope coming had first been discussed. Penelope has never been skiing or snowboarding either. Truthfully, she’s not a very athletic person. The only sport she “participated in” as a kid was tennis and it was brief and mostly at the behest of her mother who thought it was posh. In true Portia fashion she had Wimbledon dreams for Penelope until she actually saw her on the court and reality set in. All Penelope has retained from the experience is an understanding of how the game is scored and an excellent backhand in table tennis, which she rarely has an opportunity to show off.
But while tennis is safe, the idea of skiing is somewhat terrifying to Penelope. Instead of an exhilarating thrill in the fresh mountain air, all she can conjure in her mind is ending up with a broken leg, or lost somewhere on the mountain slowly dying of hypothermia. How embarrassing would it be if she somehow got off the trails and had to be rescued by helicopter? No, thank you.
No, rather than fresh powder, Penelope is more looking forward to the supposed “vibrant après-ski” scene that UltimateFrance.com promised. She’s also looking forward to not going home to her mother who has become increasingly unhinged about their ‘holiday appearance’ despite her disdain for anything religious or the Christmas season in general. Of course no one would ever know that from seeing the ridiculous family update postcards she sends out every year. Penelope wonders what sort of embellished story she’ll be writing about her trip in the Christmas newsletter—something glowing she assumes. Portia had been surprisingly happy to hear that Penelope wished to spend her holiday in France instead of going home and rather eagerly gave her blessing to skip the family celebration.
Then again, her mother is exactly the kind of person who would love to take an annual vacation to the French Alps if only for the perceived cache and designer ski suit. Penelope isn’t so caught up on such things. She’ll just be happy to have some peace this year and perhaps a cozy spot by the fire to read. It’s a total bonus that her opportunity for peace and cozy fireplace reading involves Eloise’s huge and loving family and a mostly free trip to France. Frankly Penelope is still kind of in awe about the whole thing. Invitations like this are things that happen in romance novels to Christmas people who are about to find their soulmate, not in the real world to non-Christmas people like Penelope for whom soulmates are a romantic (and masturbatory) fantasy.
“You just have to try it,” Eloise protests. “It isn’t Christmas without skiing.”
It can still be Christmas without a lot of things, Penelope thinks to herself, but doesn’t respond. Instead, she changes the subject. “Are you going to be packed before it’s time to leave?”
Penelope resists checking the time, but she knows their train to London is in about an hour. She’s been all packed herself since this morning. Honestly she’s been mostly packed since earlier in the week when, in a fit of anxiety, she had looked up an essential ski vacation packing list and started fretting about not having anything on it. Eloise had rolled her eyes, reached for her phone and crossed out half of the items on the list with a mumbled ‘you won’t need that, or that, and we already have that’ as she went.
What was left was a very sensible pile of clothes, pajamas, a swimsuit, winter gear and boots, and a few books. Penelope had only had to drop her toiletries in this morning when she’d finished with her skincare and makeup routine.
Eloise, however, hasn’t had the same foresight and it looks like her preparation is going to be down to the wire. Sometimes her cavalier attitude is a good foil for Penelope’s anxiety–especially when she pairs it with her empathetic side–but sometimes it just stresses Penelope out. Penelope hopes this isn’t going to be one of those times. Her ideal scenario for becoming a Christmas person definitely involves a stress-free experience.
As if Eloise already knows this, she waves Penelope off. “I’m a professional at this. I’ll be done in no time.”
“No time” ends up being two minutes before they absolutely must leave to make the train to London, which is about 10 minutes after Penelope had begun contemplating leaving without Eloise.
When Eloise finds Penelope pacing anxiously by the door, she gives her a frown. “We are on holiday Penelope, you are not allowed to be stressed on holiday. Especially Christmas holiday!”
Penelope wants to argue back. (She can feel however she wants to feel. Lots of people find Christmas stressful.) But she prioritizes her breath for huffing her luggage down the stairs, cursing each flight as she does. Mentally she adds an elevator to her post uni flat wishlist—or perhaps a flat on the ground floor.
As if the universe is conspiring with Eloise to put Penelope in the Christmas mood, snow flurries begin falling as they head for the train. Luckily Eloise has arranged a ride to the train station with a guy she’s been casually seeing who happens to have a car.
Penelope watches out the window as the snowflakes swirl around the car. She expects to feel the familiar dread that usually accompanies her back to London for winter break, but all she can seem to conjure up is an anxious thrumming sort of excitement. The kind that prevents her from fully relaxing and leaves her tired but wired.
Penelope envies the ease and confidence with which Eloise carries herself as they navigate the airport and board their plane to Geneva. Unsurprisingly, Eloise is a much more sophisticated traveler than Penelope who has only been out of the country once for a school trip in sixth form.
Despite trying to match Eloise’s relaxed demeanor, everything is unfamiliar and potentially threatening to Penelope and her goal, which is to make to the Bridgerton chalet in France with no mishaps that cost extra money or worse, cause a scene.
Penelope fingers her passport nervously as they settle into their seats in business class. Although Penelope had paid for her own ticket, Eloise had insisted upon using her miles to upgrade Penelope to business class so they could use the airport lounge and sit together on the flight. To Penelope it is an egregious waste of expense for a 2 hour flight, but she hasn’t taken many flights in her life and never in business class, so when Eloise began to insist rather loudly the English person inside Penelope capitulated rather quickly and agreed to let her waste her money if only to avoid making a scene in public.
Despite the glass of wine Penelope had had in the lounge, she still finds her stomach in knots at the prospect of having forgotten something as they prepare for take off, which is why she keeps her hand on her passport, touching it like a good luck talisman as if it will ensure that the flight is otherwise quick and uneventful.
Despite the fresh snow that had fallen earlier in the day, the landing is mercifully smooth, and Penelope is grateful Eloise had insisted she take the window seat. She can hear Christmas music playing faintly as the plane door opens and, while in years past that would have set her teeth on edge, this year it makes her happy in a way she thinks other people are probably made happy by holiday music that builds a gleeful sort of anticipation. It's a comforting thing, the idea that she’s not broken beyond repair when it comes to holiday spirit. Buoyed by that realization, she smiles and wishes the flight attendants a cheerful “Happy Christmas” as she departs the plane. See, even she can be a Christmas person in the right circumstances. Now if only she could figure out the rest of that equation—the part where she becomes a heroine in a novel, worthy of her chance at love and a happily ever after. Well… a girl can only dream.
-
Penelope begins to feel lightheaded in the hired car on the drive to the village where the Bridgerton chalet is located. She hopes it’s only a combination of her anticipation and the beauty of her surroundings which are making it difficult to breathe. The sun begins setting during the drive and Penelope finds that the photos really did not do the mountain vistas or chalets justice for their picturesque magnificence. Just seeing it through the car window, Penelope understands why this is such a highly sought after holiday destination. Never in her life did she ever think she would be somewhere like this, never mind in the height of peak season. All her life she has understood that fancy things and experiences are not reserved for people like herself, but the Bridgertons seem to be making it their mission to disabuse her of that idea. Frankly that alone is enough to leave her lightheaded.
The first thing Penelope notes as the car rounds the bend and their chalet comes into view through the windscreen, is that it’s massive–a mansion really. It’s all stone and wood and windows with pitched eaves that sparkle with Christmas lights and are topped with at least a foot of snow. It looks like something that would be in a movie or film.
The inside is even more striking. The main living area is also all done up for Christmas with tasteful pine garlands and stockings on the mantle, and ribbon that twists around the stair railing. A Christmas tree that must be at least 12 feet tall makes use of the beautiful vaulted ceiling in the great room and Christmas ornament topiaries compliment the vases on the bookshelf. The open floor plan leads right into the kitchen which is straight out of a magazine with slate countertops and sleek appliances. As the entire family will be arriving at various intervals, there will be no formal meal, Penelope is informed by Francesca who gives her a quick and polite hug as a greeting, but snacks and heavy appetizers have been set out by the private chef that comes by once daily.
Wholly without warning Penelope’s stomach rumbles and she realizes that maybe she’s feeling dizzy because she hasn’t eaten. Unlike Eloise who often forgets to eat with entirely zero consequences, when Penelope’s blood sugar drops too low, she starts to feel sick. She is mid-bite of the most perfect slice of baguette with salted butter when Violet Bridgerton appears with her arms stretched wide to embrace both Penelope and Eloise. She’s wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater and tasteful slacks. Penelope instantaneously regrets not having had the opportunity to change into something nicer. Violet’s tasteful gold earrings and bracelets make a faint tinkling sound as she pulls Penelope into a hug and whispers how happy she is to have her here for the holiday. Penelope wills herself not to cry, though she knows if she does, Violet will respond gently and graciously. Violet is the kind of woman Penelope wants to be when she grows up. Never mind that she technically is already an adult and has been for a few years now.
Chaos descends shortly thereafter in the form of Eloise’s younger siblings who gleefully offer to give a tour of the house. Penelope gets properly winded following Greg and Hy up and down the four flights of stairs into the den and into each bedroom, down into the movie room and even on the three decks that line the second and third floors. They do pause to let her put her bags in the room she’ll be sharing with Eloise, a small bedroom on the third floor with two tilt out windows and a wooden framed double bed that is topped with a fluffy white duvet. Penelope is pleased to learn that the room has an en-suite that is shared with the room Fran and Hy are staying in.
Hy informs her that it was this or the room with bunkbeds, but they planned to make Greg sleep in the bunk beds because at 14 he has just begun to hit his growth spurt and no one wants to sleep in the same bed with him. Greg grumbles and blushes but doesn’t refute her claim.
Their tour concludes with a trip to the ground floor. The garden to the back of the house is done up with warm white fairy lights which swing over the patio that is situated around a brick firepit. Inside is the ski room, then the garage, then a tiled room that contains a heated swimming pool and the biggest jacuzzi Penelope has ever seen. The excitement in Hyacinth’s eyes tells Penelope that she is not the only one who is enamored with the pool and jacuzzi.
By the time the tour concludes, Benedict and Sophie have arrived and Ben is twirling Violet to Christmas music in the living area. Penelope wants to join in like the others do, she wants to be the Christmas person who finds joy in such a scene, but she finds she physically doesn’t feel up to it. Her dizziness seems to have transitioned into a migraine that begins throbbing to the beat of the music.
Penelope doesn’t get migraines very often, but she’s had enough to know that it’s a very big bummer for her to get one the first night of her trip. She takes paracetamol and attempts to rally, agreeing to accompany Ben and Eloise on an “imperative” trip to the liquor store for “supplies.”
“You’re leaving already?” Violet asks as they don their coats to slip out, maternal disappointment is clear in her voice. “I was hoping we could enjoy our time tonight as a family.”
Eloise had, upon inviting her, warned her about her mother’s insistence on family togetherness on their holiday trips. Specifically calling out her penchant for making them wear matching jumpers and pajamas and posing for family photos on Christmas morning, but Penelope is willing to smile for a zillion photos in properly hideous attire to have a valid excuse to avoid a stilted Christmas dinner with her mother and anyway, Violet’s soft admonishment pales in comparison to Portia’s most mild guilt trips.
“We’re just going to the bottle shop, Mum,” Eloise reasons as Ben jiggles the keys to the Land Rover Defender that sits in the front drive. “Besides, Colin isn’t even here yet,”
Penelope’s dizziness swells and for a moment she thinks she’s going to swoon like a Victorian lady.
Colin, oh God. How had it not occurred to Penelope that Colin would be on this trip?