Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton had been standing in the rain for a while.
The carriage had left some time ago, though Mr Bridgerton still stood on the footpath in front of the doorsteps. He did this more often than not these days, staring blankly into space, losing time. It was not until particularly cold droplets were splattering upon his forehead did he snap out of his trance. He pulled his watch fob’s chain out of his waistcoat and scowled at it. Of course he was late to this morning call, after all he was already ten years too late. Colin had already spent the past decade across the continent and all the way to the Americas and back. He had only been home in London just a fortnight’s past and his family had welcomed him with wide arms and tears. So really, what was a quarter of an hour?
His already large family had positively swelled in size, all his brothers and sisters (bar his baby sister Hyacinth and baby brother Gregory who had just now debuted into society.) Hyacinth was a glowing debutante, she had been an eight year old girl when Colin last saw her, and Gregory was a grown man, Colin fit his clothes bar his trousers that were just a bit short over his calves. Gregory was already begging him to go to a club, as all their other brothers were married with children. Children. He was uncle Colin now. He always loved children and enjoyed minding his own younger siblings as a lad himself, and now that he was back perhaps he could get to know his nephews and nieces.
Only out of habit did he flip over the watch to read the engraved message itched in the gold: 'Non Nobis Solum.' He flipped it back and wiped off the raindrops that splattered onto the watch’s face with his thumb, smearing the water across its surface and placed it back into his pocket. He walked to and up the steps as though he were trudging through mud.
A footman greeted him, one that he did not recognise. “Mr Bridgerton.” Another took his wet coat. "-They are awaiting you upstairs."
“They?” Colin queried.
“The Viscount Bridgerton.” That would be Anthony, his eldest brother and the 9th Viscount of Bridgerton “-and both the Dowager and Viscountess Bridgerton.” His mother Lady Violet and Anthony’s wife, Kate, a woman to whom Anthony had been married to for nine years with children and yet Colin had only just met her. The footman escorted him down through the house- a dull pain thudded in his chest, it looked lived in and warm however Colin was a stranger in these halls “-the Lady Featherington and-” he swung open the heavy wooden door.
“Miss Featherington.”
He scanned the room, not spotting any bright yellow. The small crowd inside greeted him. “Colin!” his mother exclaimed and rushed in to give him a hug and peck on the cheek. “You mustn’t frighten us like that!” Fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes had caused his Mother's anguish. "and why are you wet? You'll catch your death!" She turned to the footmen, "Bring a pot of hot tea at once!" She instructed. They nodded, turned on their heel and left the room.
Colin had already seen her earlier in the morn but the dowager viscountess was anxiously attached to her third born now, more than she even was before. She seemed afraid that if he were to step out into the next room he would slip away for another ten years. Guilt bubbled hot within him. Colin made brief eye contact with Anthony who gave him a look up and down his person, disapproval at Colin's disheveled appearance clear on his face. Colin ran a hand through his damp curls, avoiding his glare.
Behind the desk by the window was a small figure, partly concealed in shadow, the light- despite the bleak day- streamed through the pulled curtains creating a halo around her. She did not turn until she heard the dowager viscountess say his name. Penelope Featherington looked at him for the first time in a very long time. It was no wonder Colin did not recognise her at first. The Penelope Featherington he remembered was a sweet cherub-faced girl with tight, unfashionably red curls and was usually clothed in bright citrus colours that clashed with said unfashionable hair and her timid wallflower personality. But in the here and now it did not appear that that girl was the same one in front of him now. This lady before him was more mature, her face had lost that childlike roundness, though she was still fresh faced with clear porcelain skin and naturally rouged cheeks.
After a discerning look, Colin decided that it was more than her appearance that had changed since he last saw her. Penelope wore her hair in loose half up and half down waves and her day dress was a pale seafoam green. She was much more muted and elegant than he ever remembered any Featherington to be.
His eyes flickered briefly to the Lady Featherington (who herself was the human embodiment of a coral coloured peacock) who hovered near by her daughter. Lady Featherington, even now in the dreary morning light glittered and made rustling sounds with every movement she made - from her over accessorised jewellery that was fit for am evening ball not a meeting. Colin had always believed Penelope to be the best of the Featherington lot. It was the eyes, mostly; Penelope had always had a glimmer in her gaze whenever she spoke—a mischievousness that only his sister Eloise and he were ever privy to. But now, in the Viscount’s rainy study, her blue eyes did not glitter. They looked him up and down, unimpressed and stagnant, like a puddle after a storm.
This was not the shy best friend of his little sister he once knew. She no longer looked to him with adoration but something even worse for a man…pity. Colin self consciously attempted to tug his sleeve over the gnarly, raised scar that sat over his left hand. How much did she know about his time on the continent? About his ruinous actions? His ego bristled. The Miss Penelope Featherington from yesteryears had an infatuation upon him and it made it very enjoyable to impress her when she played with Eloise when they were all children, it was especially fun because it annoyed Eloise so much.
Colin bowed, “Pen.” He greeted more stiffly than he intended.
She curtsied back to him, “Mr Bridgerton.”
Anthony cleared his throat, “Already on terms of endearment are we?” Colin could not help notice that his mother concealed a smile behind her fan. It took him a good moment to realise what Anthony implied.
“What- I, yes, no, merely an old habit of my youth.” He turned back to Penelope. “Miss Penelope Featherington.” He corrected, his hands clasped together behind his back, he rocked back on his heels.
“Just Miss Featherington.” She corrected, “All my sisters are married.”
“Right, quite well yes.” Colin groaned inwardly, was she being difficult on purpose? Once he was known in the ton for his spectacular wit and charm. But he lost all that many years ago. Anthony clasped his hands together in an abrupt clap that echoed through the tense, quiet room. “The banns will be read in the next service, within the month we will have an appropriate ceremony -”
Appropriate as in small Colin realised, lest anyone see the state he got himself into. At this point the Viscount may even prefer Gretna Green. “- at Aubrey Hall, I have made the arrangements for your marital home to be at Marlowe Manor.” Colin’s brow gave the ghost of a rise at this but he did care to voice his thoughts aloud.
Marlow Manor was a quite fine estate that was but an hour carriage ride away from Aubrey Hall. Much more suited to an heir than the third born of eight. Did they really think that by purchasing a luxurious estate so close to the family home it would mean he was less likely to flee? He shifted his gaze downwards, gritted his teeth and clenched his fist as he pretended to be interested in the quill and ink sitting on Anthony’s desk. He wasn’t going to flee again. Guilt swarmed in his stomach. He wasn’t. He was staying, and he would marry whoever his family asked him to - even if that person was not fond of him, he owed them all that much at least.
If he was being honest with himself- which he could at least acknowledge was rare these days. When he had heard Penelope was the one they wanted him to marry he was very agreeable even if he did not express it so.
“Marlowe Manor is a lovely property," his mother interjected, despite her voice being gentle, it cut through his thoughts "-and quite conveniently located, dear. You will be close to everyone."
Colin forced a weak smile, his gaze still fixed on the quill and ink, how many of his family resided in the countryside near their ancestorial home now? "Indeed, Mother." He could feel Penelope's eyes on him, and the intensity of her stare made him uncomfortable. He finally lifted his head, meeting her gaze. There was no longer pity, but a flicker of something unreadable, perhaps it was resignation, or a silent challenge. He felt a jolt of recognition, a spark of the mischievous girl he once knew, beneath the surface of her elegant demeanor. Anthony, oblivious to the undercurrents or rather, outright ignoring him, continued, "The solicitors are already drawing up the papers. We'll have everything finalized within the week. I'm sure you both understand the... urgency of the situation." He nodded in Colin's direction.
Colin understood. His family wasn't just arranging a marriage; they were arranging his redemption. They were trying to anchor him, to give him roots he'd spent a decade avoiding. And Penelope, the quiet, observant Penelope, was to be his anchor. But why? Yes she was a spinster at eight and twenty but she was an accomplished woman of nobility who surely had a decent dowry. Colin eyed her with suspicion. The late lord Featherington was a known gambler, perhaps he had left the family destitute. No woman in their right mind would marry a man of his reputation, childhood infatuation or not.
The footman had arrived back with a pot of tea and a plate of freshly baked biscuits, Mother was always mindful of Colin's appetite. But he did not have such a appetite these days and only drank some very hot tea at his mother's insistence. He took another small sip as her pleading grey-blue eyes watched him drink it anxiously. He burnt his tongue but concealed the pain with a small but hopefully reassuring smile, his mother smiled in relief that did not quite reach her eyes.
Memories of his previous engagement, (to Penelope's cousin no less) forced their way to the front of his mind. Marina Thompson had planned to entrap him into a marriage that would have resulted in him raising another man’s child with his good Bridgerton name. She was outed in Whistledown and rushed to the country to marry her deceased lover’s brother. Last he heard she was raising her children in an estate not far from Aubrey Hall. Colin had no desire to visit her. He found himself agitated and wanting to lay and rest. His burnt tongue stung uncomfortably between his teeth. Colin put down his teacup with an abrupt 'clink.'
“So Miss Featherington, are you with child?” Colin asked her outright, not waiting for any response from anyone he carried on: “Is that why you’ve agreed to such an advantageous match?” He drawled sarcastically. Voices of various levels of outrage echoed around the room, he braced himself for a slap upon his cheek.
Instead Miss Featherington’s fair face broke into a smile. Her gloved hand flew to her lips as she attempted to conceal the giggles that slipped through them. “Oh my dear Mr Bridgerton, I am sorry to say I must disappoint, I am not some damsel in distress that you can play hero with - like my unfortunate cousin.”
Colin bristled. But she only smiled up at him, the kind of tucked lipped smile that one gave to one they pitied. He’d rather she slap him. “No, Mr Bridgerton, I am not with child.” Penelope’s smile faded and she looked at him seriously. “Your family wants you anchored and my family wants me settled and no longer rusting away on the shelf.”
"Well we never really expected our Penelope to find a husband." Lady Featherington injected, to no one in particular. Her head tilted to the side and her expression turned wistful;"I had always hoped my Penelope would take care of me in my old age."
Penelope turned to him with a very pointed look. The Lady's voice still projected through the study: "Oh well, it is all for the best, I have only granddaughters, no grandsons! It is vital that the title stays within our family not to some low class worker-" Colin drifted out from the Baroness's speech, the rest of the world now just a grey blur he put his focus on the young woman haloed in light in front of him. Penelope just wanted to escape the house of Portia Featherington, yes, he could not fault her for that. Because said woman now had clapped her hands together and began bombarding the Viscountesses about floral arrangements as though she were not the perpetrator of his previous planned entrapment and had not just gravely insulted her own daughter.
Penelope dropped her voice, her next words meant for him alone. He leaned down to hear her better, a waft of flowery scent brushed pleasantly over him. “If we marry.” Penelope murmured. “The ton stops whispering, your brother stops scowling, dear Violet can rest, and you... you can continue to be as 'unanchored' as you like, provided you do it with a modicum of discretion."
“Hm.” Was his response as he straightened back up.
“You don’t say much these days.” She said matter of factly pulling her bonnet over her head, she looked from the plate of biscuits to Colin and appeared to shrug. The Lady Featherington, apparently oblivious to their exchange, was now animatedly discussing the wedding breakfast with the Lady Bridgertons who appeared to try and meet her enthusiasm best they could as she fastened her own frilly bonnet to her head. Anthony cleared his throat, sensing the air in the room had shifted from a lecture to a negotiation. "The papers," Anthony said firmly, "will be ready by Thursday. I suggest you two spend the next few days becoming reacquainted. Try to look less like litigants and more like a couple, if you please."
As Anthony stood to usher the Featheringtons out, Penelope paused beside Colin. She leaned in, her voice again a mere whisper meant only for his ears, her pleasant perfume returning. "And Colin? Do try to keep your suspicions to yourself in the future. It would be a shame if the ton found out that the Wayward Son has such a limited imagination."
She swept out of the room, her Mother jingling behind her, calling out over her shoulder to the Viscountesses as she went: “Tulips...oh, and Yellow Lily!” Leaving Colin standing in the center of the study, damp, with a burnt tongue, unable to deal with emotions that he had not felt nor wanted to face in years. He had wanted to rest, to lay under the covers and sleep the day away, but now, his mind was racing. Colin spent years in fear concealing his thoughts and secrets from others only to realize he might have just been trapped by the only person who actually knew how to keep a secret.
Well at least she called him Colin.