Chapter Text
Colin was just about to serve himself another glass of lemonade – he always appreciated when a lemonade was more tart than sweet – and was busy idly wondering to himself what the earliest time would be that he could call for his carriage to have Penelope and him return home without it being too unseemly, when he caught sight of something very interesting.
Agatha Bridgerton, his eldest daughter, known to everyone of her acquaintance as a very well-mannered, sensible, if not a touch too-serious, young woman, was turning red in the face as she argued with a very tall man.
Presumably her dance partner. Though they were not dancing at present, they were standing squarely in the middle of the ballroom, implying at one point, that they had been dancing.
Tall Man looked just as irritated as Agatha. He said something to her heatedly, frustration flaring across his expression, and Agatha stomped – literally, stomped, which Colin had not seen her do since she was in her sixth year – her foot in response.
Thomas, who had been much closer to the scene than Colin, had been dancing with his and Agatha’s cousin Violet when he hastily parted ways with her to intervene.
Agatha was in the middle of saying something back and throwing her hands in the air when she caught sight of her brother, and suddenly seemed to remember where she was. She flushed and stormed off towards the ladies’ rooms, but not before shooting Tall Man an aggrieved look.
Tall Man watched Agatha leave, not taking his eyes off of her for a second.
Thomas looked to Tall Man rather bemusedly, but before he could say anything, Tall Man stalked off as well.
Colin took a few more seconds to drink this in, then immediately made his way over to his wife, who was amiably chatting with their sister-in-law Sophie.
“Pen,” he greeted her, handing her a glass. Penelope looked unconcerned, but he knew his wife, and she had certainly witnessed what had just happened. “Might you know what that was all about?”
Penelope sighed. “They do this every time.”
“Every time?” Colin asked, staring at the spot Agatha and Tall Man had once been standing. “Who was that gentleman?”
He had missed the first two weeks of the 1845 season – some of his books were to be printed and sold across Scotland, and he’d briefly traveled up north to meet and discuss distribution with a Scottish publisher.
On the eve of his return, as he’d waited for Penelope to finish preparing for bed in her own chambers, they had been chatting through the door. Colin had asked her what and all he’d missed, knowing that she’d fill him in on everything. Penelope had said something or the other about Agatha and a bookshop, but then she’d opened the door, and Colin had realized his wife had visited the modiste in his absence, and… well, they had never been apart for so long as a fortnight in years, so needless to say… he’d been distracted.
It was only now Colin was starting to remember that they’d never finished talking.
“Sir Haskett,” was all Penelope said.
“Yes, but who is Sir Haskett?” Colin asked impatiently.
Penelope sighed. “Like I was telling you the other evening, before you'd interrupted," she said pointedly, it being a testament to all their years together that she did not blush, "Agatha and I were at the shops a few weeks ago. A gentleman in the next aisle, Sir Haskett” she subtly gestured to where the man in question was standing, “was flipping through An Englishman in Greece." Penelope cleared her throat, now looking vaguely embarrassed. "He was telling a friend, he didn’t see why everyone's fascination was taken with your series of books, and Agatha rounded the corner to confront him.”
Colin nodded. He didn’t take offense, though he was flattered that his daughter did. It had taken years and years, but he was secure enough in his own writing and work to not feel injured by such comments.
“And since then, they’ve taken every opportunity to quarrel about something or the other in public,” Penelope finished.
“Are we talking about Aggie and Andrew?” Thomas and Violet joined their group.
“It is like clockwork,” Violet said wryly.
“She seems to sort of live for it, doesn’t she?” Thomas added. “When we go home this evening, he is all we’re going to hear about.”
“Now, now, you should be nicer to your sister," Sophie chastised. "Else she won’t invite you to the wedding,” to which both Thomas and Violet laughed.
Before he could join in on the fun, Colin had one question.
“How do we know she genuinely does not care for this fellow?” Colin asked. It was one thing to get into a tiff with someone you cared about deep down, but plenty of women also genuinely wanted to be left alone by certain gentlemen.
“Because Thomas is correct,” Penelope said. “Agatha will spend the rest of the carriage ride home complaining about what a boor he is, as she has every time she’s run into him for the past two weeks.” She smiled knowingly at Colin. “I rather think she looks forward to getting riled up and then complaining about it, else she wouldn’t agree to dance with him every time they were together.”
Colin mulled this over.
“You should have seen her, Uncle Colin. He asked two other young ladies to dance before her tonight, and she stood with me for ten minutes discussing the indignity of it all,” Violet supplied.
“Er, the indignity of what?” Colin asked.
“Exactly,” Penelope said.
“Then, I believe, another five minutes were spent over how he’s not even a particularly accomplished dancer,” Violet added.
“The only thing that put a stop to it was Andrew coming over to, in fact, sign her dance card,” Thomas said with a sigh.
“Interesting,” Colin’s mind started whirring. He watched as Agatha returned to the ballroom.
Penelope pointed a finger at him. “Don’t.”
She knew him too well.
“Don’t what?” Colin asked innocently.
This did not even warrant a response from Penelope. They both knew what she was referring to.
“Don’t you want to put an end to Agatha’s aggrieved monologues?” he asked.
“Yes, but she can do it on her own terms.”
“I’m not saying she cannot do it on her own terms, but you’ve just told me this has been going on for weeks.”
“Two.”
“Regardless,” Colin grinned. “I should think I’m in a position to help. I’ll have you know that four…” he tilted his head, “nay, five of my siblings’ marriages are thanks to me.”
“Five?” Penelope spluttered.
He smiled, mostly because he loved making her splutter like that.
“I think you are giving yourself far too much credit, Father,” Thomas remarked. It was just like Thomas to take his mother’s side, but fortunately – Sophie came to Colin’s aid.
“No, I think he’s right,” Sophie said, startled. “Well, the number, I can’t say, but… he’s had a hand in a lot of them, you have to admit.”
“I would still love to know how we got to five,” Penelope said. “That sounds like entirely too many.”
Colin lifted his fingers to begin counting. “Anthony, Benedict –” Sophie, acquainted with the story of Benedict’s fencing conversation with Colin, acquiesced to this with a tilt of the head – “Daff, Frannie, and Gregory.”
“What about Fran and Gregory?” Lady Kate Bridgerton walked into the space between Penelope and Sophie. “Good evening, all. Why are we all standing around here?”
“Father believes he’s responsible for Aunt Francesca marrying Uncle Michael,” Thomas explained.
“I am!” Colin said. That one, he had an undeniable hand in. “I told him to go and see her in Scotland.”
Kate tutted at both Thomas and Violet, sending them off to go dance with other young people.
“You’re not taking credit for Gregory’s marriage though?” Kate then asked Colin. “I introduced them.”
“That’s right!” Sophie said. “You were the Colin of Gregory and Lucy.”
“The Colin?” Penelope cried. She had never looked more displeased with her sister-in-laws.
Colin privately thought to himself that if it wasn’t for him, Gregory wouldn’t have been able to double-back to Fennsworth House and find Lucy after her first wedding.
He hadn’t known that was how things would end up, but all the same – he was a domino in the end result. But, given the competitive gleam in Kate’s eyes, Colin thought it would be best to concede the point.
“I’ll give you Greg and Lucy,” Colin said to Kate.
“I’m surprised you didn’t credit yourself with Eloise running off,” Penelope muttered.
“That’s an excellent point, wife,” Colin said. “I’m back to five.”
He crossed his arms in contemplation. He was having far too much fun with this now. “Also, would Hyacinth have gone with you to the musicale had I refused to attend?”
“You didn’t knowingly do that,” Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “She and Gareth would’ve run into each other regardless. Both your mother and Lady Danbury had been trying to set it up for months.”
Colin merely shrugged and took a sip of lemonade. “If you say so.”
“Although,” Sophie said to Colin, “You should not underestimate your wife so.”
“Ah, now let it be said I would never do such a thing,” Colin said. Penelope rolled her eyes, but it was only to disguise a rather pleased smile.
“Penelope knows everything,” Sophie said. “It's just what she chooses to do with it. She has had a hand in certain marriages too, intentional or not.” Sophie gestured to Daphne, on the other side of the ballroom, “Would Daphne and Simon have agreed to pretend to court, had it not been for Lady Whistledown?”
Penelope’s eyes widened. She had not thought about it from that perspective.
“You’re right, Soph,” Kate said. “Obviously, I didn’t know it was Penelope, at the time, but when we were first married, she'd once written of how Anthony always danced with me at least once more than was considered de rigeur.” She softened at the memory. “It was more insightful than I cared to want to admit, at the time.”
Penelope smiled at this.
Kate straightened. “Why are we counting the number of matches the two of you have made, anyhow?”
“Agatha and Sir Haskett,” Sophie said, and this seemed to be explanation enough for Kate to understand.
Kate waggled her eyebrows at Colin and Penelope. “Good luck. Please let me know when the nuptials are - I should like to be sure I have a dress ready in time.”
Sophie laughed at this.
“Do not say anything to Aggie,” Penelope entreated her husband.
“Why not?” Colin asked. “I don’t see why that should hurt. You’ve already said she talks about him all the time.”
“Because,” Penelope insisted, “she is very much your daughter, and she wouldn’t take well to you saying anything to her on the subject. I so much as suggested we invite Sir Haskett over for dinner, and she nearly bit my head off.”
“Alright, so we won’t invite him to dinner.”
Penelope just stared at him. “I mean it.”
Colin raised his hands in the air, a surrender.
His eyes found Sir Haskett. Though he seemed to be in conversation with a friend, his gaze was settled longingly on Agatha from across the ballroom.
Colin looked back to his wife. “I hear you.”
Then he winked.