Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Featherington garden was warm, but a pleasant breeze soothed the afternoon’s heat.

Penelope lay comfortably in the hammock that Mrs. Varley had requested be set up for her time outside. Her book, Emma by Jane Austen, which she had hunted for in several bookstores months ago, rested half-forgotten above her belly. A handful of leaves of the blooming tree above cast shadows across her face. Beside her, Rae had finally given up on staying standing nearby and had sat down on the lavender throw blanket placed on the floor, her hands skimming through a second book as she pretended not to notice how her charge was dangerously close to falling asleep.

Penelope felt exhausted. She probably looked that way as well. Scarcely any was physically. She still felt the leftovers of the laudanum the family doctor had forced her to smell the night before to calm her anxiety, but her fatigue was a consequence of how mentally drained she had been feeling for weeks.

And the engagement party thrown for her and Colin the night before hadn’t helped.

Penelope had never expected to miss her wallflower days, but that had happened. If all the guests’ eyes over her weren’t enough, she had tried to pretend – and failed spectacularly – at keeping a calm, happy expression to Colin, while attempting to navigate Eloise’s ultimatum about Whistledown and her own inability to find the right moment with her fiancé. And on top of it, there was the helplessness that had settled in her chest every time the damn clock moved an hour.

When she stepped back from the drawing room, all but running away and locking herself in Colin’s study, it was intended for her to calm down and breathe through her growing panic, but most importantly, to find the courage to tell him the truth. Colin deserved to hear from her, not Eloise. He would be mad. Hurt. Humiliated, but if Penelope were the one to tell him, explain, perhaps she could make him understand her reasons. Have the proper conversation that she never got to have with her former best friend. Still, despite understanding all that, courage never appeared. As soon as she returned to the drawing room, her eyes meeting his dark, concerned gaze, Penelope knew she couldn’t do it.

She could barely breathe, let alone do all the explaining her secrets entailed.

And then Cressida Cowper – of all people – had to make that ridiculous claim that she was Lady Whistledown. As if Penelope hadn’t been in her own personal hell before.

The rest of the night had been a blur to her. The floor had vanished from beneath her feet, and darkness had swept in. Penelope remembered things in flashes. Colin’s stricken face. Her mama’s stressed voice. Strong arms holding her. Then nothing else. 

Only that morning, after Penelope had found the strength to rise from her bed and call to Rae to help her dress and walk downstairs to break her fast with the rest of her family, did she finally learned what happened afterwards. Portia, for once hesitant, explained how her panic had not decreased, and eventually, the Featherington’s doctor was summoned and used laudanum to put Penelope into a deep sleep. After the doctor confirmed her diagnosis, he recommended a week of rest and advised Miss Featherington to avoid any stressful situations.

Penelope had to suppress a laugh at the last part. For only that day, she had received visits from both Eloise and Colin. Her former best friend wished to discuss Whistledown and to convince her that not only should Colin never learn the truth about the scribber, but that she should allow Cressida , someone who couldn’t write two sentences, to take credit for her pride and triumph. For everything she had built! 

And then her husband-to-be, with his beautiful, patient heart, had spoken about being ready to wait until she was ready to tell him the secret he knew she carried, and if that wasn’t enough, he brought her engagement ring. It was perfect, the most beautiful piece of jewelry Penelope had ever owned, but simply looking at it filled her heart with anxiety.

How could a marriage, a love match, start on secrets and lies? And if she were to follow Eloise’s advice, how was she meant to simply give up on her dream? Lady Whistledown’s chronicles had been Penelope’s way to find her voice. Her strength. So much of the growth she had gone through in the past two years since her debut had been because of that column. How fair it was, to both her and Colin, to enter a marriage with only half of who she truly was, never to let him know the other part?

Distracted in her thoughts, Penelope only noticed the day had passed when, by afternoon, her Mama had knocked on her bedroom door. Portia took one look at her daughter, pale and small, lying down on her bed, and insisted that a bit of sun and fresh air would do wonders for her health. She shooed Penelope and Rae – to keep her company – out of the house with strict instructions only to return inside once her daughter looked a bit more flushed.

Penelope gave in without argument. It wasn’t often that her mama allowed her outside, and a few moments distracted by books, away from her quill and ink, may help.

She had been slowly drifting between wakefulness and dreams when she felt the gentlest of kisses pressed against her temple. Her eyes fluttered open in surprise, but melted instantly at the sigh of her fiancé.

“Hello, darling,” he said, crouching beside the hammock. His brows furrowed in concern as one hand steadied the swing of the fabric. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling improved since this morning,” she offered softly. It wasn’t exactly a lie; physically, she did feel improved. Also, she wished for words to soothe the lingering worry on his mind.

Penelope shifted, offering her hand for Colin to help her sit, and patted the space beside her, inviting him to join her. Rae, her companion-turned-chaperone, remained rooted to her place on the blanket but looked away politely to give them a bit of privacy.

“Did something happen? I wasn’t expecting a second visit from you.”

Colin shook his head and smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I simply wished to see you again.” He explained, but his jaw was still tensed. “I was… worried.”

“The doctor said it had been nothing serious. Overexertion or hysteria, perhaps.”

“I know. I spoke to him at length after he cared for you, and today I requested for our own family doctor analyse his notes about your health; he agrees with the diagnosis.” Colin explained, his eyes looking everywhere but at her, probably a bit ashamed of the exaggeration in his actions, but Penelope could only smile at his care. His worry for her health. “Still, you collapsed. I caught you, thankfully, but for a moment, Pen.. For a moment, I thought of…” He broke off, but she didn’t need him to continue.

Edmund Bridgerton.

Penelope understood the unspoken words. The Bridgerton siblings had lived through grief very young. The loss of their father had taught all of them how fragile life could be – illness, injury, or any sign of frailty deeply unsettled the older siblings.

“I’m really sorry for worrying you, Colin,” she said, moving her hand – the one with his beautiful ring – towards his, holding softly, her finger caressing him back and forward. Lord, she hated this. Her secrets should not be causing this much distress to him. Keeping Colin in the dark was meant to protect him from any pain, and she still found a way to hurt him.

He shook his head. This time, his gaze found hers, and he looked adoringly at Penelope. “Please, don’t apologize. You had no fault in this. I simply… hate feeling helpless. And I loathed further being made to leave last night. If it were up to me, I would have stayed by your side. I barely slept last night, wishing I had been with you, Pen.”

Penelope’s heart ached at his confession. Her Mama had informed her how Lord Bridgerton had to drag Colin out of Featherington House that night, practically. And even now, as she somewhat heard the same story from him, she couldn’t believe that this man, this perfect, kind, and caring man, loved her. What had she done to deserve Colin Bridgerton?

“Well, there’s enough room here,” she pointed out, voice light in smirtle, and tilted her head to the hammock they were sitting on. “If you would like to lie down with me.”

Colin blinked, amazed. Then a suggestive smile surged on his face. “Penelope Featherington!”

“We are engaged!” She settled for it as an acceptable answer since she couldn’t loudly remind him how they had done so much more on that settee only days ago. “Besides, Rae is still here.”

They glanced at the woman in question, whose brown eyes moved suspiciously between them. Penelope never revealed anything about that afternoon with Colin, but somehow she knew her maid suspected something had happened. Still, Rae gave her permission in the form of the barest shrug before turning her attention back to the book with exaggerated interest.

With his dark blue eyes shining in mirth, Colin quickly discarded his boots. He climbed carefully into the hammock, easing onto his back as Penelope resettled beside him, her head resting against his chest above his heart. Taking advantage of his lack of a cravat, she began to softly caress the hair on his chest as his arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer.

A few seconds later, a long breath escaped from deep inside his chest. The tightness he’d been carrying began to loosen.

“I’ve missed this,” Colin murmured, his thumb moving gently on her hip. “I’ve missed holding you.”

Penelope tilted her face up to look at him, eyes bright in tease. “And when exactly have you held me like this, Mr. Bridgerton?”

Colin laughed, and the beautiful sound rumbled beneath her chin. “ Oh, it was a stolen afternoon in my dreams, Miss Featherington. And that afternoon ruined me for distance.”

Penelope’s cheeks flushed softly, but she didn’t look away. “Thank you for coming back, Colin. I’ve missed you, as well.”

He kissed her forehead again. As Penelope resettled against his chest, he resumed tracing idle shapes along the curve of her spine.

“I promise you, darling,” he began quietly, “after we marry, we won’t go a single day where I’m not holding you close like this. I’ll cling so much to you that soon you will be tired of me.”

“There is no world where this is a possibility,” Penelope whispered back, already feeling the sleep pull at the corners of her mind. His warmth, his voice, the rhythm of his heart; it was a lullaby in itself – a lullaby made only for her.

Colin smiled once he felt her breathing slow. He continued to strike her back soothingly, cradling her as though she were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

Because, in truth, she truly was.