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When Penelope was a child, she caught a chill. There was a great deal of hand wringing on her mother’s part even though Portia never cared much for nurturing, and though her nursemaid had tended to Penelope with great care, she still developed a fever (which naturally caused her mother a great degree of stress). She now knows to be wary of fevers, to be fearful of the way that fevers can burn a person from the inside out, but then all she remembers from then was the feeling of extreme cold, extreme pain, and the rather vivid dreams (she dreamt she was scaling a tall castle turret which kept winding and winding, and the wind was fierce and the sky was dark, and Eloise was there, and also Phillipa, and Prudence, and everything was so very cold).
She reaches her hand up to her head. She must be feverish.
Nothing else can explain the last half of an hour.
Nothing else can explain why Colin Bridgerton is in front of her, reaching for her hand. Nothing else can explain why he is bringing her into his house to announce their engagement (Penelope swore she did not say yes as much as nod her head in agreement).
“Do I feel warm?” she asks Colin as he grabs her hand, but he shakes his head.
“You feel perfectly fine,” he tells her, kissing the back of her hand before escorting her into the house.
Perhaps this is what going mad feels like.
Four hours ago, she was being dressed for the Queen’s ball and her expected engagement to Lord Debling. One hour ago, if even that long ago, she danced with Lord Debling before Colin interrupted them. Not even a quarter of an hour ago, she was in that very same carriage with Colin Bridgerton’s mouth on her breasts and his hand between her legs and -
“Oh god,” she blasphemes.
She can still feel the ghost of his lips against her neck, and her carefully-arranged hair now falls flat against her face. She throbs between her legs, uncertain of quite what she needs but knowing that she trusted Colin to get her there. She wants to stop in the middle of this beautiful carpeted hall and make him finish what he started (she wants to stop and make him explain what he has started).
And Colin - Colin is holding her hand and they are walking into the family drawing room and she just needs time to stop, for one moment, so she can get her thoughts together. Her chest hurts and her breath is coming fast and she is not well.
Penelope Featherington must be going mad. Her mother was right after all: reading romances has clearly ruined her brain, because there is no way that Colin Bridgerton not only chased off a suitor tonight, but compromised her in her family’s carriage before proposing marriage. That is a Mrs. Goring novel, not her life, though she supposed if she was in a Goring novel she would have be orphaned and -
“Oh god,” she blasphemes again as he pulls open the door to the drawing room.
This cannot be happening.
She is Penelope Featherington. One suitor was enough - Lord Debling would have been enough. It may not have been a grand romance like she had hoped for but it would have been comfortable.
But now she is here, and Colin is announcing they are engaged, and she is terrified.
She is Penelope Featherington. She is the youngest of three daughters. Until tonight, she only had one suitor and now she has two, and not only that, her second suitor is the man she has loved since she was sixteen (and not only that but his hand was between her thighs not even a quarter of an hour ago).
She has always felt like she was on a precipice, screaming over into the void because no one could hear her and now she feels like she’s about to step off the edge.
And then Hyacinth’s arms around her and Penelope feels like her feet are on solid ground for the first time tonight.
There’s something about the young girl’s exuberance that brings Penelope into the room, that makes her realize this is not a dream. The entire night has felt like some wild, mad escapade through the ballrooms and streets of London, from the frenzied ballet at the palace through the ball and Colin , and now in Hyacinth’s arms Penelope finally takes a deep breath.
This is really happening. She is really in the Bridgerton drawing room, with a smiling Violet Bridgerton speeding eagerly towards her.
“I’m so happy,” Violet whispers in Penelope’s ear and Penelope holds her tighter. When she opens her eyes (when did she close them and why are her lashes damp?) she sees Colin grinning over his mother’s shoulder and she takes another shuddering breath.
At some point in the past few weeks, Penelope has come to occupy a place in his world, and while she can guess at when and where, she doesn’t know why or how, but that’s okay for now. All that matters is that Colin is looking at her like she’s something to be treasured, and between Violet’s hold on her and that, the room stops feeling like it’s off its axis.
A comment from Francesca, a glance over to see Eloise in the corner of the room, and Penelope becomes more and more aware of herself and what this looks like. While the other Bridgerton women are excited, Eloise knows and she -
Penelope follows her out of the room.
The answers she gives Eloise are stuttering, vague. She doesn’t know when this started with Colin because she’s still trying to figure out what he meant when he said he had feelings for her, that he dreamed of her. She never expected this to happen. She has had no expectations since last season, when everyone she cared about abandoned her.
She can practically feel the anger coming off of Eloise in fierce flames, and she wonders at what point she stopped knowing her former best friend. She wonders if their relationship has always been about more Eloise and less about Penelope.
She flinches when Eloise asks how long she had fancied Colin then abruptly shuts that avenue of conversation down, as if Penelope’s feelings are a personal insult to her. Suddenly, Penelope’s emotions seem too loud and too garish, like the colors the Featherington family prefers to wear. Here, in the subdued hallways of Bridgerton House, under the scornful eye of her former best friend, her love for Colin feels inappropriate.
If she had been feverish when she left the carriage and stumbled onto the path into the house, she is as cold as a shuddered grate when Eloise leaves her and Colin finds her.
He holds her hand and tells her everything will be fine and she looks up at him, still in disbelief that this entire night is happening, and she realizes something: her love for Colin might feel inappropriate to Eloise, but it is not to her. It has sustained her, and even if this all goes to hell one day soon (sooner than later she suspects because she will not marry him without him knowing the truth) at least she loved him selflessly with no expectations for reciprocity, and she can be happy knowing she will always do what is best for him.
She will handle that tomorrow, after sleep. Right now there are questions that need to be answered.
“When did you realize you had feelings for me?” she asks Colin quietly.
He takes both of her hands in his and squeezes them lightly. “I realized my feelings were of a romantic nature after our kiss. Before that, I saw you as my dearest friend. Now I know that you are dearest to my heart.”
Penelope nods. Colin wraps his arms around her in a completely inappropriate way (but when have they every been appropriate?) he presses a kiss to her forehead. It is both foreign and also so entirely natural that she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath as she feels herself drifting again. It is late, she is tired, she is going to marry Colin Bridgerton (his mouth was on her breasts and his hand was between her thighs and she wishes the carriage had kept driving).
“You don’t have to marry me because we - “ she starts, trailing off, and Colin lifts her chin with the tip of his finger, and when his eyes meet hers, her knees want to buckle at the heat she finds in them.
“Penelope Featherington,” he tells her in a mock-severe tone, “I intend to marry you, regardless if we engaged in compromising behavior in a carriage or not. That was the only reason I was at the ball, and why I chased down your carriage.”
“The only reason?” she asks playfully, and the look on his face makes the fading heat between her legs flare to life.
“Now, I believe my mother has called for some champagne,” Colin tells her.
“One more minute.” She lays her head against his chest, and through his thin shirt she can hear his heart speeding in his chest and she realizes - he is as nervous and scared and excited as she is.
“Your mother called for champagne?” she asks softly.
“Perhaps some courage. Don’t forget, we still need to tell your mother,” he whispers to her.
“Oh god,” Penelope blasphemes for a third time that night.