Chapter Text
In hindsight, the lunch rush had been going far too smoothly.
Barring Mr. Brimsley’s insistence that she make Albie re-fire his fries twice (“I said crispy, Miss Featherington”) and Araminta Gao's request for four empty plates in order to adhere to the rules of some fad-diet she is on, it’s been an eventless afternoon. Penelope manages to stick three tickets on the rail before running the plates in the warmer over to the four top at table six, narrowingly darting around Phillipa as she goes. And just as she is turning to check on Mayor Hanover at table two, it happens.
He’s kneeling on the black and white checkered tiles, his eyes soft and hopeful, his mouth split into a sweet smile. The box in his hand is trembling terribly, propped open to reveal a diamond ring. Simple, but beautiful and hard earned. Penelope knows each and every hour he must have put in to working towards buying it.
“Miss Featherington,” he begins, and she lets out a hysterical giggle at the words before slapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That was stupid. I’m nervous.” He clears his throat, laughing to himself. “Felicity Featherington, will you marry me?”
Felicity raises her hands to her mouth, her eyes shining as she beams down at Geoffrey.
“Yes,” she says, and he’s on his feet in a flash, bundling her into his arms as he pulls her in for a kiss.
For a moment, Penelope’s entire world narrows down to the two of them bathed in the light from the big front window that faces out into the town square. Felicity’s first tentative steps had been across this floor, heading towards a cheering table of customers. Now she is engaged.
The entire diner bursts into applause as Geoffrey slides the ring onto Felicity’s finger. Mayor Hanover gets up to congratulate the happy couple herself, with Mrs. Danbury right behind her. Penelope remains frozen on the side of the floor, the dish towel she’s been using as an oven-mitt dropping to the ground. She supposes someone should call their mother, but Penelope would prefer not to be the one to do it.
“Should someone call mom?” asks Prudence, voicing Penelope’s thoughts out loud. She sounds about as bored as she always does, like someone had just told her about a leak in the walk-in as opposed to her youngest sister’s engagement
“Go ahead,” Penelope says, feeling a little sick as she says it. Her baby sister, engaged.
And, worst of all, as soon as her mother arrives, Penelope’s relative freedom is going to be over. Portia will turn all of her efforts onto her, rather than worrying about Felicity getting proposed to, and Penelope will have to live with an endless barrage of pressure from her mother.
As if the pressure isn’t always bad enough.
“Penelope,” comes a voice, and Penelope turns around to see Mrs. Danbury at her shoulder, looking at her sharply. “Are you excited for your sister?”
“Of course I am,” she says, and she does mean it. She really is. “You know how much I love being a bridesmaid.”
“Hmph,” says Mrs. Danbury, looking at her like she must have misplaced her sanity. “Penelope Featherington, I have known you since you were born. I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”
Penelope grimaces, but shrugs.
“I’m not,” she says, though it’s weak. There’s a sickly feeling trickling through her body, sliding from her collarbone to her toes like every sane part of her is falling to the wayside.
The door bursts open, and in walks their mother, who must have been next door at Mondrich’s.
“Felicity!” she says, rushing towards her youngest. Felicity opens her arms weakly, only to be shoved aside when Portia grabs Geoffrey and pulls him into a tight hug. “Welcome to the family, dear. I promise you, you’ll not be disappointed. She’ll be a wonderful wife!” She throws him to the side and reaches for Felicity. “And you, my dear. My youngest to get married – only twenty-three and already engaged!”
“Twenty-four,” says Felicity, her mouth smushed against their mother’s chest. “Mom, you’re crushing me.”
“Oh, you’ve truly done it, dearest, I’m so proud of you.”
Penelope looks up at the ceiling, biting her lip to keep herself from screaming.
“Miss Featherington,” Mrs. Danbury says, “would you mind going to get me a cup of coffee?”
“Yes,” she says quickly. “Thank you.”
“Of course, dear.”
Penelope walks to the back, keeping her head down so as to not draw too much attention to herself. She heads into the walk-in, shuts her eyes, and takes several deep breaths as the cacophony of well-wishes rains down upon the happy couple out on the floor.
And just like that, on a seemingly normal lunch rush, thirty-year-old Penelope becomes the last single Featherington daughter.
“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” Eloise says later, leaning around Penelope to inspect the pastry case. They’re hiding out in the coffee shop, basking in how empty it is as the day crawls slowly to an end. “Felicity’s been with Geoff for years.”
“I don’t know,” Penelope says. She’s having a staring contest with her nails, which are a chipped color that she has decided she hates for no reason. “It’s just going to be different now that Portia only has one daughter to worry about marrying off.”
“Never mind the fact that Felicity is essentially a child bride,” Eloise mutters, hopping the counter so that she can get inside the display case.
“Um, excuse me,” Hyacinth shouts over the roar of the espresso machine and the milk she’s frothing for Eloise’s drink. “Employees only.”
“Yeah yeah,” says Eloise, turning to Penelope. “Want anything?”
Penelope shakes her head. Eloise gets her a blueberry muffin regardless.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter how young Felicity is. The fact of the matter is that Portia Featherington’s sole hobbies are drinking and meddling.”
“You forgot about living vicariously through her children,” puts in Hyacinth as she shoos Eloise back over the counter.
“You’re right. Thank you, Hyacinth,” says Penelope. “See, even Hyacinth gets it.”
“I’m not saying I don’t get it,” Eloise tells her. “I’m saying that I don’t understand why you care. My mom tries to make me do stuff I don’t want to do all the time. Do you know what I do? I don’t do it.”
“A nearly incomprehensible sentence,” Hyacinth says. “How do we make any decisions without your expertise?”
“Sometimes it’s difficult to be pushed, Eloise,” comes a quiet voice over in the corner. Lucy is perched on the counter near the various syrups, a textbook open on her lap over her apron, a sympathetic smile on her lips. “I know I have a hard time disappointing people.”
“Right,” Eloise says, taking her coffee from Hyacinth. “But it’s listening to Portia. Who, really, all four of us can agree is…” She trails off, not quite sure how nasty she wants to be out in the open. The coffee shop is mostly empty, barring a few people perched in front of their laptops, all of whom have headphones in, and Hermione Watson, who is tutoring a teary-eyed middle schooler. Eventually, Eloise settles on “you know.”
Penelope tries not to laugh as she collapses into a chair at the table closest to the counter.
“That’s just it. The entire force of her you know is about to be turned on me.”
“That sounds terrible,” Hyacinth says bluntly. “Want a cookie?”
“I still don’t know why you can’t ignore it,” Eloise says through a mouthful of coffee cake. “Tell her you’re not interested in getting married and leave it at that.”
That’s not exactly it, but Penelope doesn’t know how to tell Eloise, who spends her days studying books which claim that marriage is an outdated institution which is intended to trap women into servitude. Eloise has always assumed that Penelope doesn’t want to get married, just like her. It’s so endearing— and so irrelevant given Penelope’s perpetual singledom— that Penelope has never bothered to correct her.
“Would you like me to kill her for you?” Hyacinth asks, straight-faced as ever, and Penelope gives her a soft smile.
“Not today, I think,” she says. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
“Hy, the bus from the city just came in,” Lucy says, snapping her textbook shut and hopping off the counter. “Get ready for a wave.”
Penelope groans as the door to Bridgerton’s Brew opens, signaling the arrival of the first of the post-work customers.
“I have to go deal with the early dinner crowd. Thank you for the chat, ladies.”
“Anytime,” Eloise says, while Hyacinth salutes. “By the way, do you need us there early to help get ready for the shower this weekend?”
“You guys are showering together now?” says an amused voice behind her, and Penelope’s body stiffens immediately. “Things have gotten weird while I was gone, huh.”
“Colin!” shrieks Hyacinth, leaping over the counter so that she can rush at her older brother, who laughs as she launches herself into his arms. There is something so childishly joyful about Hyacinth; Penelope thinks that she was babied for so long, she never learned to be self conscious about it. “When did you get back?”
“A few hours ago,” he says, reaching out an arm for Eloise. She frowns, and he wiggles the arm emphatically, until Eloise lets out an annoyed groan and joins her siblings in the hug. “Though, I already took a shower. I didn’t realize we were supposed to coordinate these things now.”
“They’re referring to Phillipa’s baby shower,” Penelope explains as Colin finally releases his sisters.
“Which, of course, you’re invited to,” Hyacinth pipes up. “Everyone’s going to be there.”
“Oh, well if everyone’s going to be there,” Colin says, eyes twinkling as he looks at Penelope. “I’m at your service for any decorations that require a person tall enough to ride a roller coaster.”
“Rude,” Eloise says flatly. “She’s tall enough to ride most roller coasters.”
Penelope can feel her cheeks turning red. She clears her throat, abruptly moving towards the door, and winds up slamming into an incoming customer.
“I, uh, really do have to get back to the diner,” she says hurriedly. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“Pen,” Colin says, stooping down to nab her by the wrist before she can get too far. He tugs her in to him slightly, then lowers his voice, eyes still crinkled with kindness as he looks down at her. “I’m sorry I haven’t answered your latest email yet. I have a draft sitting in my phone, but I figured—”
“You were about to come home,” Penelope fills in for him. “No worries, Colin, really.”
“I’ll answer it,” he insists. Her heart pounds eagerly in her chest, like it’s trying to signal to his that she is right in front of him. “I don’t want to piss off my best correspondent.”
“You can come into the diner and answer it over some pie on the house,” she suggests. It’s always better for her when Colin’s on her home turf. She prefers a counter between them, reminding her of the necessary distance her mind creates between the two of them.
“Okay,” he agrees, finally releasing her arm. “I’ll take you up on that.”
She nods, and moves towards the door.
“Bye, everybody.”
“Oh, Pen?” Colin calls, and she pauses with her hand on the door. “I like your nail polish.”
She frowns, looks down, and realizes with a jolt that the chipped paint matches his eyes perfectly.
Well. That explains it.
“I didn’t realize baby showers have open bars,” Colin notes, wrinkling his nose as he takes a sip of the themed drink in his hand. “This is terrible, by the way. Don’t try this.”
“I don’t know why you were expecting better from a drink called Placenta Explosion,” says Penelope, taking the drink from his hand and tossing the rest of it back in one gulp. “God, that’s bad. Why didn’t you warn me?”
He’s still laughing when Eloise makes her way over to them, armed with two lowball glasses containing something brown on the rocks and wearing an expression that would suggest she had just been playing one of the baby food tasting games.
“I swear people instantly lose their heads when it comes to babies,” she says, neatly side-stepping Colin as he swipes for one of the drinks. “Why aren’t we talking about rampant consumerism’s impact on natural resources and how an increase in population isn’t going to help?”
“Because it’s a baby shower,” says Colin impatiently. “Why won’t you give me that?”
“It’s for Penelope,” Eloise says, handing off the glass.
“Pen just had a drink!”
“She still needs it more than you. She had to wake up at ass o’clock to cook all this food with only Albie for company.”
Desperate as he is, not even Colin can argue with that.
A Portia Featherington party is always nothing short of an ordeal. The entire town is invited– those who are not considered friends are welcome to gawk in admiration– and, as a result, Penelope’s mother usually rents out the ballroom at Hanover Mansion. It's the fanciest building in Mayfair (managed by Mr. Brimsley and Mr. Reynolds on behalf of the Hanover family), which makes every celebration feel more significant than it really is, as though each bridal or baby shower is as large as a wedding. Portia always makes up for her over-spending by having the diner cater the party, which means Penelope and Albie had gotten up at the crack of dawn this morning to cook before they opened for breakfast, not wanting to be closed for more than one meal.
In two months, they’ll do it all over again for Felicity’s engagement party, though Penelope doubts the decorations for that will be quite as absurd. She is particularly galled by the bright yellow balloon arches Portia has scattered around the room, one of which is stocked with giant blocks that spell out the word “baby.” There’s a Goring kid stationed at that one, holding onto an expensive camera and looking bored out of his mind.
“Fine,” Colin says with a belabored sigh. “But I want my selflessness noted.”
“We’re all impressed,” Eloise replies flatly.
“Why did you come anyway?” Penelope asks, taking a sip of the drink and wrinkling her nose. It’s too strong, and she doesn’t know whether it’s brandy or bourbon or scotch, but she is not going to be nursing it so it doesn’t matter much.
“What do you mean? I was invited.”
“So was the whole town,” she points out, not looking at him. If she does, she is certain he will know exactly how glad she is that he had decided to come after all. Penelope focuses on the guests instead. Across the room, Posey is trying to corral her children and husband into standing still long enough to take a photo. In the corner, Daphne is giving Amelia a stern talking to while holding a weepy Caroline against her side. At the center of the floor, Phillipa and Albie are chatting with Dr. Basillio, who Penelope would estimate had delivered over half the people in this room over her decades-spanning career.
“I wanted to hang out with you guys,” says Colin easily, then reaches out to ruffle her hair like he used to when she was younger. Penelope sticks her arm up to defend her hair.
“Do you know how long this took?” she asks, pointing to it. “If you touch it, I’ll sic Eloise on you.”
“At the ready,” she says. “Remember the time he chopped off all my hair when we were kids? I’ve been seeking vengeance ever since.”
“All is a strong word,” Colin protests. “It was one chunk. But… I apologize. That one was on me.”
“Who else would it be on?” Penelope mutters into her glass, which makes Colin grin.
“Heads up,” comes Edwina’s determined voice, hissing it as loudly as she can without drawing attention to their small group. “Honoria gave Portia a mic.”
“No,” gasps Eloise in the most dramatic way possible. Penelope fights a smile. “Why?”
“Probably because she’s paying her to run sound,” says Colin. “If I had to guess.”
Eloise’s retort is lost when Portia taps the mic twice, a loud squeak of feedback blaring out of the speakers. Penelope winces, her fingers tightening around the glass.
It is never good when Portia has the mic.
“Hello, everyone!” she says in a sing-song voice that Penelope has only ever heard her use in public. “I just wanted to say, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much for coming to my daughter’s baby shower. Phillipa, I am so delighted to be a grandmama. Our family has been through so much and to be blessed this way is truly a… well, a blessing!” She lets out a light twinkle of a laugh that makes Colin cringe. Penelope offers him her drink, which he accepts gratefully.
“Have you ever heard your mother use the word blessed before?” he mutters as he raises the glass to his lips.
“Only when my dad died,” she whispers back, which causes him to choke on his drink.
“As you all know, running the diner without my husband has been quite difficult. We’ve all had to come together as a family to keep it afloat.” Even from across the room, Penelope can see Anthony’s face pinch with disdain. He’d been the one, after all, to assist her with getting the diner back up and running after her father died. When Edmund Bridgerton had suddenly passed away, Anthony had been thrust into the deep-end of managing the Bridgerton businesses – the music school, the coffee shop, the Aubrey Inn, which had been founded by the Bridgertons in the 1800s. He had stepped in and taught her everything he knew, and if there was something he did not know, he had known exactly who to ask. And not once had either of them needed Portia Featherington. “I thought it would take us a long time to come back together after our tragedy. But look at us now!”
“She’s talking like she didn’t literally wear yellow to his funeral,” Eloise says, not quite quiet enough.
“Did she literally do that?” Colin squints, trying to recall.
“It’s obviously a figure of speech, Colin.”
“Bridgertons,” mouths Edwina to Penelope.
“My girls are absolutely thriving. Phillipa, married and pregnant with her first child. Prudence, married to the wonderful Harry Dankworth of the Newport Dankworths. Felicity, newly engaged at only twenty-three.”
Felicity opens her mouth to protest the incorrect age, then seems to think better of it and bites her tongue. Penelope gives her a reassuring smile and an eye roll, though she is relieved that she had been skipped over in the lineup. It’s not as if she has much of anything to report. Her life is grease-stained dresses and fighting with the old coffee machine and finding rapidly scribbled notes in her apron pocket for the half-finished novel that mostly sits abandoned on her drive. It’s not a bad life, but it’s not noteworthy either. She doesn’t begrudge her mother for not mentioning her when she has no news to share.
Besides, as soon as Felicity is married, Penelope will be Portia’s sole focus. She’d like to skirt around it for as long as possible.
“And of course, with all this change, I will still be at the restaurant with my daughter, Penelope. I am so grateful that she will always be there to take care of both of us – and each of you who comes to eat in our home away from home.”
Penelope blinks rapidly. Her entire body locks into place, a thick, sick feeling slithering down her throat and into her stomach, where it squirms alongside her drinks. Always? Penelope will always be there? As if… as if her sisters may leave, but she never will?
Reality reaches her louder than the feedback on Portia’s mic and grates on her more than the sound of her mother’s fakest, friendliest voice amplified by large speakers.
Portia hadn’t been waiting until Felicity got married to begin working on Penelope. Portia had simply never believed Penelope was capable of getting married. This whole time, the reason she hadn’t been dropping hints and throwing potential spouses at Penelope the way she had with Prudence, Phillipa, and Felicity was that she simply did not think Penelope was capable of receiving the same type of love her sisters had.
When she turns her face to the members of her town, all she can see is the pity etched into their features. She wonders how long they have been looking at her like that; how long had she been missing it? How long had they all seen what she had not?
“I can’t be here,” she says, stumbling forward. Colin takes her arm, catching her, but Penelope cannot look at him. She allows Edwina to gently pluck her glass from her fingers before bolting out of the ballroom, pressing her hand to her stomach to try to keep the sickening truth from rising and spilling out in front of everyone she knows.
She bursts through the doors and out into the mocking sunlight, gasping for breath as her brain wavers like a car radio that is still fighting not to settle into static.
“Penelope!” calls Eloise, because of course she does, and a moment later there are arms around her, squeezing her tight. “That was so shitty of her. I’m sorry.”
“I should’ve… should’ve fought,” she says, gulping in air between words. Her heart feels too small in her chest, like it has shrunk to the exact amount of love she will need to survive this life she has. She does not need more. There will be no one to give it to, once all of her friends are married and have children. She will give it out in bits and pieces, at children’s birthday parties and when they stop by the diner, and she will always wonder if she is someone they resent for how badly she needs them. “I should’ve gone to grad school, should’ve loved him less, should’ve gotten smaller.”
“No,” says Eloise fiercely. “You didn’t do anything wrong and you don’t need to be smaller. Stop blaming yourself. This is on her. She’s delusional, Penelope, to think that you are going to stay forever if she keeps treating you this way.”
“No, but she’s not,” Penelope says helplessly, not bothering to swipe at the tears running down her cheeks. “Because I did stay, didn’t I? I turned down the Yale interview your mom got me for undergrad because it felt like it was too far from the diner, I turned down grad school because we needed the money, I turned down dates so I could be there in case he came in, I–”
“—did what you felt what you had to do,” Eloise tells her, squeezing even tighter. “That’s what you always do. You do what you think you have to do no matter who tells you not to.”
“It’s because I’m weak,” cries out Penelope. “Because I can’t… I can’t…”
“You’re not weak. You’re just stuck. Come on, Penelope. Breathe with me. It’s okay.”
Penelope inhales along with Eloise, then exhales against her. She buries her face into her best friend’s sunwarm hair and tries to pretend that her tears are for simpler things. They are twelve, skinning their knees as they climb into the treehouse in the Bridgertons’ backyard, and Eloise’s hair and sweat smell just the same as they had then, warm and woodsy, and Penelope can pretend that she has enough time to fix all of the mistakes she hasn’t made yet.
She holds onto Eloise until her body is sagging with the release of her emotions, all of them draining out of her the tighter Eloise holds on.
“I can’t go back in there,” she says eventually.
“You don’t have to.”
Eloise’s voice is muffled by her shoulder. It brings fresh tears to Penelope’s eyes. Because one day, her best friend might get tired of comforting her through these little breakdowns, and what is she going to do then? She would be a burden to Eloise. She doesn’t want this friendship to end with Penelope becoming a bitter burden in the same way that her mother is. She couldn’t bear it.
“I need to get married,” she says resolutely.
Suddenly, Eloise’s arms are gone as she pushes Penelope back to inspect her face.
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Yes. I just need to… to get it done.”
“To get it done?” repeats Eloise, aghast.
“Portia doesn’t think I can, but I will, and then–” “And then what? You’ll prove your mother wrong but still be saddled with an idiot, drooling husband?”
“Eloise,” says Penelope resentfully.
“You can’t get married just to prove your mother wrong.”
“What if I want to get married just to be married?”
“That’s still not a good enough reason,” Eloise says. “Come on. We hate people who do that. Don’t be those people.”
“Well, maybe those people are right.” She knows it’s harsh, that she’s practically spitting it out, but Penelope… Penelope has wasted so much time. The clock is running out and she hasn’t even been playing the game. “Maybe it’s not about love. Maybe it’s about convenience.”
“I’m sorry, this from the most romantic girl I’ve ever met?” says Eloise sarcastically. “You don’t believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.” She swallows down her tears. “I’ve clearly been doing it wrong. So now it’s time to try to do things right.”
“Penelope–” Eloise begins, but the door bursts open and out comes Colin, illuminated so beautifully in the sunlight that Penelope wants to cry all over again. He searches for them for only a moment before jogging up to them, offering Penelope a glass of water.
“You okay?” he asks, looking at her with all the concern of an older brother. Her heart sinks into her stomach.
“I’m great,” she tells him. “More than great, actually. I’m getting married.”
Colin’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Um… congratulations?”
“Thank you,” she replies stiffly.
Colin looks over at Eloise, who shrugs helplessly in Penelope’s peripheral vision.
“Uh, who, exactly, are you marrying?” Colin asks, and Penelope tightens her jaw, determination flooding through her.
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m going to figure out.”
