Disclaimer: I don't own "Bridgerton" or any of the show/book's characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Inspired by bforeverloverly's post in tumblr, which reads: "I need Colin to see Pen take parchment or money out of her corset. I need to see the way his brain shuts down as he stares."
Warnings: period typical attitudes, missing scene, season two, romance, drama, romantic tension, sexual tension, emotional constipation, references to sexual content.
Swell
He tried to look away.
He should have.
He decidedly didn't.
In truth, he wasn't sure if his mind had any say in the matter. Considering his eyes were fixed on where her purse had disappeared between the swell of her breasts.
Perhaps he'd been in the sun too long?
Surely there wouldn't be room in her corset for-
He shook himself.
What a thought!
Her blue cape was as striking as it was unfamiliar. He thought himself acquainted with her wardrobe for the season. It had been cooler of late, and he'd seen her out more than once in the wind. But the cape had not made an appearance. Which, he felt, was an important point.
After all, it was the rich blue hood that drew his attention in the first place.
Unlike his dear friend, he had good reason to be in this part of town. He'd taken it upon himself to look in on the son of one of their late servants. He'd been quite fond of the woman and made a point to visit the man and his growing family at least once a year. He'd made his goodbyes, content to find the family well, when he caught sight of her at the end of the street. Standing out like a beacon. First, due to her cape. And second, when he recognized the spill of red curls trailing down from her hood.
Pen?
At first, he'd laughed at the entire notion.
Penelope Featherington. Here? Alone?
Preposterous.
Impossible.
Improper.
There was more, but the words got lost when a trio of street urchins hurried over to her. She smiled, beckoning them closer. She seemed well acquainted with them. Going so far as to use her handkerchief to rub a smudge of dirt off the smallest boy's cheek. Seeming to talk with them longer than a lady should entertain a beggar, even a young one, before producing her purse and presenting them with a coin each. The boys grinned, gap-toothed and eager. Scampering to retrieve the bundles at her feet before vanishing down a side street without even so much as an excited shout.
He didn't know what to do. If he should go to her. Confront her. Escort her home. Press for answers. But before he could do anything, she turned. Somehow not seeing him as a pleased smile teased across her face. Clearly self-satisfied as she- because yes, she did- tucked her purse down the front of her corset and gave her bosom a pat.
There was something about it, the creamy tide of her breasts and the way her fingers had slipped glibly between them, that turned his mouth painfully dry.
And he didn't-
He wasn't-
What on earth?
It took until nightfall for him to even contemplate what on earth Penelope had been doing, unchaperoned in the slums of ton, dressed like that.
It took far longer for the memory of her purse slipping between her breasts, to give him any form of peace.
And, to his shame, it took him far too long to understand why.
God had granted him eyes, but he'd needed a few more years to see.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.
