A/N: Well hello my dearest gentle readers!

It's been so long since I published a fanfic (even though I kept writing over the years), this feels surreal. Anyway I hope you all enjoy it.

This is a season 3 fanfic, so this is my version of how season 3 should go If I were the writer.

I did grab some elements from the book and also a the scenes from the sneak peeks that got released just so I could keep this very in canon universe (all the other scenes I use are omine, don't worry, but you will see the dialogues from the two sneak peeks here).

(I also randomly decided Colin travelled to Italy this time. Why? Just because I love Italy. I am aware Italy was only unified after 1815, however. But I did research some still called it Italy back then - if anyone loves history and wants to correct me, feel free)

This first chapter is basically an introduction, just so we all see where every character is at and then we'll go from here.

Dearest gentle reader,

Word has reached the ton of the brewing of the most abhorrently tedious season yet.

In bated breath, we wait for this season's diamond, as hopes indeed die last. However, remembering the series of scandals such a title brought about in the year past, perhaps boredom might be welcomed for some.

Granted, the first annual Danburry Ball is yet to take place, but could it shake up the group of most undistinguished unmarried ladies and gentlemen that Mayfair has ever witnessed? I suppose it is yet to be determined.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown.

"Put that down."

Hyacinth blew out a breath, lowering the cursed paper to her lap. "It has been several months, sister. Surely you have forgiven her by now."

Eloise twisted on her dress, uncomfortable in it almost as much as she was on her own skin. If Lady Whistledown were only Lady Whistledown, Hyacinth's assumption about Eloise would be accurate. She would have forgiven the anonymous writer after a few months, maybe even weeks. All was fair in war and a woman's line of work, after all.

But she was not an anonymous writer anymore, was she?

And so, amid fussing over her attire, she turned to the youngest Bridgerton and expressed, with the utmost sincerity: "No amount of time in this world could compel me to grant her any kind of forgiveness."

Hyacinth, however, rolled her eyes and bared little mind to her sister's theatrics. Shrugging, she continued her reading, far from realising anything was amiss.

"There you are!" Violet exclaimed, entering Hyacinth's room while glaring at her second eldest daughter. "We are late. Are you ready yet?"

"Unfortunately." Eloise grunted, twisting once again on that wretched, itchy fabric. She was certain that Madame Delacroix intentionally picked that one as a covert act of retaliation on Penelope's behalf.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Violet asked before turning around and heading out of the room. "Make haste!" she called out as she turned away.

"Yes, mama." Eloise answered with a sigh before following the older woman.

If there was ever a rule that a proudly unmarried gentleman should heed, it was this one: never arrive early.

Whether it was for the balls or the entire season, it was best to go unnoticed, to not be remembered. Being early was simply unadvised.

"What is the matter with you?"

Colin's eyes skirted from the window to his second-oldest brother. "I beg your pardon?"

Benedict scoffed. "First, you make an early arrival from Italy, and then, without protest, you comply with our dear mother's demand that we attend Lady Danburry's ball, a rather transparent ploy to trap us into finding a suitable spouse."

Colin smiled cheekily. "I was unaware we could protest."

"Alright. Be that way, "Benedict replied. He could read his siblings' moods as easily as a Turner's painting.

But engaging them in conversations about their feelings also presented a level of difficulty similar to his artistic ventures.

However, once their carriage halted, he gathered that, at the very least, the night would be interesting. The ball looked quite beautiful. Radiant candles lined the pathway from the sprawling lawn to the grand entrance, casting a warm, yellowish glow upon the vibrant flowers that adorned the gardens and the walls of the elegant ballroom. The melodies of the violinists filled the air, their joyful tunes intertwining with the lively chatter of the hundreds of guests.

That beauty was overwhelming and impossible to ignore. But when Benedict looked at his brother, his focus was only on the distant ballroom. Nothing else existed. His eyes were stormy blue, as though the rumble of thunder was about to burst forth from within.

"There you are." Violet met them on their way to the entrance, with Eloise and Francesca close behind. "Isn't it wonderful?" She commented, looking at all the spectacular decorations, "I'm sure it will be a very pleasant and fruitful evening for all of us." She commented with deliberate glances at her three oldest children.

Three who, with a lot of hope in her heart, wouldn't inflict the same grief as Anthony, she would make sure of that.

"Fruitful for whom?" Eloise wasted no time in replying, immediately fanning herself with her hand as they stepped into the ballroom. Another year of being stuck in silly dresses and talking to tedious gentlemen. Penelope was the only thing that made those nights more bearable in the previous season. But this year... this year she would probably make them worse.

And just like that, the redhead materialised in Eloise's line of sight, as if she knew.

The first thing that came to Eloise's mind was that Penelope looked different.

It had been months since Eloise had seen her or spoken to her. It was odd, because once upon a time, the two friends were so tightly bonded that they didn't even realise when one another underwent changes. When you see someone every day, it's easy to overlook the gradual changes they go through.

But now Eloise looked at Penelope and felt like she was observing a stranger. Her hair, styled in gentle waves, framed her face as she donned a shiny, dark green dress. Silently, her eyes swept across the room, a sharp glint of observation in them, unnoticed by the poor souls who bore their private affairs to her unknowingly.

Far away was the girl with bows in her hair and yellow gowns. Gone was the witty and innocent girl that Eloise believed to be her friend. In her place was Lady Whistledown. Writer extraordinaire, thriving businesswoman, trader of secrets, and, at last, a friend turned traitor.

"Excuse me," Colin's voice deviated Eloise from her thoughts.

Four heads swivelled towards him, surprised by the sudden interjection. Oblivious to their reaction, Colin stormed into the ballroom, disappearing amidst the throng of dancers.

"What is the issue with him?" Francesca furrowed her eyebrows, voicing what everyone was thinking.

Benedict then attempted to hide his own surprise and feign indifference with a shrug. "He must have spotted the sandwich table."

That season brought about a feeling of liberation for Penelope.

She thought it was because this year she was finally freeing herself from the things that were holding her back. Her suffocating love for Colin, her constant pretense around Eloise, her naïve belief that one day she would somehow matter.

It was all a relief, truly.

She was a free woman, could even dress as one now that her mother had officially given up on her. More than that, she was a woman who had a well-thought-out plan. While writing as Lady Whistledown in secret, she would linger in the realm of high society until achieving the wealth she desired. Then she would retire to the country and, without a care in the world, lead an uneventful life there as Penelope Featherington.

At last, she was at peace with her circumstances.

"My child, are you quite alright?"

"Lady Danbury!" Penelope yelped in surprise, scrambling to curtsy in a manner that was anything but ladylike.

A playful smile spread across the older woman's face as she watched the girl. "Miss Featherington," she said. "You're quite distracted, are you not? I asked: Are you alright?"

Penelope could only blink at the question. A rather rare one to be directed at her.

"Um," she said, squeezing her eyes at her lack of manners again. "Yes. I must admit that I found myself quite distracted, marvelling at the exquisite appearance of your ball."

Lady Danbury nodded, eyeing her as if she didn't believe her words one bit. Then, directing her sights on the lady's attire for the evening, she commented, "That's a lovely gown. No more yellow?"

Penelope cast her gaze downward at her emerald green garment, despite knowing exactly what it looked like. As she admired the way it shimmered in the light, she couldn't help but think about how Genevieve had truly outdone herself with that design. Despite the fabric's luster, the bodice was simple, letting the hems and neckline take centre stage with their shimmer and intricate designs.

The colour had been Penelope's only demand, ready as she was to leave all yellows and oranges behind. It had proven to be a brilliant choice, complimenting her skin tone and making her hair colour pop out.

"Madame Delacroix is a rather talented modiste, is she not?" Penelope said, her lips curving into a genuine smile.

"Indeed," Lady Danbury replied, nearly reflecting Penelope's smile, until something behind the girl caused the lady's expression to transform into a dissatisfied scowl.

As Penelope was on the verge of turning around to find out the cause of that reaction, she was interrupted by a voice she knew all too well.

"Lady Danbury."

"Mr Bridgerton," she answered, glaring.

Finally, Penelope turned to the person standing behind her, knowing the exact identity of the Bridgerton in question.

When their eyes met, Colin's blue eyes lit up.

"Miss Featherington," he greeted, the formal title for Penelope leaving a foreign taste on his tongue.

"Mr Bridgerton," Penelope greeted him with a clipped tone. Then, as social rules demanded, she curtsied.

It had all happened in seconds, yet time enough for him to confirm something was wrong.

Penelope had ignored his letters for months, and now she greeted him as if they were meeting for the first time. His brows furrowed slightly as he fixed a questioning gaze upon her. But alas, she seemed to be interested in the dancers, not their conversation.

Deciding to take a different approach, he put on a polite smile. He then stared at Lady Danbury, in hopes she would understand he wished to speak with Penelope. Even if the older woman terrified him, worry was turning him bolder. Or perhaps imprudent.

She met his eye and raised an eyebrow, seeming to understand his intentions. However, she remained rooted in place.

"May I speak with Miss Featherington?" he finally asked.

Lady Danbury tilted her head. "You may."

He blinked at her, certain he had drunk his special tea by accident. The woman's aggressive attitude was sure bizarre.

Yet when he looked at Penelope, she didn't seem to object to it. Her interest was now on the flower arrangements to their left.

"In private," he clarified.

Which prompted Lady Danbury to raise both her eyebrows. "I am certain that is not proper."

Colin held back a huff. Evidently, he meant talking without her presence—but still inside a ballroom with approximately a hundred other people around.

"I only meant-"

"I'm entirely too aware of what you meant, boy," she said, the last word spat as if it were a curse. With Colin looking at her as if he had just been slapped, she turned her attention to Penelope and asked, "Do you wish to talk to this gentleman, Miss Featherington?"

Penelope then finally looked at him, her jaw clenching at the sight.

"No," she replied, as if she weren't pulling a proverbial knife and gutting him with it. "No, Lady Danbury. In fact, I wish to leave."

And then, with no hesitation, she walked away. Throwing a triumphant gaze at him, Lady Danburry headed to the other side of the ballroom, her cane leading the way.

And Colin… He just watched Penelope leave, every limb of his body going numb as his mind tried to understand what was happening.

If her sole reason for going to these wretched balls wasn't learning information for Lady Whistledown, Penelope would have forsaken them long ago. At least, that was what she told herself.

The girlish and innocent side of her that loved the glitz and the glamour, fancy music and beautiful attires, drama and the possibility of true love—that side died last season.

It died every time her dance card remained empty, every time her outfits were ridiculed, and at every smile she had to force.

It died when her oldest friend threw in her face exactly what she thought of her. Penelope wasn't the friend whose opinion she valued, whose company she cherished. She was a nobody; she had always been a nobody.

Most of all, it died once Colin became one of them. Them — the members of high society who would fake a smile in her presence, only to ridicule her in her absence. Them — the ones who couldn't bear the shame of being associated with her.

So, truth be told, upon meeting him again after months, she was ready to take her leave. If only she hadn't collided with Cressida Cowper and spilled lemonade all over her intricately designed beige gown.

"Must you do everything wrong?" The blonde advanced on her with the chin high and venomous voice. A few people turned their heads towards them, but Cressida didn't mind the attention—unlike Penelope, she relished it. "Really, Penelope, one might expect that after being humiliated once or twice, you would have learned how to conduct yourself."

"You expect entirely too much of a wallflower," declared the person not even Lady Whistledown suspected.

Because there, beside Cressida Cowper, was Eloise Bridgerton.

Penelope could only stare at her as the world collapsed. Of all the people in the world— were they friends now? Was she just casually agreeing with the most vile member of the ton? Did Eloise hate her that much?

Despite the weight of that betrayal, Penelope refused to cry in public. She refused to even react, if possible, despite her own body betraying her. Her pride was far too strong for that.

"Excuse me," she said before exiting the room.

As soon as she passed through the entrance, she leaned against the pillar and took a steading breath. Determined not to shed a tear, she scanned the surroundings in search of her carriage. It was time to go home.

"Pen."

The girl squeezed her eyes shut. That day seemed determined to make her suffer. Apparently, Colin had followed her outside, and she hadn't even noticed.

Standing up straight, she once again had to mask her distress behind a composed facade.

"Pen, can we talk for a moment, please?" he asked.

"I am rather exhausted tonight. I'd rather leave. Goodnight, Mr Bridgerton," she replied.

With her carriage in sight, she finally took a step towards it.

"Do you not need a chaperone?" he asked, noticing she was about to leave unaccompanied.

His innocence almost brought a laugh to Penelope's lips, yet her blood also boiled at his obliviousness. "Spinsters do not need chaperones."

It was Colin's turn to suppress a laugh. His brain could not comprehend such an absurd statement coming from one of the most incredible women he knew. A very young woman at that.

"You are not a spinster," he said.

"I'm in my third year on the marriage mart with no prospects to show for it. What would you call that?" She snapped, her eyes ablaze with fury and her voice filled with impatience—a side of Penelope that Colin had never seen before.

First, she refused to engage in conversation with him, and when she finally did, it felt like his mere presence was offensive to her. Colin couldn't understand what was happening. Was he a burden to her?

They hadn't seen each other for ages, so how could he be a bother to her when all he could do was yearn for her presence? He missed her insights, her witty barbs, her self-depreciating jokes, and her words of encouragement. He missed everything about her. His trip was supposed to be exciting and liberating, but he couldn't escape the constant reminder of her silence.

The ocean's teal waters, the agreeable weather, the overbearing aroma of coffee, and the meticulously crafted food—none of these things could distract him from the emptiness left by Penelope. And although he would never admit it, for the first time in his life, Colin experienced a wave of relief upon his return to London. All because he would finally see her again and realise it was all a misunderstanding.

That's what he believed, at least.

"Something wrong, Pen? Between us, I mean?" he asked. "I wrote to you this summer, as I always do, and you did not respond. Admittedly, very few did, but if you are going to make me say it out loud… I miss you."

A chuckle escaped her lips, one that Colin would later come to realise was actually a scoff.

"You miss me," she repeated, and he, like an oblivious fool, nodded. "You miss me, but you would never court me. Is that correct?"

And there it was. He finally got his answer. If only he knew how to respond to it.

"Pen, I—"

"I overheard you," she said as tears moistened her eyes. "At my mama's ball last season, telling everyone how you would never, ever court Penelope Featherington."

Unfortunately, she didn't need to recite it verbatim, as he had a vivid memory of it. His jaw tightened as the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. A group of men walked by, nodding at him with friendly greetings.

While greeting them back, Colin realised he was at a loss for words to explain himself to her. He barely knew how to explain it to himself. But one thing he knew for certain was that they had to be careful not to speak of this in the presence of prying ears.

"Perhaps we should go where there's somewhere more private," he said

"Because I embarrass you," she whispered, hurt drew all over her features. "Of course you would never court me. I am the laughingstock of the ton, even when I change my entire wardrobe."

His gaze lingered on her dress, noticing—not for the first time—how beautiful she looked. Never before had he asked himself whether or not he found Penelope to be pretty. They had been friends for so long that it felt odd to think about her in that light. Perhaps that was one reason for his reaction to Fife's question last season.

But he supposed… that even if he were held at gunpoint, he'd never think of Penelope as someone unattractive. In truth, she looked absolutely ravishing that night. It didn't cross his mind to pinpoint what it was about her that day or why.

"It just never occurred to me that you, of all people, could be so cruel," she said, interrupting his musings.

And before he could react, she walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts, his gaze fixed on her back for the second time that evening.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! As I said I added the scene this was more of an introduction, next up... Colin tries to fix his relationship with Pen. We'll see how that goes!

And oh, about Eloise and Cressida, don't worry.

Don't forget to leave your likes and reviews as it's always deeply, deeply appreciated!