"I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington. Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife."
The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them. Had he not, less than an hour before, confessed to Pen how dear she was to him? The memory of how pleased and gracious she had been that he had saved her family from ruin–saved her–clashed horribly with the feeling of utter shame that was bubbling up in him, bile slowly snaking its way up his throat.
It was dishonorable for him to speak of Pen this way–in public, in the company of other possible suitors. But it was more than that. The reality of the words he had spoken settled over him like a damp summer heat, leaving him feeling uncomfortable and out of sorts. His cravat felt too tight, his jacket suffocating. How could he have spoken so coldly when he–
"Bridgerton? Are you quite well?"
Despite his inner turmoil seeming endless, it had only been moments since he had uttered those shameful words. His fellows were looking at him curiously, he realized, after he had failed to join in their continued merriment at Penelope's expense.
He straightened, swallowing the sick feeling lingering at the back of his throat. "Indeed. But I feel must clarify. It is true, I would not court Miss Featherington, but only because I am wholly unworthy of her, despite my family name. Any so-called gentleman who should dance in the light with one as lovely as she only to make brutish commments about her in the dark is no true gentleman, nor a deserving suitor. So if you will excuse me, I must bid you goodnight."
Colin stepped away and breathed deeply, legs feeling uncertain beneath him as he made his way back toward the Featherington house.
He caught a glint of yellow in the corner of his eye as he passed a statue and froze.
"Pen?"
As her heart was already breaking at the possibility of losing Eloise forever, Penelope didn't think it conceivable it could shatter further. Yet when she heard Colin proclaim the absolute absurdity of his courting her to his peers, she felt what was left of those tiny glass shards splinter in her chest.
She wanted to flee, to run up to her room and sob for the rest of the evening so she could mourn all that she had lost: her very best friend and her stupid, juvenile–
Was Colin speaking again?
She ceased breathing and listened intently.
The dusty pieces of her heart began to swirl.
Did he mean those things?
What did he mean by those things?
Had he truly called her lovely?
She was so lost in thought she didn't realize the direction of his departure until it was far too late.
"Pen?"
Her head snapped toward him.
"C-Colin."
He paled, looking suddenly quite sick.
"How long have you been standing there?"
She looked down, blushing and unable to meet his gaze.
"Oh, Pen."
He rushed over to her, grabbing her hands. Penelope gasped softly. This was highly inappropriate.
"I don't care," Colin said, and Penelope realized she must've spoken the words aloud. "Penelope, you must allow me to apologize. I...I shouldn't have said those things. I don't know why I did. It was cruel and thoughtless and you deserve so much...so much better than that."
She was silent for a moment before she looked at him. "What about the...the other things?"
"Other things?"
She swallowed. "About you being unworthy. And...me being lovely."
Color began return to Colin's face, a crimson tinge rising in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. "Ah, yes. Well, um. Those things. I..." He paused and released one of her hands to tug a bit at his cravat; she found she quickly missed his warmth.
He cleared his throat again and continued. "I, uh, of course...meant those things. You are...have always been...lovely."
Penelope's breath hitched. To hear those words at a distance was one thing, to hear them up close was quite another. "Oh."
Colin's face flamed and Penelope imagined hers flushed a similar shade.
"Penelope I–" Colin began, but was interrupted by the abrupt blast of fireworks.
Penelope jumped, startled out of her wits. As one of her hands was still clasped with Colin's, he instinctually pulled her close and wrapped his free arm around her.
The closeness both calmed and excited her; the sturdiness of him helped her regain her equilibrium after her initial shock, but the reality of being chest-to-chest with Colin Bridgerton made her heart thud so loudly she was certain he would feel it.
The tension was palpable.
Colin did his best to take slow, even breaths, for fear of letting just how deeply this was affecting him come between him and Penelope and frighten the innocent young woman away. The scent of her alone was driving him mad.
How did this happen?
When did this happen?
He suddenly remembered a line from a newly translated novel he had heard the literati in France quoting during his travels:
I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.
He had scoffed at the time, but the words rang true for him now.
He was in love with Penelope.
But was she in love with him?
He knew she cared for him a great deal, that much was clear; he had always known their friendship was special. But the line between that and love–the kind of love he realized he was feeling–was like the leap between a stream and a chasm.
But how does one discover a truth this fragile? How can one take that leap and not plunge to their death at the chasm's rocky base?
"Colin?"
She said his name so tentatively, as if she did not have his whole being at her command.
He drew a shaky breath and finally looked down at her.
God, her eyes.
He could drown in them.
"Colin, we should draw apart. If we are seen..."
"Everyone's gone to see the fireworks," he said, gesturing with his head toward the large crowd far away from them. "We are safe."
She seemed to freeze in place. "So you...want to stay here? With me?"
Her words were barely above a whisper.
Colin gave her a small smile. "If you'd like, Pen."
The vulnerability in her face made him want to weep, to propose on the spot, to sweep her off her feet and race to the nearest bedroom and have her right there.
He took another steadying breath to control himself before he lost his control and resolve. He brought a hand to her cheek. "My dearest Pen."
Her eyes fluttered. "Colin.." she breathed.
He pressed his forehead to hers. "I fear I must apologize once more this evening."
Her blue eyes pierced his, concern etching her face. "Oh?"
"I am sorry for taking so long in knowing my feelings. I have to apologize for my blindness in not seeing how long I have deeply admired and loved you."
Penelope did her best to stay poised, but it was for naught, as her eyes quickly sparkled and the tears came. Colin brushed his thumb along her cheek to wipe them away.
"I did not wish to make you cry, dear Pen."
Penelope shook her head. "You absolute fool. You...you love me? And you think I cry tears of sorrow?"
Colin grinned at her. "I take it they are not?"
Penelope let out a laugh in the midst of her tears. "No, they are assuredly not. But I need to hear you say it plainly. I do not want to misunderstand or have any doubts about what is being said. I need you to be clear."
Baffled, Colin did as she asked. "Penelope, I love you. I think I have always loved you, but now I am certain. There has never been anyone whose opinion I value more, whose company I seek or enjoy regularly, whom I think about when I'm on my travels–nor wish were there with me–none but you. I know you have seen me flirt with other girls in the ton, but none of those flirtations has ever come close to what I feel when I earn a laugh from you, or when you share one of your clever barbs with me. I need you like I need air in my lungs, darling Pen. My only regret is it took me so long to realize what you mean to me. You are my dearest love."
The tears had stopped, but her eyes still glistened. "Well. No misunderstanding that, I suppose."
Colin blushed. "I suppose not, no."
Penelope smiled shyly at him. "Colin, I...I have loved you for years. Since...likely the first time we met. It's hard to say, really. It has been so long it's hard to remember a time when I did not. But you must know, I have loved you as my friend first and anything else second. I never–how did you put it?–in my wildest dreams thought you would ever love me, so I was content to love you as my dearest friend. Yet my unrequited love for you has always burned, buried deep inside of me. So to now hear you say you love me is...truly I cannot find the words."
Colin gave her a rakish grin. "Perhaps you do not have to."
They looked at one another for just a moment more before finally pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.