Notes: Unbeta'd. Comma abuse. Em dash abuse. Stylistic liberties. Verbosity as an attempt on Regency English. Head empty from Polin brainrot. Haven't written in a long time (and English isn't my first language) so beware of grammatical errors. May be a bit angsty but I'm not good at writing angst, so I think you'd do fine.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Playlist on repeat:

Dear You (English cover)

Enchanted (Taylor Swift)

My Dearest Colin—

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I would like to hope that this letter will find you in better spirits. And if it does not, then perhaps the message I am about to impart may lift your disposition.

It is with a heavy heart and a conscience burdened by remorse that I write this to you, as I do not know how to explain myself fully in person without being utterly overcome with emotion that I would dissolve in tears, or without causing such an uproar in you. Please allow me to explain myself in writing thus—

Firstly, I must confess that I have been guilty of deception.

I acknowledge that my identity as Lady Whistledown has profoundly injured you.

You could not have explained the difficulty of your position any more than you already have in our last argument. As you have emphasized, you wished to marry Penelope Featherington—your friend and confidante—and not Lady Whistledown, the notorious gossip writer who has injured and utterly ruined important women in your life—two being Lady Crane and Eloise.

I will explain my position as to why I wrote about them in my sheet further down this letter, but it is crucial that I address your grievance first.

I am cognizant of the reality that you are in pain. Your position is exacerbated by the fact that we are already engaged, and a retraction of such an engagement would cause even more scandal and dishonor upon both of our families. I understand that you do not wish to burden them with the gravity of such a transgression, so you can thus no longer renounce such arrangement. You hence feel trapped in this betrothal, and I fear that this has furnished such feelings of resentment within you.

Believe me, I could not bear to see the torment upon your countenance from our last encounter, and to see you suffer for my identity has greatly pained me in ways I could not have imagined. I never wished to confine you in an engagement upon which you did not have all the information, and I intend to liberate you from such sentiments of entrapment.

After careful consideration of all available alternatives, I have resolved to take my leave from Mayfair.

You will never have to see me again.

By the time you are reading this letter, I may already be gone.

Please consider this letter to be the last correspondence between us; our relationship is severed after you have read its contents.

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I am sorry.

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I am profoundly sorry.

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The time we have spent together these past months has bestowed upon me the most cherished memories of my life. Nothing else can compare to the joy you have brought upon me by your devotion. I am extremely grateful that we have shared so strong an affection that would last several lifetimes.

I'm sorry that I broke all of that.

There are many regrets in my life, but if there ever was one thing I'd do again, I'd—

(on departures—

"—Colin."

Colin tears his eyes away from the letter in his hands and looks up from the fireplace towards the door of his room. Anthony stands under the doorframe, looking in on him with his formal wear on. "Eloise and Mother are now almost fully attired, and you should be too. Lady Danbury wants to meet us early for this season's first ball."

Colin nods distractedly, hiding the papers in his hands behind him.

Anthony takes notice. "Reading her letter again?"

Colin sighs, resigning from hiding the papers from his brother. "Forgive me," he says, exasperated, "changing habits has not been one of my strongest suits."

"Changing habits that would involve her, you mean," Anthony replies. He gets inside the room to approach Colin, offering a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I had hoped that your Grand Tour would have helped you overcome your grief, but I fear that I have underestimated your devotion for your beloved. And I don't blame you; Mother was in a similar position in the aftermath of Father's death, and I don't think she had ever recovered from that."

Colin looks away, scenes from the day of his arrival at that port town in Dublin repeating in his mind. "I tried," he says, vexed, remembering the moment he saw her name on a list of the deceased, tears threatening to form behind his eyes.

He had thought that it would no longer affect him—after so long a time—but he finds himself helpless at the memory. "I tried so very hard, Ant, but I just can't seem to forget her. Not when we shared so deep a connection that every other woman just could not compare."

Anthony looks in on him solemnly, lost at how to soothe him; he was not fond of confronting such vulnerability, but he knew that his brother needed him. He squeezes his shoulder firmly, offering his presence as a steady and reassuring figure to his brother's life. In a voice both calm and earnest, he reassures Colin, "You are not alone in this, brother. Your family is behind you, and we shall offer whatever support you need in your grief."

Colin takes it, temporarily relieved at the soothing touch. "Thank you, Ant."

"You're welcome, Brother," Anthony murmurs. He claps his back after they let go of each other. "I know that it will be hard, but we can't do anything but move forward. It's been five years, brother. While I cannot dictate that you move on as quickly as possible, I will offer any form of support so that you may recover from your grief."

Colin gives him a grateful nod.

"Now come," Anthony urges him. "Lady Danbury will have my head if we are to be tardy for another moment. She insists that we talk about 'another matter of importance'."

Colin wills himself to prepare, folding the letter as Anthony departs from his room. He tucks the papers into his drawer, and convinces himself to support Eloise in another season.

Eloise, who must also be grieving as much as he was.

Trying to put Pen away from his mind for a moment, he manages to dress for the occasion.

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"Don't forget to give us fresh gossip!" Hyacinth reminds them as Colin gets inside the carriage that was about to take them to Lady Danbury's estate.

"Read the scandal sheets tomorrow," Gregory admonishes, getting inside the carriage after Colin.

"But you know that the scandal sheets no longer give any information of merit!" Hyacinth laments. "Ever since Lady Whistledown disappeared, all we got are second-rate knockoffs."

Colin stills, and he sees that Eloise does the same.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the next season, dearest," Violet tells Hyacinth as she climbs up. "Once you're introduced to society, you'll have all the gossip you want."

Eloise shudders. "Some polite society we are," she mutters as she steps inside as well.

"Now now, no pouting," Kate encourages Eloise as she settles inside. "I didn't come to No. 5 just to see your glum face, El."

"I think it's time we accept that I will become a spinster," Eloise shrugs once everyone settles in their position in the carriage. She, Kate and Violet sit on one side, and the men sit opposite them.

"I was wed at six-and-twenty," Kate reminds her. "Would you rather I dare you to surpass that?"

"Oh I'm sure I would," Eloise mutters, looking into the world outside as the carriage began its journey. "I just… I don't think I need a man right now. I just need"—she pauses as she contemplates the right words—"a friend."

That friend.

Colin looks at Eloise in earnest, identifying the same heaviness of heart as her. The three of them have always been in a three-way love, with Eloise loving Pen as a friend, and him loving her as an inamorata.

Their siblings may have moved on with their lives, with Anthony and Kate settling in Bridgerton House, Daphne and Simon tending to the latter's estate, Benedict and Sophie now living in their own home which they had called 'My Cottage'—a terribly apt name coming from someone so artistic— and Francesca now living in Scotland with Lord Kilmartin. Violet, Eloise, Gregory and Hyacinth still resided at No. 5, but Hyacinth would be introduced to Society next season, and it was expected that Gregory would find someone soon as well.

He and Eloise though…

Both of them were still consumed in grief, their hearts heavy with a sense of loss that could not be overcome.

Colin stares out of the carriage, and he lets his mind wander. He had gotten his Bloomsbury residence in preparation for his nuptials with Pen, but now, they only served to remind him of what could have been had he not been a fool. He hated staying there, for everything only reminded him of her—from the mirrors dotting strategic corners of each room, to the Featherington green that painted the walls, to the yellow draperies and the yellow curtains and the yellow bed sheets and the yellow duvets and the yellow table cloths—

(Yellow, yellow, yellow, his mind repeats like it's the only color that mattered—because it's really the only thing he can cling to—)

There were many things that he should have done. He should have brought more yellow cravats before going to No. 5.

He should have chased after her during that night, too.

He should have stopped her. He should have done something, anything, really. Anything to convince her to stay.

But it was too late now.

—

The carriage stops and they are ushered out, finally arriving in Lady Danbury's estate.

The theme for the party was "Heaven and Earth", so the mansion is bedecked in white and gold roses on one end, with feathers and cotton and blue drapes to resemble heaven. The other side is decorated in red and gold flowers, complete with leaves and trunks and green curtains to represent Earth.

"I'll chaperone Eloise," Kate announces as she hooks her arm with hers. "We'll try and see if there are any willing suitors with half a brain to keep up with her."

"I doubt such a man could ever exist," Eloise shudders.

"I'll accompany Mother to discuss some matters with Lady Danbury," Anthony says, offering his arm to Violet. "I had received a letter from her a few days ago, emphasizing that there is an important development that she thinks we ought to know. She would like to impart this information to both of us only, Mother."

"I wonder whatever it could be?" Violet muses.

"Perhaps some matter about the Queen," Anthony shrugs.

Both pairs venture off into the ballroom, and Colin is left with Gregory. Gregory fake-coughs, and mentions something about looking for a lady. Colin could only mildly tease him about it as he runs off, leaving him behind.

Colin strolls into the grand entrance of Lady Danbury's abode, taking his time. He discovers that the dance floor has already been alight with guests as soon as he descends the staircase, and he is left looking for the refreshments table upon stopping at the foot of the grand staircase. He should probably drink some wine then skip the party, perhaps going to the Mondrich's to drink hard liquor.

"Bridgerton!"

A voice calls from the top of the staircase, and Colin sees Fife, descending from the top of the staircase, beaming. "I had thought that you were still on your Grand Tour in the Balkans. Am I glad to see you tonight!"

Colin couldn't say the same for him. Fife's countenance only reminds him of that night five years ago, when he was chasing her and Fife had shown up and held him back. If Fife wasn't there that night—if he didn't show up, if he didn't stop Colin, then she—

"Anything wrong, Bridgerton?" Fife asks after a few seconds of silence. He had smoothly settled beside him, grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handing Colin a glass. "Good thing they finally serve champagne in these damn balls. If I have to drink another glass of lemonade again, I'd skip to the nearest gentleman's club!"

Colin shakes his head, taking the glass from Fife's hand. "Nothing, perhaps I was just too… overwhelmed now that I'm back in society. There are new faces here who I can't seem to recognize."

"Ah I see," Fife shrugs, taking a sip from his flute. "The good news is that you missed nothing, Bridgerton. Nothing eventful happened in the past few seasons. And well, after Lady Whistledown's scandal sheets disappeared years ago, there really is nothing worth talking about."

Colin stiffens at his mention of Whistledown, remembering her.

"There are other scandal sheets of course," Fife continues; if he noticed Colin's discomfort, he does not show it. "But nothing quite as scandalous as those disclosed by Lady Whistledown. And nothing quite as entertaining! Her writing has always been so sublime, it has enraptured not just the ton, but even the Queen herself."

Colin offers a small nod. "Begrudgingly, I must admit that her writing did have its charms."

"Indeed. It's quite remarkable how the Queen both loved and hated Lady Whistledown. But she has been abysmal these past seasons, and I can only surmise that she misses her banter with the rag writer. I do wonder, though, whatever has become of Lady Whistledown."

Colin eyes him. "Perhaps she has grown tired of writing."

"Oh come on now," Fife scoffs, "I'd imagine that something so coveted would be terribly profitable, so I doubt she'd let her writing die only due to ennui. But it's curious isn't it?" He peers steadily into Colin's eyes, as if observing any reaction that may come off of him. "The moment your fiancée disappeared, Lady Whistledown also disappeared."

Colin holds his gaze, careful not to let anything slip from his façade. "She was my wife," he corrects.

"Was she?" Fife counters, quirking an eyebrow. "I heard the banns, but I didn't know that the ceremony even took place."

"My apologies if my family didn't add you to the list of invitees," Colin counters offhandedly. "I did not think that the ceremony should merit your presence."

"But surely I'll be invited to your next wedding, yeah?"

Colin furrows his brows. "Next wedding?"

"Come now," Fife chides. "It's been five years, Bridgerton. Perhaps another young lady in bloom shall help you move forward? Perhaps in this season you shall have a new bride?"

Never, his mind vehemently refused.

He had made many attempts to try and forget her in these past five years: from writing exhaustively in his journals to immersing himself in all family gatherings, from touring all the way from the Mediterranean to the Balkans, from trying to know other eligible maidens to (shamefully) seeking physical contact from women of pleasure…

But even twenty countries and a fuckton of maidens could not fill the void she left behind.

Colin offers a tight smile and instead mutters an uncertain "We shall see." He downs the rest of his glass and obtains another champagne flute from a nearby waiter. He'd need to have something stronger soon, else he'd wallow in his miseries again. "Enough about me, what about you, Fife?"

"Funny you should ask that," Fife comments, also taking another glass of champagne from the same waiter. "I had hoped to introduce someone special to me to the Queen tonight."

Colin looks at him, amused. "Did hell just freeze over?" he quips, temporarily forgetting his lingering feelings of enmity. "I did not realize that you had someone special in your life. I must say, I did not think you'd be capable of furnishing such feelings of intimacy reserved only for lovers."

Fife eyes him mischievously. "You'd be surprised," he smirks, a startling mix of arrogance and fondness in his grin. "I must tell you, this maiden is not like most ladies in the ton. I've never met someone as silently headstrong yet complex a lady. Of course, she has her… assets, if I may boast on her behalf, but it is her kindness and endurance that has stirred much admiration in me."

"Who are you and what have you done with Fife?" Colin barks, a surprised smile spreading on his face. "She must have done so great an achievement that even you—the great cavalier of our generation—has been enthralled! Tell me, where does one find a girl like that?"

"Ireland," muses Fife. "Particularly in Cork. You should venture westwards and see for yourself, Bridgerton. Perhaps you might find someone interesting there."

"I'll book it for my next tour then," Colin considers, sipping his champagne. "Though I doubt I'd find anyone worth my attention. Not even the ton could make me consider."

"I certainly did not think of finding someone worth my admiration previously, but here we are," Fife counters. He swirls his champagne in his glass, suddenly very interested in its bubbles. "I already had the privilege of knowing this young lady, actually," he says thoughtfully. "I followed her all the way from Dublin to Cork. I was hoping to… coax her into doing my bidding for another matter entirely outside of romantic notions."

Colin observes him. It was as if Fife was lost in his own thoughts, an action that seemed so foreign for his character.

"I did not expect to form an attachment with her, you see," Fife continues, "and when I had hurt her so greatly, I thought that she would abandon me. And yet! She still had the kindness to forgive me. She even saved me once back in Cork. I am forever indebted to her."

"Is this not gratitude then, and not affection?" Colin asks.

Fife shrugs. "Does it matter? Whether it's gratitude or affection, I must admit that I have grown quite attached to her."

Colin considers him. "I see Heaven has sent their strongest soldier to test your lifestyle of hedonism," he finally comments, somehow finding himself quite happy for him despite the disappointments in his own life. "I did not think there would come a day when you would settle."

"Neither did I," Fife laughs, tearing his eyes away from his glass and looking at him. "But it was to be expected of us of course, as gentlemen of polite society. Didn't Anthony, Benedict and you—for some time at least—consider marrying for good?"

Colin's jaw hardens at his remark, offering a curt nod.

Fife continues, ignoring his discomfort, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I got too excited that I had a portion of my home renovated in preparation for her settlement in my estate. If my home was not under such a state of redevelopment, I would have hosted her myself. Alas, I am told that it would not finish until late this fall, so I have personally asked Lady Danbury to house her."

"She's here? In Lady Dabury's estate?" Colin inquires, surprised. Fife's and Lady Danbury's mutual familiarity may have been kept so surreptitiously, for how could Fife ask of her a request so intimate if their familiarity was not established?

Fife nods, smiling.

"I am… happy for you," Colin mutters, though he could not bring himself to give him a full grin. He wonders if he'd ever find the same contentment and affection that Anthony, Benedict—and now Fife—has.

"Thank you," Fife replies, and Colin is surprised to find a genuine smile on his countenance.

Colin raises his glass to his companion. "Here's to finding the person who makes you whole."

Fife follows suit, clinking his glass to his. "To second chances." Colin and Fife drink their champagne together.

"I'm looking forward to meeting this lady," Colin murmurs, now genuinely curious about the maiden who has somehow changed Fife. "Do you think I'd like her?"

"You'd love her, I daresay," Fife assures, giving him a smirk. "Ah! Here she is!"

Colin whips his head to where Fife has looked to, and it seemed that the world around him had stopped.

The orchestra's strings had dissolved in the distance, the chatter of the guests had muted around him, and the clinking of glasses had disappeared.

Her familiar visage, slightly altered by the passage of time, evokes a flood of memories within him, and an overwhelming rush of emotions stirred vehemently in his chest—from a wave of shock, to a ripple of incredulity mixed with a splash of relief and a tinge of nostalgia—all intensified by a surge of utter exhilaration—

He is sure that his heart had stopped.

Because he had not seen her for five years.

Because she was supposed to be dead.

But it was without a doubt, her.

Penelope.

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I've read a curious belief once, a concept they called 'reincarnation'. This is the religious idea that the non-physical essence of a living being begins a new life in another physical form. The Eastern philosophies believed that the soul is born again as another being, perhaps during a different lifetime.

They also called it 'rebirth'.

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There she is, just in his line of sight, descending from the top of the staircase towards him. She wore a white silk and muslin ensemble trimmed in gold highlights, making her look like an angel who was making her descent from the heavens. The low cut of her neckline and the accompanying empire bust emphasized her ample bosom, and the flowing skirts gave her a taller silhouette than her height would have allowed. The mirth on her face gave an air of lightness and delight about her, making her glow so ethereally.

(Her outfit now could not be any more different than her attire on that night, though, clad in a black velvet cloak, wrapping around her form like a piece of armor. She descended from the steps of the brothel like an angel of death, about to deliver her coup de grâce upon the subject that had disgraced her. Her form had looked so ominous yet melancholic then, giving off an overbearing atmosphere of pain and sorrow.)

(And her face reflected the despair in her aura: flushed cheeks stained with the rain, dry lips trembling with the coldness in the air, wet hair haphazardly braided on her shoulder. Her baby blue eyes looked bereft of life, glassy with unshed tears that were threatening to fall with the raindrops outside.)

She still had the same features: the same figure, the same height, the same porcelain-like face that he had loved to caress. With her rosy cheeks and pink lips, she gave him so bright a smile he had thought that it was morning. Her eyes—which were the color of sapphire—had a certain fire to them, so vivid and lively.

The only difference was her hair: it was jet black instead of her usual fiery copper, twisted neatly into a bun atop her head and decorated with roses. A few strands framed her face, which he could not help but stare at, mouth agape as she moved closer to him. His heart beat faster in anticipation and longing—

(The last time he had seen her face, he had gaped at her similarly as well. His heart had beat frantically, too, but out of dread and panic as she graced the bottom of the stairs and stopped in front of him.)

("Someone told me you'd be here," she had murmured, staring lifelessly into him. She held out her hand to shove an envelope unto his palm. "I came to give you this.")

She graced the bottom of the staircase and stopped in front of him again, murmuring the same words, albeit with a smile and a light singsong-y intonation— "Someone told me you'd be here." But instead of staring deeply into his eyes and shoving a letter into his palm, she had stared into Fife's instead—and to his great horror, linked her arm with his.

With Fife.

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A fascinating concept, is it not? Rebirth, I mean. I doubt we'd see each other again in this lifetime, so I'm left to wonder if we would ever see each other again in our next lives.

Would we still have the same dispositions by then as we have now?

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"Penelope!"

Colin gasps, a mixture of relief, betrayal and something akin to despair welling up within him as he grabbed her arm and wrenched her free from Fife's embrace. He then immediately clasps her to his chest, squeezing her frame in equal parts relief and desperation, grasping at her dress and burying his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder.

Damn the ton, damn propriety, damn scandal.

What was important was that he held onto her and made sure that she was here—that she was real, that she was alive.

"Pen, I'm sorry," he practically sobs into her skin. "Pen, oh Penelope!"

(He had wanted to hug her too during that night, pulling her towards him with the same name repeated on his lips—"Penelope!" But she had shoved him away, pushing her body away from his as if she was scorched by fire. She looked up at him with her beautiful blue eyes, tears finally falling down her cheeks. There was nothing in the depths of them, except tears and devastation and despair.)

And she shoves him away again now, looking up at him with her beautiful blue eyes which Colin very much missed looking into—but with a mixture of embarrassment, confusion and mortification. She steps back, raising her arms as if to protect herself from him.

"Forgive me, but I don't think we've been introduced," she mutters in the same singsong-y accent, the up and down lilt in her voice terribly foreign to him.

His throat feels horrendously dry. "Pen," he tries, his voice hoarse. "It's me."

She only offers him a raised eyebrow, looking as confused as ever. It was her next question that stupefies him, rendering his brain incapable of any coherent thought for a split second—for what could he possibly reply to a query from her like—

"Who are you?"

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I wonder, if we are to be reborn, what would it be like? Would we remember our past lives? Would you remember me? And would I, you?

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Colin steps forward, wanting to hold her again, but growing almost desperate as she steps back as well, intent on keeping the distance between them. A hand prevents him from moving any further though, and Colin stops in his tracks to look at Fife.

Fife who was determinedly not letting his arm go.

(He had done the same thing years ago, too, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing his arm as he did now, and allowing Pen to run away from him. He had offered him an amused smile then, teasing, "Easy there, Bridgerton. You wouldn't want your warm bed and warm women to grow cold, would you?")

(It was enough time for Pen to run back to the staircase, out of the door and into the darkness of the night outside.)

"Easy there, Bridgerton," Fife seethes now, boring a glare into him which Colin had never previously witnessed him have. "You wouldn't want to take liberties with someone else's woman, would you?"

Colin glares back at him. "What do you—"

"Mr. Bridgerton, Mr. Fife," another voice booms from behind, and both men freeze, looking towards the source. Lady Danbury walks up to them, cane in hand, her footsteps and the cane thudding heavily on the polished floor. She brandishes the cane towards them as she nears, looking as if she was about to hit them both. "I love myself a scandalous scene every now and then, but I would much prefer that it would not be at my ball."

Behind her, Anthony and Violet run up to their commotion, looking in concern between Colin, Fife and… the lady between them. Violet gasps, and Anthony's jaw drops.

"Is that not—" Anthony stutters, but could not finish his thought.

Lady Danbury shakes her head, turning to both Violet and Anthony. "This was what I was trying to explain earlier. I suppose I should have introduced her sooner."

She proceeds towards her, breaking the armlock between Colin and Fife with her cane, and gestures to the Bridgertons. "This is the Viscount Bridgerton," Lady Danbury presents to her, and Anthony hesitantly bows. "This is his mother, the Dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and the third son, Mr. Colin Bridgerton."

Violet curtsies, but Colin remains immobile. Why did they need any further introductions to his Penelope?

Lady Danbury then turns to them, presenting the lady beside her, "As her hostess, please allow me to introduce a guest temporarily residing with me." She urges the lady to move forward and she does so awkwardly, her gaze dropping to the floor as she gives them a quick curtsy. "And this is Ms. Gwendoline Sheehan."

"Or Dolly for short," Fife supplies, smirking as he steps in line beside her, offering his arm to her which she takes with a polite smile. He turns to Colin, a smug smile plastered on his face as he says—

"My betrothed."

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I may have so many questions about rebirth and reincarnation, so many hypotheticals on what would happen should we be reincarnated… but I am certain of one thing, and one thing only. If I were to be reborn,

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I'd very much like to see you again.

—and arrivals)

End Notes: I'm sure that I have missed quite a few formatting upon my reread, so I would apologize for that.

Also! This fic really happened because of a spoiler (post-LW reveal) and oooof. It's possibly a false alarm, but oops I already wrote half a chapter, so. And at almost 5k words too fudge

Apologies for my feeble attempt at angst. I hope you enjoyed it, though!