Summary:
Unable to face the reality of a life without Colin, who broke up the engagement as soon as he found out her other identity, Penelope decides to take matters in her own hands and present herself to the Queen, delivering herself to be punished at her Majesty's pleasure.
However the Queen's pleasure might be quite different from what she had expected.
(All characters and themes are credited to Julia Quinn and Shondaland)
(Writer's Notes:
So many years later, Bridgerton brought me back to fanfiction.
Like many, I am one of the horny little devils that has been a long time fan of Bridgerton (I read the first edition books and I was stoked when the series was announced).
However, I am also a writer who likes pain and torture, and I feel like there should be more pain before the happy ending happens. So I have been working on this beauty for the last week since I finished my 84495446 time watching the carriage... Because I know that the dildo of consequences rarely comes lubbed, and I felt that we could explore the 'What If' scenario of the worst possible scenario.
And for that, I needed Charlotte in all her glorious Queen Menace.
There are some triggers this piece:
*suicidal thoughts*
*mental issues*
*miscarriage*
*Mental Torture*
*medical conditions not accurately described*
At her Majesty's Pleasure
The day Queen Charlotte's victory over her long time antagonist started as many others in the life of the monarch of the greatest Empire of the earth.
Between being coifed, dressed, pampered and prepared for another day in the boredom of the English court, Charlotte mused about the lack of any juicy scandal for her entertainment. The writings of the gossip monger letter hat been surprisingly mild in the last editions, and even the announcement of the bounty over the discovery of the identity of the writer did not seem to phase the wretched creature of the mole hole she tended to hide.
The Queen wrote a small note to her friend, Lady Danbury, asking for a tea visit to enquire her of the results of their endeavours. Perhaps the old dragon had any tidbit of news to lighten up the day.
She had just handed out the missive to one of her ladies who would arrange its delivery when a frazzled looking guard rushed into her sitting room in a hurry, bypassing the trainer and his supposedly trained dog that had failed—repeatedly—of obeying a simple command.
'Your Majesty,' the guard's voice echoed the room as he bowed deeply, keeping his head down until she acknowledged him.'
'What matter is important enough for you to interfere with my private hours,' she asked out loud before sipping her tea.
'It has come to my attention that you are still engaged in the challenge of the unveiling of the identity of the gossip rag.'
That made the queen's eyebrow raise up to her hairline. Noticing that, the guard continued as he stood up to look directly at the monarch.
'One of your subjects would like a private conference with you on the matter.'
'And why should I grant such audience?' the queen mused.
'This subject affirm she is aware of the identity of our foe, Lady Whistledown.'
The fans at the hands of the ladies-in-waiting stopped moving in the air, and even the dog whisperer got distracted and stared at the guard, who started to fidget while being under such scrutiny.
Charlotte froze for a moment, her mind running many hypotheses as the offer for a prize for the unveiling of the writer had been, so far, very unproductive. While the rumours ran rampant the Ton drove the lords and ladies in a frenzy, where the eagerness to receive the money prize drove people to be reckless, the only promising tip had been that insufferable blonde chit that promised the queen she would unveil the identity of the writer even if no one else would.
Her mind quickly juggled between possibilities dancing in front of her very eyes, eager to unveil this mystery which had haunted her for years. But before that, priorities should be met.
'OUT'
Her voice rang like a whip in the air, and her entourage disappeared from the hall in mere seconds thanks to Brimley's coordination. She gestured with a hand that only her loyal servant would remain as a silent witness of her victory.
As soon as every corner of the drawing room was empty, she gestured to the guard to proceed with his report.
'Bring this person in. I am intrigued.'
He bowed and left the room, returning guiding a petit woman with a dark blue cloak covering not only her figure but also her body. She held a small cloth bag in her hand and kept her face down as if to protect her identity.
However, even the size of the cloak could not hide everything. Its cut was elegant, in a deep sky blue, and beneath its cloth Charlotte could see a lady's maid uniform in pristine condition. The hands holding the cloth bag were shaking, but it could barely hide the alabaster skin and a rounded chin of the woman before her.
'What is the meaning of this?'
The maiden curtsied properly before the queen betraying her genteel origins, but kept the hood over her head as if that flimsy cloth could protecter from the rage of the Queen of England.
'Identify yourself.'
Her travel bag was dropped by the floor, at the same time that a tiny trembling hand went up and removed the hood revealing an extremely young chit, pale skin and pink lips, and a red mane of hair surrounding a rounded face that triggered some memory deep in Charlotte's brain. The chit was not much older than the endless line of debutants she had to endure during presentation week and would be tittering around like a plage for the remainder of the season.
'Your Majesty, you have put a bounty on my head, and considering that the whole Ton became basically insane in their eagerness to find me, I though it better to reach out to you and try to bury our hatched once and for all and suffer the consequences of my actions before someone might get hurt on their quest to me.'
The Queen frowned at the scene before her, as the child before her –no, look at her poise, she is a woman, though very young woman indeed—still had not identified herself per name.
'Are you suggesting that you know Lady Whistledon?'
'I am affirming that I am Lady Whistledown.' The chit's voice came clearer now, as her gaze fixed at a point over the Queen's shoulder.
The young woman's face was familiar but only after studying the red curls and the almost cherubic features she had, a faint memory of a past ball and a graceful green dress floated in her mind so the Queen was able to put a name to the face.
'You are one of the Featherington girls. The youngest one.'
'Yes, your Majesty. I came to end this farce.'
'Are you taking the blame from someone? Are you claiming the veil of the gossip monger to protect someone?'
The young woman shook her head in negative. Despite being visibly drained, she blanched at the accusation, before blinking and forcing a placid look, forcing herself to look into the Monarch and repeating her claim with an shakeable calm despite the danger to herself.
'I am Lady Whistledown.'