A/N: Double digits, guys! I can't believe that we're this far into the story!
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It was official: Penelope despised champagne. It was a vile devil drink that swept her up in the moment with the promise of confidence and happiness. That was not what she had received―not at all.
She pulled her legs up under her and nestled further into the settee in her favorite room of Bridgerton House: the gold parlor. Situated in the back of the house, it was the room least frequented by any other members of the Bridgerton family. Which she thought was ridiculous because it had the most wonderful little settee in front of a large bay window overlooking the back gardens. She liked this room―and she could be alone here; today, it's most important feature. And, despite being surrounded by walls, she felt free.
Penelope―head full of galloping stallions notwithstanding―had been unable to sleep a moment past six o'clock this morning. But oh, how she wished she could have slept away the entire day. Her stomach still reeled from the previous evening's overindulgence and every bone in her body ached, not to mention the creeping sense of mortification that grew in inverse proportion to her sobriety.
She had opened her eyes that morning, recalled the previous evening as a hazy nightmare, and promptly decided to slip back into an ignorant slumber and avoid facing reality ever again. But, she couldn't. Her head throbbed and sitting upright seemed to be the only thing for it.
Knowing that Anthony and Kate would not likely leave their rooms for another few hours, and Eloise had decided to stay with her mother at the dower house (known simply as Number Five) at the behest of young Hyacinth, Penelope grabbed a nearby shawl and retrieved the ridiculous novel Felicity had lent her. Felicity, of course, had sworn it was the most romantic story ever told. Penelope could not stop laughing at the silliness of it, but it would provide just the kind of mindless diversion she needed today. She needed an escape―to somewhere far from reality of her bungled attempt to catch the eye of any gentleman, much less garner the attentions of Lord Debling.
She winced as she remembered how many times she had grabbed his arm. And...oh, goodness. Had she told him how fortunate it was that Prudence had not married his recently deceased brother? She had surely ruined her chances with him. Utterly ruined.
Penelope groaned, running her hands over her face, wishing that was all it took to scrub away her dreadful memories. Well, never mind. She would find a way to recover―as long as Lord Debling was good enough to not besmirch her reputation.
She picked up her book, determined to put all bad thoughts out of her mind and lose herself in a silly novel. She read an entire page before she realized she was comprehending exactly none of it. No, her mind was instead playing―or replaying?―a scene she wasn't sure was a dream or memory. It was of Colin, his strong arm wrapped protectively around her. She closed her eyes and could practically smell him. She could almost feel his fingers brushing against her neck... But when Penelope remembered his whispers of how beautiful he thought her, she realized it must have been a dream. A wonderfully blissful dream―the only good thing that had come of her run-in with the devil's drink.
Penelope tilted her head to the side and touched her fingers to her temple, remembering a touch that had felt all too real...
She sighed. Reclaiming her heart was going to be more difficult that she had imagined.
Colin stepped into Bridgerton House as Humboldt closed the front door behind him. The dour footman turned back to level his ever-present glare at Colin.
"Simmer down, man," said Colin. "I am aware of the time, and I have no intention of being seen yet. You will be pleased to hear that I learned my lesson the last time I attempted to intrude on my brother's morning."
Humboldt grinned―the sight making him somehow even less attractive. Really, Colin must talk to Anthony about finding new staff. "Pleased, sir? I should never be pleased to hear that you have had an unsatisfactory visit."
"Shouldn't be...but you are nonetheless," Colin said, turning away from the footman and walking toward the drawing room. "I shall wait for Anthony in the drawing room."
"Very good, sir," said Humboldt in a way that made Colin feel as though he was being patted on the head and given a biscuit for a job well done.
Colin had almost made it to the formal drawing room when a familiar sound caught his ear. He paused; a light chuckle drifted down the long hallway and settled over him like a fresh breeze in summer. He smiled and peered over his shoulder, making sure Humboldt wasn't skulking around the corner, tracking his every move. He then hurried down the hallway toward the parlor at the back of the house.
The door was slightly ajar and Colin peeked in, the sight stealing his breath. Penelope was curled in the corner of a settee, bathed in a warm glow of sunlight. The gold in her loose red curls glinted in the early morning sun. Her fingers were pressed to her mouth, a book in her other hand, and she was smiling―trying to stifle another laugh.
But what had Colin utterly mesmerized was seeing Penelope in such simplicity. There was something very...intimate about seeing her reading in the gold parlor in nothing but her nightdress and shawl.
He knew he should walk away. But his heart was practically grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket, demanding he go in. His heart and mind warred.
This is London. Rules are different here than at Aubrey Hall, and she is alone. Do not go in.
But he could leave the door open...
It would still be inappropriate.
He could leave the door wide open and sit far across the room.
Turn around and leave.
But goodness, she was beautiful. And captivating. And humorous. And he did not entirely trust himself to not walk right in that room and blurt out, "I adore you, Penelope. I cannot simply be your friend any longer."
He expelled an annoyed breath. What was he, a foolish young buck with no self-control? No. He was a grown man. He could no into that room and be Penelope's friend just like he had been doing for the past ten years. Besides, it was not as if he could avoid her forever. Now was the time for him to school his feelings―until those feelings fled altogether. Because they would. He would make sure of it.
But he very much doubted they would dissipate at all together with her looking like the reincarnation of Botticelli's Venus. For this reason, he officially decided that he would turn away and wait in the formal drawing room, as far away as possible from Penelope Featherington.
"Good morning, Pen," he said, pushing the door open. Blast. No control. And now her bright-blue eyes were flying to him and her smile was blooming and he was walking to her. Walking right to her. Not to the chair where he had promised himself he would sit, but to the very settee she was already perched on.
"Colin!" How did she always manage to make his name so remarkable? She made to stand but he waved her back down. "You weren't planning to jump out and scare me, were you? Because I do not think it would be in your best interest to begin a battle of that sort, again," said Penelope.
She wasn't wrong. Penelope took scaring a man to a whole new level. He had always hoped to one-up her but, somehow; she always managed to outdo him instead, hiding away in the most unexpected places and then scaring the living daylights out of him when she would pop out with a loud noise.
He chuckled. "No, no. I forfeited those wars a long time ago, and I am still waving the white flag." His eyes fell to her book. "Am I intruding? Shall I leave you to your reading?"
"No," she said, snapping it shut and moving her bare feet to the floor. She started messing with her hair, tucking a few stray curls behind her ears and looking self-conscious―much like she had last night before the soiree.
His brows furrowed and he grinned. "What are you doing?"
Penelope paused her fidgeting and her eyes met his. "I just realized how I must look. I haven't even run a brush through my hair yet this morning." Something about those words―knowing that he was seeing her just as she had awoken―sent a thrill through him.
No. No thrills.
Colin attempted a light chuckle and gestured toward the seat beside her on the little settee. She nodded and he sat down, refusing to acknowledge the empty chair mocking his weak will from across the room. "You do realize that I've seen you with your hair down, more than pinned up, throughout the course of our friendship?"
Penelope's cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. "Yes...but it is different here."
"Still looks red to me."
She give him a flat look. "You know what I mean, Colin. It's different in London." He did know. He had just been thinking that before he walked in. "Here, in Town, I must be Miss Featherington, and you are Mr..." She paused a moment, her thoughts seemingly moving to his father just as his did, every time he heard his own surname, "...Bridgerton."
His chest tightened. Even though well over a decade had passed since his father's death, he was still reminded of the loss more than he cared to admit. Colin was only nine-years-old when his father had died from an allergic reaction to a bee sting. How such a great man could die from a small creature by comparison was very...humbling, to say the least.
"Anyway," Penelope continued, "I do not think we are allowed to be quite as familiar with each other as we are at Aubrey Hall." He was thankful she had changed conversational tacks, ignoring the tension he felt welling up inside.
Colin finally relaxed against the settee and draped his arm over the back. "Are you suggesting we implement some new rules for our friendship?"
Her blue eyes sparkled. "Yes, exactly."
Rules were exactly what they needed. A few mutually understood guidelines would help him put Penelope back inside the friendship box where she needed to stay. And, as much as he didn't want to admit it, lessening his presence around her would ensure that she was given more of a chance to make a match with someone else. It would be best for both of them.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked.
"Well, for one, I suppose we should not be in here alone at this hour of the morning with out my chaperone's knowledge."
"Oh, definitely not," he said with a grin, making no attempts to move.
In fact, he was trying to stay very still. Penelope's curls were only a whisper away from brushing against his hand where it was draped over the back of the couch, and it was taking all of his will power to not run his fingers through them again. Her curls were soft. He knew not only because of last night, when he had wrapped a strand around his finger, but because of a time last summer when he'd had to gather it up for her after she had come down with a stomach illness during one of their morning horseback rides. He had held her hair back while she had retched into a bush. The fact that he had never forgotten how it felt, and that he hadn't minded holding her hair for her while she was violently sick, spoke of just how much he adored her.
"What other rules shall we put in place?" he asked.
"Addressing me formally while we are in public is a must. No more calling me Pen in ballrooms or at dinner parties."
Colin gave an offended huff. "I've never addressed you as Pen in front of anyone else but our families."
"I know," she said, lifting her shoulder and peeking at him playfully over it. The flirtatious look made him want to groan. "But, you must admit that you do call me Pen when we are talking alone at dinner parties or balls." She paused, her brow crinkling together. "Which puts me in mind of another rule." She rotated a little on the settee, placing herself even closer to him. His eyes drifted to his hand where his knuckles now rested lightly against her arm.
He should not be feeing sparks at the slightest touch of her. And why did he not move it? Did she mind? She didn't seem to. In fact, she was still going on about the newest rule they should implement. Honestly, he was only half-listening because his mind was wandering to her lips and imagining what it would be like to throw all of his resolve out of the window, pull her flush up against him, and kiss her senseless.
Colin was only roused to reality when he heard Penelope say, "...I cannot have you scaring away my other suitors by calling me Little Pen in front of them." The words 'other suitors' felt like a punch to the stomach.
He pulled his hand away. "I haven't called you Little Pen in years. But, what's this about other suitors? Do you already have one in mind?" Somehow, he already knew the answer.
Her eyes flicked to his before her gaze turned away and she fidgeted with the pages of the book in her lap. "Well, not exactly another suitor. Not yet, at least. But, I will admit that someone has caught my eye." She paused and bit her full bottom lip, and Colin suddenly found himself wishing that he could take it between his teeth and gently suckle on it... Until she, thankfully, released it and turned determined eyes to him. "Actually, it's Lord Debling. He was very kind to me last night." Her shoulder slumped. "Though, I am afraid I completely bungled that."
One could only hope... No. He was supposed to be glad for her to be courted by other men.
Penelope gazed down at her lap and a red curl fell from behind her ear. Colin reached out and tucked it back without really thinking. Surely that wasn't strange for him to do? Surely he had done that before? But the fact that her eyes turned wide, questioning him, told him that it was the first time he had ever touched her like that before. He wanted to box his own ears.
Rules. Implement the rules.
Colin cleared his throat and stood up, forcing a smile. "I sincerely doubt you have deterred Debling by indulging in a little too much champagne, Pen."
She pulled a pained look and put her face in her hands. "Oh, Colin, I was so stupid! How could I have had so much to drink? I said the most mortifying things to the man. I will be surprised if he ever looks in my direction again."
Was he a terrible man to be fighting a joyful smile? Yes. Terrible.
"You are being too hard on yourself, Pen. I doubt he thought a thing of it. But, I must ask... Debling? Are you sure he is the one you wish to court you?" What was he doing? Why was he asking that?
"Why should I not wish for Lord Debling to court me?" Her tone was curt.
Colin tipped a shoulder and stood to mindlessly assess a few books on a nearby shelf. "Just seems a rather dull fellow to me. I doubt he could keep up with you and your sense of adventure."
"What can you mean? I am not such an untamed creature as you may think me, Colin Bridgerton."
He turned around at the sudden edge to her voice. "No, Pen, I... That is not what I meant."
Her eyes were fixed on his, the blaze sparking in them all too familiar. Everyone had always found Penelope agreeable and docile, but he knew a side of her that no one else did, all fire and ferocity. It had put them in any number of rows over the past few years of their new, closer friendship.
"I think it is exactly what you meant." She stood up abruptly and winced a little, touching her hand to her head. He knew it must ache like the devil. "I am a grown, refined―"
"―Now, wait a moment," Colin said, cutting her off and taking a step closer. "I never implied that you were not grown or refined."
She crossed her arms. "Didn't you?"
"I said Lord Debling was dull."
"And that he could not keep up with me."
He shrugged. "You run fast."
"And my sense of adventure. What was that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you climb out of windows."
Penelope let out a heavy breath and released her arms. "Must you keep bringing that up?"
Colin grinned, trying not to find her agitation attractive. "Yes―if you continue climbing out of them."
She held up one finger. "That was one other time, Colin. One!"
He stepped closer to her and folded her finger down. She watched the action closely. "Penelope, there is nothing wrong with your sense of adventure. It is who you are―that is all I meant. I do not want to see you settle for someone who will not bring you happiness."
Her gaze held his and then dropped to his mouth before returning to his eyes. "I just"―her voice was quiet―"would hate for anyone to think I am not capable of making a good wife because I am too reckless."
He swallowed, becoming aware of a sudden conviction to say all of the things that he had resolved should remain unsaid. "I do not believe anyone would think such a thing about you, Pen."
Their stares fixed and neither broke away for several breaths.
"I...had the strangest of dreams last night," Penelope said suddenly, reaching up to lightly trace her fingertips along her hairline at her temple, and then down to the side of her neck. Colin was transfixed, watching her movement, knowing she was remembering what he had hoped she would not from the night before. He and Penelope had always had a way of speaking with their eyes. He could see her questions. He could see her wondering if all he had said the previous night was true and real. Did she hope for that?
"And was it a good dream?" he wondered, even though he should not have.
Penelope smiled softly. "Wonderful, in fact."
The air closed in. The world outside of them disappeared, and it was just he and Penelope standing in the sun-drenched room. He wondered, now more than ever, if she loved him in return. What would he do if she did? What if he told her how he felt, and they kissed, and he courted her, and married her, only to find out that he would be her biggest regret? Colin had always had a fear of being tied down and monotony, but with Penelope? That fear all but evaporated.
But what would happen when children came and life grew more stressful?
Colin's throat felt as if it closed up. He took a step away from her. "Dreams can feel oddly real at times, but it is best to remember that they are nothing but figments of the imagination."
Her face fell along with her hand.
The sadness in her eyes had him opening his mouth to say something―anything―when a voice at the threshold of the door filled the room. "Miss Featherington," said Humboldt. Of course he would interrupt this moment. "These have just arrive for you." The footman gestured toward the massive display of white roses in his hands. "Where would you like me to place them?"
Colin watched with a sinking feeling as a small smile peeked onto Penelope's mouth. "Do you know who they are from?"
"Lord Debling, miss. His lordship delivered them personally with his best wishes for a quick recovery from your illness, and a promise to pay you a visit as soon as you are well."
Colin's eyes narrowed. It would seem that the man wasn't deterred after all.
Wonderful. Just wonderful.