a/n: Hey guys! Here's your latest chapter. I cried writing the end of this chapter, so I hope you guys are ready.

[TW: death]

Solstice: A Bridgerton Story

Chapter Five

Penelope woke early that morning, the soft light of dawn filtering through the delicate lace curtains of her bedroom. She stretched, feeling the lingering warmth of her dreams, still slightly giddy from the excitement for the races. As she approached the window, intending to open it to let in the fresh morning air, her gaze fell upon a small, lifeless bird on the sill.

Her heart sank at the sight of the tiny robin, its feathers ruffled and its eyes closed as if it had fallen asleep and never woken up. Kneeling down, she gently reached out, her fingers brushing the cool, stiff feathers. "Poor thing," she murmured softly, her voice tinged with sadness.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do with the little creature. It seemed too peaceful, too natural to have been anything other than an unfortunate accident. Birds sometimes flew into windows, disoriented by the reflection of the sky or the trees. It was a simple, if unfortunate, fact of life. She decided she would take it to the garden later, give it a small resting place beneath the rose bushes.

The sun was setting by the time Penelope returned home from the races, the memory of the thrilling day spent with Anthony and the Bridgertons still vivid in her thoughts. She had been warmly welcomed into their fold, felt the joy of belonging, of being seen not just as a friend but as something more. But as her carriage pulled up to the Featherington residence, the warmth in her heart was replaced by a cold dread.

The front door was ajar, and two Royal Guards stood outside, their faces grim. A crowd had gathered, neighbors whispering among themselves, their eyes wide with curiosity and fear. Penelope's heart raced as she hurried out of the carriage, her mind a whirl of confusion.

"What's happened?" she demanded as she approached the guards, her voice trembling despite her attempt to stay calm.

One of the guards, a stern-looking man with a thick mustache, stepped forward. "Miss Featherington, there's been an incident. I'm afraid you should prepare yourself—it's not pleasant."

The words sent a chill down her spine. She pushed past him, ignoring the murmurs of the onlookers, her heart pounding in her chest. As she entered the house, the familiar warmth and safety of her home felt suddenly alien, the air thick with an unnameable dread.

The drawing room was in disarray—furniture overturned, curtains torn, and the once pristine walls were now smeared with a dark, ominous red. Penelope's breath caught in her throat as she saw the writing, scrawled over and over in a chaotic hand:

"I'm the only one."

The words repeated endlessly, each one more erratic and desperate than the last. Her vision blurred, the scene before her almost too horrific to comprehend.

"Penelope! Mama!" Prudence gasped as she saw her sister, rushing forward to take her hands. "Thank heavens you're safe."

Penelope's gaze flicked between her sister and the chaos around her. "What's happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, afraid of the answer.

Prudence's grip tightened, her eyes filling with tears. "It's—" she choked on the words, unable to continue.

It wasn't until she heard a soft sob from the corner of the room that her gaze snapped to the lifeless form of Mia on the floor. The once lively young woman, who had always been so quick with a smile, now lay still, her eyes vacant, her life stolen in a brutal, senseless act of violence. Her body was covered in bruises and deep cuts; her dress was ripped in such a way as to know she had been ruined before her murder. Her mouth was open in an endless scream that would haunt Penelope for years to come.

Penelope staggered back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to escape. The room seemed to spin around her, the horror of what had happened crashing down on her with unbearable weight. Her mother was in a similar state and had sank to the floor open mouthed.

Penelope felt her knees weaken as well, her breath catching in her throat. "Who… who would do this?" she stammered, her voice trembling with shock.

Anthony, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation, spoke. "Penelope, I need you to listen to me. When I was in my drawing room last night, I saw a man outside the house. He was standing by your window, watching. I thought it strange, but I didn't realize—" His voice caught, and he shook his head. "I've described him to the guards, and they're going to investigate."

Penelope nodded numbly, barely processing the words. The image of the dead bird she had found that morning flashed in her mind, its small, lifeless body a grim precursor to the horror that had followed.

A guard cleared his throat, drawing Penelope's attention back to the present. "We'll need to search the rest of the house and gather evidence," he said. "For now, it would be best if you and your family stayed somewhere safe."

Anthony nodded, his hand resting gently on Penelope's arm. "You'll come to Bridgerton House," he said, leaving no room for argument. "We'll keep you safe until this is resolved."

Penelope could only nod, the shock of the night weighing heavily on her. She allowed Anthony to guide her and her mother out of the house, the once familiar surroundings now feeling alien and terrifying.

As they left, Penelope couldn't shake the feeling that the nightmare was far from over. The words scrawled on the walls haunted her, a chilling reminder of the darkness that had invaded her life. And the image of the man Anthony had seen—the one who had left such a horrifying mark on her home—lingered in her mind, a shadow that threatened to consume her every thought.

As they climbed up the stairs to the Bridgerton House, Penelope glanced back at her house one last time, the roses in the garden barely visible in the fading light. The memory of the day's earlier joy, the laughter and excitement of the races, seemed like a distant dream now, overshadowed by the terror that had taken its place.

Penelope took her Mother's and Sister's hands, squeezing them gently. "We'll be safe, Mama," she whispered, trying to convince herself as much as her mother. Penelope couldn't help but feel that safety was something that had slipped from her grasp, leaving only fear and uncertainty in its wake.

The Featheringtons were ushered into Bridgerton House with a quiet efficiency that belied the turmoil they had just escaped. The grandeur of the home, with its elegant furnishings and warm, welcoming atmosphere, should have been comforting, but the shock of the evening clung to them like a dark cloud.

Portia Featherington sat on the edge of the bed in her guest room, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The room was beautifully appointed, with rich drapes and a soft rug underfoot, but she couldn't appreciate any of it. Her mind was racing, filled with the horrific images of what they had left behind. She was used to being the one in control, the one who made decisions and held her family together, but tonight, she felt utterly lost. Penelope had looked terrified and her other daughter, Prudence, had discovered such a troubling scene!

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Violet Bridgerton standing in the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and empathy. Without a word, Violet crossed the room and sat down beside Portia, taking her hand in a gesture of quiet solidarity.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the weight of the situation hanging heavy between them. Finally, Portia broke the silence, her voice trembling. "I've never been so frightened in all my life, Violet. I don't know what to do. I've always known how to protect my girls, how to keep them safe, but this… I feel so powerless."

Violet squeezed her hand gently. "Portia, no one could have predicted what happened tonight. Not even the Queen herself would know what to do in such circumstances. It's natural to feel afraid."

Portia looked at her, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "But I'm supposed to be strong, for Penelope and the my other girls. What kind of mother am I if I can't even keep them safe in our own home?"

"You are a wonderful mother," Violet said firmly. "You've done everything you can to protect them, and now you're doing the right thing by being here, by accepting help. You're not alone in this, Portia. We are nearly family, and we will face this together."

The word "family" seemed to unlock something deep inside Portia, and the tears she had been holding back finally began to fall. "I just keep thinking… what if it's the same person? The one who… who killed my husband?"

Violet's expression softened, and she wrapped her arms around Portia, pulling her close in a comforting embrace. "I don't know, Portia," she admitted quietly, her voice laced with sorrow. "But we will find out, and we will make sure that whoever is responsible is brought to justice. Until then, we must focus on what we can do—on being there for our children, on keeping them safe, and on leaning on each other when we need to."

Portia clung to Violet, drawing strength from the warmth and compassion of her friend. In this moment, when everything felt so uncertain, Violet's steady presence was like a lifeline, reminding her that she wasn't as alone as she felt.

They sat together for a long time, the silence between them now one of mutual understanding and shared grief. Portia knew that the road ahead would be difficult, filled with fear and uncertainty, but she also knew that she wouldn't have to walk it alone. And for now, that was enough.

Two high pitched screams suddenly rang out, and that sent the pair hurrying through the house to find their young daughters, panic motivating them to pick up their skirts to run.

Penelope Featherington sat on the edge of the bed in her room, she had been given one at Bridgerton House long ago when Eloise and she had become friends, staring blankly at the wall. The events of the evening had left her shaken, and she felt a deep weariness settling into her bones. She had barely begun to process the horror of what had happened when a soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Pen?" Eloise's voice was tentative, and when Penelope turned to look at her, she saw the familiar figure of her best friend standing in the doorway. There was something different in her eyes—something wounded and uncertain.

Penelope stood, her heart heavy with guilt. "Eloise," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry… for everything."

Eloise stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She walked slowly toward Penelope, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if she were trying to hold herself together. When she was close enough, she stopped, her eyes searching Penelope's face.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, suddenly, Eloise closed the distance between them and pulled Penelope into a fierce hug. Penelope felt the tears she had been holding back all night begin to fall, and she clung to Eloise, the weight of her guilt and terror almost too much to bear.

"I'm so sorry, Eloise," Penelope said, her voice muffled against her friend's shoulder. "I should have told you the truth about Lady Whistledown. I should have trusted you."

Eloise tightened her grip for a moment before pulling back slightly, her eyes red and glistening with tears. "I know you are," she said quietly, her voice raw with emotion. "And I believe you. But… I haven't forgiven you. Not completely. It hurt, Pen. It hurt that you kept something so important from me, that you didn't trust me enough to share it."

Penelope nodded, her own tears blurring her vision. "I understand. I can't even begin to express how much I regret it. I never wanted to hurt you, Eloise. You're my best friend, and I—" Her voice broke, and she couldn't continue.

Eloise reached up, wiping at her own tears with the back of her hand. "I know. And I suppose I haven't been fair either. I've been angry, and I haven't given you a chance to explain. But tonight… what happened… it makes everything else seem so small, doesn't it?"

Penelope nodded, feeling the weight of the evening's events pressing down on her once more. "Do you… do you think it's the same person, Eloise? The one who… killed my father?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and dark. Pen's face crumpled, and a sob escaped her lips. Eloise's heart ached at the sight, and she immediately pulled her friend into another hug, holding her tightly as Penelope's grief spilled out.

"I don't know," Eloise cried, her voice breaking with anguish. "I don't know, and it terrifies me. What if… what if it is? What if he's come back, and he's after you now? What if he hurts someone else we love?"

Penelope held her friend, her own tears falling freely now. "I'm so sorry, Eloise," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me, and I'm sorry I didn't understand how much you were hurting. I'm sorry for everything."

Eloise clung to her, her sobs wracking her small frame. "I'm sorry too, Pen," she choked out. "I'm sorry I didn't try harder to understand why you kept it from me. I just… I felt so betrayed."

They cried together, the weight of their shared pain finally bringing them to their knees. They held each other, the tears cleansing the hurt that had been festering between them for too long. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and they found themselves lying side by side on the bed, their hands still clasped together.

"I'm sorry too, Eloise," Penelope whispered one last time, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.

Eloise squeezed her hand gently, a silent acknowledgment that, while things were not entirely mended between them, they were at least on the path to healing.

"Let's go to my room, Pen. I want to go over a few things from your last few editions." Eloise said with excitement as she suddenly popped up.

Jameson stood in the crowd outside the Featherington's house, blending seamlessly with the gathering of onlookers and curious neighbors. His eyes, however, were focused entirely on the house. He had managed to stay hidden in the shadows, his face obscured by the brim of his hat and the collar of his coat turned up against the evening chill also hiding his blood soaked shirt.

From his vantage point, he overheard snippets of conversation as people left the house, their voices hushed and tinged with worry. It wasn't until he heard Anthony Bridgerton's voice clearly that his ears pricked up with interest.

"I insist, Penelope," Anthony said, his tone earnest. "Stay with us at Bridgerton House for the time being. It's not safe for you here."

Penelope's reply was soft, but Jameson caught the hint of gratitude in her voice. "Thank you, Lord Bridgerton. I appreciate your kindness."

As the conversation ended, Jameson's mind raced. The opportunity to be alone with Penelope was too tempting to pass up. With a grim smile, he slipped away from the crowd, moving with purpose towards the servants' quarters at the back of the house.

The entrance was dimly lit, and Jameson took advantage of the shadows to avoid detection. He crept quietly through the narrow hallways, his breath steady and measured. As he approached the stairway leading up to the private quarters, he heard the faintest rustle of a maid's uniform behind him. His heart raced, knowing that being discovered would ruin everything.

Quickly, he turned, seeing the maid approaching with a tray of tea. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw him. Before she could cry out, Jameson moved with brutal efficiency. He grabbed her by the throat, silencing her with a swift, powerful twist. The maid's eyes widened in terror before she fell limp, a soft thud echoing in the empty hallway.

Jameson left her body behind and continued up the stairs, the adrenaline fueling his steps.

Jameson moved stealthily through the dimly lit servants' quarters, his footsteps muffled on the worn floorboards. The house was a labyrinth of hallways and rooms, and he had only a vague sense of its layout from his brief observations at earlier balls. His heart raced with anticipation and dread as he approached the stairs leading to the private quarters. The creaking of the old house seemed louder with every step he took, heightening his sense of urgency.

As he ascended the stairs, he heard the murmur of voices from behind closed doors. The occasional burst of laughter or hushed conversation reached his ears, but he paid them no mind. His focus was solely on finding Penelope. His fingers tightened around the handle of a knife he had brought along, his grip steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, the sound of footsteps caught his attention. He pressed himself against the wall, listening intently. The footsteps grew closer, and he could hear the soft, distinct voice of Violet Bridgerton speaking to someone in an urgent tone.

"I will check on Portia now," Violet's voice carried clearly through the quiet hallway. "Make sure she is settled and comfortable. Please inform Anthony that I will join him shortly."

Jameson's eyes narrowed as he strained to understand the layout from the snippets of conversation he overheard. He knew Violet must be heading towards Portia Featherington's room, but he was unfamiliar with the exact layout of the private quarters. The house was elegant but sprawling, and he found himself in a maze of darkened hallways and closed doors.

As Violet's footsteps faded into the distance, Jameson seized the opportunity to follow the sound. He moved cautiously, his senses on high alert. The last thing he wanted was to stumble into a room filled with the wrong occupants or alert anyone to his presence.

Turning a corner, he noticed a door slightly ajar, the flickering light from within spilling into the hallway. He approached quietly, peering through the crack. Inside, he saw a figure seated at a writing desk, illuminated by the warm glow of a lamp. It was Benedict Bridgerton. Jameson held his breath, backing away silently to avoid detection.

The next door he tried was locked. He tried to force it open but quickly realized that making noise would be detrimental to his plans. His mind raced as he considered his options. He couldn't afford to be discovered. With a frustrated sigh, he retraced his steps, moving towards another hallway he had previously overlooked.

The house seemed to stretch endlessly, and the occasional distant sound of footsteps or door creaking made him jump. He paused, listening intently, trying to gauge the proximity of the people within. His frustration grew as he realized he was not only racing against time but also against his own ignorance of the house's layout.

Jameson heard another set of footsteps approaching—these lighter, more deliberate. His heart quickened as he hid in a darkened alcove, the shadows providing some cover. The door ahead opened, and he could see Penelope and Eloise stepping out, engaged in a quiet conversation. His breath caught in his throat as he watched them, hoping they wouldn't see him.

Penelope paused, glancing around the hallway with a cautious expression.

"What's wrong Pen?" Eloise questioned.

"I am feeling particularly paranoid, I think. I feel eyes upon me." She responded as goose pimples appeared on her arms. Eloise was close behind, her eyes darting nervously. They continued down the hall, cautious but unaware of Jameson's presence. He followed at a safe distance, moving silently to avoid detection.

As they entered their room and closed the door, Jameson felt a surge of satisfaction. He had finally found his destination. He approached their door, a knife in his hand ready for the final act. Just as he was about to push the door open, the sharp crack of a vase striking his head from behind him made him crumple to the ground.

Colin Bridgerton stood over him, his face set in a grim expression. The vase, now shattered, lay beside Jameson's crumpled form. Colin's urgent shout to the girls echoed down the hallway, sending a wave of panic through Jameson as darkness began closing in around him.

Colin Bridgerton had rode home at a brisk pace, his horse's hooves pounding against the cobbled streets. The evening air was crisp, and the weight of the day's events had left him feeling uneasy. As he approached the familiar silhouette of Bridgerton House, the last rays of twilight cast long shadows across the estate. Colin's mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his family, and he was eager to see them, to make sure everything was as it should be.

As he dismounted his horse and made his way towards the back entrance, Colin's attention was drawn to an odd sight near the side of the house. A figure, clad in dark clothing and moving with an unsettling stealth, slipped through the servants' entrance. Colin's instincts, honed by years of dealing with both the predictable and the unpredictable, kicked in. He knew something was amiss.

He moved quietly, keeping to the shadows, as he followed the stranger's movements. The figure was unremarkable in appearance, but the way he moved—so deliberately and cautiously—was anything but ordinary. Colin's heart quickened as he noticed the man entering the servants' quarters through their back entrance.

From his vantage point, Colin could see through a narrow window into the dimly lit hallways. His gaze locked onto the figure of a maid, Leslie, who was carrying a tray of tea. The man's approach was silent, and for a moment Colin believed that the man was there to see her.

Without warning, the man lunged at Leslie. The maid's surprised gasp was muffled by the sudden, violent twist of the stranger's hand. Colin's blood ran cold as he witnessed the brutal act of violence. Leslie collapsed, lifeless, her eyes wide in shock. Colin fought the urge to throw up, knowing that any noise or sudden movement might alert the man to his presence.

The stranger left the scene with the same deliberate stealth, moving further into the house. Colin waited, his mind racing. The thought of the maid's body lying cold on the floor was a stark reminder of the danger that lurked within the walls of his home.

With renewed fervor he continued to follow the man, who was now moving with purpose towards the private quarters. Colin's mind raced as he tried to piece together the stranger's intentions. The possibility that this intruder might be targeting someone important to him was a chilling realization. The fear for his family spurred him into action.

For a while he lost the man in the hallways, but Colin happened to see him again after several minutes following Eloise and Penelope at a distance. As he approached the top of the stairs, Colin saw the man slip into the shadows, and Colin's eyes followed with growing dread. He knew he couldn't afford to wait for any further confirmation. If this stranger meant to harm, he needed to act quickly.

With a decisive breath, Colin pulled a vase from a nearby table and moved silently towards the man. He approached from behind, his every step calculated to avoid detection. The sound of the door creaking open was the only indication of the man's intent.

The door to Eloise's room was almost fully ajar, and Colin could see the stranger's silhouette just before the threshold. The man was so focused on his goal that he didn't notice Colin's approach.

In a moment of bravery, Colin swung the vase with all his might. The heavy object connected with the back of the stranger's head, sending him sprawling to the floor. Colin's breath came in heavy, uneven bursts as he looked down at the unconscious man.

"Eloise!" Colin shouted urgently as he pushed open the door and rushed inside. He could see Penelope and Eloise sitting up on the edge of the bed, their faces pale with fear and confusion. "Are you both alright?"

Penelope's eyes widened with tears and fear, and Eloise's hands trembled as she clutched Penelope's arm. "Colin, what—"

"Stay here," Colin said firmly, his voice a mix of reassurance and command. A knife, thrust with violent force, slid between his ribs. The stranger, who had retained consciousness, roared in defiance, "I WILL be the ONLY ONE!" Eloise and Penelope's screams pierced the air, raw with terror.

"COLIN!" Eloise yelled. "You BASTARD!" Eloise lunged at the man, but instead of her accomplishing anything the man threw her against the wall before turning towards Penelope.

"COLIN!" Eloise's voice was a desperate cry as she lunged at the man, only to be thrown aside with brutal force. The intruder then turned his attention to Penelope, who swung a heavy iron stoker from the nearby fireplace at him. But he caught it effortlessly, yanking her closer with a terrifying ease. His hand fisted in her hair, wrenching her head back until she was forced to meet his eyes. "I will have you Penelope. Make no mistake, you belong to me." His other hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed lightly. "I will have you or no one will" a sinister promise. Then, as swiftly as he had appeared, he released her and fled.

Penelope collapsed to the floor, immediately crawling to Colin's side, her hands trembling as she saw the blood staining his clothes and mouth. "HELP! WE NEED A DOCTOR!" Her voice rang out, desperate and frantic.

Colin, barely clinging to consciousness, reached up to touch her face. "Pen…" he whispered, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. Tears streamed down Penelope's cheeks, falling onto his chest. "Pen… tell me something… why didn't you write me back… all this time?"

"Please, don't waste your strength, Colin. You'll make it through this!" she urged, her voice cracking with fear.

But Colin's eyes, dulling with the weight of knowledge, held a sorrowful certainty. "We… both know… I'm not." He coughed, blood spilling from his lips.

Penelope's heart shattered as she finally confessed, "I wanted to be with you desperately, Colin. I was in love with you, until you said what you said at the ball to your friends. It hurt me, and… and I couldn't figure out what to say."

Colin's expression shifted to one of regret and heartbreak. "I'm sorry… I do… love you, Pen… just not… in that way… forgive me?" he whispered, his voice fading.

"Already done. You were forgiven long ago. I'm sorry I never got the courage to talk to you again."

"S'ok…" Colin mumbled, his voice a mere breath. "gonnamistyou…"

"No, Colin, please don't go." But silence was her only reply. "Colin? I'm going to miss you too." she whimpered, the reality sinking in. Eloise, now beside her, took Colin's other hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Colin?" Eloise's voice was barely above a whisper. Then, with trembling hands, she gently closed his eyes. "I love you, brother. May we meet again."