Now that the semester has started, my upload schedule is going to be pretty whack. Unfortunately, we will have to say goodbye to the nice weekly uploads, I am sorry my beloveds. New chapters are going to be pretty sporadic from hereon out. That being said, the story line changes start to come in here. First of all, I don't like the Colin threesome scene, it adds nothing to his character and is just an excuse to see him shirtless before the Polin sex scene, and we don't really need that for him. That scene makes it seem a lot more like Colin has truly internalized his rake attitude, which spoils the sweetheart/wife-guy personality the show otherwise wants him to have. I also added a flashback to the Polin meeting as kids scene, just because I think it'd be cute. Let me know if how I framed the flashback jived well, I plan on having another in the story and I'd hate for it all to feel jarring.
As always footnotes are in the bottom notes for fun facts and relevant history trivia

Late February 1815

Bridgerton House, Mayfair

Lady Danbury's sudden call upon the Bridgertons was both completely commonplace and entirely unusual. In recent years, it had not become an uncommon sight to see the frightening widow in the Bridgerton drawing room, and the footmen all knew that they need not ask a reason for visitation from her. On most days, though, Agatha called solely on Violet. No one was incensed or bothered by this, the two were friends, and the Bridgerton children were simply happy to see that their mother had such a dear friend. Lady Danbury did not usually call on the Bridgerton children, however, and least of all Francesca who had spent the last two seasons in Bath and had mostly missed the blossoming friendship between her mother and the woman. Yet there Lady Danbury was, in the sitting room with both Francesca and Violet.

It was not that Francesca did not like Lady Danbury; quite the opposite, the woman was rather admirable, but she was nervous in her presence. Lady Danbury and Violet had made quite the reputation for themselves as professional, and successful, meddlers. First with their orchestration of the love story between Daphne and Simon, then with their directing of Edwina, Kate, and Anthony that eventually led to not one but two happy marriages. Francesca was not a dull girl; she knew full well that she was to be the next focus for Lady Danbury's interest, and she seemed to have her eyes set upon nothing but the highest of accolades; the diamond title. If the Queen was the one to choose the diamond, then it was truly Lady Danbury who saw to it that the diamond achieved her success. Francesca was rather flattered, that Lady Danbury and Violet thought she could represent such a title with the dignity it was due was no small compliment. Still, it did not at all bode well for Francesca's hope for a quiet season. Daphne and Anthony's foray into the vicious jaws of the marriage mart had been hectic, busy, and very nearly scandalous, all the things Francesca did not want for herself.

Violet and Agatha sat next to each other on the fine powder blue settee and faced each other as they discussed Francesca's many promising options. Francesca herself, sat opposite the two and sipped her tea. Though she had been asked to be present, the conversation was mostly between the two older women who openly conspired to orchestrate Francesca's love life.

"I hear Lord Courtenay arrived in town last night." Violet placed her teacup in its saucer as she spoke. She still faced Lady Danbury, but had a tone that Francesca knew meant she ought to pay attention.

"He did." Lady Danbury turned to Francesca as she spoke, "He is rather handsome, and a lover of music so I hear."

"Is he?" Violet sounded positively ecstatic and was indeed so excited that she took no notice of Hyacinth, who had snuck into the drawing room and sat down next to Francesca. "Perhaps a good match for our Francesca?"

"Oh, he's not the only one," Lady Danbury carried on, "Lords Petri and Godwin are both great supporters of the arts as well."

Hyacinth, who had only joined the conversation to maintain her nosy interest in her sister's love life, perked up noticeably. Though she could not yet participate in the fun aspects of the season such as courting, she could still live vicariously through Francesca. "Are they also handsome?" Fran deserved someone to match her beauty, and Hyacinth would have very much appreciated it if there were more decent looking men about the house. Simon and Daphne visited so infrequently, and brothers were not the kind of men Hyacinth wished to gaze upon. Her sisters' husbands could at least set her in a good frame of reference for her future nuptials.

Lady Danbury laughed, not uncharitably, at the question and nodded, "Indeed they are, Miss Hyacinth. Though, I rather think you are a bit young to be concerned with that."

Hyacinth pouted and swiped a biscuit from Francesca's tray of sweets, "I only ask for Fran's sake, because she is too polite to have opinions on such things. Someone must make sure her life is full of beauty, if she will not do so for herself."

Violet laughed, "You are assuredly not the only one with Francesca's best interests in mind, dear. Save that nosiness for when you have children of your own." Hyacinth flopped back into the couch and crossed her arms, but said nothing more in response, so Violet turned back to Francesca, "And you must talk to all three of these men, they could be a splendid match for you!"

Francesca smiled pleasantly and lifted her cup of tea to her mouth, "It is good to have options."

The offered names meant little to her. She spent her four most recent social seasons away from London, and could not easily place faces to the names she had been made to memorise, not unless they belonged to those who were close with her siblings. In some ways, her frequent distance from London benefitted her; the debs from outside London, the 'fresh faces' as she had heard Anthony and Benedict call them once, had the advantage of exoticism. Francesca knew well that men found an unknown face exciting indeed, it had worked very well for Edwina and Kate. But Francesca's social seclusion also had its drawbacks. In Bath, she knew the faces and names of all those in the upper class, there, she knew exactly how to act as the perfect young lady because she knew exactly what would and would not please each individual. Such was the benefit of spending every social season in one place. Francesca did not have that in London. The smoggy air was as unfamiliar to her as the many faces of her upper-class peers. She did not know these people anymore, had not spent a season in their company since she was fourteen, and as such had no idea how to please them. There was a comfort in familiarity, and Francesca found that her ease with the social season only came to her in places she found familiar. London, unfortunately, was no longer that place.

Still, her mother and Lady Danbury had done their best to find agreeable men for Francesca, and she appreciated that. A good patron of music sounded pleasant enough, and that she had multiple options wasn't all that terrible. If her mother only conspired to have her speak with three or so men, then it wouldn't be that bad. Three was not so intimidating a number and provided her with options without an overwhelming abundance of choice. Francesca was not usually an indecisive person, but after her first ball she felt too swarmed by men to make any sort of decision in any direction. It did not help that she had barely gotten to know any of the men that approached her. They were glad to talk and boast of their accomplishments, but she could not discern their character when they swarmed her by the half-dozen. If there were only three ideal suitors, or a few more that had been hand chosen by her mama, then she would surely be allowed an individual meeting with each one. That way, Francesca could make her own judgments. She could even appreciate Hyacinth's concerns for aesthetics. If she found all three men agreeable enough and of equal resources and opportunity, Hyacinth's input would be well valued.

"You may have more options than you realise." Lady Danbury sounded excited, in that frighteningly intense way of hers, "The reason that I have come for tea today is to inform you that her majesty is not done with the season. She is still seeking her diamond by some other name. Nevertheless, she desires to see more."

"Oh, does she?" Violet straightened in her seat and focused her full attention on Agatha; this was quite possibly the best news she had heard all day. Francesca was a fine girl, no man of the ton could deny that, but Violet still worried about her prospects. Her daughter could easily find an acceptable match, yes, but a love match? Without the Queen's favour, Daphne would not have had need to become so close with Simon and would not have found her true love. Eloise had not been declared her season's diamond and had no suitors to show for it. Granted, that was in large part due to her personality, but perhaps if the Queen had stirred interest in Eloise, she would have found a proper man who suited her. For Francesca to still have the chance to be the season's diamond, no matter what the Queen deigned to name her, was a wonderful boon.

Lady Danbury nodded conspiratorially, "I believe so, just as I believe we can ensure it is Francesca who receives such a prestigious title."

Francesca gave a tight-lipped smile to her mother, who never seemed to understand her desire for peace and solitude. In a house of seven other siblings who all seemed to command attention in their own ways, Francesca often felt as if she were the only one who did not enjoy such hubbub. Each had their moments where they understood Francesca's need for silence and stability, Eloise and Anthony often seemed the most understanding, but Violet had never quite been able to grasp it. She turned to Hyacinth in hopes for sympathy, but her younger sister practically vibrated in her seat, and quivered like one of the Queen's oddly fluffy dogs. Hyacinth thrived under the spotlight and desired such attention with a fervent hunger. Francesca did not. She could play a concerto with many eyes upon her, but without any music to lose herself into she would have no reprieve from social pressures. She was not out of the woods yet.

Late February 1815

Featherington House, Mayfair

Prudence reclined in her favoured armchair and yawned; the tea Varley had brought did not do nearly enough to keep her bright-eyed. She had spent much of the previous night pouring over accounts and resumes in order to prepare for her soon-to-be ownership of the Lady Featherington title. If this work had also been in attempt to avoid Harry until he fell asleep, then that was no one's business but her own. He was a pretty man, beautiful by every means, and not entirely horrid to speak with, he could be quite the charmer and his dim-witted nature amused Prudence, but he got… excited too easily.

"It is fatiguing, preparing to be lady of this house." She spoke to no one in particular, but felt the need to make it known that she expected to inherit the title. Phillipa needed to know where she stood as an inferior sister, and Prudence felt that perhaps her mother would approve of her forward thinking.

Phillipa gave her sister an odd look, one that said she neither believed that Prudence was actually fatigued, nor did she deserve to be the new Lady Featherington. But she kept her mouth shut. Phillipa was not often on the winning end of arguments; she preferred to ignore conflict entirely. Battles of wit never ended well for her, and people were oft to become so horrendously nasty when they quarrelled. Why everyone couldn't get along was beyond her, she was beautiful, the world was beautiful, fair little else was worth the troubles they caused. She could even acknowledge the beauty in others, though they all paled in comparison to herself. After taking note of Penelope's French fashions, Phillipa had followed suit, and had decided that the lower cut necklines and higher waistline suited her well. She fiddled with the three-dimensional butterfly appliqués that she had requested special; they were a lovely shade of puce.

"Shall I take your fatigue as a good sign?" Portia tried her very hardest not to sound too cross, but as the month rapidly neared its end, there were still no signs of pregnancy in either of her girls. "That you have indeed been engaging in the, uh, necessary activities?"

This, Phillipa thought, was her time to shine. She could prove she wasn't just a ditz and that she took the title of Lady of the house seriously indeed. She had done her research, had thoroughly looked into her options, she felt positively brilliant in her methods of preparation, "Albion and myself have frequented three different places of business just this morning."

Portia cringed, she was glad at least one of her daughters felt passionate about her husband, but business? Phillipa had better not have meant her and Mr. Finch had been intimate in public places, for if that were the case the two would soon find themselves on the receiving end of a stern lecture, indeed. Young people these days, Portia thought, no sense of decency. "Places of business? What kind of places? I do hope you have not forgotten your sense of propriety girls. You know better than to act with indecency, you must be discreet with your affections!"

Phillipa pouted as Prudence sniggered behind her hand, why was her mother so upset, and why must one be discreet when arranging household affairs? She hadn't even made any final choices yet, just surveys. "Uh, an upholsterer, a silk mercer, and… do not let Varley hear, but a meeting with a new housekeeper." Phillipa wiggled a bit in her seat and awaited the praise that was sure to come.

Prudence shot up from her chair and gasped, "You cannot get a new housekeeper, I want to keep Varley!"

Phillipa smiled wider at this, "I know! That is why I am seeking a new housekeeper. When I become the new Lady Featherington, I shall have a housekeeper of my own, and one of you can keep Varley." She thought this a splendid plan, she could establish herself as a new kind of Lady Featherington, one that was beautiful and pleasant and not on the brink of destitution, and either Portia or Prudence could have the housekeeper that they were so fond of. It was a situation in which everyone benefited. Varley needn't even worry about her job; she would still be employed.

Portia massaged her temples, diligent that they may be in the ordering of affairs, her daughters had forgotten one crucial step, and she had begun to think they were deliberately obtuse. "Do you not think that you are putting the, uh, cart somewhat before the horse as it were?"

Prudence and Phillipa shared a confused glance, both thought they had done rather well so far.

"There is, I trust, every reason to hope both of you might, before long, be presenting the family with an heir." Portia gesticulated vaguely to the stomach region and kept her tone light and sweet. It could be possible that one of her girls was with child and had simply forgotten to mention it. Phillipa, though thankfully not so shameless as Portia had thought, was rather affectionate with Mr. Finch, and Prudence was a smart girl, she knew how she ought to produce a child.

"Mama! How rude." Phillipa wrinkled her nose, was it not Portia who always preached of propriety? A lady, or a man for that matter, should never ask another lady about her attempts to become with child. Those things were only to be discussed once the child had been conceived, and only in sparse detail at that. Though Phillipa still did not quite understand why, she had seen plenty of couples share kisses in public, though not nearly so passionate as the ones she shared with Albion in their marriage bed. Perhaps it was the different kind of kiss that made a child, and that was why ladies should not discuss such topics. Portia's displeased glare, however, prompted her to provide the barest of information, "Albion and I are very passionate, of course."

"Good, and you?" Portia turned to Prudence.

Quickly, to have an excuse not to speak, Prudence took a sip of the tea, which had been over-steeped1 in too-hot water, "This tea, it is quite bitter."

"Never mind the tea." Portia leaned in, folded her hand in her lap, and fixed Prudence with a stare of utmost motherly insistence.

"Yes, mama. We have been… familiar with each other."

Portia was not yet pleased, "I should hope you have. How often?"

"Ah… once." Prudence avoided her mother's glare as she spoke and instead looked at her disappointing cup of tea, "On our wedding night."

This time it was Phillipa's turn to snigger, she could smell Portia's annoyance from a mile away and it was good to not be on the receiving end of it.

"Do you think babies simply appear in your womb? You must be familiar with each other often to create one." Portia looked close to tearing at her hair, only stopped by her own vanity.

"But I want to be out with my husband, showing him off, not in bed." Prudence had begun to whine, an uncommon tactic for her, "And it flattens my hair."

Portia leaned in further and breathed heavily through her nose, if the enticement of becoming Lady Featherington did not encourage her daughter, then she would simply have to remind her what else was at stake, "If you want to beat your sister, you must try harder. Do you want the estate to go to Phillipa whilst you remain a nobody in the eyes of the ton?"

Prudence turned to Phillipa, who smiled and refused to acknowledge the sting of her mother's words, "No, mother, I do not want that."

"Good. A full moon2 is on the rise, a harbinger of fertility. I suggest you make good use of it." For the security of her girls' futures, they would need to.

Late February 1815

Bridgerton House, Mayfair

Colin sat at his desk and toyed idly with his now dry fountain pen. His travel journal lay open before him, pages blank and spine cracked. It was a handsome journal, one he had bought when he landed in Milan, some two months into his travels. Its brown leather cover had seen better days, worn and stained in spots from the tossing and tumbling it had faced in his bag. Pages were dog-eared and the earlier ones were stained with ink blotches from when Colin was still unused to tidily writing on a ship rocked by waves. It was his book of memories, half full of stories he had not told anyone else. Stories that, it seemed, no one else wanted to hear.

He had made the decision to buy the thing when it became clear that replies to his letters would be infrequent. He did not blame anyone for not responding; Benedict was busy as Anthony's stand-in, Anthony himself was on his honeymoon, Eloise was still in a state over the season's end, and Violet was busy with her own matters. Their infrequent correspondence did not bother him terribly; they had not written to him so often the previous year either, and he knew how hectic life could be even in the off season. The silence that had truly bothered him was from Penelope.

Now, back in London, he knew what he had done to deserve such treatment, but then, in the shining sea of the Mediterranean, he felt abandoned. Penelope's letters had come like clockwork in the previous year, and they were a touch of home in the otherwise very foreign places he'd visited. He had enjoyed hearing her mundane stories, tales of her exploits with Eloise or the pains of living with her horrid older sisters. There was something in the way that Penelope wrote that had simply captured Colin, her words clever and enrapturing. She could spin the most captivating of stories from her everyday life, and during that previous tour, Colin had lived to read her thoughts.

She, in turn, had made him feel heard. He wrote of his own exploits, sailing expeditions and beautiful sights. Penelope had praised his every word, had marvelled at his experiences, and had always encouraged him to write more. He had told her things he'd never told anyone else. Much soul searching had been done on that first tour, and often he wrote of his heartbreak and grief over Marina's betrayal. He'd written to her about his own personal philosophies, musings on the nature of love and mankind that would make even a bohemian3 like Benedict scoff. Penelope had understood and met him with kindness and clarity. When she hadn't so much as replied to one of his many letters in the first two months of his trip, he had been nothing short of devastated. Lacking in someone to share his thoughts with, Colin had bought his journal to make up for her absence.

During his travels, he had been absolutely fraught with inspiration. His loneliness had seemed almost romantic, and he filled page after page with his musings. He wrote of the people he met, the sights he had seen, and all of his thoughts on the matters. Because Penelope would not see his work, he had taken the liberty to make it more honest than anything he had ever sent to anyone else. He spared no thought for decency, and wrote the truth of his experiences, beautiful and ugly alike. He had not been lying when he had told the debutantes that he'd be made to marry them if he truly told them of his travels, some of what he had written could be considered downright indecent. He felt he should have been more ashamed of how often he frequented brothels and houses of pleasure on the continent, but was that not part of life? In Europe his life had been bereft of women with which he had an emotional connection, so he had learned that the best distraction from such a thing was to form connections purely of the physical nature. Such was how he learned to act in the ways that pleased the gentry; he walled off the tender parts of his heart until all there was, was the hardened exterior that the other men bore naturally.

Colin sighed and closed the journal; he had been at it for nearly an hour and could not come up with a single thing to write. Memories of his travels still floated around in his head, but he could not put them to words. He had lost all inspiration since he'd landed in England, and the muses had yet to grace him with the free-flowing prose he had summoned up so easily on the continent. He blamed the constrictions of high society. Though they loved him for his new personality, he felt like nothing but a liar of the worst sort. A charlatan. There he was, happy to gallivant around the gentlemen's clubs, but none of the men knew the real him. It was all a farce put on for presentation, as fake and finely tailored as his fancy French wardrobe.

He felt it especially when he was around Penelope, who was as open and honest as she had always been. Though society did not love her for it, Penelope was always herself, thoughtful and kind. She would have fared better in the eyes of the ton if she were a gossiping snake like Cressida, but Penelope remained pure and unstained by hearsay. She was truly too good for the men of the ton. Someone so open as she should have had a husband willing to match her vulnerability, whilst also serving to protect her from the world's callous nature. Penelope had tasked Colin to assist her in her search to find and woo such a man, and so, though it pained him to know that she would soon leave the safe confines of Bridgerton friendships, he would do as she asked.

Colin looked at the table-clock on his desk and saw that it was half-till three. He was almost late. His journal would not miss him, not when he had nothing to write in it, but Penelope would. He got up and left the study, cross with yet another afternoon wasted on not writing, but determined to not make such feelings into Penelope's problem.

Late February 1815

Harding, Howell & Co, St. James's4,5

Penelope met Colin at one of the many hat stands in Harding, Howell & Co, careful to make it seem that their meeting was a coincidence. She had almost thought to beg off the meeting, to tell Colin that she wasn't cut out for marriage after all, and that he needn't waste his time. The fiasco at Rotten Row had been horrible, the noblemen likely thought her some hysterical chit rather than an eligible lady. It was positively mortifying. Still, part of her hoped she could truly improve and find her match. She knew that if she turned tail and quit, she'd have no chance whatsoever. The novelty of her fashionable outfits was sure to wear off soon, and then what would she do? She had no other choice, no matter how often she embarrassed herself.

With Rae at her side and only a garish feathered number between her and Colin, Penelope kept her voice low as she spoke, "Are you quite sure you wish to resume my lessons? I would not be angry if you found me to be a lost cause."

"The truth is you do not need a lesson." Colin had to tilt his head down to properly make eye contact with Penelope, an necessary action that sent some odd flame of heat through his heart. It had not been the first time he'd noticed how diminutive Penelope's height was, and it never failed to make him feel some kind of way.

Penelope's hopeful expression fell, to hear that she was a lost cause was not the ego strike she expected, though she could not blame Colin for it, "You agree, then, I am unteachable. A failed case who must try and descend into her spinsterhood with what little grace she has left."

Penelope moved to a new stall to make it seem as if she had actual intention to shop, which she did not. The new stall sold novel lace gloves; thin flimsy things that barely covered a lady's hands. She had always thought them dreadful; the texture of lace made her feel itchy, but she examined a pair to seem occupied anyway. Colin followed suit to the stand and inspected a smart set of men's gloves in black leather. He was on the same side of the stall as her, this time, and Penelope could feel the warmth radiating off him. She resisted the urge to tug at her underbodice where sweat had begun to pool on the underside of her chest. She cast a glance to Rae, who stuck close by to ensure their claims to decency. The lady's maid seemed somewhat amused by the proximity of the two, but quickly schooled her features when she saw Penelope look at her.

"Quite the opposite; you are very teachable; you simply do not need to be taught. You already know how to do this." Colin had realised such on his walk over to the store. Penelope was perfectly eloquent, her letters to him from the previous year stood as testament to that. It was only her own nervous nature that got in her way. She spoke just fine with him, and he was a man, so it stood that she could hold pleasant conversation with other men, too.

Penelope scoffed, folded up the lace gloves, and moved on to a satin pair, "I assure you I do not. You have seen me try. That was not even the worst of it, I cannot speak more than a sentence without uttering precisely the wrong words. If I already knew how to do this, I would be well and married by now."

Colin tried not to wince at the thought of a married Penelope. He did not know why the idea distressed him so much; marriage was the natural state of a woman. Hell, he had agreed to help find Penelope a husband, he had no reason to find the thought unpleasant. Yet he did. He wrote it off as a matter of the changing times. His world, and all the people that occupied it, it seemed, had decided to turn their faces to the sunny warmth of change. He would soon have more family out of the house than in it, and it pained him to see his family separate to the far corners of England. With this, he realised, he would not be able to converse much more with Penelope once she was married. The two were allowed to write because their families were so close, and in no small part because Penelope and Eloise were such an inseparable type of friends. But once Penelope was a wife and not a Featherington, it would be inappropriate for him, a bachelor, to write to a married woman. Even after he himself married, it would be odd for two wedded people to act with the familiarity he had with Penelope. People would think things.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Colin ached for simpler times and thought back on their first meeting. "I was riding my horse, minding my own business, when I was assaulted by a devilishly yellow head covering."

July 1805

Rotten Row, Hyde Park

Colin had just broken in his beloved riding horse, Bustard. He was a lovely bay thoroughbred6, sired by the noble steed Diamond. Bustard had been a present for his fourteenth birthday, and a rather pricey one at that. The stallion had been his pride and joy at the time, and Colin had taken every opportunity he had to ride the young horse around Rotten Row.

It had been a lovely summer day, one of those rare bouts of reasonably pleasant English weather. The sky had been a clear, cloud-free, blue and there stirred in the air a delightfully cool breeze that cut through the summer heat. It had been the perfect day for the families that stayed in ton year-round to traverse around Hyde Park. With Edmund's death still fresh on the minds of the Bridgerton family, they had elected to spend their off seasons in London proper and forego Aubrey Hall until the wounds of loss did not sting so sharply.

Colin had started to make his way off the track so that Bustard might drink some water and graze for a short while, when a gust of wind sent up dust and leaves through the air. Colin had not minded the dirt, and instead paused Bustard's trot so that he could revel in the cool breeze. What he had minded, however, was the stiff and garish yellow girl's bonnet that had flown in with the wind and smacked him in the face. He had been so startled by the assault that it had thrown him off balance. And off his horse, directly into the dirt.

Colin might have been annoyed, and in his new teenage bravado he might have even crossly lectured the bonnet-owner, if he hadn't seen the little girl running after the yellow monstrosity. Penelope had been tiny even then, a little pudgy girl of nine in a long frock. She tripped over her hem as she ran up to Colin, and the matching primrose tippet7 fluttered, occasionally exposing her neck. She looked up at Colin with her big brown eyes, and the boy had been half concerned that she would cry.

Instead, she puffed out her cheeks, put her tiny baby hands on her hips, and said, "I am sorry for knocking you over, mister. The wind seems to hate bonnets as much as I do." She then looked at where Colin had fallen in the mud, and giggled, "You have so much mud on you I almost thought you a pig, are all boys so dirty?"

Colin had never heard such cheek from such a little girl, at least not from one who wasn't Eloise, and he came to two conclusions at that very moment. First, that he should introduce this tiny girl to Eloise immediately, because they would get along splendidly. And second, that he could never let anything bad befall such a darling child.

Penelope had come to her own conclusions that day; namely that the boy in the mud was very pretty and didn't get mad when she laughed at him. She decided at that very moment she liked him very much.

Late February 1815

Harding, Howell & Co, St. James's

Penelope laughed at Colin's recollection, "It was not my fault, the wind blew it clean off my head! Would you rather that I were blown away with it? I expect an entire child would have hit you much harder than my bonnet, should the wind have been strong enough to batter me around in such a way."

"Wind or not, you certainly seemed pleased when I landed in the mud." Colin smiled as he saw the doubt leave Penelope's face. That, he thought, was how she ought to be all the time; smiling and happy. She did not seem nearly so fraught with nerves and self-doubt when she spoke with him or one of his siblings.

"I apologised, something you didn't do, even though you squashed my bonnet into the mud. Oh! Such a talking to I got when I finally returned to mama, an hour late and with a muddy bonnet in my hands!" Penelope had started to truly laugh now, and she positively shone in the afternoon light.

"Yes, you did at least apologise." Colin, too, laughed, "And you were so very charming about it." They moved further into the store, to yet another hat stall as Colin continued. "And I think I know why."

Penelope looked away. It had suddenly occurred to her that perhaps Colin was not so oblivious to her affections as she had thought. What if he knew of the feelings she harboured for him, and he simply kept quiet to spare her the shame? Her crush on Colin had been constant and it had coloured her decisions for the past ten years, whether she liked to admit it or not. Penelope thought back to all the times she had sought out the Bridgerton house, all the times she stared a little too long at the boys and their fencing matches outside, or the times she complimented Colin a bit too enthusiastically. Goodness, there was even the time she had almost out and told Eloise that her ideal man was Colin. Penelope thought she had been subtle, but had she, really?

"It is because we were children." Colin winked at Penelope from around the hat stands, and then questioned why he did that, "It was long before the self-consciousness of adulthood set in, before we started caring what others think."

Penelope shook her head, "Colin, it is impossible to be in society and not care what others think. Society is entirely composed of the judgement of others."

"Do you know what I discovered when I was abroad?"

Penelope, in fact, knew nothing of Colin's recent travels other than that he had gone on them. In her distress, she had burned all the letters he had sent her in those months.

"No one knew me." Colin said this as if it was a good thing, though the thought of being entirely alone frightened Penelope greatly, it was why she had begun her desperate search for a husband, "No one knew who I was supposed to be. I was entirely freed of being the Colin Bridgerton the ton knows me to be. That freedom allowed me to mould myself into a new Colin, one that fits in with his peers."

Penelope turned to face him head on. Though she would not say it to Colin's face, she was not so sure the new personality he put on around others was a good change. Still, he had a point, he could not have become what he was now if he were around people who knew him.

"Pen, living for the estimation of others is a trap. People expect nothing but perfection from everyone, and they will jump like hyenas on the first person to fall regardless, so why bother caring? Once you break free, the world opens up, and the world much prefers someone who is confidently themselves to someone who is unconfidently someone else." Colin knew the ton was happy to welcome anyone who knew how to keep their head held high. It might work a bit differently for ladies, Colin figured, but the point still stood. Penelope needed to believe in her own prowess. Colin didn't want to teach her to put up a façade like he had, he simply wanted her to be confident as herself, no one else. He would not have her change herself for a man, a good husband would take her and recognise her for the godsend she was.

Still, Penelope shook her head, "You make it sound so easy."

Perhaps if he understood her motivations better, Colin could better persuade her that it was all a matter of perspective, "Why is it you want a husband?"

"So that I may have my freedom. So that I may feel comfortable in the world." Was Penelope's reply.

"I see," Colin gave a polite nod to Rae, who had stepped forward, deeming Colin to have come too close to her lady, and took a few steps to the side "And it will be finding that comfort in yourself that will get you there. What is the one thing in the world that makes you feel most comfortable now? Most at ease?"

"It used to be Sunday teas at Bridgerton House." Penelope looked wistfully at the bouquets of flowers arranged neatly at the florist's stall as she spoke. The many flowers, arranged in pleasing shades of lilac and periwinkle, reminded her dearly of the Bridgertons and their charming little colour scheme.

Those Sunday afternoons were a beloved part of her seasonal schedule. She would share sweets with Eloise as the two read, sometimes different books in silence, sometimes the same book out loud. They used to read novels together, Penelope would act out the heroine and Eloise would play the dashing male lead. Eloise would go to great pains to make the male lead sound as foolish as possible; she'd pitch her voice down in a mock-tenor and put on the most unflattering accent she could imagine. Penelope would always complain to Eloise about it, as she rather preferred to imagine the male leads sounded like Colin, but it would make her laugh nonetheless. Then there were the days the two would talk politics. Mostly, it would devolve into the two complaining about the states of their lives, but there were also times when Penelope truly felt patient enough to listen to one of Eloise's shockingly liberal rants. Sometimes, she even found that she agreed with the talking points.

"It was one of the few places I could go unchaperoned and truly be myself. But… that is no longer a possibility." Penelope had paid dearly for her friend's safety, and that price had been their friendship. Eloise would no longer welcome her into Bridgerton House, and even if the other Bridgertons would still have her, Penelope wouldn't feel comfortable there without her friend's approval.

"I'm sorry about whatever might be coming between you and Eloise. What exactly happened?" Colin had failed to get a satisfactory answer from Eloise, who only insisted it was a natural drifting apart. But friends who simply no longer shared interests did not avoid each other like the plague. Perhaps Penelope would clarify the matter.

Penelope winced, she would not tell Colin the true reason, God only knew what he might do, but he wasn't dull enough to accept something half-baked either. If only Penelope could have conspired with Eloise to get their stories straight, but alas, if she could do that, then the friendship would have been repaired already. Clearly, though, the rift between the two friends had caused somewhat of a stir in the Bridgerton family. Penelope did not want the Bridgertons to shun her, but she did not want them to heckle Eloise either. She tried to find a middle ground, something that had enough of the truth to validate Eloise, but not enough to isolate Penelope.

"Alright, but promise to keep it a secret?" She asked.

"Yes, very well, I shall promise." Colin did not know why he must, but he would if it would make Penelope happy.

"It is my fault that Eloise's name appeared in Whistledown." Penelope watched Colin's face to gauge his response.

"What? How on earth could such a thing be your fault?" His brows were furrowed, but he looked more confused than angry, much to Penelope's relief.

"Eloise told me of her… lectures. I was the only one who knew. I became so worried for her safety one night that I could not help but express my fears to Rae, who had come into my room. Except, it was not Rae, but one of the chambermaids. I did not notice it until I had finished speaking. I am sure that is how the word spread." Penelope finished with her lie. She felt proud that she had taken at least some of the blame whilst also protecting her identity. She hoped her story would please Colin enough for him to not ask further questions. She certainly hoped he would not go to Eloise and ask her for further details. Penelope could not tell if Eloise would appreciate or resent her cover story. She hoped it would be the former, but with Eloise's unstable mood, she was just as likely to be overemotional as she was to act as her usual rational self.

Despite Eloise's insistence that there were many, Penelope still could not think of a better way she could have laid the Queen's suspicions to rest, but Lady Whistledown had obviously taken a greater toll on Eloise than Penelope expected. It was so entirely out of character to hear Eloise speak on embroidery and floral arrangements with the other ladies, the only explanation was that the repercussions of the pamphlet had been such that Eloise no longer felt comfortable acting as herself. Perhaps Penelope should have written about her friend's smoking habit, instead.

Colin stood, shocked at Penelope's confession, and wondered why she did not just tell him about Eloise's excursions. Or Anthony, or Benedict, or even Violet. Anyone responsible and in charge, who could have simply seen to it that Eloise was kept on a tighter leash. Still, he did not blame Penelope, "It is not your fault, Pen. Though you should have told one of us, I understand why you could not bring yourself to keep such an ugly secret. It is Whistledown who is truly to blame, for publishing such horrible things without thinking of the lives she may ruin. I can try and reopen Eloise's mind to your friendship, if you would like."

Penelope chewed on her lower lip and thought on the potential. Though Eloise had taken to the silent treatment, Penelope still felt their relationship could be repaired, if only the two could reach an even ground. On the other hand, it was bad enough that she had lied to Colin, but if she accepted his offer Eloise would hate her even more for employing her brother against her, "No, it is fine, Colin. She is allowed to be mad, and we truly were on the path to drift apart anyhow. It was my secret to keep, and I should have had intention to tell one of you, not my lady's maid. If we were as close as we once were, this would not have been such a ruinous issue."

Colin nodded, and then looked at his pocket watch, "Alright. I should still like to see your friendship mended, but if the both of you wish to lead separate lives, I will not interfere. It is almost four, would you like me to walk you back?"

Penelope shook her head again, all the talk of her argument with Eloise had made her nervous, and she wished to be alone to think. Besides, if Colin walked her back home, people would get ideas, and as much as she wished he had intention behind the offer, she knew he did not. "I am alright, thank you. We shall have to continue our lessons later, though I fear I am still not much of a student. Until then."

Penelope hurried out of Harding, Howell & Co and hopped into the Featherington coach, which had been parked behind the establishment. She worried over Eloise. The half truth had been made up on the spot, and Penelope had no idea how her former friend might react. Would she approve of Penelope's attempts to take responsibility, or would she be disgusted with her friend's continued refusal to give up her identity as Whistledown? Penelope hoped that her partial honesty to Colin might encourage Eloise to see her in a better light, but until the two returned to speaking terms, she would only have that hope to cling to.

Footnotes

1. Tea facts! Different teas should be steeped for different amounts of time. If they're steeped for too long, they become bitter. If you want a stronger tea, add a second tea bag or more loose-leaf. Steeping it longer will just make it taste bad. Except for herbal tea, those can be steeped for however so long as you like. As for water temp, water should be boiling but no hotter for tea. Anything cooler won't get enough flavour from the tea bag (unless you're making sun tea, which has a different set of rules and wasn't a thing in the 1800s), and anything hotter will scald your tea and make it taste burnt. (this is why hot teas from Starbucks always taste so bad, they scald their tea and ruin the flavour.)

2. Feb 1815 did indeed have a full moon on 23rd. That is the last week of February, so it's late-late feb. Per the setting timeline, it is mid-late feb, like the 17/18th ish. Also, the moon phases have no effect on fertility, just like how they have no effect on menstrual cycles.

3. Bohemian was a newly emerging counterculture lifestyle in the 1800s. It is used to describe non-traditionalists who were the artistic sort; poets, painters, musicians, the like. Bohemians were moderately anti-establishment, and supported free-love/sexual liberation, fiscal liberalism, spiritual freedom, and artistic romanticism. They were a sort of predecessor to hippies. There was a general sense of deliberate poverty, or at least frugality, and "true" bohemians fell very much in line with the starving artist type. Upper class boys like Ben would be "haute" or "noveau" bohemians, a term used to describe rich people who pretended to be salt of the earth poor bohemians. They were considered posers, which we see in season two at the art academy. There existed a general romanticism of the nomadic and colorful lifestyle of the Romani/Roma people, and just like Hippies, the bohemian lifestyle and aesthetic has a significant amount of cultural appropriation of the Roma peoples. Such appropriation carries over today into "Boho" style, which is often a caricature of Roma culture. Bohemian was a French term for the Roma people, who were believed to originate from the area of Europe known as Bohemia, now a significant portion of the Czech Republic, Slovakia, and some of Austria. It is important to note that at this time, the Roma people would be called "Gypsies" by English speakers, and Europe as a whole was and still is mad racist to the Roma people. For the sake of historical accuracy, I am inclined to use this term should it come up, but if readers find such terminology too distressing, characters will refer to the Roma people as capitol B Bohemians, if/when relevant.

4. Harding Howell & Co is a proto-department store. It opened in 1796 and closed in 1820. It sold a wide variety of products, mostly clothing accessories and other fashion-adjacent items. Mostly the customer base was women but it wouldn't be weird to see a lady accompanied by a man in the store, and it would be feasible for a man to go there alone, so it makes for a decent meeting place for Polin.

5. St. James's, to the non-UK knowers, is just another district of London. Most of the London stuff in the season happens within the city of Westminster (a borough of London, not its own separate city), because that's the most rich section of the city. The only place not in Westminster so far is Bloomsbury, which is in Camden, which borders Westminster to the south. Though, in 1815 Camden borough didn't exist and Bloomsbury was under the Borough of Holborn which has now been subsumed into Camden.

6. Thoroughbreds are a famous and well loved breed of racing horses, known for sped, agility, and personality. They were a new horse breed at the time, so they're fancy. Thoroughbreds originated from three Arabic racing horses and native English mares. Both Bustard and Diamond are names of real horses in the reagency era. Bay is the most common thoroughbred coat color, the standard 'brown' horse. Diamond was sired by Highflyer, who was sired by Herod, who was one of the three sires that started the Thoroughbred breed. This means that Colin's horse is high pedigree and ultra fancy. This line of sires notably has a white forehead star and short white marking on the rear right leg, called a Pastern, so we'll say Bustard has those too.

7. Tippets are those cunty little shoulder capes we sometimes see Eloise and other ladies (mostly Eloise though) wear. They were a real fashion in the early 1800s. Primrose is a pastel yellow. Young girls like Pen would wear few layers, just a single petticoat layer and drawers, but would still have an empire waistline. The hemline on children's dresses would be higher than those of an adult woman's, thus Eloise getting her hems lowered in S2, when she becomes an eligible lady.