Author's Note: Bridgerton is a new fandom phenomenon for me - I have only begun reading/watching it for the first time in 2024 (slow, I know) and I was completely captivated and inspired by the Colin/Penelope relationship. So...time to write fan fiction again, for the first time in fourteen years.

There are elements of the show, and the books, that frustrated me; I am a sucker for a slow burn, for a realisation moment, for pining, for longing, for characters who do and say and think dumb things in their complete denial that they should be together, the idiots. And of course, I am a sucker for every fanfic trope under the sun.

This fic will really mostly serve for me to take the elements I like from the books and the show, squish them together, leave the stuff out I don't like, do my own take on it, and later when the slow burn catches fire, go to absolute town on the explicit details. So - emphasis on slow, and emphasis on burn. The smut will come...later. In the meantime, let us embrace a long slow friends to lovers.

Story begins based on part of the events of Season 2 Episode 4 of the show.

May 1814

It was time for a fresh start, the true beginning of the rest of his life.

So Colin Bridgerton thought to himself as his carriage pulled away from the stately, charming manor belonging to Sir Philip Crane, and Colin's ex-fiancée Miss Marina Thompson. Although, he mentally corrected himself, she was Lady Crane now. He allowed himself a moment to lean back against the seat, staring out into the night as the carriage rocked gently on its journey back to Aubrey Hall, and let his thoughts wander.

He had done what he'd set out to do earlier that day; he'd seen Marina. He'd apologised to her. He'd extended his forgiveness of her past actions (or he'd tried to, at least). He wasn't quite sure what to expect when going there, but the reality was still jarring; the calm, dignified married woman that was so different to the bright-eyed girl he'd loved. Or thought he'd loved, anyway. She'd been quietly elegant, stiffly polite all day with him, clearly comfortable in her home and with her children. She'd been nominally at ease but her manner tense because he was there, bringing up the past when she was so firmly rooted in her present.

He supposed he'd gone there seeking… what, closure? A reunion? Another chance? As with most things in his life, he would've been open to any option. Colin generally tried to stay broad-minded with what life threw his way. Closure now felt like the closest word to describe the outcome from the day's events. There were pinpricks of shame and embarrassment to recall Marina's words to him, telling him to wake up, accusing him of trying to drag her back into a world of fantasy. He hadn't meant that. He'd only meant… well… perhaps she was right. It had become very clear to him that his time in Greece between season, mulling over what had happened between them, going over and over things in his head, wasn't time that she'd shared doing the same thing. She had moved on, in every way that mattered.

It was only that it felt important to him, to make things right. Colin shifted in his carriage seat, restless, defensive despite himself, even now as the carriage trailed away into the night. It had felt like the right thing to be done, to apologise, and extend forgiveness. That was something his mother Violet had instilled in him growing up. For all the times that he'd teased and pranked and tortured his younger sisters and brother, if there was ever hurt feelings, if there was ever any sign that a sibling had really taken one of his jokes to heart, under Mother's watchful eye, he would find a way to make amends. There seemed to be very little that he couldn't fix with a wide, sincere smile and a soft, kind word. People forgave him easily, and in turn, he forgave the small things easily too. "Such a charmer," his mother would smile, and he supposed that was true too.

Everyone could agree charming was the word most often used to describe Colin, including even by the enigmatic Lady Whistledown. Inevitably when an issue of the scandal sheet had mentioned him, it usually referred to him enchanting the ladies of the ton, his carefully administered smiles and jokes and pleasant quips livening the atmosphere of many otherwise dreadfully dull balls and gatherings. But unlike his eldest brother Anthony, and his older brother Benedict, none could yet tag him with the title 'Rake.' Colin really had had relatively little experience with the opposite sex compared to his older brothers, despite having the ability now to say he had been engaged (once) to a lady before Anthony or Benedict had even proposed to anyone. However, he was no gawky virgin; Anthony and Benedict had made sure of that, with their frank and honest sit-down after he had graduated Eton five years before, fresh faced at the age of eighteen. He smiled to recall the memory.

"There is nothing," Benedict had laughingly told him, "Nothing wrong, with dipping your wick for the first time… or the second time, or even the third…"

Anthony had coughed pointedly and glared at Benedict sternly.

"…ahem, anyway, nothing wrong I say, with building some experience with ladies of the night." Benedict had smiled indulgently at him. "We are Bridgertons after all, and unlike some members of the ton, we have the resources to indulge even our more questionable choices."

Anthony, rolling his eyes, had turned to Colin. "What Benedict is trying to say, Colin, is that despite what will be Mother's best efforts to find you a bride now that you'll be out in society, as a man and as a respectable man of the Bridgerton family at that, it's quite…acceptable…while you're young and still green, to explore the more… pleasurable aspects of the fairer sex with the professionals. As long as everything is above board. It's something I've done, and Benedict's done…"

"Let me guess, in ten years' time we'll be sitting Gregory down for this same conversation?" Colin had quipped, raising his eyebrows.

Anthony and Benedict had both laughed, and Benedict clapped him on the back. "Exactly," Anthony agreed. "All I ask is that you don't overindulge too much and exercise your discretion. We can't have any…activities, talked all over the ton. That would make three for three Bridgerton brothers with reputations as rakes."

"I really don't see myself as a rake," Benedict had interrupted, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "An enthusiast for the high life, more like."

"Regardless," Anthony continued loudly, "It's our duty as your brothers to make sure you gain life experience while you're young, while still maintaining the reputation of the family and your own reputation as a gentleman, do you understand?"

He'd agreed, of course. And in those early years as a young man, Colin had participated as much as any young gentleman in the rounds at White's, the gambling, the drinking, the hunting, fencing, and yes to a lesser extent, the whoring. Guided to Southwark brothels under Anthony's stern eye and Benedict's benevolent eye, Colin had experienced what it meant to have a woman, and then further, to pleasure a woman, and to be pleasured by one. It had been a jolly and amusing time in his life, a rather restless whirlwind of fun amongst the more placid respectable events of the social season calendar.

Marina – Lady Crane – had been his first real foray into matters of the heart, it seemed. She had arrived into his life at a time where the years of fun had started to grow just a little stale, a little wearisome, and a feeling of restlessness began to seep through him, down through his limbs. He would always be seen as a boy to his older brothers and Mother, and he would always be little more than an annoying big brother to his younger siblings, but Colin had been growing eager for something… new, different. To spark his interest and fire up his soul. To prove himself, as a gentleman. To find purpose. And unlike his family, Marina took him seriously.

If he was being honest with himself (and he always tried his best to be), he knew his current lifestyle wouldn't sustain him forever. He'd grown up watching a happy and loving marriage between his parents, had seen first-hand the magic that love could weave into a household, and into a family. Deep down he'd always wanted what his parents had had, and a lady to love and children to raise seemed to be the pinnacle of what Violet Bridgerton had wanted for her sons too. Perhaps he'd enjoyed rebelling against that for the sake of it, perhaps because he enjoyed pushing boundaries with people, just because he knew he could, because he knew they'd forgive him…

Ah, but it was useless now to ponder why he'd resisted Mother's attempts to nudge him towards marriage for so long. All that mattered, looking back, was what had happened to him when Marina – Lady Crane - had pulled him aside at Daphne and Simon's wedding celebrations the year before. They'd been enclosed in a side room together, and it still rankled to recall how neatly, how perfectly, he'd been entrapped. They had spent time together, danced together, and she was beautiful and pleasant and good company. He'd felt sorry for her mysterious illness that had kept her from the season and was pleased to see her return. The spark of interest between them, the enjoyable time he spent with her, seemed like the beginnings of real love to him. And like any gentleman spending time around a beautiful and engaging lady, there had been stirrings of desire too; stepping away from her kiss had been one of the hardest things he'd done in his life up to that point.

In the end, how perfectly he'd played into her wishes! For goodness sake, he'd even been the one to offer marriage to her, unprompted. That inner sense of duty had kicked in when he saw the disappointment in her eyes at his resolve to respect her honour, when she'd sighed resignedly, 'I am a lady…and you are a gentleman.' To be known as a gentleman was everything he wanted to be, to be good, honourable, respectable. The words flew out his mouth before he'd even realised he was going to say them, asking her to marry him. He could perfectly recall the flash of relief in her eyes, the release of tension in her delicate shoulders. He had felt so proud and pleased afterwards, being engaged to an honourable lady, planning their lives together… what a fool he had been.

Colin lightly thumped his head against the back of his carriage seat, staring at the carriage ceiling. There he went again, ruminating on the past, living in moments long gone. Marina – Lady Crane – had specifically chastised him about that tonight, and as much as it hurt to hear, she was right. His injured pride and hurt feelings had eased somewhat since his travels in Greece, and while time hadn't yet healed all wounds, it wouldn't do to let his thoughts continually linger on a situation that had long since passed. Marina – damn, Lady Crane – had said herself, that not everyone is guaranteed a fairy tale ending, and that she was content now with her life and situation as she found it.

Colin wasn't that sure about fairy tale endings either. Look at his parents – pure, open, honest love, cruelly cut short, that could hardly constitute a true happy ending, could it? But the time they had together had been happy. He knew his mother's dedication now to her children and their marriage prospects at least partially stemmed from her desire to see her children make matches as happy as hers had been, in an odd sort of tribute to Edmund. He just couldn't agree with what Marina – Lady Crane - had chosen for herself, for her future. She'd chosen security, comfort, a steady and respectful and it must be said, somewhat dull, life, with a husband she liked but did not love. He was glad she seemed content with that, and he was even glad she had moved on, but he felt the same old stirrings of restlessness inside him at the thought of that kind of future for himself.

He could not picture it, a quiet and respectable home, with a quiet and respectable wife, with quiet and respectable children. He veritably shuddered at the thought. He'd always grinned and laughed and jostled with the best of them at the gentlemen's' club, rolled his eyes and sighed and groaned about marriage alongside the other gentlemen of his acquaintance, avoided the marriage-minded mamas in society… and yet, he knew he wanted marriage someday. But - he couldn't help but want something different for his future marriage, his future wife. He didn't want a typical society settlement, didn't want any scenario along the lines of 'I suppose you'll be acceptable.' It must be said, and the parallel was inescapable, the truth was he wanted the opposite of what his brother Anthony was currently doing in his quest to woo Edwina Sharma, simply because she was the respectable diamond of the season.

He wanted excitement, adventure, love, passion. Something and someone extraordinary, to ground him, to humble him, to support him while he found his purpose and direction in life, and to keep life interesting for him. A woman who loved him enough to challenge him.

As the stars outside grew brighter and the carriage trundled through the gates and began journeying up the drive onto the grounds of Aubrey Hall, Colin stretched out his long legs, stretching and cracking his neck. He could be jovial and chatty when in company, but when left to his own devices like this, in quiet solitude, it was incredibly easy to retreat into his own thoughts and pass the time with his musings. He was glad to have had this time on the carriage ride back to his family home to sort through his feelings and reflect. This, he resolved to himself, would mark the point in his life where a fresh start could occur. Lady Crane – and he cheered himself mentally for finally thinking of her proper title, she was to be Marina no more – and the whole mess of last year, he could now properly leave in his past. Tonight was the first night of the rest of his life, and he resolved to be open to whatever came next.

The carriage quietly rolled to a stop in front of the vast, sweeping entrance to Aubrey Hall. Thanking the driver, he climbed down from the carriage, glancing up at the expansion of stars and deep blue sky above him. It was late in the evening, long after anyone inside would have gone to bed. Inhaling the cool crisp air, he took a moment to survey the façade of the home, admiring the stately expanse of windows and…

… was that candlelight he could see on that left-hand first floor window? Colin squinted, and he was sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. Against the silent blankness of the other windows, and the darkness of night outside, he could discern a faint golden glow coming from inside one of the rooms, flickering against the windowpane. Based on the location, it looked to be roughly coming from around where his family's private library was.

Anthony staying up late with some accounts, perhaps? Or a lone candle left behind for dousing, forgotten by some absent-minded household staff member?

Colin sighed, thinking of his comfortable bed in his bedchamber in the family wing. He'd rather been looking forward to making his way straight to it, but now that he'd noticed the candle burning, he was obliged to go investigate. Mother would kill him if the Hall burned down just because he hadn't checked.

With a mental shrug, he began climbing the front steps, resolved to make his way to the library.

Penelope Featherington hadn't been able to sleep.

This was not an altogether rare occurrence for her; many nights after many society events she had lain awake, tossing and turning, her mind full of racing thoughts that she couldn't get to settle, no matter how hard she tried. It was perhaps one of the risks of the trade of being the infamous Lady Whistledown; she had grown accustomed to standing quietly in the corners of rooms, observing the ton, eyes darting around seeking every small detail. One could expect to feel mentally exhausted, with the efforts it took to observe and decode every brush of the hand, every smile, every fleeting eye contact between a lady and a gentleman. Collecting her observations, analysing them, and filtering them to turn them into every witty word that was the talk of the ton was no easy feat. Doing that multiple times a week for two years straight; well, any saner person would have quit long ago.

But if she was honest with herself (and she always tried her best to be), it wasn't just Lady Whistledown business that had been keeping her awake this evening. With half a mind, it was true, she had been turning over her observations from the day of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and his rumoured prospective bride Miss Edwina Sharma, mentally trying out phrases to put into her next column, as that was surely what everyone wanted to hear about from the next Whistledown release.

With the other half…. well. She had been quite unable to get the image out of her head, of Colin's extraordinary deep blue eyes, crinkled in a smile, bowing his head adieu to herself and Eloise when he'd left that morning to pay a visit to Penelope's cousin, Marina Thompson. Or, Penelope mentally reminded herself, Lady Crane as she was now to be called. She knew Marina was a married woman now, with two children last she'd heard, but it still caused a deep frisson of fear inside her to think of Colin and Marina in the same room together again, when he had come so close last year to being lost to Penelope forever.

Penelope had known Colin since she was a child, since their families had first interacted in Grosvenor Square, before Colin had gone off to Eton. As a younger girl, when she was two days short of her sixteenth birthday, with the whack of her errant bonnet flying into his face and his splash into the mud, and his bark of carefree laughter, that was when Penelope Featherington had truly fallen in love with Colin Bridgerton. And just over two years' later, there seemed to be no relief, no easing of this feeling that plagued her night and day. Her helpless and hopeless feelings for her best friend's older brother had only strengthened and deepened with the time they had spent around each other, each crooked smile he gave her, every kind word or gesture he had shown her. It was to Colin's credit that he continuously showed such consideration for her when it was so well known in the ton that the Featheringtons were more a source of amusement and derision than admiration amongst the noble and respected families. To be sure, he certainly seemed to find her amusing, and they had passed many society parties and events in pleasant conversation. He even more often than not asked her to dance, and long had she wondered if his actions were motivated by pity, which was almost more than she could bear to think about. But her status as his friend; that was the extent of his regard. Pleasant, genial, amiable friends.

Would anyone blame her if she wanted to keep that friendship going? And would anyone laugh at her (well, probably Cressida Cowper would) if she couldn't help but wish to keep the spark of hope alive in her chest for a little longer? The hope that one day, he might see… he might realise…

Yes, there were many things to keep Penelope wide awake this night. The four walls of the bedchamber felt like they were closing on her as she lay, staring at the canopied ceiling of the bed. Which was why, long after everyone would be deeply asleep, she had given up on further attempts, wrapped herself in her long, hideously orange dressing gown (another citrus-toned item thoughtfully supplied by her mother), and in desperation to be away from the oppressing walls of the bedchamber, tiptoed in silence and darkness from the guest rooms assigned to the Featheringtons for the country stay at Aubrey Hall.

Her destination was the family library of the Bridgertons, not too far adjacent to the chambers she'd just emerged from; the Bridgerton family wing neighboured their location, a gesture Penelope supposed had been arranged by the kind and thoughtful Bridgerton matriarch, Violet. The Sharmas had been granted the most prime positioned guest chambers on the other side, naturally, as a mark of favour, when they'd arrived a week earlier than anyone else to the Hall to accelerate the courtship of Anthony and Edwina.

Violet had always been terribly kind and pleasant to Penelope, undoubtedly due to the close friendship she shared with Eloise. Surely Violet would not mind terribly if Penelope passed some time in the Bridgerton library to help her tire enough to sleep? Eloise after all had always grandly told her that she was a Bridgerton and thus she had authority to freely grant Penelope access to Eloise's most used private family spaces of their home back in Mayfair, so they could have space to be alone and discuss Eloise's latest theories (it was true that friendship with Eloise involved more listening skills than speaking skills, but that was usually fine with her). The familiar invitation would surely extend out here.

Hang it all, she'd decided – no one would be awake at this hour anyway, neatly avoiding any unwanted encounters requiring her to explain herself. She needed the time and space to herself, to think, and wait for her over-active mind to calm down.

Thus, was how Penelope found herself alone in the Bridgerton family library, the only light she allowed herself being a single flickering candle on the handsome mahogany desk near the library window. She chose a few interesting books from the shelves, intending at first to read to pass the time to the small hours of morning, but she'd scarce settled into the soft velvet cushioned chair at the desk and read one chapter of the first novel she'd selected before her restless eyes strayed to the neat pile of paper on the desk, and the ink pot, and the quill.

Her mind buzzed with her observations of Anthony and Edwina from the morning, and the other interactions of the day she'd noted amongst the ton on the stately lawns of Aubrey Hall, and suddenly her fingers were itching to write, to draft, to plan. Naturally she couldn't publish anything this week while all of respectable society was out here in the country, but it was fortunate indeed to have this opportunity to write in solitude, something that could sometimes be difficult to come by at home.

She hesitated for a moment more, then resolutely set aside the novel, pulling a sheet of paper and the ink towards her, and picking up a quill. Dipping the nib to the ink pot, she set nib to paper, then began to write.

Dearest Reader,

It is often said that the greatest of life's pleasures can be the simplest, and where better to enjoy simple pleasures than in the country? Time spent dazzled by sunshine, with agreeable company, in the fresh air, can be just the thing for any gentleman or lady to refresh and take stock of their own lives. One might even venture, it's time to reckon with the consequences of their actions.

This Author hopes the time in the country has been edifying for Lord Anthony Bridgerton, who is openly continuing his public courtship of the Queen's Diamond, Miss Edwina Sharma, although one is surprised to learn that the Sharmas' additional time at Aubrey Hall is still yet to produce that most illustrious of desired things, a proposal.

It has reached this Author's ears that Lord Bridgerton's younger brother Mr Colin Bridgerton however, was notably absent for most of the day's festivities hosted by his mother, leaving one to wonder what possible inducement could lead him to incur the wrath of the Dowager Viscountess…

In the silence of the dark library, and by the light of the flickering candle, Penelope scratched out the rest of a quite passable first draft for her next column, recounting what she'd observed so far, reporting words she'd heard whispered amongst the mamas of Mayfair. Carefully, she added a note to herself in the margins to prepare an alternate version should Miss Edwina indeed secure a proposal from Anthony; last minute adjustments were sometimes needed with the speed of events. She ruefully thought of her rush last year to accurately report the changing circumstances between another one of Colin's sisters, Daphne, and Daphne's now-husband the Duke. She'd resolved since not to be caught out again, and to prepare for all eventualities.

Glancing at the candle and seeing it had burned down considerably since she had first entered the room, she sighed, the sigh turning into a yawn. The writing had been just the thing to wear her out, and she was quite content now that she could return to the guest bedchamber and fall asleep without too much further trouble. More out of habit than anything, as the sheet would not serve as her final draft to hand in to the print shop, she signed her alias signature at the bottom with a flourish, 'Lady Whistledown', then set aside the quill and ink pot with a sigh, preparing to roll up the paper and depart.

Then – a sound that sent a terrified chill down her spine – the faint but unmistakable thud of footsteps approaching in the corridor outside, growing clearer with every step closer, undeniably making their way towards the library.

There was no time to think, to ponder what identity of the unknown person in the corridor would be worse for her, no time to think of an excuse; what one does in moments of panic and crisis is hardly worth examining, really. In that split second of horror, the only thing to do that made sense to her was to hide. She hastily pushed back the desk chair, the scrape of its legs thankfully muffled by the thick carpet underneath.

In her rush, she had completely forgotten to pick up the Lady Whistledown draft. In her flurry of movement, it breezed off the desk, fluttering to the ground, landing half underneath the desk, poking out and facing up to the decorative library ceiling.

She made for the safety behind the nearby ornately tall cabinet, sliding into the gap between the cabinet and the library wall, mere seconds before the library door swung slowly open.