Chapter Eleven: Aid

Colin-

Must speak with you as soon as possible. Urgent W business. Meet me in my garden before church tomorrow. Come alone.

-P

Colin re-read for what felt like the hundredth time the note that had been discreetly delivered to his bachelors' lodgings late Saturday evening by the Featherington's footman, Cole. He had folded and re-folded it many times and had carried it with him in his breeches' pocket into the coach that morning.

"There is a stop I must make before Bridgerton House, Jenkins," Colin had called to his coach driver when he had climbed aboard back in Bloomsbury. "Side entrance to Featherington House first, if you please."

They were nearing Grosvenor Square now. Jenkins was loyal and discreet, and asked no questions each time Colin directed him to Featherington House, although the fellow must surely be wondering what was going on with everything that had happened since the return from the country.

Colin looked again at the words Penelope had underlined in emphasis, as if he needed further prompting on that point. Come alone? Surely to suggest he would do otherwise was a jest? For one wild moment, he imagined bringing his family along to one of his and Pen's Whistledown meetings, and nearly laughed out loud. If Hyacinth found out Lady Whistledown's identity, bless her, the whole secret would be out and ruined within a day.

Besides, he rather liked having this arrangement with Penelope, this thing that only they shared between themselves, and no one else. Well, in truth, it was wholly Pen's thing, he was just… assisting. He frowned to himself. He'd been feeling so adrift and aimless earlier in the season, but it felt now like he was waking each day with some problem to solve or to help Pen with. And he got joy and satisfaction from reading and editing the columns. It was…exciting. He could not have imagined he'd ever feel this way when he'd first found out Pen's identity.

But a lingering feeling picked at him inside, an inner conflict that lapped at the sides of his thoughts. Was it a purpose, though? What would be true fulfilment, for him? Should he not be doing more searching to find himself? The thought hovered in the background for him, but now was not the time to dig into it. Pen needed him.

Whatever she needed to see him about evidently could not wait until Kate and Anthony's wedding on Tuesday, only two days' hence. He wondered, again, just what could possibly be so urgent as to prompt her to send him the note.

The coach pulled up to the side garden entrance of Featherington House, Jenkins calling down to him to let him know they'd arrived.

Hopping down, Colin nodded gratefully to his driver. Glancing around, noting very few people out and about on the streets – it was still some time before the church goers would make their way to the morning sermons – he slipped through the entrance, heading into the main Featherington gardens. It was an unseasonably cool, cloudy morning for June, and he was grateful for his powder-blue coat as he stepped into the main garden, looking around for Penelope.

He spotted her, sitting on the same stone loveseat he had found her at before, tucked away underneath a tree with a book in her lap, although she was staring into middle distance, her eyes absent minded. As he approached, she sensed his presence and stood, smiling warmly at him, and he returned the smile, and reflected that that was truly something he loved about Penelope – she always made him feel truly welcomed. Perhaps he was just used to the good-natured barbs of his siblings, where they would tease and banter and roll their eyes at him, but with Pen… he always felt like she was pleased to see him.

"Pen," he greeted her with a bow.

"Colin," she dipped a curtsy, and came back up fiddling with an errant strand of red hair that was falling from the swept-up hairdo twisted at the back of her head. He glanced down and noted her attire – yellow, again. Bows, lace and frills. "Thank you for coming on short notice."

He waved this away, looking more closely at her – her eyes looked red-rimmed, her face haggard. "My god, Pen, is everything alright?"

She stared at him for one long moment, before, to his astonishment, her bright blue eyes welled with unshed tears, and she sniffed, her face near collapse.

"No," she wavered, looking away quickly from him and blinking rapidly. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Pen!" Alarmed, he retrieved his kerchief from his coat pocket and offered it to her, quite at a loss with what else to do. "Here, take this. You must…please, do tell me everything, and I will do what I can to help you."

She smiled, a watery smile but a smile nonetheless, accepting the kerchief to dab under her eyes, laughing helplessly. "I'm sorry, you must think me dramatic…"

"Never," he said firmly, then paused, considering. "Well. Given just who you secretly are, I imagine drama comes with the territory, but…" he watched the tears rolling down her cheeks and felt a surge of protectiveness rush through him. "…that's neither here nor there." He wanted to move to take her hand in his again, to offer whatever comfort he could, but something made him look around, searching for and quite unable to locate their respectable chaperone from last time, Rae.

Pen must have noticed his glance around the garden. "I told Rae to come fetch me when everyone was ready to leave for church," she murmured, dabbing again at her eyes. "Given Prudence and Philippa's tendency to try on and then discard every outfit of theirs before any social outing, I imagine we still have a good half an hour at the very least."

"Right." Colin shifted a little back and forth on the spot on the balls of his feet, torn. He wanted to move forward to comfort her, but there was no chaperone, and although they were shaded from the windows of the house by the trees near the loveseat, any gesture he made to go near her could well be construed as inappropriate if anyone saw them. "Why don't you tell me what happened, and we will go from there."

"Yes, well." Penelope dropped her eyes, staring at the kerchief in her hands, blinking, before she took a deep breath, and it all came spilling out in a giant rush.

"As it turns out… Lord Featherington's mines are useless, he is near bankruptcy which means so we will be as well, and he has concocted a scheme and blackmailed Mama into going along with it, to marry Cressida Cowper for her rich dowry, trapping her in a loveless marriage and using her for her wealth so that we as a family can continue living comfortably, and I couldn't work out what to do, except he's accelerated the courtship now because his finances are worse than he thought, so last night he proposed to Cressida and she has said yes, and now they are betrothed, and now they will get married, and she wouldn't listen to me when I tried to warn her last night, and… and…" Penelope was breathing hard, unable to look up at him to meet his gaze. "And I can't imagine what to do, and I… I need…" and now she did look up at him, and those bright blue eyes shining with tears were disarming, sheer devastation to witness. "I need help, Colin."

Colin stared back at her, his mind perfectly blank for a moment before it whirred into gear, processing this new information. "Cressida Cowper, engaged to Jack Featherington?"

Penelope sniffed, winding the kerchief absently around one finger. "I am afraid so."

"And he blackmailed your mother?"

"Yes."

"And he's… he's truly about to go bankrupt?"

"Yes."

"And Cressida doesn't believe…"

"Yes, Colin," Penelope snapped irritably, causing Colin to blink at her, surprised and a little hurt. Seeing his face, she moaned a little and covered her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry. Forgive me. I don't mean to lash out. It's a lot to… to take in, I know, I've been so worried about it for so long myself-"

"Wait," Colin muttered, frowning, trying to play catch up to events. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since the night of the Hearts and Flowers ball," Pen mumbled through her fingers with a groan. "That was the first time I heard Jack and Mama discuss it."

"Since…what?" Colin exclaimed. "My god, Pen, that was two weeks ago! Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't…" He bit off the rest of the sentence, struggling with himself for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He didn't know how to wrestle with it, this hot vivid feeling that was rushing over him, but flashes of it were breaking through. Furious anger at Jack, for putting everyone in this situation in the first place, and anger at Portia Featherington for going along with it. Disbelief and concern about the precarious situation the Featherington ladies were now in. But above all, rising beyond this, the hurt, the upset, that Pen had told him so much, but she had chosen not to tell him this.

Not the first woman to lie to you, a voice in his head whispered nastily. Lady Crane… now Pen. She kept Lady Whistledown secret, now this?

"I so wanted to, Colin, believe me," Penelope pleaded with him. "I came close many times, but in truth… when I found out about it, it was so close to when you'd discovered about Lady Whistledown, and that time, that situation was so precarious, so… fragile, I couldn't bear it if... I didn't want…" she trailed off, looking away from him miserably. "I couldn't bear to be a burden to you."

Colin watched her, mentally replaying Jack and Cressida together from the times he'd seen them the last few weeks, seeing anew the fraught situation Pen was now in.

"I did not stay silent about this because I did not trust you, Colin," Penelope murmured sadly to him. "I am rather used to… solving problems on my own, you see. Normally there is no one to help me that I can truly… now, I know that I've shared confidences with Eloise before, it's true, but for crises like this, I would be too afraid if I dragged you, again, into yet more difficult things, too afraid that I would…" she searched his eyes, steeling herself, and his focus narrowed onto a single tear tracking down her face, with the oddest urge suddenly to reach out and brush the tear away from the delicate curve of her left cheek.

"I would be too afraid I would lose you," she finished quietly, brushing away the tear herself impatiently, and he blinked, stirred from his stupor, and focused back on her voice, her words, and what she was trying to tell him. "If I told you, and it was all too much for you, I couldn't bear to lose you. But then, if I manage to stop Jack, and save Cressida from marrying him, we will go bankrupt, and be ruined and cast off from society, and I will lose you anyway-" and the last was choked by a sob, her tears gathering and falling anew.

Windows – and eyewitnesses – be damned, honestly.

Without hesitation, desperate to comfort her, Colin stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, his left arm cradling her back and his right arm embracing around the back of her head, his right hand pressed against the swept-up curls of her vivid hair, and the sweet jasmine scent that always lingered around her enveloped him. He made the not unpleasant discovery that she was the perfect height for him to be able to rest his chin on the top of her head, and he did so, laying his cheek against the top of her head gingerly, tenderly, and breathed her in. It was uncanny how easily she fit and folded into his arms, and he held her as she cried, soothing her softly with gentle murmurs the way he used to soothe Hyacinth when she was younger and crying about something Gregory had done.

After a short while of this, her sobs eased, then subsided altogether. Then he felt Pen stiffen against him, most likely in alarm at the very unseemly display they were creating. It felt like he came back to himself; he released her quickly and stepped carefully back from her to a more respectable distance, watching her for her reaction. She was flushed bright pink, staring at him a little wild-eyed, breathing rapidly. "Colin, I-"

"While I must crave pardon for my impropriety, Pen, I cannot say I am sorry for comforting a dear friend," Colin interrupted firmly. He looked down to the tip of his boots on the grass, then back up to her, pinning her with his gaze, hoping to make sure she was clear on one thing. "You will never lose me, I swear it. I will always help you when you ask for it, to the best of my ability. The imperative thing first is to end this betrothal before it goes too far. You…" he swallowed hard. "You saved me once from being entrapped in a sham marriage, although I did not truly realise it at that time, and I never really thanked you for that, for…looking out for me." He took a deep breath. "I do believe I've never thanked you," he repeated lamely, "and I do, Pen. I thank you heartily, for doing what you could to ensure my future happiness."

Pen smiled a little hesitantly, although he could see she was pleased. "I… you're welcome, Colin. You deserved better in life than what Lady Crane was offering you."

He nodded thoughtfully. It was the oddest thing – these past few weeks, he had really not thought about Lady Crane at all. Lady Whistledown…Pen… it had all quite driven her from his mind.

"And loath as we may be to say it, so too does Cressida deserve better than a similar fate," Colin ventured grimly. "We will have to find a way. We… will just have to figure out later what to do about the financial situation, I suppose, even if I have to ask Anthony, or the Duke, for assistance, but…"

Now it was Penelope's turn to throw etiquette to the wind, reaching out to seize his hand in her own and squeezing it in gratitude, eyes shining as she smiled at him, her face beatific. "Thank you," she breathed. "Already the load feels halved having shared it with you, and I am sorry I did not do so before."

Her hand was warm, and so soft over his. "I understand, I think, why," he said gently. "It may be what you're used to, but you don't have to do everything on your own." Anymore, he added silently, grimly, vowing then and there to himself that she would never face these kinds of burdens alone again.

He gently loosened his hand from hers, although he felt the loss of the warmth of her skin, and straightened his shoulders, intent now on the problem at hand. "How long do you think they will be betrothed for?" he asked her. "Will Jack push for a common license?"

Penelope, still looking a little shaky, shook her head doubtfully. "I don't know… he probably wants to rush it, but it will look odd for him to do so," she reasoned slowly. "He needs the appearance of a gentleman with all the time in the world. A license would invite comment, they have no publicly known reason why they would need one. Reading the banns is his safest bet. If the priest does the first reading of their banns today at church…we will know for sure, I suppose."

Colin nodded thoughtfully. "Right. Good." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "And when you tried to tell Cressida…?"

"I told her the whole truth," Pen said gloomily. "She just called me a liar. Amongst… other things."

Colin watched her face darken, anger clouding her expression, and reflected he'd never seen Pen look quite so… dark. "What did she say?" he demanded. "I know there is no love lost between you, and she has been known to be cruel before."

"Cruel always, you mean," Pen said quietly, but she waved a hand at him, impatient. "It matters not what she said. Nothing she has not said before."

He looked at her with admiration. "And despite this, you still wish to help her?"

She looked back at him, seemingly weighing up her words. "I can't say I didn't wrestle with the decision," she finally admitted. "To be clear, I am no saint, and it did cross my mind to…well, I'd be lying if I said revenge wasn't tempting, but…" she sighed, shrugging a little helplessly.

"I see." He considered this. "For what it's worth, Pen…I don't blame you at all for that. But you're doing the right thing, that's what matters."

Penelope stared at him, her eyes searching his face, looking terribly morose. "If only one could do what one wanted, instead of what was right," she murmured, her eyes lingering on his hair, then flitting down to his mouth.

"I- well, yes, I suppose," he frowned, "but the point is- never mind. So, she won't believe you," he mused. "Who might she believe?"

They were both quiet for a moment, thinking, and it occurred to them simultaneously.

"Lady Whistledown," they both exclaimed together, then both laughed aloud at the sheer obviousness of it.

"Cressida might not ever take me seriously," Pen ventured, "but she does take the good opinion of society very seriously, and Lady Whistledown is the barometer of society opinion."

Colin nodded eagerly. "Just so. If Lady Whistledown publishes tomorrow – perhaps something a little pointed, a little barbed, a little… speculative? Questioning?"

Pen smiled widely, pleased. "Yes, precisely, Colin, that's brilliant," she enthused, and a warm glow erupted in his chest at her praise, his cheeks warming. He knew, being the third-born son, lost in the muddle of the pile of Bridgerton siblings, he had a stronger propensity than most, one could even call it a need, to have his ideas lauded, but this was different. Praise from his family or his peers was one thing. It just simply meant more to him coming from Pen. It was all he could do not to puff out his chest in response.

Penelope, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying the sight of watching Colin Bridgerton blush, something she was quite sure she had never imagined witnessing in anything but her more elaborate fantasies; the pink tinge on his cheeks was adorable, and if later she would imagine brushing her fingers over his face, trailing further into his hair, well… She cleared her throat a little awkwardly but maintained her encouraging smile.

"I think we publish tomorrow morning," Penelope said decisively. "I will have to draft it after church, of course, depending on what occurs there with the reading of the banns, but-"

"My whole family is gathering after church finishes for a pre-wedding luncheon, along with the Sharmas," Colin said helpfully. "It may take some hours, but after it's finished…" he lowered his voice, his eyes glinting mischievously. "There's a little Cupid statuette I've been known to visit to… say my prayers to. It is Sunday, after all. Perhaps I shall call upon it."

"Indeed, how pious of you," Pen intoned with a straight face, and catching his eye, they both dissolved into laughter.

"I shall pray for divine intervention."

"More like pray for a miraculous cure of Cressida's entire personality."

"I shall pray for…a really, really good feast at Anthony's wedding," Colin suggested, warming to the topic, and at Penelope's questioning look, he shrugged defensively. "What? It's been ages since there was a big 'do that wasn't just another ball. Everyone knows the best dishes are saved for wedding breakfasts."

Penelope laughed again, rolling her eyes good naturedly. "Knowing Violet Bridgerton, I don't think you have to be unduly concerned about that. I would pray we don't have to witness one of those for Jack and Cressida, myself."

"You know, it's a shame circumstances couldn't be different," Colin mused. "One might venture in any other situation, those two would deserve each other."

"Yes, pity," Penelope sighed. "Most unfortunately, it's the most odious of circumstances that brings them together now."

"The betrothal from hell," Colin suggested.

"Indeed." Penelope smiled, but it faded again quickly when thinking of the implications that she, and her family, were facing. She stretched out her arms a little, with a small yawn. "Well, in any case, Cupid has been good to us so far."

At Colin's raised eyebrows, she flushed pink with embarrassment again, clarifying hastily. "Well, not to us, specifically, I mean to our arrangement, and to…Lady Whistledown… and hopefully he can hear our…prayers…" she trailed off, mortified.

Colin blinked, understanding clicking suddenly, and he cleared his throat on a small chuckle, his cravat suddenly feeling uncommonly tight. "I know what you meant," he said quickly, smiling encouragingly and hoping to defuse her embarrassment, although really, he was a little taken aback at how put off she seemed about any implication that they… that they ever could…

Not that it had ever crossed his mind before, himself. Really. They were friends, and now… what? Business partners? Colleagues? Confidants?

"Anyway!" Pen trilled a touch too brightly, obviously trying to change the subject. "A visit to Cupid this afternoon will do you much good, and I am sure that he will have plenty to say."

Colin nodded gratefully to her, happy to take her lead. "I shan't miss my appointment with him," he promised softly. "Or at the print shop. The issue will be out tomorrow morning, depend on it."

"Thank you, Colin," Penelope said with relief. She fiddled with one of the many small bows that adorned her sleeves, thinking. "Your family rents a box at the Theatre-Royal in Drury Lane, do they not?"

"Indeed," Colin said slowly, frowning at her. "Why do you ask?"

"So do the Cowpers," Pen said meaningfully. "I can't imagine they would miss this chance to display their now successfully betrothed only daughter to the public, can you?"

"Er… which chance might that be?" Colin questioned, smiling ruefully at her. "I'm afraid I don't go as much to the theatres as my brothers. Especially Anthony, last year, when he was…er… seeing that opera singer."

Pen, amply aware of those circumstances, waved this away. "And he is now betrothed and marrying his love-match, so the events of last year matter not," she said impatiently. "I was referring to the performance tomorrow evening of The Devil to Pay. The ballad opera."

"Ah." Colin nodded sagely, although truly he had not the faintest clue about it. He'd gone along before to theatre performances with his brothers, but in truth it was much more Benedict's taste, and Anthony had come along for more…amorous reasons, as they had just discussed. As for Colin, he enjoyed getting lost in the music, but he paid little attention to the theatre schedules.

Pen was now speaking. "The Featherington box is…sore neglected," she commented with a flash of a grin, "more often than not Papa used to rent it out to other people, but it's still there. Jack," she mused, "will probably also be keen to publicly emphasise his betrothal to Cressida. It will make it harder for her to back out, you see. But if we're all there, then…" she trailed off, thinking. "During intermission, you could send a message to her, pretending it's from Jack, asking her to meet you at one of the saloons. Then you and I could find her and try and talk to her."

Colin could only look with admiration, and not a little fear, at the formidable woman in front of him. "The way your mind works, Pen," he commented with some amazement, "is extraordinary."

A slow, deep smile spread across Pen's face, her eyes sparkling, and he could see very clearly she was flushing with pleasure. Perhaps someone might see it as laying it on thick, but he was purely sincere in his sentiment; she was the cleverest person he knew, and she'd demonstrated it time and time again. Seeing the gentle warmth in the blue of her eyes, and the lightly curled hair pulled back from her face, really, it was quite astonishing that someone of such sharp wit could be so… could look so…soft.

"Thank you, Colin," Pen said quietly, smiling shyly at him.

He bowed his head, smiling at her. "It's only the truth."

A small thud interrupted them, and they both whirled around to see a pebble skittering across the grass, coming from the direction of-

"Rae," Pen gasped, seeing her lady maid standing a little way away, gesturing frantically to her. Evidently, in desperation to get their attention, the resourceful woman had chucked a pebble at them. Penelope turned back to Colin. "My family must be about to depart for church," she said quickly, curtsying hurriedly to him. "I must go."

Colin bowed swiftly, a smile playing on his lips. "I shall say my prayers later," he called after her.

Pen's answering grin over her shoulder as she hurried off towards Rae, Colin would reflect later, was really quite wicked.

Excerpt from Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

Monday 13th June, 1814

Courtship, betrothal, marriage – around these things, I have built this column, for who isn't interested in the romantic affairs of others? Scintillating scandal sells, after all.

With the betrothal announced this week of Anthony Lord Bridgerton, and Miss Kathani Sharma, this Author was preparing to spin my wheels for a few days and await confirmation of the nuptials. Surely, as this season draws near to its close, one would think that we have already reached the pinnacle of shocking news for the year.

Even this Author can get things wrong, dear Reader.

Attendees yesterday at St George's, Mayfair's primary church, weren't just fanning themselves from the rising heat of the morning. Fans were flapping, and tongues were wagging, and many a churchgoer turned to their neighbour and politely asked if they had heard correctly, when the Banns were read.

For Banns of marriage were indeed published… between Lord Jack Featherington, and Miss Cressida Cowper.

Warmest congratulations to the newly betrothed couple. One can only imagine how the Featherington women must be feeling about the prospect of a new Lady of the house, especially a lady of questionable temperament like Miss Cowper. Although it must be said, she may improve the dreadful fashions in that family (in all honesty, a potato sack would be an improvement to some of their frilly, fussy citrus concoctions).

Let's hope that the reported wealth from Lord Featherington's mines in the Americas is enough to provide the lifestyle Miss Cowper may be accustomed to. Although, one has heard that the Lord Jack in question was disputing his bar tab recently at Mondrich's, with the good proprietor of that establishment. Disputing it loudly…in intricate detail.

Perhaps the price of brandy has climbed too high for Lord Featherington's account books?

It was murmured amongst the parishioners that what had started as a leisurely, even half-hearted courtship at the start of this season seemed to accelerate in intensity more recently. The pair appeared this past week to be running the gauntlet of courtship, ticking off the recommended requirements rapidly in their rush to get down the aisle. If anyone might need a handbook on Beginners Guide to Courting, I would suggest that Jack Featherington is your man.

So, if buying brandy is becoming a point of contention for Lord Featherington, this Author has one pressing question. Might this be why, despite the sudden rush into betrothal, he has opted for the only marriage method that won't cost him anything?

Like the priest would say, this is my first time of asking. But it certainly won't be my last…